Fenrir awoke on a field of green grass, lying on his side.

The place looked like something out of an illuminated manuscript. The colors were vivid and bright, and he could see hills, cliffs and waterfalls in the distance. And a haze of color, too – he squinted and realized that was a rainbow.

A butterfly fluttered before him, its dainty blue wings making small swoosh noises in the air. Fenrir’s eyes followed it, and as it moved out of his field of vision, he rolled on to his belly and sat up, tail wagging slightly, watching the majestic creature waft on to some distant destination. It had been a long time since he had seen a rainbow or a butterfly, and he had been too dull in those days to appreciate the sight. Now that he was gifted with the canine senses of his curse, he found himself fascinated. Part of him longed to run across the meadows, chasing the butterfly with his tongue hanging free. He had never been a puppy, and he wondered now what it would be like to simply roll in the grass and sniff the flowers scattered about around him.

And then the butterfly passed over Malleus’s unconscious body, laying there on the grass.

Fenrir’s focus returned, and he rose to his feet, skulking towards Malleus on all fours with his teeth bared, snarling at his fallen foe. Malleus didn’t stir.

And Fenrir was an opportunist.

“Surprised you survived that, Malleus,” he said softly, savoring this moment just before his kill. “But you won’t live long once I tear out your throat.”

He sat back, preparing to spring onto Malleus and to bring an end to their feud. But then, from behind him, he heard an unfamiliar voice.

“Hey, wolf-man…” it was saying. “Time to get lost.” A strange voice, not quite that of a man, but not quite that of a boy, either. It had a bit of a whine to it, a grating quality that made the hair on the back of Fenrir’s neck stood up.

He looked around quickly, and saw what appeared to be a cat looking back at him from a few dozen meters, standing up on two legs and wearing goggles. The creature was dressed in odd, form-fitting clothing with a blue stripe down the side and baring a small cannon of some sort. Fenrir snarled again, wondering how quickly he could scare off this strange feline and get back to business.

“Don’t move, Malleus,” he said. “This won’t take long.”

Fenrir turned and began to circle the strange cat creature. It didn’t move, but tracked him with its hand cannon. Fenrir realized after a moment that the cannon wasn’t in its left hand, but literally a part of it. That was odd. But then, in his journeys tracking Malleus, he’d seen many stranger things than this.

“I’ve never used this on a living creature before,” the cat was saying. “I doubt it would kill you. But I’ll bet it really hurts.”

Fenrir didn’t care if it did. Just as the cat was finishing its sentence, Fenrir lunged towards it, ignoring the strange blue crackling lightning that shot towards him from cat’s left hand. The bolt knocked him aside, and he realized as he landed on the ground that he was in great pain. His nose detected some singed hair coming from his side, and he shuffled a bit to adjust himself to the feeling that his weight might be too much for his right foreleg to bear.

“So what’s your story?” the cat asked, coolly keeping its hand cannon pointed at him. “Another ‘experiment’ from Central Computing?”

Fenrir snarled at him, and pushed himself to start circling the cat once more.

Cardea sat up suddenly at the sound of the wolf-man’s snarl.

Her eyes locked on the evil creature that had nearly killed Malleus, and she froze in panic as she realized it was directly in front of her. But no, it was moving; its attention was fixated on someone else. Cardea glanced to the right and saw a large armored cat, standing upright like a man, aiming some sort of metal cylinder at the wolf.

“Hey, it’s cool,” the cat was saying to the wolf. “They messed with me too.” It gestured towards the tube. “Cut my arm off and gave me this.”

The wolf-man continued to circle, and the cat continued to track him with the tube. Cardea wondered if perhaps it housed some sort of blade. She had never seen anything like it.

“But I got away,” the cat continued, “and now, if it clanks, I destroy it.” It grinned at the wolf-man. “You dig?”

The wolf shifted its pace and turned in the other direction, offering little more than a menacing growl.

“Calm yourself, Fenrir,” a voice said, seemingly from thin air. It sounded familiar to Cardea, and as she tried to recall where she’d heard it, a man appeared in the air above them, floating quite confidently despite his heavy black and white armor and flowing crimson cape.

A man with long white hair.

The cat looked up in surprise, turning its tube towards this new figure, and Cardea’s darted down in horror as they tracked the motion of the wolf-man, Fenrir, lunging forward and knocking the cat over onto its back. And suddenly, Fenrir’s weight was holding the cat down, and his fearsome jaw was mere inches from the cat’s throat. Cardea’s fingers inched towards her sword, which was lying on the ground next to her. She knew she’d have to act quickly.

“Finish this quickly,” said the man with the white hair as he descended towards the ground. “We have other business to attend to.”

The man didn’t react as Cardea leapt up from the ground, sword in hand, and twisted him around so her blade was at his throat. But Fenrir looked up with a surprised snarl, and that was all that mattered.

“Stop,” she ordered. “Or this guy dies too.”

The man with the white hair seemed entirely unbothered by her threat. “You think so, do you?” he said. Cardea was fairly certain now that his pulse hadn’t even risen. “You have no idea how to kill me,” he continued, “and even if you did…”

He moved faster than any opponent she’d ever seen, grabbing her sword arm by the elbow and somehow twisting her around so that she was down on the ground, unable to move. The hold didn’t hurt, but it certainly made her feel outmatched.

“…You wouldn’t have a chance,” the man finished. “Finish off the cat, Fenrir, so you can move on to Malleus.”

Cardea saw something moving out of the corner of her eye, and she somehow managed to twist away from the man as some strange magical blast slammed straight into him. She turned on the ground as she scampered backwards and saw a look of surprise creep onto the man’s face as he quickly turned to stone.

“I have a better idea,” Malleus said from behind her. “Forget about the cat.” Cardea heard a chain whip unfurling onto the ground as Fenrir snarled in surprise. “Take care of me first.”

Fenrir didn’t waste any time; he leapt off the cat and bounded over Cardea in a crazed lunge towards Malleus. But Malleus was ready, and with a quick snap of his wrist, he wrapped the chain whip around the wolf’s neck and slammed Fenrir into the ground next to the surprised stone statue of the man with the white hair.

Malleus retracted his whip, and Fenrir shook off some of the daze he was surely feeling. “This isn’t over, Malleus,” he said. “Sooner or later, I will hunt you down.” Of course, it didn’t look like Fenrir would be hunting down much of anything at the moment. He was panting quite heavily, and his side was singed, for some reason. But before Malleus could react, Fenrir darted off and away, clearly retreating to lick his wounds and bide his time.

This didn’t seem to bother Malleus at all. “Are you all right, Cardea?” he asked, though his eyes remained on Fenrir’s fleeing form.

Cardea grabbed her sword and scampered up to stand next to Malleus. “I’ve been better,” she said. “Any idea who these guys are?”

“The wolf’s an old enemy of mine,” Malleus said. “The statue, I’ve never seen before.”

Cardea nodded. “Yeah, how’d you do that?” she asked, gesturing towards the statue.

Malleus offered a thin, mysterious smile. “Gorgon spell,” he said. “Comes in handy from time to time. It should hold for a day or two.” He nodded to the side, still keeping his attention on the horizon. “Who’s the cat?”

“No idea,” Cardea confessed.

The cat must have been listening to them, because he sat up and gave Cardea and apologetic look. “The name’s Streax,” he said. “And I don’t have a clue what’s going on here.”

They left the statue of the white-haired man behind as they began walking, following Streax’s lead across the lush green meadow. Malleus had little to say, and seemed preoccupied with watching for Fenrir as Cardea attempted to explain what had happened. Streax listened carefully, and when she was done, he nodded as if he understood.

“So what you’re telling me,” he said,” is that you’re both from another world.” He jammed his right thumb up in the air, as if pointing behind them. “And so are the statue and the wolf-guy.”

Cardea nodded.

“Hmmm,” Streax mused. “I hope this doesn’t cause any problems.”

“What do you mean?” Cardea asked.

“You’re not part of the system,” Streax said. “The humans in this world died off years ago. And none of them looked like either of you.”

Malleus’s souring expression revealed his immediate irritation. “We didn’t come here by choice,” he said, “and we don’t plan to stay long. As soon as we can figure out how to leave, we will.”

“Good,” said Streax. “But first, we need to track down the wolf-guy.”

“Why?” demanded Malleus, who appeared to be growing more irritated by the minute.

“Because if we don’t the Collective will,” said Streax. “And that’s something we definitely don’t want.”

“What’s the Collective?” Cardea asked.

“The Central Computing Collective,” Streax said. “It’s a giant mechanical hive-mind that assimilates everything in its path.”

Cardea glanced over at Malleus. He had a dark look on his face now.

“I don’t understand a word he’s saying,” she said to Malleus. “Do you?”

“Not really,” Malleus said in a dour tone.

Streax smiled. They were approaching a ridge now, and he stepped out in front of them. “Look,” he said, pointing over the ridge. And as they stepped up to its summit, they saw.

Streax had led them to the edge of the meadow, to the edge of anything green, really. Beneath them lay a sprawling city of gray metal and grinding machinery, extending off towards the horizon, the sky above it a dull and lifeless yellow. There was movement below, but it all seemed to be mechanical, as if there were some sort of city here, but no people to live within it. The flicker of fire dotted the scene in small bursts of random punctuation. And yet there seemed to be a pattern to it all, as if some greater mind had planned all of this.

Cardea felt as if the warm air from the meadow had suddenly vanished, and a strange chill ran down her spine. Malleus stood with his arms crossed, seemingly indifferent.

“A few years ago, this was a forest,” said Streax. “But once the Collective moved in, it absorbed everything. The plants and trees were reclaimed by nanomachines and turned into energy.” He paused. “And the animals…”. Now he paused again, and looked down at his left arm.

“I was able to escape before they installed the slave chip in my brain,” he said in a far softer tone. “A lot of my friends weren’t so lucky.”

Cardea looked over at Malleus and realized her uncertainty must be written as clearly on her own face as apathy was on his.

“This place is weird,” she said. “I think we’re in over our heads.”

“Agreed,” Malleus said with a nod. “We’d best track down Fenrir and find our way back.”

“I can help you find the wolf, no problem,” Streax said. “But what do you plan to do once you’ve caught him?” He gestured upwards with his right hand. “It looked to me like you fell out of the sky.”

Malleus looked at Cardea now, as if he expected her to offer some brilliant explanation. She found it slightly annoying. “What?” she demanded. “What are you looking at me for?”

“You’re the one who brought us here,” Malleus said with a pointed tone.

“It wasn’t like I meant to!” Cardea protested. “I was just trying to save your life!”

Malleus offered a long sigh. “We’ll figure it out later,” he said. “Fenrir is probably licking his wounds, waiting for the moonlight to arrive and heal him. If we’re going to capture him, we’ll need to do it before dark. In his weakened state, it shouldn’t prove too difficult.”

Streax’s ears perked up suddenly, and he glanced towards the yellow horizon above the gray city below.

“Uh-oh,” he said, and then gave a heavy sigh. “Actually, the situation just got a bit trickier…”

And with that, he gestured for them to follow, and took off running back down the ridge, and then following the hilly meadow down towards the city. Cardea and Malleus tried to follow, but it became quickly clear that the cat was far too fast for them to keep up.

“Hey!” Cardea finally shouted. “Wait up!”

Streax stopped and waited for them to catch up to him. “Sorry,” he said. “The Collective gave me some ‘enhancements,’ including speed boosters. I’ll try to keep my pace down to a jog.”

He started running again, hardly slower than before. “Wait!” called Cardea, and she and Malleus pushed on after him, really following the dust trail he’d left behind more than any sight of him. A few minutes later, they reached him at the bottom of the hill, where he was standing just outside the line that divided the green and natural world from the edge of the mechanical city. The border between the two areas seemed to be wriggling slightly, as if the mechanized city were slowly devouring the natural world around it.

“It’s the assimilation line,” said Streax, pointing down. “The Collective spreading its influence, a billion nanomachines at a time.”

 Cardea and Malleus were both breathing heavily. Streax gave them a quick grin and said, “Let me let you guys catch your breath,” before he turned and looked into the city, ears perked up again. Cardea welcomed the break, and placed her hands on her knees as she gulped in as much air as her body would allow. She could taste the slight sulfur of the air from the assimilation line leaking over into the meadow. That slight bit was enough to make her cough. She couldn’t imagine how bad things must be within the city.

“Just as I suspected,” Streax said finally. “This isn’t good. The wolf got picked up by a patrol, and he’s being taken to the city for processing.” He looked over towards them, lowering his ears. “Assuming he survives that, he’ll be taken to the lab for assimilation.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Cardea said, “but how do you know?”

“Easy,” Streax said. “When I was processed, the Collective inserted a biochip that allows my mind to access the central network. I’m not conditioned to be a part of it, so I can’t understand a lot of the information that comes across. But I can usually catch enough to get the gist of what’s going on.”

“Easy, of course,” muttered Malleus sarcastically. Cardea sympathized, but she also knew that it’d be no good to try to face this Collective without having some understanding of what it was. And besides, some of what the cat was saying made sense.

“I think I’m starting to understand,” she said. “So if the Collective a-simple-ates Fenrir…”

“Assimilates,” Streax corrected her.

“Right,” Cardea said. “They’re going to give him arms like yours.”

Streax nodded. “Or worse,” he said. “If he survives the procedures – and I’m sure with my luck, he will! – he’ll be faster, stronger and able to endure a lot more punishment.” He paused for a moment, as if he was contemplating some even darker vision. “They may even fit him with lasers,” he said. “And trust me, you don’t want that.”

Malleus crossed his arms and looked away from the two of them, as if he’d heard enough of this foolishness. “Let him grow stronger, if he likes,” he said. “Fenrir has hunted me for as long as I remember, and never once has he managed to best me.”

And then, solemnly, he said, “I welcome the challenge.”

“Yeah, well,” said Streax. “What are you going to beat him with? Your whip?” Malleus didn’t respond, so Streax continued. “That might cut it in your world, but in this one, swords, knives and whips aren’t going to do a lot of good against an armored opponent. You need firepower.”

Malleus tossed back his coat and grabbed his whip. He cracked it quickly, lashing it out in a fiery arc of magic. Cardea and Streax hopped back in surprise as Malleus offered a maniacal smile.

“Fire?” he asked.

He extended his left hand and fired a bolt of lightning towards the ground.

“Thunder?” he asked again.

Then, he reached up with his left fist and slammed it into the ground, causing the ground beneath them all to tremble.

“Earthquakes?” he asked.

The maniacal smile seemed to intensify as he leveled his gaze on the two of them.

“I can handle myself,” he concluded.

“Wow,” was all Cardea could say.

Streax smirked. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s keep moving. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

The three crossed over the assimilation line into the mechanical city, with Streax leading the way.

The statue of the man with white hair was still standing in the meadow where they’d left it hours before. A pair of butterflies rested on the statue’s outstretched hand.

“I just had a thought,” said Cardea as they trudged through the mechanical city. “We’re leaving that statue behind. Do you think the spell will hold until we get back?

“It’s strong magic,” said Malleus. “It’ll hold.”

The statue started to crack around the fingers, and the palm of its hand shook slightly. The butterflies flew off just as flecks of stone began to crumble towards the ground.

“Come on, you two,” Steax said, gesturing deeper into the heart of the mechanical city. “We don’t have time to worry about that.”

The stone statue seemed to explode now, with bits and pieces of rock flying everywhere. And there, in  the cloud of dust that formed, stood the man with white hair.

He looked around darkly, observing that everyone was gone. He would find them again. And with that thought, he began to glow as he placed his thoughts elsewhere. Within a moment, he was gone.

Cardea, Malleus and Streax are in for an incredible fight when they finally face the Collective… and they’re in for a nasty surprise when they find Fenrir! Don’t miss it! (A link will be placed on this page once the next chapter goes live.)

If you enjoyed this chapter of Minus World, be sure to let your friends know about it as well… and be sure to give it a thumbs up below!

Minus World is Copyright 2011, Sean J. Jordan. All rights reserved. All artwork is by Jesse Elliot.

Cardea adjusted the leather straps on her boots, making sure they were tight. The duel would be here, on the crumbling floors of an ancient ruined temple. It would be a good idea not to slip. The fall would not be pleasant.

Across from her, she could see her opponent, Typhon, pacing with his long curved blade drawn in his right hand and a smaller, more serpentine dagger in his left. He wore the green metal hood of his cult, the worshippers of Wadjet, the Green One, that ancient Egyptian goddess of poison and protection. His armor was emblazoned with the goddess’s crest –a cobra sitting in the midst of the sun. The cult was dangerous and quite fanatical when it came to protecting its secrets. But Cardea knew that defeating Typhon would give her access to the inner sanctum of the ruins, allowing her to attempt to fight the fierce Nemeaus, the guardian of the Sword of Damocles.

Typhon looked like he might strike at any moment. Cardea bounced to her feet and readied her short sword and her round shield, emblazoned with the sigil of her home. “Your end is near!” she cried.

“You’re hisss-tory,” Typhon replied, and raised his swords. Cardea found herself slightly unsettled, both by the strange way in which he spoke and the way his tongue seemed almost snakelike as he formed those words. There were rumors that the most devoted followers of the Green One eventually became great serpents themselves. Cardea realized it might be good to take extra care not to let him bite her.

The two stepped around in circles, waiting for the other to attack. Cardea waited for a moment, sizing him up, trying to get a sense of his movement, his rhythm. And then, she let her instincts kick in. She could feel herself charging towards him, shield forward, slamming him with her shield. He seemed surprised by her speed, and staggered backwards as she used her momentum to thrust her sword forward. The hit connected, but it didn’t penetrate his armor.

Cardea followed the motion of her attack and spun a high kick up at his face, hoping it would catch him off guard and give her another chance to strike. But by now, he seemed to adjust to her speed, and he held up his two blade in a cross, blocking her boot. As her foot hit the blades, she continued with the motion, flipping up and back into the air as he lunged forward and swung his blades outward. Her legs sailed over the sword and dagger, and she landed on the ground in a crouch with her shield up. Quickly, she pushed her own blade forward in a sharp thrust and felt it slide into his gut.

She pulled it back and stood up and he fell to the ground. It was clear that he’d been wounded, but not nearly enough to make a difference. She stepped forward, shield ready, and thrust downward with her sword, but he rolled away, rose up into a crouch and kicked at her shins.

Cardea whirled towards him in surprise, losing her footing for a second, and felt him jam his blades underneath her arms. He raised her up quickly and launched her over his head. As she started to fall, he spun and lunged at her, knocking her backwards even further.

She tried to regain control of her body before she hit the ground, and somehow managed to fall into a somersault and come up in a crouching defensive stance – a good choice, because it allowed her to block the impact of his foot as he swung it towards her head. Typhon stepped back and came forward now with an overhead chop. Cardea rose up and knocked it out of the way with her shield, countering with a horizontal swipe towards his neck.

Typhon ducked, so she brought the blade back, swinging low this time. But he was quick, and he somehow managed to hop over that slower swipe so that he was back on his feet by the time she finished.

Cardea wasn’t one to wait for another opportunity even after a failed attack, and she knew that a moving opponent was far harder to deal with. So she followed the motion of her blade to spin her body and sword around, catching him three times – up high on the shoulder, then in the mid-section on the second spin, and finally in the abdomen with a roundhouse kick. Typhon flew backwards, landing inches from the edge of the platform, his body sprawled face-up as he tried to regain his breath.

Cardea grinned as she realized that she’d beaten him, and let out a huge sigh of relief as she flipped her blade down to shake off any of the snake-man’s fluids that might have gotten onto the blade. It was customary to say something, but she had never been terribly good at gloating.

“So what? You lost!” she shouted, somewhat lamely to her ears. “Get used to it!” Typhon lay on the ground, moaning. Cardea started forward, towards the double doors that house the inner chamber, ready to complete her quest so she could return home.

But something wasn’t right, and Cardea realized felt like she was being watched. She looked over her shoulder and thought she saw someone there- a man in armor, with long, white hair hanging over his face. He seemed to be hovering over the edge of the platform, as if the rules of nature had no power over him.

“Cardea…” she thought she heard him say, but as she spun to face him, he vanished.

She heard the sounds of Typhon moving behind her, and quickly looked over her shoulder to see what was happening. Her instincts took over once again, and she spun just in time to block the snake-man as he charged towards her, swords high.

But the swords never connected with her shield – Typhon ducked down and dropped his sword, catching her under the legs and scooping her up into the air. As she felt, he hit her in the thigh with his dagger, pushing her falling body back towards the edge of the platform.

She didn’t regain control this time, and as she tried to get up, she could see him sitting back, preparing for a far more powerful attack. Her leg was slowing her down. She scampered up to her feet and attempted to get out of his way, but she couldn’t seem to move quickly enough avoid him. He ran forward, pushing his sword down with a powerful overhand blow. The force knocked her backwards, over the edge of the platform and towards the darkness at the edge. She felt herself falling, and could see Typhon looking down at her from above and laughing.

And then, she realized that she was not alone. She turned her head to the side and saw that man again, his black and white armor shining as she fell, his crimson cape flapping behind him. It seemed like everything slowed down for a moment, and she could feel him wrapping his hand around her arm.

She struggled, surprised. “Everything will be fine,” he was saying. “You are always safe with me…”

But even though she was falling to what could well be her doom, Cardea’s instincts were shouting, “no!”. And so she used her free hand to slam her sword hilt into his elbow.

The man looked surprised, and Cardea felt herself falling faster as he let go of her. As her plummet continued, she saw him begin to glow and then slowly vanish into the darkness.

And she, too, felt as if she was diminishing as she fell, and she wondered if this was what death was supposed to feel like.

She awoke on a field of green grass. She could see the blue sky above, and see the clouds floating by. And some sort of… actually, she wasn’t certain what it was. A giant shape in the sky, long and cylindrical, floating up there with the clouds. That was odd.

Her head was aching, and ringing so loudly that she felt like she was in the midst of a battlefield. Sound seemed to be coming at her from every direction. It was not so different from the time as a child when she’d snuck into the amphitheater to see the Bacchanalia with the men. Then, there had been noise everywhere, and she had felt drowned within in. Now, she wondered if perhaps she was hearing the wailing of the underworld. She’d always imagined that it would be somehow sadder, more like a dirge than a confused chorus of lost souls.

She sensed motion to her left, and rolled her head to look at it. A muscular warrior in bright red armor ran by, seeming not to notice her. His armor was shiny, bright, with some sort of crest on its front and what appeared to be lettering on its back, though in some strange language that Cardea had never seen before. The armor seemed to focus on protecting the chest and shoulders quite capably, but his legs appeared to have little more than some protective padding. His helmet wrapped around his entire head, but left much of his face exposed. A small metal bar jutted out around his chin. Cardea wondered what it could possibly be designed for, since it clearly would not stop a sword or a spear from reaching through.

The man turned and kept running with his torso turned behind him, hands outstretched. And suddenly, something slammed into his palms – some small, brown package that had clearly been tossed to him. It didn’t appear to be a weapon. Now the man charged straight towards her, and hopped over her body as if it wasn’t there. And around her, she could feel the earth starting to tremble slightly as a booming thunder began to echo behind her head.

“What the….?” Cardea asked.

She sat up and looked back. An entire army of similarly-clad men was headed straight for her, some adorned in red, and others in blue. They were stampeding like wild animals, clearly focused on whatever that other warrior was carrying. None of them seemed to be paying any attention to her.

“Yikes,” she said, and pulled herself into a ball, covering her head with her shield.

The warriors crossed over her, weaving around at the last second as they passed by, some slamming into others. It only took a moment, and then they were gone, the thunderous sound traveling with them. The roar of the chorus still remained.

Cardea peered out from underneath her shield and saw why. She was in an enormous coliseum, if she could call it that, filled with more people than she had ever seen in her life. She took a moment to look around, stunned, wondering how she had come to be in such a place.

There were people on the field with her too, many clad in the same crests as the warriors, though not all wearing armor. A man in a black-and-white striped tunic run towards her, blowing on some tiny flute stuck between his lips and attached to his neck with a cord.

“Get off the field!” he shouted. She was surprised she could understand him, and stood up to greet him. The man backed away in horror as he saw her sword.

She quickly tucked the weapon into her scabbard. “Where am I?” she asked.

The man kept backing away with a wild look in his eye. “Are you crazy?” he demanded. And then, he turned and shouted to the throng of people behind him, “Security!”

Cardea wasn’t sure what that meant, but there was something about his tone that made her certain she didn’t want to find out. She started running, away from the warriors at the end of the field, away from the throngs of people on either side, away from anything that didn’t look familiar. She sensed some men chasing after her, and ran faster, uncertain of what might happen if they cornered her. She was confident that she could fight and defeat them, but she didn’t know what she would do to escape their reinforcements.

She spotted a doorway in the wall, and it was dark, but otherwise unguarded. It was dangerous to venture into a confined area, of course, but it seemed a better option than being on an open field full of hostile armored warriors. She dashed towards the doorway, passing a surprised-looking group of women in tiny skirts and shirts that barely covered their bellies – dancers, Cardea hoped – and passed into the darkness.

Once more she felt that odd sensation of falling, but this time, it was as if she were falling forward. She half-expected the man with the white hair to reappear, but he did not this time. The darkness was so deep that she could not bear to look at it. She closed her eyes briefly, wishing that this strange detour might return her home, and then…

The air carried a tinge of chill around her, and Cardea realized that she was standing in a different field, this time during the middle of the night. She turned to look behind her, and noticed that she had emerged from the dark doorway of an open room that seemed to descend into the ground, like the entrance to a mausoleum. All around her, stones bearing strange cross-like symbols stuck up out of the ground. There was a fence that appeared to be made of iron surrounding the field. The place was deathly quiet, entirely unlike the arena she had come from.

She heard a clacking noise, and turned to face it, sword drawn and shield up. She nearly jumped as she saw a human skeleton walking, sword in hand and shield on its opposite arm, approaching a strange-looking red-haired man who was apparently its enemy. Cardea glanced back towards the door she had come through, but thought better of it. A walking skeleton was surely the work of great evil power, and Cardea was not willing to leave this man to face it alone.

She ran forward, hoping to catch the skeleton off guard so that she could shatter it to pieces as she rammed it with her shield. The man looked up at her, pale blue eyes surprised to see any living thing in this clearly forsaken place, his gloved hands wrapped around some sort of leather whip. He was wearing an outfit that appeared to be made of leather, with a long, dark coat draped around him.

“Huh?” he said as he noticed her. This brief distraction was all that the skeleton needed to lunge forward with its sword, chopping at his arm. The man backed up, absorbing a slight nick with his leather gauntlet.

Cardea was close enough now, and decided to swing her sword at the skeleton to knock it off-balance. The skeleton caught her blow with its shield, and its head spun around backwards, looking straight at her with empty black sockets. Whatever Cardea’s instincts had been planning left her mind immediately, and she could feel the grip of terror beginning to slow her movements.

Cardea backed up with her shield held high, hoping to regain her momentum. The skeleton struck high with a thrust, and Cardea took the opportunity to dodge low and slicing at its legs with her blade. Her training took control, and she arose in a twirling motion, smacking the skeleton in its ribcage with her sword and then smashing her shield into its face.

The skeleton staggered backwards, and the tail of a spiky chain whip latched itself around the skeleton’s neck. The skeleton clutched at his neck frantically, trying to yank it off as the whip’s end began to glow red. Suddenly, the skeleton collapsed into a pile of lifeless bones, and the whip retreated back to its owner.

The man looked up at Cardea coldly, his blue eyes shining in the moonlight.

“You turn,” he said, and readied his whip.

Cardea met his gaze, keeping her defensive posture. She’d never fought against man armed with a whip before, but she was certain she could handle herself if she needed to. The man didn’t seem intimidated by her, either, and she realized that if they did fight, one of them would likely not survive. And yet her instincts screamed to her that this man was not her enemy, and there was no need to fight him. She decided to trust them.

“I wasn’t trying to fight you,” she said slowly. “I was trying to save your life.”

She thought she saw a smirk in those pale blue eyes as she spoke, but the deathly resolve on his face didn’t flinch.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name’s Cardea,” she replied.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, a tone of impatience behind the question.

“I don’t know.”

Now, she could see disbelief in those eyes. He started to circle her, hands adjusting slightly on the whip, and she started moving too to counter him.

“I watched you walk out of that crypt,” he said. “Which means you’re either undead, or you’re a witch.” She’d never heard that word before – undead. Wasn’t something that was not dead certain to be living? He kept circling, and kicked the head of the skeleton they’d just dispatched out of the way as he crossed over the bones. “Both of which I’m sworn to destroy.”

“I’m not a witch or… whatever you said,” Cardea said. “I don’t think I’m supposed to even be here,” and then, added, “wherever here is.”

“How convenient,” the man said. His tone suggested he didn’t believe her, but thought she might be toying with him. “’Here’ is the graveyard of the fallen heroes, where those who dare to enter the Castle Carpathia are laid to rest once they are defeated.”

He moved forward now, and she moved backwards as they continued their circling. “And I am Malleus, the vampire hunter who has vowed to destroy Nosferatu and his evil creatures.” He was nearly in front of the crypt she’d emerged from now.

“Now, I’ll ask you again,” he said, and then stopped next to the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

Cardea didn’t know how to answer that question in a way that this man with these pale, untrusting eyes might accept. So, she simply shrugged, smiled and said, “If I knew, I would tell you.” And then, before, he could get angry, “I’ve never heard of Nose-fur….um…”

“Nosferatu,” the man said with an intensity that made Cardea think that not knowing the name might be worse than knowing it.

So, she nodded. “Right,” she said. “Listen, all I’m trying to do is find my way back home. A few minutes ago, I was on a quest to find the sacred Sword of Damocles.” She wondered if she should tell him the rest, but decided there was no reason not to. “And then, I nearly got trampled by this… weird… army… somewhere.” His eyes narrowed as she fumbled for the words. “And now I’m here,” she finished quickly.

The man stared at her for another moment, but soon lowered his whip.

“A strange story,” he said, “but your clothing and accent are unusual as well.” He looked inside the crypt door behind him and, seeing nothing, pulled it closed. “Not that anything surprises me in this accursed place.”

And now, his eyes seemed to be searching her. “Why should I trust you?” he asked.

“Well, because, um…” Cardea didn’t have a good answer. “I did help you kill that skeleton,” she said, hoping it would be sufficient enough.

Malleus raised a gloved hand to his chin, thinking this over. “I suppose you did,” he said. “And for that, I will let you live.”

He extended his hand now and shooed her away.

“Now… begone,” he said. “This is no place for a woman, even one as odd as you.”

Cardea didn’t appreciate being talked down to. “I can handle myself,” she said.

“Against Nosferatu?” Malleus asked.

“Well, I don’t know who he is, exactly,” Cardea said, and then, defiantly, “but, sure. I’ve fought some pretty scary people.”

Malleus started walking away from her.

“You can’t fight a vampire with a sword and shield,” he said. “You need special training and equipment.”

“What’s a vampire?” Cardea asked, starting after him.

He picked up his speed. “I don’t have time for your nonsense,” he said.

Cardea started walking faster too. “Wait,” she called. “Don’t just leave me here. You could at least answer my question.”

Malleus turned and looked her in the eye with his intense gaze.

“You really don’t know what a vampire is?” he asked.

“Nope,” Cardea replied.

“You’re not allied with Nosferatu or the forces of darkness?”

“No,” she said again, shaking her head this time.

“You really don’t know where you are?” His eyes seemed to soften a bit as his skepticism faded.

“Not a clue,” Cardea said, offering an apologetic smile.

Malleus sighed. “Come with me, and I’ll explain as much as I can,” he said. “You’d better be able to use that sword.”

“I can,” Cardea said. “One quick question, though…” Malleus looked annoyed, so she did indeed keep it quick. “Where are we going, exactly?”

Malleus pointed up to the horizon, and Cardea saw the forbidding silhouette of a stone fortress up ahead on a hill.

“There,” Malleus said, and he picked up the pace. “Keep up, or I’ll leave you behind.”

The graveyard was quiet, but it was clear that Malleus had been here. Fenrir entered on all fours, sniffing carefully, picking up the scent of his nemesis amidst the pile of bones lying on the ground, as well as the scent of someone else. That was interesting. Malleus tended to work alone.

Fenrir felt the hair on his back raise, and he let out a fierce snarl to warn whatever was lurking to show itself. He was not one of Nosferatu’s servants, nor was he bent on their destruction. But he was, like them, a creature of night, and an enemy of Malleus. Few of the minions in this place would be bold enough to attack a seven-foot tall werewolf… especially one that already bore the mark of a battle with Malleus on his snout.

The lurking figure emerged from the shadows. “Easy, easy,” it was saying.”I’m on your side.” A man’s voice, with a scent different from the other two Fenrir had picked up. The man stepped into view, and it was clear that he was a fearsome creature himself – beautiful, yes, with long white hair and dazzling armor, but with glowing green eyes that showed no fear.

The man drew closer. “Do you smell her?” he asked. Fenrir growled a bit, but let the man continue. “She’s the one I’m after,” he said.

“I only hunt Malleus,” Fenrir replied.

The man merely shrugged. “Then you will never catch him on your own,” he said. “He moves with great determination, and his companion is an excellent fighter.” The man started to pace, as if he were coming up with a plan on the spot. But Fenrir knew this had been calculated, and he didn’t like being a pawn in someone else’s game.

“But if you were somehow able to get ahead and ambush them…” the man continued.

“Get to the point before I rip out your throat,” said Fenrir.

The man didn’t seem even slightly intimidated. “It’s very simple,” he said. “I want the girl, you want Malleus.” Fenrir growled to acknowledge the fact. “I can place them in your hands if you will simply kill Malleus and capture the girl for me.”

Fenrir’s tail began to wag. He couldn’t help that. He liked what he was hearing too much.

“Do we have a deal?” the man asked.

Fenrir smiled as much as a wolf-man could smile.

“For now,” he said.

Now that Malleus had decided that Cardea was an ally rather than a threat, he’d become quite chatty. Cardea was slightly annoyed with his patronizing tone, but she decided that it wasn’t worth the trouble to interrupt him.

“…Most of the monsters you’ll encounter can be killed with a strike or two from any weapon,” he was saying. “A dagger, an axe, a boomerang or your sword.” He demonstrated that he possessed each of these other weapons as he spoke. “But Nosferatu himself?” he continued. “He’s surrounded by powerful demonic magic, and only a weapon charged with holy counter magic, like my whip, can shatter his defense long enough to use one of these.”

He pulled away his jacket and revealed a bandoleer of wooden stakes strapped across his chest. They were each in the shape of a cross, much like the symbols in the graveyard.

“Wooden stakes, soaked in garlic and blessed by a priest,” said Malleus. “A vampire hunter’s ultimate weapon.”

Cardea felt like Malleus had spent far too long explaining the obvious. “All right, so you walk in and kill the bad guy,” she summarized. “Then what?”

“It isn’t that easy,” Malleus said, and began counting off on his fingers as he spoke. “First, you have to get into the castle, which is no simply task – the gates are guarded by a Minotaur. Then, you have to make your way through the lower levels, which are crawling with monsters. After that, you have to make your way up to the clock tower and defeat the demon lord who guards the entrance to the upper floors. And next, after a lot more fighting… Nosferatu’s elite undead warriors.”

There was that word again. Cardea decided not to inquire since he continued speaking. “Then, and only then,” he said, “do you gain access to Nosferatu’s chambers, and everyone who has ever managed to make it even that far has come back dead.”

That much she understood. “So, what makes you think you’ve got a chance?” she asked.

Malleus smiled mysteriously. “Suffice it to say I have a secret weapon,” he replied.

“I see,” said Cardea. They continued walking. “So…” she said after a moment. “What is it?”

“A surprise,” Malleus said. “Live long enough to fight Nosferatu with me and you’ll see.”

“But…” Cardea started to say, but Malleus stopped. His pale blue eyes went wide.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Shhh…” he said, and the grabbed his whip as he looked around. “Someone’s watching us.”

At that moment, a giant wolf leapt through the air, plowing into Malleus and knocking him over.

The two struggled on the ground, and as Cardea approached to help, the wolfish creature snapped at her, nearly taking her arm off. She started looking around for something she could do, and spotted a ridge nearby that appeared to have a drop below so steep that she couldn’t see the bottom. “That edge over there!” she shouted. “Throw him over it!”

“Get him off me first!” Malleus shouted. Cardea rushed forward, shield in front of her face, and tried to poke at the wolf with her sword. But it was far too intelligent to be injured so easily, and it swatted her sword away with its paw as it tried to wrap its teeth around Malleus’s neck.

Cardea regained control of her sword and raked it against the wolf’s back, giving it a shallow gash, but painful enough to get the wolf’s attention. It turned towards her and lunged quite quickly. Cardea held up her shield and braced herself for the impact of the wolf’s weight.

But suddenly, the wolf jerked backwards, and Cardea could see now that Malleus had managed to wrap his whip around its neck. The wolf stood up on its hind legs and turned towards Malleus, knocking him aside with one of its forelegs. The wolf dropped on top of Malleus, its snout grinning viciously in Malleus’s face.

“Finally,” the wolfish creature said. “You die.”

It didn’t expect for Cardea to tackle it, pushing forward with her shield, nor did it expect to lose its footing and go over the side of the cliff.

But she’d forgotten that Malleus had wrapped his whip around the wolf’s neck. Malleus started to feel himself getting pulled down, and, in a moment of panic, grabbed Cardea’s leg instead of letting go of the handle.

Before either of them could realize what was happening, they were falling down into the darkness after the wolf, and Cardea felt an all-too-familiar sensation as the nothingness of the air around them seemed to swallow them whole…

Cardea and Malleus have just begun their journey, and things get even more exciting in the next chapter, where they visit a world where machines have destroyed almost everything that is natural… and provide aid to a terrifying villain. Don’t miss it! (A link will be placed on this page once the next chapter goes live.)

If you enjoyed this chapter of Minus World, be sure to let your friends know about it as well… and be sure to give it a thumbs up below!

Minus World is Copyright 2011, Sean J. Jordan. All rights reserved. All artwork is by Jesse Elliot.

Rocco didn’t care how many times he had to head into the sewers.

The princess needed to be rescued, and he was the only one who could do it.

He stood up and adjusted his hard hat and work gloves as he surveyed his surroundings. The sewers were full of darkness and shifting shadows, and he knew that there were plenty of pits ahead just waiting for him to slip and fall in. Ahead would be narrow tunnels, hidden passageways, and all sorts of simple-minded giant insects willing to sacrifice themselves to try to make him their next meal. They were nothing compared to the master’s minions, of course, but still quite formidable.

He started forward, and spotted the large eyes of one of the bugs, shining in the slight glow of the luminescent fungus growing in the walls. The bug was cute enough on the outside, but Rocco had dealt with infestations of these things before. Underneath their shell lay a monstrosity of legs and stinging hairs. Fortunately, he’d learned some tricks for dealing with them. He started to run now, charging straight towards the creature.

And then, just before he crashed into it, he leapt into the air, smashing down hard with his boots as he landed, squashing the thing flat.

Rocco didn’t stop to see if it was dead. He didn’t need to. But if there was one, there were surely more nearby, which meant that he had little time to waste. He kept running until he saw a wall ahead, with a narrow tunnel underneath. The grime of the sewers tended to accumulate in these narrow spaces, and he’d learned that if he slowed down, he might find himself trapped and vulnerable.

As he approached the wall, he ducked down into a slide, kicking out his feet to knock away anything that might be waiting for him on the other side. For a moment, he could see nothing but the stone walls of the tight tunnel around him. As he emerged into another large corridor, he saw a surprised-looking insect turning towards him, preparing for an attack.

His hand found a rock along the ground, and he scooped it up and tossed it at the insect as hard as he could. The impact of the rock knocked the insect away like it was nothing. Rocco barely noticed as he leapt back up and continued his dash down the corridor. He could hear the buzzing starting up all around him. One bug behind him wasn’t nearly as troubling as what was coming. He’d have to get out of the sewers, quick, or he’d be done for.

These old sewers were built on tops of the ruins an older city, and there were pits everywhere. Rocco leapt over one, and then another, but nearly lost his footing as he crossed a third. He’d never been down into those pits – never wanted to. For all he knew, they had no bottom. It wouldn’t be good now to find out.

He pushed on, and a bola of fire whizzed past his head. He looked up and saw a pair of beetles up ahead on a platform, each whirling a set of bolas meant for him. He pressed forward, dodging the bolas as they tossed them, and got up underneath them. Before they could realize what he was doing, he leapt up, smashing into the platform with his hard hat, knocking them off their footing so they fell on their backs.

He imagined that they were lying there, legs writhing in the air as they tried to right themselves, like roaches going through their death throes. Rocco knew that they’d be propped back up soon enough as their brethren closed in on him. Already, the buzzing was getting louder. Fortunately, he could see a glint of light ahead – a sure sign that he approaching the hatch that would lead him out.

He kept running, and the buzzing started getting louder. He could see something up ahead, rushing towards him at a tremendous speed. Whatever it was, it was human, clad in the same uniform he was wearing. This surprised him, and he slowed long enough to realize that he was seeing a reflection of himself in a long, tall mirror hanging on the wall.

“Hmmm,” he mused. He’d never seen a mirror in the sewers before – not that this was a normal mirror, since it seemed to lack a frame. What’s more, there didn’t seem to be any way past it. He could see the pipe up ahead, but this mirror was hanging on a wall that was far too tall for him to jump over. The buzzing intensified, and he glanced over his shoulder to see how much time he had. The swarm of angry insects on its way assured him that he did not have very much.

“Rocco!” a voice shouted. Rocco nearly jumped, surprised to hear his name. He turned back towards the mirror and saw something even more unusual – a tall man clad in ornate black and white armor adorned with a flowing crimson cape, with long white hair and strange, small almond-shaped eyes that seemed to be glowing in a deep green hue. The man looked so different from anything Rocco had ever seen, almost like a reflection in a funhouse.

“Jump into the mirror,” the man commanded him. Rocco hesitated at this strange request, wondering if perhaps his fear had gotten the better of him and he was imagining the whole thing. The buzzing intensified as the insect army drew closer.

“Quickly,” the man shouted. “You don’t have much time.”

Rocco suddenly realized that whatever might happen by following this man in the mirror was surely preferable to the certain, painful death he’d experience when the swarm descended upon him. He leapt forward, expecting to feel the mirror breaking as he made contact with it. Instead, he felt himself falling into a void of blackness, the buzzing sound that was nearly overwhelming him a moment before fading into a place of distant memory. The sensation of falling kept on, even though he could no longer tell if he was actually moving. He wondered if perhaps he’d been tricked into leaping into one of those pits he’d been avoiding.

For a moment, he felt a horror rise within him, and he remembered that he’d been told that the master had taken powerful magicians into his employ. But no – this man had looked far too alien to work for the Master. In fact, Rocco could sense that this man was not the sort who was content to be anyone’s minion. It was odd to get that feeling merely from a voice and a quick glance, but Rocco’s adventures had taught him to size up potential enemies quickly. Whether this man was a friend or enemy, he couldn’t tell.

Suddenly, Rocco felt a splash around him and realized that he was underwater, his fall slowing as he plunged towards the bottom. It was unexpected, and he found himself starting to panic. Quickly, he started kicking and paddling up. It was difficult to see around him, but he looked down and saw what appeared to be a very large octopus hurtling up towards him. He sensed that it was trying to grab him, and swam up as quickly as he could, up towards a bright light and a dark spot above…

…a dark spot, he realized, that appeared to be some sort of platform sitting atop the water.

The waters parted as he broke his way up to the surface, and he grappled on to the platform, pulling himself up. A tentacle followed him out of the water, but seemed to think better of its actions and slowly retreated. Rocco flopped over and started up at the clear blue sky with its shining sun. Somehow, something didn’t seem right about them, but he couldn’t exactly explain what it was.

He could hear someone clapping beside him, and he glanced over. This island was made up of blocks, somehow suspended over the water, and arranged at different elevations. The clapping was coming from the man from the mirror, who was sitting up on the topmost block, looking down at Rocco with a sly smile.

“Well done, my friend,” said the man with the white hair. “Welcome to the Minus World.”

Rocco sat up slightly, bracing himself with his elbow and bending his knees. “The Minus World?” he sputtered, and coughed. His mouth tasted like brine.

The man nodded, and his smile widened.

“I would try to explain it, but…” he said, and gestured wide with his arms. “Better that you first experience it for yourself.”

Rocco found himself suddenly irritated. His quest had been of the utmost urgency, and it was clear that this strange man had decided to interfere.

“I don’t have time to play games,” said Rocco. “I need to save the Princess.”

The man with the white hair pointed off into the horizon.

“Of course, of course,” the man said. “That way.”  Rocco looked, but realized he wasn’t sure what direction that was – the sun was directly overhead.

“Just keep swimming and you’ll eventually find dry land,” the man continued. “From there, it’s up to you.”

Rocco looked down at the water. It seemed to be endless, in all directions, and quite still for an ocean.

“I hate swimming,” Rocco said.

The man with the white hair continued to smile. “Then perhaps you won’t have to, once you begin to understand this world better,” he said. “Think about what I’ve said.”

And then slowly, the man began to brighten, as if he was made of light. Even the blackest parts of his armor seemed to shine as the light increased in intensity.

“I’ll see you later,” the man said. The light disappeared, and Rocco realized after a moment that the man was gone.

Rocco took off his hard hat and gloves and stood up, surveying the area around him. There didn’t seem to be anything but water anywhere. After looking around for a moment, he found himself scratching his head.

“What?” he said aloud. The quiet waters below gave him no answer.

Rocco’s adventure is just beginning, but next week, we’ll begin with Level 1-1, where we’ll be introduced to Cardea and Malleus, two characters who have a history they have yet to realize… and a strange connection to the man with the white hair. Don’t miss it! (A link will be placed on this page once the next chapter goes live.)

If you enjoyed this first chapter of Minus World, be sure to let your friends know about it as well… and be sure to give it a thumbs up below!

Minus World is Copyright 2011, Sean J. Jordan. All rights reserved. All artwork is by Jesse Elliot.

Photo Credit: midnightcomm @ Flickr.com

“You must be a mother,” the man said. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

Ellie smiled politely. She was used to complete strangers approaching her and wanting to see her baby. It was hard to say what might motivate that sort of behavior in people – somehow, you just seemed to become more approachable when you were wheeling around a stroller. It was certainly not what she’d expected. Her husband, Mark, had always complained that parents had eyed him suspiciously when he’d show any interest towards their children, as if they feared that any man who spoke to a child must be trying to harm them. Ellie had found very little reason to be suspicious of people, and was more annoyed by the attention than paranoid about their intentions.

“How old is your baby?” the man asked.

“About a month old,” she said, and began wheeling her stroller through the parking lot towards the Target store entrance. The man walked along beside them, though not close enough that Ellie was concerned. He was a large man with short brown hair, wearing dress slacks, a plaid shirt and thick plastic glasses. He wore a smile that seemed to be a regular feature on his face. By all appearances, he seemed rather harmless.

“I’ll bet you’re ready for her to sleep through the night,” the man said, and laughed.

Ellie laughed too, out of politeness. “Oh, yeah,” she intoned. “I used to think I know what it meant to be tired. And then we had a baby.”

They were approaching the entrance now, and the man began walking faster. “Enjoy your day,” he said, and vanished into the store.

Ellie went about her business, too, picking up a desperately-needed nursing bra and some snacks. She crossed paths with the man twice, both times making polite eye contact and offering a nod. By the time she was done and on her way to the register, she saw him again, this time speaking to another woman with a stroller.

“You must be a mother,” he was saying to her. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

Ellie wasn’t certain why it bothered her so much for the man to be saying that to another woman who was obviously a mother. But as she passed by and made her way to the checkout lane, she felt a twinge of disappointment building within her, like this odd interaction should have been hers and hers alone.

“Are you having a Happy Mother’s Day?” the cashier asked her as she checked out.

“I suppose so,” said Ellie. And she wanted to add, but I wish I didn’t have to share it.

Photo Credit: Patrick Q (Flickr.com) Used Under Creative Commons License.

He made his way over to the cookie aisle, walking as quickly as he could around the store’s layout. It never made sense to him that grocery stores worked so hard to route you through the produce aisle and by the deli before you go to anything else. Surely if you needed produce or deli items, you’d make a beeline for them. Putting the good stuff in the middle of the store — that had to lose customers.

He reached the cookie aisle, and started searching for the brand he normally bought. It took a minute, but he found them.

$3.59 was the price.

I’m not spending that much, he thought, and started to look at the other choices around him. There were dozens of items to choose from, spanning a space of least 20 feet of shelving. Nothing was priced around his range, and he decided not to worry so much about price.

It was as if he’d knocked over a dam. The number of choices available to him flooded into his mind now, and he found himself pacing up and down the aisle, unsure of what to do. Everything sounded viable; anything would do. But now, he was afraid about what he might give up to get another alternative. He considered the chocolate cookies, but wasn’t sure chocolate was the flavor he wanted; the ginger snaps sounded good, but they weren’t exactly his favorite. He went on like that, unable to make a decision. His brain felt like it was getting soggy now.

Finally, he realized he was going to miss his bus. He grabbed a pack of fudge-coated animal crackers and decided to make a beeline for the beverages so he could get his cream soda. Twice, he turned back to see if he could make a better choice than the animal crackers, but both times, he turned himself around and pushed forward. He grabbed his soda and ignored the impulse racks next to the U-Scan lane. He knew he just had to get out of here. But his mind kept pressing him to consider other alternatives. It was as if he couldn’t commit to the decision.

So, he opened the bag as soon as he scanned it, grabbed out a handful of animal cookies, and jammed them into his mouth to chew on while he paid.

The waters in his mind seemed to recede, and he realized he was all right with the choice he’d made.

And as he slid his credit card through the reader, chewing away on the almost waxy fudge of the animal crackers, he marveled that he’d managed to even make a decision with so many choices to sort through.

Photo Credit: Lisa Norwood (Flickr.com) Used Under Creative Commons License.

“So go then,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her book. “The dishes will be here for you when you get back.”

“Can’t you do them, just tonight?” asked Joe.

“You know the rules,” she said. “I cook, you clean.”

He sighed as he tightened up the laces on his running shoes. “I’ll be too tired when I get back,” he said.

“Then I’d suggest you work your lower body tonight so your arms will be up to the task,” she said. “No excuses.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, and stood up. “Gotta run.”

“Hah hah,” she said. “Are you going to be warm enough? The temperature’s in the low teens.”

“I’ll be fine, once I get moving,” he said. “It’s just a few blocks, anyway.”

“Mmhmm,” she said, and reached over towards the package of cookies sitting on the table beside her. “Watch out for ice.”

“There’s no ice out there,” he said. “It’s been too dry.”

Her fingers plucked a cookie shaped like an elf from the package. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” he said. He kissed her on the forehead as she ate, patted her pregnant belly to say goodbye to the baby, and headed out the door.

It was cold outside, but not windy. That was fine. Joe walked quickly, stretching his arms as he strode, and then started practicing some karate punches. It was a good way to warm up, both in terms of getting himself ready to run and in terms of keeping his actual body temperature up. Plus, it would keep anyone passing by from messing with him. Not that mugging was a problem in a neighborhood two blocks from the police station, but hey. Joe liked to think he looked tough enough – or crazy enough – that he wasn’t worth the trouble.

A n SUV drove by, headlights a little brighter than they probably should have been, and Joe found himself looking down and away, slightly blinded, but keeping up those karate punches with his right hand. He switched to his left hand after number thirty, keeping his right up to guard, and working some jabs. As his eyes traveled back upwards, he saw something lying in the gutter up ahead – a black mass of something, with what looked like a bright orange extension cord or bike chain or something wrapped around it.

Joe kept walking, working his left arm, and found himself wondering what, exactly, he was seeing. As he got a little bit closer, he could see that it was a black cat, just lying there, with that weird cord wrapped around it. He was moving pretty briskly, and didn’t think much of it. Why would someone wrap a cord around a cat? he wondered as he passed by. The cat’s body faded in his peripheral vision, and he switched to alternating uppercuts as he crossed the street. Did someone strange it with the cord and then throw it out of the car?

As he reached the other side of the street, he could see the gym up ahead. But suddenly, he found himself looking back. What if it’s alive? he wondered. Should I do something? He dropped his hands to his side, and stood there, looking at the cat’s body. It was very still. He looked both ways to make sure the street was clear and started to cross back over a little more slowly.

The cat was definitely not moving, and he scanned it for any telltale sign that it might be alive. As he got closer, he could see some frost that had settled in its fur. He thought about reaching down to touch it, to see if perhaps it was just lying still to conserve energy. He wondered if perhaps unwrapping that cord would make it spring to life.

And then, as he stood next to the gutter and examined the cat more closely, he realized why it was wrapped in an orange cord. Its entrails had come out of its body and frozen in the chill night air. The cat had clearly been hit by a car, and its gut had ruptured. Someone had clearly moved it to the gutter to die.

Joe forgot about being cold. He forgot about everything. He just stood there, looking down at the cat, a million thoughts flashing through his mind, a sort of paralysis overtaking him and keeping him rooted there, horrified at what he was seeing.

Photo Credit: Trina Baker (Flickr.com)

The canvas was blank.

The artist stared at his hand.

It wasn’t that he was looking for inspiration – after all, he knew exactly what it was that he wanted to paint. The problem wasn’t in the idea.

It was in finding the right place to start.

His eyes followed the lines on the inside of his palm. It was like looking at a river on a map – he could trace each line, and see it branch out into tributaries, streams and creeks. He could see the delta up near his index finger, and the stronger, deeper, more powerful line it formed. He wondered which way the water would flow on his hand – towards his thumb, or towards the outer edge of his palm.

He thought about spitting on his hand, just to see how the liquid would flow, but no—that would defeat the purpose of the exercise. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking; just staring.

He turned his vision to a small piece of calloused skin that had turned white and flaky. Underneath it, his hand was smooth, free of the wrinkles and creases he could see elsewhere. The hard skin on the top wore its ridges much more deeply than the skin around it. It was as if the top layer removed all signs of age as it came off his skin; the bottom layer was fresh and new, wrinkle-free and able to be molded into something new. He wondered if the texture of the paintbrush would start to shape it. Perhaps his hand would take on the smooth polish of the wood. Perhaps it would even start to feel smooth, like the wood, and give the brush a point on his hand on which he might lose control. That would be unfortunate. He could see himself now, painting and slipping just a bit. A slip of the brush could cost him hours of work if it was too severe.

He sighed and turned his hand over. The purpose of this exercise was to put the mind in a creative place, not to stifle his creative energy with thoughts of failure. The back of his hand – now that was an interesting place, far more worthy of creative consideration. He flexed his fingers, watching the muscles of his knuckle push up the mountainous bones that controlled his fingers, along with the skeletal structures under the skin that seemed to pop up. His gaze went deeper into the flesh, admiring the individual craters that made up the surface of the skin. Some of them had fine blond hairs sticking out, but most didn’t seem to have any hair at all. He wondered if the craters were supposed to be hair follicles, or if they were just tiny dimples in the skin.

He’d heard, once, that the reason human fingers were so dexterous was because they had tiny, eye-like sensory organs in their tips. They weren’t eyes in the conventional sense, but more like sensors that could see with a sort of blind sight – aware of things, but not conscious of them.

He stretched his fingers up under his eyes and studied them carefully. The light overhead gleamed off their tips. One would think, if there were any eyes on the fingers, you would be able to see them wincing in that light. He turned his gaze slight away from his fingers, but watched them in his peripheral vision, waiting to see if he could detect some sort of motion – some sign of eyes opening and closing. He waited, watching, and thought, for a moment, that perhaps he’d seen something. But he realized it was more likely a trick of the light, or an error of his eye.

His eye flitted to the canvas in front of him, and suddenly, he knew exactly where to begin. The entire plan seemed to appear on the canvas in front of him, almost like a paint-by numbers picture stacked upon other layers.

He picked up his brush, and he began to paint.

Photo credit: Hellgasms! (Flickr.com)

“I don’t know what to do,” Mark confessed. “I’ve tried everything.”

Elly sat silently, the pancake makeup on her face glistening in the bright lights of the living room. Her expression was dull, probably the result of the pot she had reeked of when she’d climbed in her window. It wasn’t the first night Mark and Rhea had caught her sneaking out of her room to go out partying in parts unknown. But it was the first time they’d decided to greet her as she returned from her misadventures.

But Elly didn’t seem to care, and as she sat in her chair — the same chair Mark had built for her in his shop, with the little heart carved into the top and the pink trim he’d painted on himself — she almost seemed to be biding her time, waiting for her parents to release her so she could go to bed blissfully unrepentent.

“I have some ideas,” said Rhea. She paced around the room angrily as she ticked off her options on her fingers. “I’m calling tomorrow and getting an alarm system installed that will go off if any door or window gets opened. I’m also going to have them put cameras outside so I can see everyone who comes and goes from this house at any hour. And I’m taking a picture of that…” she spat the word, “…boy that we found in your room down last week to the school principal to find out who he is, and then, I’m going to the police to file charges.”

Elly rolled her eyes, but said nothing.

“And if you thought you were miserable before being grounded,” Rhea laughed now. “Ho, ho, missy, you’re going to love your new life, because I’m going to pick you up from school every afternoon and make you go sit down at the office with me until I’m done working. And then, you’re coming straight home, and sitting out where we can see you until we go to bed. No more shutting yourself up here in your room, no more hiding out in the car, no more trips down to the basement. When we look up, we’ll see you, and if we don’t, we’ll make sure you’re back in our sight before you can count to ten. You’ll be lucky if I let you close the door when you go to the bathroom.”

Mark listened to his wife ramble on, and sunk into the mattress on his daughter’s bed for a moment. He remembered when they’d taken her to the store and picked out this bed together, when she’d turned twelve. It had been a big deal to her, to graduate from the little twin bed she’d had since she was three years old to a double bed where she could keep all of her stuffed animals. That had just been four years ago. It was amazing to think that the little girl who had seemed so immature and innocent was now sneaking out and doing all sorts of things Mark had never dreamed she’d do.

“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Rhea demanded. Mark sat up, and looked at his daughter.

“I’ve got Saturday detention in the morning,” Elly said. “Let me go to bed.”

Rhea turned to Mark. “She doesn’t even care!” she said. “Say something to her!” Her eyes were pleading: Tell her how dangerous the world really is, or how girls who sneak out and do drugs wind up dead, or how sex with men she barely knows can give her an STD or get her pregnant. Tell her something to make her straighten up and be our little girl again.

Mark knew that none of that would matter. And so he stood up, looked at his wife sadly, and said, in a quiet voice, “You both go to bed.” He walked over to the chair where Elly was sitting, and touched her on the shoulder. “Go clean up.”

Elly stood up. “I’ve got to go wash my face,” she said, and walked out towards the bathroom.

Rhea looked at him with wide eyes. “What was that?” she demanded. “Are you just going to give up on her?”

“No,” Mark said. He stroked the chair he’d made, his fingers running along the heart in the frame. “I’m going to sit here, and make sure that she doesn’t try to leave again. And tomorrow, we’ll get that alarm appointment scheduled. Everything you said was right.”

“But what do we do?” Rhea asked. “She can’t go on like this. She’s going to get in real trouble, Mark, and we’re not going to be able to help her.”

Mark nodded as he sat down. “I know,” he said. “But we’ve done everything we can do for her. She’s made us in to wardens. And wardens don’t scream or yell. They just make sure the sentence is served and that the prisoners don’t kill each other.”

“You make it sound like we should just let her go do whatever she wants,” Rhea said.

“No,” said Mark. “I’m just saying that the more resents us, the less effective we are. There’s got to be a better way.”

“Whatever, Mark,” Rhea said. “I’m going to bed.”

Elly eventually settled back into the room, wearing a tight t-shirt and pajama shorts with the word, “juicy” written on the back. He didn’t realize she owned those, but he’d make sure she didn’t get any more like them. She shot her father a look of contempt, settled into bed, and turned away from him as she turned out the light above her bed.

And Mark sat, and watched his daughter angrily drift off into sleep, and thought about a solution to the problem — a way for their family to be whole once more. A way that would work.

But by the time the sun rose, he still found himself without an answer.

Photo Credit: Aussiegall (Flickr.com)

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” confessed Chris. He pulled his head out from underneath the car’s hood. “I mean, I have some ideas, but I don’t really know enough about cars to say.”

The car had been lost power during his commute, and he’d barely gotten it home. It was a weird problem — the battery seemed to have no problems at low speeds, but completely went out during high speeds. If he was driving locally, the car was fine. If he was on the highway, the dashboard would go out, the air would turn off, and the car would have trouble accelerating.

“Well, take it to a mechanic,” said Alice.

“I can’t afford it,” said Chris. “I just had to replace my starter last month.”

“Charge it, then,” she said. “You’ve got to have a car. It’s not like you can get to work without one.”

She was right about that. But Chris was reluctant to tell her that his credit cards were already maxed, and that he was already worried he might have to declare bankruptcy if, God forbid, he lost his job. It wasn’t that Chris was bad with money, per se – it was just that he hadn’t slowed his spending down quickly enough, when he’d been cut back to a part-time position, and he hadn’t considered how quickly his credit card balances would shoot up.

So, he was in a precarious position now. He’d hoped it would be something simple that he could fix himself. But as he stared at the engine, schematics in hand, he realized that he had no idea of how to fix the blasted thing. He’d had to make a few repairs in the past, but they’d always been very minor things. This problem was far out of his realm of repair consciousness.

He cursed. “I hate feeling like this,” he said.

“What do you mean?” asked Alice.

“Helpless. Incompetent. Stupid,” he said. “Car repair seems like one of those basic skills everyone should have to learn. Why don’t they teach this stuff in high school?”

“They do, I think,” said Alice. “I mean, I think they did at my school, anyway.”

“Well, not at mine, and if they did, I didn’t take it,” fumed Chris. “It should have been a required class. Why don’t they make you learn stuff you actually need to know instead of stuff you don’t even care about?”

“That makes sense,” said Alice, her smile slightly wry. “Your car breaks down, and so of course it’s the educational system’s fault and not yours.”

“Don’t get all defensive,” Chris said. “Just because you’re a teacher doesn’t mean you know what’s best.”

Now Alice’s smile dropped into a dangerous frown. “I know a hell of a lot more about education than you do,” she said. “I’ve got a master’s degree. You never even finished college.”

“Right, let’s just bring that back up,” said Chris. He slammed his screwdriver down on the ground in anger. “Chris is a failure. He can’t finish anything he starts.”

“I never said that!” shouted Alice. “I never said that. All I said was that you need to finish one day.”

“Once again, because you think you know better than me!” Chris fired back. He yanked the car hood down now and stepped towards her. “If you think I’m such a failure, you fix the car!”

“Fix your own car!” Alice said. “At least I can afford to keep mine running! Maybe if you’d go get a job that didn’t require a nametag, you’d be able to keep your bills paid.”

Chris felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “That was low,” he said quietly. “You know it’s been a rough year.”

“And yet somehow, I’ve managed!” shouted Alice. “They’re cutting jobs left and right in my field, but I’ve held on!”

Chris stormed inside the house as she said it, leaving her out in the garage. She didn’t follow him in, and he assumed she’d gone home when he looked out the window a few minutes later and saw that her car was no longer there.

He felt boiled over, with no ambition to do anything but sit in front of the TV and fume. The car wasn’t getting fixed today. That much he knew. But the whole experience had been a reminder that he had plenty of other things in his life that were broken as well.

Photo Credit: Mike Baird (Flickr.com)

George let out a heavy sigh as he stared as his naked body in the mirror. From the front, it looked find. But when he started to turn even slightly to the side, it became clear that his figure wasn’t as flat as he wanted to believe.

“When did this happen?” he asked his wife, Elli, who was busy showering behind him. “I was thin when we got married, wasn’t I?”

“That was ten years ago, George,” Elli said, her voice raised slightly to cut through the noise of the falling water. “You were a lot more active then.”

“I don’t think I was,” said George. “The kids and the dogs wear me out. I think I’m probably more active now than I was then.”

“Well, it’s your metabolism, then,” Elli called. “I don’t know. Maybe if you’d quit eating hamburgers and hot dogs for lunch every day, you’d be better off. Or lay off the beer when you get home.”

“I don’t know,” said George. “I’m skeptical that it has much to do with my diet.”

It took Elli a moment to respond — it sounded like she was in the midst of washing her hair – and George turned to the other side, and clutched his gut. It wasn’t huge, and it didn’t even really feel like fat. He could feel his ribcage underneath his slightly sagging breasts.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Elli said. “Either eat less or exercise more. It’s up to you.”

“I don’t know,” said George. He released his gut, and watched it jiggle. “I guess I could start eating more salad.”

“That’s probably a good start,” said his wife.

George started to dress. “It’s just… I don’t know,” he said. “You cover salad in meat and dressing and cheese, and you might as well just be eating a pizza, you know?”

“Then why don’t you use our gym membership?” Elli asked. “We’re paying for you to go, and you never use it.”

“I hate the gym,” George said. “It just doesn’t seem natural to me.”

Elli turned off the shower and pulled a towel behind the curtain. “You look fine, George,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind if you lost a little weight, but really, when you’re dressed, you look fine. Don’t be so self-conscious about it.”

George didn’t believe a word of it, of course. Elli cared. She had to. She just didn’t want to get into an argument and was trying to end the conversation. George knew full well that she’d complained about his weight to one of her friends.

“There’s got to be a better way,” he mused. “But what is it? Why is it so hard for us, with everything we can do with technology today, to lose weight?”

Elli didn’t have an answer. And George realized, as he buttoned up his shirt, that he didn’t either.