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Avenged

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Trigger Warning: Gore / Violence Against Children As a homicide detective, I thought I had seen it all until, one day, I came across a sight I never thought I’d see. The bodies of multiple children were thrown into a pile on the outskirts of the town. I felt knots form from my stomach to my throat as my partner and I investigated the bodies; the children were tortured before they were shot in the back of their heads. They were all minorities, so we started cracking down on supremacists and other gangs in the area, but every route we took led us to an impasse. As we ran around in circles, the bodies kept piling up every other week. By the time the second month rolled around, we were staring at a three-digit body count. I saw their faces every time my head hit the pillow, and I stared at the ceiling for hours, hoping and wishing to get my hands on those responsible. I could barely even eat anymore. My partner’s hopes of catching the murderers slowly eroded as this dragged on, but I doubl
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Lost Tales

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I spent most of my childhood dreaming and daydreaming about different worlds, imagining so many stories unfolding in my mind every single day. Mom always told me I had a vivid imagination and encouraged me to write whatever I dreamt about. She said she was just like me when she was young, and that writing all those stories down from a young age was a major factor that contributed to her becoming an author. I took her advice and started writing when I was just six, and over the years, I had so many stories of my own that I was proud of. However, my preferring fiction over everything else pushed me into a corner in social situations; a lot of my classmates thought me a freak and often bullied me. I struggled to make friends for many years, and once I reached my teens, I finally gave up on it. My stories were enough, I didn’t need any friends. My characters were my second family. After I finished school and started working, however, my writing slowly faded into the background of my life.
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The Shadow of the Soul

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From a very young age, I could always see two shadows on either side of every person I met. Mom always said I had a vivid imagination, but I knew it was much more than that. Each of these shadow pairs had a strong presence around them, as if exerting pressure on their surroundings. But I was the only one who seemed to sense it. Mom always said it would all disappear as I grew older, but they never did. I still felt those strange presences even when I reached my early teens. I brought it up with her again, but she was quick to dismiss the topic, saying I should just ignore it. From then on, I decided to never speak of it to anyone, but I still wouldn’t give up trying to understand exactly what those beings were. I observed my classmates’ behaviours and saw if there was a connection between their actions and the shadows. At first, I didn’t see anything significant, but as time passed, I came to understand that the shadows were in fact swaying the decisions of their hosts, be it for bette
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Escaping All Confines

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It was three in the morning when the half-demon named Jackal was awoken by repeated knocking at his front door. Snapping alight the torches fixed upon his wall, he made his way through the main hall, opening it ready for another group of drunks or vandals, but it was the land’s sole princess at his doorstep. “Princess Ashlyn, what brings you here at this hour?” “My father intends to have me married within a month. I am to stay here until someone worthy arrives.” Jackal was furious; the nerve of the king to use him as bait. It was one of those times where he wished he hadn’t inherited his mother’s compassion. If he were all-demon, he may not have felt guilty about ridding the king within the following hour. Jackal took pity on the princess and welcomed her into his home. He led her to what was once his mother’s room, left untouched as it was a decade ago, save for the weekly cleaning. Ashlyn apologised to Jackal, saying that she would have never chosen this if it were up to her. He foun
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A Deadly Routine

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I was discharged from the military only a month ago, but somehow, my energy levels had begun to deplete drastically. With the time it usually took me to do a hundred pushups, now I could barely do even ten. I tried everything from changing my diet to altering my routine, but nothing worked. Not even my husband, who was a doctor, could help me with the issue. Two months passed and I could barely take a walk outdoors without feeling exhausted by the end of the trip. I spoke about my issues with my best friend, and she said that maybe I should hire a hitman to ensure I stick to my routine. She said she knew someone who’d accept such a job. I knew my friend was joking, but seeing my options disappear one by one, I decided to take my chances.  I hired the hitman my best friend knew; he was amused by my proposal. He asked me how he would get paid if he were to actually take me out. I assured him it would never come to that and paid him half of the promised sum upfront. The initial contract w
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Followed by Death

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I carried the label of “freak” with me to every school I went to. I was at my sixth school, sitting in a corner of the cafeteria while trying to avoid the latest group of bullies when, suddenly, I felt a cold breeze brush past me. “Not again … ” I wished I didn’t hear anything this time. Thankfully, I didn’t. It started six years ago when I was ten. I began to feel presences that weren’t there, and felt as if something was always trying to reach out to me. This happened no matter how many times I switched schools, and each time, the presence I felt was a different one. My mom, being superstitious, made things worse for me by forcing me to wear protective rings and chains that brought too much attention to me. Many classmates made fun of me, saying I was a witch. I sometimes wondered whether they were right. If only I could fully see what was reaching out to me… One morning, I was with my eyes shut while listening to music when, suddenly, I felt that familiar presence brush past me with
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Beginnings in Death

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Reincarnation was a belief that stayed strong in the hearts of many people in my neighbourhood, who often seemed to account several of their past lives in great detail, but having no such memories myself, I found the idea a little difficult to believe. When I was a child, my parents told me it was most likely because this was my first life as a human; that was even more perplexing since I was one of twins. However, my sister, Lily, claimed to retain memories from her previous life. Perhaps there was some truth to it. The townspeople believed that there was one law governing the process: to be reincarnated, at least the last living person who was closest to you must let go of their grief before they die. This law brought upon me nothing but despair on Lily’s and my 30th birthday—Lily passed away in a car accident on her way to our parents’ house. It bored a hole through our entire family. We wished we could move on for Lily’s sake, so that she would have the chance for a better life in
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