You're Fired

"You're fired."

Tim looked at the floor.  What was he going to tell his wife?  He stood at his own front door, remembering what his boss had told him that morning.  The mat below him seemed almost sarcastic, telling him "Welcome home!  Looks like you'll be here for a while."  Tim snapped his head up, worked up the nerve to turn the doorknob, and walked inside.  Ellie was talking on the phone, a confused look spread across her face when she saw him enter.  He was home too early for it to mean something good.  She stopped whatever she was saying and hung up after a rushed goodbye.  She walked over to him, Looking into his eyes and reflecting his sadness with her own.  Nothing had to be said, he'd come home with that look before, and she'd learned what it meant.

"Again?"  She asked.

"Again."  He confirmed, brushing her hair behind her pointed ears.  "Terminated as soon as they found out who my beautiful wife is.  I think they might be jealous."  She smiled, but it fleeted quickly, replaced by a frown and tearing eyes.  

"I know you're trying, but they'll always find out about me, and you'll never keep a job if they figure out you're a..." She looked back up at him, words playing along her lips until she found her voice.  "A sympathizer."  She sat down on the couch, and Tim followed her.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?  They always pull those background checks, and it's not like we can just-"

"Divorce?"  Ellie finished.  Tim wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in close.

"There's no garuntee a falsified divorce would work.  They'd still see I was affiliated with an Anivis; divorced or not, it wouldn't look good."  She leaned her head on his sholder, taking a deep breath.

"The Clandestine came by a few days ago with their usual offer."  Tim's eyes widened, and Ellie answered before he could object.  "I said yes."

Tim was silent for a moment.  He wasn't angry, and he wasn't even surprised.  He wasn't sure what he was feeling.  "I thought we agreed we would stay neutral in this war."  He said, picking his words carefully.

"That can still be an option.  They don't know who I am, and I'm working with them, not for them."  Tim could feel her gaze boring into him, but he couldn't look at her, knowing she may very well be dead tomorrow.  "You know I'll be careful.  They pay extremely well, and it's not like I have to take everything they give me."

"My wife is going to be a mercenary."  Tim said aloud.  He was right, it did sound as funny as he thought it would.  He laughed, in spite of the situation.  "What about Samson?  He'll notice that I'm staying home while his mom is out at all hours of the night."  

"I've thought about that.  He's sixteen; we won't be able to hide it from him if we try.  I think we'll need to  trust him."  Tim looked at her like she'd said something crazy.  "If he finds out any other way, it could backlash and get us all discovered.  He'll be able to keep the secret."  Tim asked the question they were both thinking, the one Samson would probably ask.

"What if he wants to join you?"

"I'll say no."

"You act like that's worked before."  Tim saw movement out the window.  Samson had driven home from school, enjoying the freedom all the upper classmen got.  "We need to keep this a secret, or he might follow you."

"He doesn''t have any powers."  Ellie argued.  She got up and made for the front door, but Tim held her hand.

"That's never stopped him from causing trouble, and you know it.  He's broken plenty of arms just because he thoguht he heard someone call him 'demon'.  If he knew what you were doing, he'd want to follow you every step of the way."  Ellie looked like she was about to argue, but just then the front door opened, and Samson walked through, taking in the whole scene.

"Is everything okay?"  He asked, uneasily spunning his key ring around his finger.  

"Yes.  Absolutely.  Yes."  Ellie said, her ears twitching that way they did when she lied.  "It's just... we needed you to know... things change when-"

"You're mom got a new job."  Tim said, forcing a smile on his face.  Samson's mouth was gaping, and Ellie quickly picked up their lie.

"Really?!"  Samson ran and hugged his mother, congratulating her.  "You mean, they didn't mind you're... you know?"

"Uh-no.  No!  Not at all."  Ellie's voice had raised without her noticing.  "In fact, they love that I'm a Jadeon.  They think it's great, really!"  Tim stepped in before she said something they'd both regret.

"And I got fired."  He said.

"You fired every week."  Samson said, waving off his father.  He turned back to Ellie.  "Do you think it'll stay?  The job, I mean."  Ellie's ears fluttered, and she started stuttering.

"Definitely."  Tim interjected, guiding his son away from his flustered wife.  "And since we'll have a steady income, the first thing we're going to buy are some more school supplies."  He hurredly pushed Samson to the kitchen.  "So go ahead and make a quick lunch, then get back to school; you've got a future to prepare for."  He returned to the living room when Samson had started making a sandwich.  Ellie was massaging her temples, and objects around the room had stared levitating.  She really couldn't tell a lie.  Tim wrapped her in a hug, muttering to her until her powers calmed down.

"This is for the best."  He was saying, speaking too low for Samson to hear.  "He'll live a normal life without ever knowing."

George

Everyone had something they were good at.  Larry could draw pictures, Barry could do math, Jerry could climb trees, even Tommy Edison on the other side of town had his little inventions he loved to show people.  George could never live with all that tinkering, and he couldn't draw any better that he could fly.  He fell back on his universal answer of four whenever he as asked to solve an equation, and he could never approach a tree without seeing his grandfathers nasty wodden dentures.  He'd grown to fear trees, then hate them, which was why he'd often enjoyed chopping down his father's cherry trees when he wasn't looking.  But chopping trees was nothing to be passionate about.  No, George's one true passion was running.

He'd go by the schoolyard every day and practice on their track, and he was probably the fastest person in his township.  He never won at any of the track meets, but he was sure he'd swamp the competition this year.  Larry, Jerry, and Tommy always entered, but George hadn't been able to beat them yet.  That would all change this year, though.

George walked up to the track as the event was beginning.  He was prepared to race when a familiar figure blocked his progress.  She had a doo-doo brown dress that didn't even cover her ankles completely (the harlott), and had thin frameless glasses that accented her lips that were usually pursed together going Shhhhh! at people.  It was the librarian, Mrs. Preposition.

"Well, if it isn't little Georgie, coming back to take home the gold?"  She said sneering at him.  George, being unusally shy, had never spoken to her.  He'd never really spoken to anyone, which is why people thought he was mute.  "You'll never win.  You never have and you never will."  George steeled his nerved and pushed past her, a determined look on his face.  He would win this year.  She moved in front of him again.

"Maybe you didn't understand me; you'll never win because this is a school-wide competition, and..."  She leaned in close, and George could catch the smell of old paper wafting from her.  "You don't go to school here!"  George had always run into this problem.  He walked away, crestfallen as he was every time he tired to compete.  Perhaps running never was his true passion.  If he learned to mumble, he always had politics to fall back on.

Different Time Period November 3 - 7 Late Story

Cafe

Vernon, looked up at the child sitting across the table from him.  She was still staring at the ground, a passive, stone expression on her face.  She looked traumatized, and she had every right to be, but he couldn't help her until he got some kind of information about what happened.

"So, Jordan,"  he started.  "Do you remember anything that happened before I found you?"  She shrugged.  That was all he got; nothing or a shrug.  It's been like this for three days.  "Do you remember how you got those scars on your arms?"  Another shrug.  She needed a hospital, and a team of specialists.  She needed a lot more than one person and a quiet cafe setting.  But they couldn't risk her being found again.

"Do you remember who helped you out of the handcuffs?  That dog that hadn't been there when you and the others were loaded up for transport?"  She dropped her head on the table, her hair flopping in a halo around her.  It was a step up from crying.  A small step, but a step nonetheless.  "Could I talk to it?"

"Him."  She said, her voice muffled.  "He really hates being called 'it'."  Vernon was happy enough to jump and click his heels.  He hadn't heard words come out of her mouth since last week.

"I'm sorry.  Do you think he's available?"  She didn't respond for a second.  He was worried he'd lost her again when she raised her left hand.  A tattoo of black miasma clung to her wrist, and it flowed into her hand at the click of her fingers.  She dropped it, and it started coiling when it hit the ground.  It warped and twisted, morphing until the vague outline of a dogs could be seen.  Paws formed, then a tail, and the miasma worked its way up until a canine head perched upon shaggy furred shoulders was in front of him.  Vernon look around, thankful that no new customers had entered the cafe, and the lone employee that had refused them service didn't deem them important enough to stick around.

"Answer whatever he asks, Orion."  She told the dog.

"Um... hello, there."  Vernon said.  The dog, Orion, stared back at him, his yellow irises glowing softly.  "Can you understand me?"

"Yes."  The answer came in an echoed voice that seemed to surround him.  The dog's mouth didn't move, but there was a noticeable pulse to it, like rippling water, whenever it spoke.  "Is that all you wish to ask?"

Vernon fumbled with his notes.  "Um, no.  I have a few other questions."  He found a picture buried in the pile of papers, showing an Armored Personnel Carrier with a gaping hole in the side.  It was the same APC she'd broken out of.  "How did you two escape?"

"She summoned me and we ran."  Descriptive, he thought, rolling his eyes.

"You make it sound easy;  why didn't you escape earlier?"

"They kept her asleep for most of the time she was there, and kept her from concentrating when she was awake.  She had to wear a shock collar that zapped her every thirty seconds when she wasn't put under.  The transfer was the only opportunity she had."  Vernon nodded, scribbling down what the dog was saying.

"You all this like you saw it."  Orion didn't speak.  Of course he didn't, his order was to answer any questions he was asked.  "Well?  Did you?"

"Yes."  Vernon could see he'd have to work for this information.

"You said the first time she summoned you was when she was being transferred, so how could you have seen anything before that?"

"I see everything she sees.  One of the perks of being bound to a person and not an object."  Most summoners bound their constructs to objects they carried with them.  Some preferred a closer connection, but Vernon had never known the extent of that connection.  

"What happened to her while she was there?"  He asked next.

"She was asleep for most of it, so I didn't see much.  She was kept restrained to a table, for the most part.  All I really remember are fever dreams the drugs probably induced."  Orion's tail started twitching.  A construct displaying emotion was strange enough, but even stranger, Vernon could swear this emotion was anxiety.  The girl sat up now, her gaze resting softly on Orion.

"She told you to answer all my questions, right?"

"Yes."

"But she never said to answer them truthfully.  Did you just lie to me?"  Orion started blinking, and his ears flicked.  Jordan spoke up for the first time.

"You don't have to answer that."  Orion looked relieved, his shoulders slumping.  He leaned back, against Jordan's chair, but if she noticed, she didn't say anything.  "He's just a construct; he doesn't know how to lie."  Something flashed across Orion's face.  For just a second, his eyes softened, and his ears flattened against his head.  

"I'm going to say something, and your first instinct will probably be to run, but I just want you to remember that you're still the most sought-after bounty in the country."  Vernon took a breath.  "There exists a Jadeon in the slums of this city that created a sentient construct.  It wasn't bound by any traditional means, and merged completely with its summoner.  We've been tracking it's summoner up until a few month ago, when she went missing, about the same time you were captured."  Orion started growling.  Jordan put her hand on his head, and he stopped.  Vernon pulled something out of his pocket and put it on the table.  Jordan snatched it up when she saw it.

"Where'd you get this?"  She asked, holding it close to her.

"Your house.  Nathaniel let me in."  The name hit her like a brick wall.  Her eyes widened and teared up.

"He's alive?"  Orion seemed to voice the question Jordan was struggling to ask.  Vernon nodded, getting up from his chair.

"Alive, well, and eager to see you both again."  He walked to the door, holding it open.  "In fact, he's waiting at the base for us right now."

Monster Feel Bad Story

Ein was strange.  He was no conventional polygon, that was certain.  From a distance, he could pass for an octagon, or maybe even a decagon, but it didn't take long for others to notice how he was different.  When others got close, they could see the strange, limped way he moved around.  But this wasn't what made so many run away.  Nor was it his unsettling smile, nor the way you'd start itching if you looked at him too long, nor the way he growled at those he didn't like.  No, if anything about him was sure to send others running, it was his ninth side.  Sure, anyone was normal as long as they had an even number of sides, and even the pentagons were treated better than him.  As he walked the sidewalk, walking a respectful distance from other polygons and keeping his head down, he told himself it could be worse.  He could be one of those nameless 11-sided shapes.  

He reached the bus stop and waited.  There were other polygons already sitting on the bench, so he stood to the side, keeping his head down until he heard the screech of the bus tires coming to a stop.  He waited as the last of the other shapes embarked, and was making his way to the bus door when someone bolted past him, nearly knocking him over.  He looked up to see a circle, privileged and free of polygonal adversity, climbed the stairs and took his seat.  Ein tried getting back on, but the hexagonal bus driver closed the door.  

"No more room."  He said before the doors shut.  Ein was about to argue, but the bus sped down the road, leaving him with an ill temperament to manage and a cloud of exhaust to breathe around.  Circles were the worst.  They weren't even polygons, and everyone treated them like they were so perfect.  Just because... well, they were perfect.  How a child could develop into a set of all points perfectly equidistant from a center, Ein would never know.  Rather than chance it with another bus, Ein began to walk home, the chill of the autumn night starting to get to him.

Nonagonism wasn't a common condition.  It only happened one out of every eight times between a square father and a pentagon mother.  As far as Ein knew, he was the only nonagon in town, and everyone knew him by his ninth side.  He tried to ignore the person that had just tried to trip him and sped up his pace.  They all thought he was some kind of deficient freak, but his ninth side didn't get in the way of anything.  He could do anything as well as any other polygon, provided he was a given a fair chance to begin with, which he rarely ever was.

Then he died of being ugly, the end.

Favorite Pants

"Have you ever noticed that pants are like leg jackets?"

Miles was awake immediately.  He remembered that voice.  He opened his eyes to see the woman with silvery hair, slipping into his favorite pair of jeans.  She didn't see mto have any trouble, even though she was pulling them over her own pants.

"Lilith."  Miles said.  Lilith looked up at him, gave small wave.  "Always an... experience to see you.  I'm going to need those."  Ignoring him, she buttoned the jeans, and waved her hands in a very 'ta-da' fashion.  They fell from her waist as soon as she let them go.

"Oh my.  I forgot how fat you are."  She said.  As usual, there was no malice whatsoever in her tone, just genuine innocence.  It was difficult to be angry at her.  "You must have actually gotten fatter since i last saw you."  Difficult, but not impossible.

"I think i got my low metabolism from my father's side.  But you demons wouldn't know much about family, would you?"  Miles gestured for her to turn around, and when she did, he walked to the closet and started getting dressed.

The insult seemed to go completely over Lilith's head.  "Actually I got to know my mother very well.  She tried to eat me when I was six months old."

"Oh?"

"But don't worry, she didn't."

"I can see that."

"But she tried."

"You can turn around now."

Fully dressed, Miles looked outside his hotel room window.  He looked out over the hyperactive city below, casting a forlorn look at the slums just a little ways off.  "It's a shame people don't see the plight the slum-dwellers are in.  Society just turns the other way because of what the church is feeding them."  He shook his head, turning back to Lilith.  "Why were you here, again?"

"Oh!  Right!  I'd just finished helping in the school, when some people in pretty robes came to the south end.  They were really pretty.  The robes, I mean.  The men in them were mean and wrinkly, like you."  Miles decided to let that pass.  "But anyway, they told me to tell you something about execution and divine judgement or something.  And the one with the prettiest robe- it was a red and velvety with lower-case 'T's on it- he talked for a while about purging the unclean, from the inside out."  Miles wasn't sure what to say.  He knew when news of him preaching in the slums got out, he'd probably be excommunicated, but... execution?  That seemed a little extreme.

"Was that it?"  Miles said, choosing his next words carefully.  "Did they say or do anything else important?"

"Um.... oh!  This one guy came by afterwards.  He wasn't in a robe, but he had this shining book in his hand, and started sprinkling this shiny stuff on the ground."  Enoch.  He was still against the church.  "We talked, well I talked, he didn't say anything.  Like, ever.  And he disappeared in a flash of light when I asked what his favorite color was.  Is light a color?"

Miles cast about the room, grabbing the ring off his nightstand and slipping it onto his finger.  He shouldn't need anything else.  "Lilith, people are coming to kill me."

"Oh no."

"Then they'll try to destroy everything on the south end."

"That's mean."

"I need you to get me to the slums as fast as possible.  Think you can do that?"  She gave a thumbs up, which looked all the less dignified with his pants still around her ankles.  She walked out of his pants and to the window and sat on the sill, her legs dangling outside.  The back of her shirt erupted, the fabric tearing, and two leathery wings sprouted from her back.  Miles had always wondered how many shirts she'd ruined doing that, and how someone from the slums was able to buy new ones.  She extended her hand back to him, and he took it.

She launched herself from the window, flying at an unnatural speed toward the slums.  Miles looked down at the city sweeping beneath them, and screamed in fright.

"Sorry I'm going so slow."  Lilith apologized, her voice relaxed against the turbulent wind rolling around them.  "I'm not used to carrying something so heavy."

One week to live (Late)

Enoch allowed them to escort him through the dungeon.  That's what he thought the holding cells looked like; dark, dank, and ill-maintained, with corroding concrete walls that echoed cries from each prisoner.  One of the guards walked him down the dark hallway while the other spoke into a radio.  The guard opened the door to an empty cell, and tried his best to look distinguished when he couldn't push Enoch in.  Enoch walked in, made sure the guard was still watching, and broke his handcuffs apart with a slight shrug.  The guard took a step back, and Enoch closed the cell door on himself.  He wanted to make sure they knew he was only here because he wanted to be.  And as soon as he found what he was looking for, he'd be gone.  

The guard walked away, glancing back at Enoch and shrinking back when Enoch made eye contact.  He could hear the guard on the radio down the hall.  "Not really, he just kind of... surrendered.  He wouldn't give us a name.  In fact, he would say anything....right.  Understood, in one week."  Enoch heard footsteps approaching, and the second guard came into view.  "What are you playing at, huh?  Why'd you turn yourself in?"  Enoch didn't answer.

The guard pulled out a camera and kept talking.  "Well, you've us a great service by surrendering.  In one week, we'll show the public who's really in charge.  Your execution will hit the demons hard, maybe even bring some of them to their senses."  The guard held up the camera and aimed it at Enoch.  "Say cheese!"  Enoch did not say 'cheese'.  The shutter clicked, but the camera made a strange whirring sound.  It started billowing smoke, and the guard dropped it before it caught fire.  He looked back up at Enoch, who couldn't help but smile.  He huffed and marched back down the hall, leaving Enoch alone in the darkness.

After a couple minutes, someone in a cell across the hall came to their door.  He had the telltale yellow irises of a Jadeon, or what those in the Order called a demon.  "You handled that pretty well.  Guess this isn't your first time dealing with them."  Enoch only looked at him.  "A man of few words, huh?"

"I'd rather not waste the breath on people that don't deserve it."  Enoch said.  The Jadeon looked at him, confused.

"So, you're saying I deserve it?"  Enoch didn't answer.  The Jadeon shrugged and sat on the ground.  "Well, I hate to tell you, but you're on death row.  Every week they round all us up for a mass execution.  But who knows; maybe that resistance I've been hearing so much about will help us."  The Jadeon put his head down.

"I don't think we're going to make it to the execution."  The Jadeon looked up, a question on the tip of his tongue, but stopped himself when he heard approaching footsteps.  "Our deliverance approaches."

A man in robes walked into view, carrying a book under his arm.  The book had a golden cover with no title, a greek omega symbol its only cover dressing.  The man was saying something, but Enoch hadn't been listening.  "You are no hero."  He was saying.  "You are nothing more than a glorified terrorist, scaring the public into taking action where it isn't needed. I wish we could afford to wait for the day of judgement and see how the good Lord weighs your soul, but we cannot let you poison our people any longer."

"Give me back the Book."  The man seemed shocked, either that Enoch spoke, or that he didn't recognize the man's authority.  

"I'm not sure what power you think you possess here.  The entire building is bound, you are extremely outnumbered, and this empty book was the only thing we found on you."  He said, flipping through the pages.  He couldn't read it, of course.  It wasn't meant for his eyes.  The Jadeon was looking on with curiosity, but the man wasn't paying any attention to him.  He rubbed his hands together, muttering something under his breath, and snapped his hand upwards.  The Book flew from the robed man's hand and slipped through the bars of Enoch's cell, landing in his hand.  The man turned sharply toward the Jadeon, a feral look in his eye, but Enoch burst through the cell bars, barreling into him.  His head hit the wall, and the man fell over, unconscious.  

The Jadeon was shielding his eyes, and Enoch realized he was shining again.  When the light eventually died down, he opened The Book, spoke a few words, and Jadeon's cell doors slid open.  He reluctantly crept out, regarding Enoch with a certain caution.

"If it wasn't terribly clear, I'm the person the resistance sent."  The Jadeon nodded dumbly.  Enoch closed the Book and started walking down the hall, gesturing for the Jadeon to follow.  He did, but at a distance.

"So... what are you?"  He asked bluntly.  

"I'm not quite sure.  I remember seeing a light, walking towards it, and then I woke up in a strange place with this at my side."  Enoch replied, hefting the Book.  "I'm not sure why I was given the Book of Life... or who exactly gave it to me.  I saw people in need, and decided if anyone should take action, it should probably be me."  He opened the Book again, reading from it.  The clatter of chains filled the hallway and shackles were broken and doors grinded open.  People, mostly other Jadeons, spilled from their cells, following behind Enoch.  "What's your name?"  He asked the Jadeon that helped him.

"Um... Ferris."  He responded.

"It seems you aren't as susceptible to binding as you should be, Ferris.  That trick with throwing me the Book shouldn't have worked."

"I came from Base Horizon.  They trained us to work against bindings."  Enoch only nodded.  He expected as much; the Order only put their prime targets on death row.  Everyone here was probably capable of taking on an army on their own.

"Where do you think you'll go after this?"  Ferris didn't answer.  "I know of a place with people like you, relatively safe from the Order."

"That sounds great, but I think I'm going to stay for a while."  Enoch turned to him, confused.  "This isn't the only prison here.  I'm going to try and release as many people as I can in the other cell blocks.  Even if some of them really do deserve to be here, releasing them would set the Order months back, and with the Order Focusing on the real criminals, it would give us a better chance of staying free once we're out."  Ferris started walking the other way, against the flow of the crowd.  Enoch followed after him, catching up in a couple strides.

"You weren't just a victim of prejudice before you were put on death row, were you?"  Enoch asked him.  "You've been working against the Order for a while yet."  Ferris shrugged, and Enoch laughed.  It'd been a while since he'd last laughed.  "I'll stay and help.  Afterwards, I think you need to meet a friend of mine."

October 27 - 31 Free Writing (Late)

Where you go, I will go

Where you stay, I will stay

Even in death, we can't part

And I like it this way

When you were young, you had no care

You'd amble somewhere, and I'd follow you there

I'd watch you learn, I'd watch you play

And you knew I'd never go away

I was so much more than just your dog

When you were lost, I'd guide you through the fog

When the mood befit you, I was your noble steed

And we'd ride into battle, as you felt the need

They came in numbers, they came in force

They rushed the house and broke down the doors

I told you to ignore the screams and shouts

As we shot back fire in billowing gouts

The bodies of children, falling left and right

I knew we couldn't win this fight

You told me to stay, and my mind was torn

Your servant disobeyed, grabbed you, and ran for the door

You kicked and fought as I fixed you on my back

"We need to help them!"  You hissed and spat

I told you to pretend I was your horse so tame

But we weren't playing, and this wasn't a game

We burst outside, but more were coming

You ducked in close, the darkness thrumming

The shadows shielded you when things got dire

But something went wrong after one of them yelled "Fire!"

Blood stained my paws and glazed over one eye

You backed away, and began to cry

I couldn't remember what I'd done

Just that you were safe, and it looked like we won

You tried to run, but I always come back

You told me to leave, but I couldn't do that

You no longer saw me as a friend

Your innocent childhood had reached its end

Over the years, we again grew close

We were each other's home and host

Together we run from the light

Outcasts of society; creatures of night

Where you go, I will go

Where you stay, I will stay

Even in death, we can't part

And it seems you like it this way.