"The Flyania City",  a modern city located on a isolated island. Under the management of the penguin mayor, the non-flying bird citizens lived happily and contentedly.

Several months ago, a pandemic called "Flyania"began to spread here, where patients hallucinated that they could fly and jumped from tall buildings to their deaths.

Herowl, a long-eared owl who worked as a night shift reporter, was dedicated to his job and admired the canary female anchor. He unexpectedly became involved in a series of events. He was determined to resolve the epidemic and save the "The Flyania City!"

No birds were harmed, injured, or killed during the creation of this story.

The characters, locations, events, dates, names, organizations, professions, departments, or any related elements in the story are purely fictional and have no relation to the real world. They do not reference any individuals, professions, organizations, departments, regions, or countries. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.

Many people don't believe that everything is connected. It's strange. They believe in magnets, in electromagnetic waves, in quantum action at a distance. They believe that the force of gravity makes the Earth revolve around the Sun, and yet they do not believe that the same forces can influence the smaller details of our fate. They believe that it is all up to them. That they have free will. They say that Jupiter can gently pull the Sun, yet it cannot move our infinitely smaller souls.

A paradox.

The stars are difficult to read, for sure. The horoscopes in the newspaper are wishy-washy nonsense written by lowly paid interns who do not have an inkling of physics or differential equations—you would not expect someone to be able to predict the weather without a doctorate and a powerful computer, would you? This is no different.

As a mathemastrologer, I can see the strings with which the cosmic puppeteers ordain our every move. I can follow their course, untangle their knots. This is how I have been able to read my own future for the past ten years. I knew prior to conception that I would become pregnant, and that it would be a boy. I saw my mother's death in the conjunction of Saturn and Venus, right before a car accident plucked her out of the numbers of the living.

One month ago, I read the death of my six year old son in the firmament.

As unwavering as it used to be, my faith was shaken.

In astrology, but I suppose this is true of other disciplines, you get attached to the objects of your work. You come to love the intricate play of the planets with your own fate, the way that your mood ebbs in sync with Neptune's tempests or gets lifted by the tides. I was married to the cosmos—but that day, the idyll was shattered. The cosmos had betrayed my trust. It had been difficult to accept my mother's death, to see it coming without interfering, but I had told myself that this moment comes for everyone. This, though, I could not abide. It was too cruel. Dear little Patrick, the star around which my life revolved, could not be extinguished, not now, not ever. I would rather do without the rest of the universe.

I started to believe in free will. Not out of logic, but out of necessity. There had to be a way to save him.

I poured myself in calculations, poured my life savings into computing power, sat night and day at my desk to find out precisely how and when Patrick would die. “He will drown in the pool,” the stars said. Very well—I drained the pool. But fighting fate was like trying to contain water within a sieve: if you plugged one hole, the water would simply drip from another. Still, I thought, there was a finite number of them: could I not plug allholes? I had to be strong, clever, steady, relentless, exhaustive. How was Patrick going to die, now that the pool was empty? Drown in the bathtub? I locked the bathroom. Drown in a friend's pool? Let's not go to their place, then. Drown in the lake? Let's not go to the lake. Soon enough, there remained no possibility of drowning.

The firmament still wanted Patrick's soul to rise up into its clutches, though. Fall down the stairs? I confined him to the first floor. Choke on food? I blended it into puree. The star map became more and more erratic in its dogged attempts to murder my child, threatening anything from an exploding oven (let's not cook) to plague rats (they cannot bite through five inches of padding). The signs became more and more numerous, culminating into a singularity at midnight when the dangers would number into the millions. After that, I could not tell, but I was determined to find out. I would fight off an infinite number of threats for Patrick's sake. At midnight, he would be alive and I would have asserted my free will, in defiance of the cosmos.

Six hours before midnight, someone banged at my door, insistently. I tried my best to ignore it, but I saw it was my colleague Olaf, the most brilliant mathemastrologer I knew, and a small part of my mind wanted to hear him out. I opened up a sliver.

“What is it?”

“Sonia,” he said, wringing his hands nervously, “whatever you are doing, please stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop, uh… You cannot save him. It is Written.”

“No,” I sneered. “I am his mother. Do not tell me what I can or cannot do.”

I stared him down. Blessedly, the stars foresaw no harm would come to me, which meant that he could not force his way in or do anything rash to stop me, lest he violated the celestial plan to the same degree that I was going to. I felt like a chess Grandmaster.

“Please, Sonia, please,” he pleaded, literally falling to his knees as he did so. “You have no ideawhat forces you are meddling with.”

I knew exactly what forces I was meddling with. I was meddling with the Sun (330,000 Earths), with Saturn (95 Earths), with Jupiter (318 Earths). If their combined masses couldn't stop me, that was their problem, not mine. I did what I had to do: I slammed the door in his face.

“Free will exists, Olaf,” I yelled through the wood for his edification, “and I will prove it.”

​​​​​​​

✧ :- sequel to domino -: ✧

𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗦 a winter tripwith her new boyfriend __ ,,

˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ࿔₊• SKZ fanfic , felix x oc  ·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥

Our town was baptized in the flood that year and the swehttp://gp1.wac.edgecastcdn.net/802892/http_public_production/artists/images/8714084/original/crop:x0y0w1000h750/hash:1706027686/5bb257fb0114551da50e98d3_1_.jpg?1706027686lling of the river unearthed relics from long before men settled in these parts. That same year I buried my wife and infant son, both lost in birth. Months after they were gone, our train of ragged coaches met the elbow of that great river, and upon our manifest of provisions and mouths, we would continue no further and abide where we stood. Two dozen families in wheeled shelters began to fish and hunt and gather wood for burning and wood for building. The men were strong and fleet and they fashioned homesteads and fencing and a great church for the preacher to tout fable and promise. He carried his book with him and went about our nascent village to bless homes and new mothers alike. His robes and hat threadbare and humble but black and foreboding as a doctor of the plague.

Coming to me one evening, he spoke of the beyond and the blissful eternity in which I was to one day join my love. He spoke quickly and firmly and I nodded and thought of her in a gown of white with our son in her arms and they were both searching waters just miles away as if awaiting a vessel. I offered this vision to the preacher and he nodded and thought deeply.

“She waits for you there,” he said finally, “alongside her kin and beside her God in the kingdom. All you need do is remember her and you’ll see her again in the after once your toil is done, and you will know pain nevermore.”

I nodded but without agreement, such was my hurt. The god that would take from me these blessings was not one I had the desire to know, and I turned a teary gaze to the preacher and quietly said, “bless you, father.” And he said “bless you, my son.” And I didn’t feel blessed.

In the first months, I brought deer from the forest, bleeding the carcasses and carving and salting the meat. I had but a horse called Beau and a rifle and smithing tools with which I would mend spokes and firearms but such things were less needed in the village. The coaches had now turned shelters and animals were now kept to be fed and milked and butchered. I would hang pelts of slain animals from my saddle and I stunk of blood and shit. The women would avert their eyes and hold their children as I passed in or out of the village. After a time, I spoke very little but held the dead close as if they would speak to me. In the evenings I would roll tobacco and smoke next to the fire and stare wearily at the steeple atop the church and talk to her. I wouldn’t hear her voice, but the chirp and howl of beasts beyond the village, and it was answer aplenty. God was not there with me.

The rain came on a clear day and brought with it a profound darkness. The steads were strong that they could hold up to formidable winds and bitter cold but the floodwaters took many of them. It drowned three of our cows and lifted corn and potato plants out of the earth and took them downstream. None were hurt but all had lost something in one fashion or another. The following day, our preacher offered praise to his god that we were spared this calamity and that we would continue to build in his name and reclaim what was taken. I refashioned a lean-to from the detritus of another home and remained near the treeline far from the village. I was spared no calamity and no god would give back what was taken from me.

I found a book near the water’s edge some days later. Black leather with ornately gilded lettering on the spine. Not of the preacher, but perhaps of a traveler from before we settled. I looked northward to the family of deer I had been tracking and considered leaving the book where it lie. I closed my eyes and listened for her and felt the wind rise and smelled rosewater on it. I opened my eyes and the deer had passed out of sight. I looked back to the south and breathed deeply and then lowered my rifle, hat and myself to the earth and lifted the book.

The pages within felt damp but pulled apart easily. I sat and read the beginning, which spoke to the beginning of all things and the creation of man. “Behold, it was very good,” I whispered to myself as I read. A grin formed across my face and I looked about to ensure I was alone and that no fun was being had at my expense. In turning the page, I saw there was no more. Several hundred empty pages remained, but turning them in succession, a few held handwritten passages.

And wander ye who know not your path, for it lies before you coursing and winding and true.

My brow furrowed and I peered north, seeing the family of deer ahead once more, the tawny flicker of a doe tail and a young calf. I returned to the page and read the passage again, anxiously thumbing the edge of the leather cover. I turned to the next passage some pages later.

Be not afraid of what lies behind, but find within your darkness the strength forward.

The wind lifted my hat from the ground and I placed it atop my head and stood. I breathed deeply and placed the book in my satchel and lifted my rifle again. Cold had taken me suddenly, as if a malevolent force were pursuing me to the treeline. I strode away from the waters and continued my trail of the deer family. A noticeable heft now affecting my gait.

Evening fell and I returned fruitless and tired to my lean-to outside of the village. I lit a fire and stared at the book. Firelight glinted upon the lettering of the spine and in the eyes of Beau staring into mine. “She would have me read it,” I spoke aloud to him and held the book in my hands for several breaths before opening it again. The story of genesis was the same, and the creation was the same, and beholdwas the same. But I couldn’t reckon the passages after were as I read them before.

For your path is behind, coursing and writhing, and darkness will carry you forward.

I quickly turned to the next passage, a more harried and difficult scrawl.

Ye must surrender to fathoms unknown, for in the deep lies your solace.

I felt the soft but quickened thud of my heart as I read this passage again and again and feared turning to the next. Beau continued to stare, undisturbed by the flies and mosquitos about its eyes and hind quarters. The fire crackled and spit and I turned ahead to the following page.

Thine heart, wrought of sorrow and fear, darkens in the light.

Rings of shadow formed in my periphery and my breath abated. I continued to the next passage.

Ye only need answer and ye may join the one true path.

Beau then began to jump and pull at his reigns, lifting the support of my lean-to and dropping the canopy upon the fire, snuffing it out in a searing cloud of gray. I rose to soothe the beast and looked about to see all that could be retrieved. The book lie closed atop my singed blanket and there I left it to find another place to rest for the night.

It passed in feverous dream. The river was full of copulating snakes, all of them writhing as one great living creature. The moon glistened over their scales and they rose and fell as if something were reaching from beneath to escape. There was wailing all about and black shapes darted in and out of the trees and I stood on the bank and watched the river swell and swell until the snakes licked at my naked toes.

I awoke the next morning and returned to the site of my lean-to, blackened and wet with dew. The book lie open but to no passage. Then I saw the watersnake lying beneath the canopy. I held still and the snake glided slowly back toward the river, it’s scales wet and brilliant in the morning sun. I gathered my satchel, rifle and then the book and set out with Beau northward between the water and forest.

The river bent west and in the haze I could see great hills rising and hear headwaters crashing upon stones. I had seen no animals to this point, but tracks led north into the mist and I followed and spoke to her and smelled the air for her scent. I heard a voice behind me then and spun quickly around on the saddle to see only a veil of mist obscuring the green behind me. It spoke again and it was her voice.

Would you surrender your heart?

My eyes swelled suddenly with tears and I spoke yes, yes I would surrender it that I might have her back. There was no answer. Beau flicked its ears and snorted and then all was silent. The mist rose and the sun fell brightly on the river. Light danced along the ripples and the water turned so clear as to see the bottom. I stared into it for many moments before a figure rose from the water’s edge.

Wiping away my tears, I saw her rising in a white gown, our son lie in her arms fast asleep. She did not smile but extended her other arm to me. Her eyes were clouded and unblinking and, though her mouth did not move, she spoke to me again.

Would you come with me?

I leapt from the horse and fell to my knees in the damp soil. Sputtering and sobbing I said yes, that I would come. An invisible weight stayed my legs and I fell to my stomach and began to crawl along through the reeds to the edge of the water. I wanted so greatly this embrace, but as I reached closer my body ached and my arms fell tired and useless.

Come down with me.

“I am coming, my love,” I pleaded to her and my voice fell hoarse and I began to choke. I laid coughing and pitiful and blind through my tears. She was dying again before my eyes, escaping and leaving me to be wretched and alone. I threw my hand out to her in hopes she might pull me into the depths with her, that I might drown and end these toils. The clouded visage of my wife was unmoving but still beckoned. The ache within me turned to agony and my body convulsed and writhed there upon the earth and all went black.

I awoke to Beau nuzzling my face, seeking breath in the lifeless being on the riverbank. I started suddenly, recognizing I had lost countless moments in darkness. Regaining strength in my arms I foisted myself up to see no figure standing before me. Hurriedly casting my gaze all about, I spoke.

“I am here, my love.”

No answer followed. I spoke it many times and waited each time for response. Fresh tears brimmed in my eyes and I sat and watched the sun pass below the trees, stroking the muzzle of my horse and thinking of her in the waters below.

I thought then of the preacher and the words he gave us upon our marriage. That we were to surrender to one another and forgive and cherish all that each of us were and would ever be. That death would never separate us and that we would both share a world our own in the kingdom of Heaven. That should we be parted in death, it is only His plan and His path the other must take.

I sniffed and closed my eyes and listened to the wind and the water and the birdsong and the faint groan of branches and the whisper of dancing leaves. And though she did not speak, she was with me.

Beau grunted again, a sound deep and full of frustration. I rose and saw the satchel holding the black book, the lettering now dull in the gray of the mist. I pulled it from within and read about the beginnings of everything and leafed past the final passage. I reached back into the satchel and pulled a thin stick of charcoal and wrote within the book.

Heed not the temptation to surrender, for those lost would have you remember a love shared. For in this memoriam, a life lives eternal.

All of my contest entries I have done for various competitions across Penana.

Each will be an issue on thier own, with awards won.

A series of creative short stories/one-shots that might or might not have any plot whatsoever - in other words, its just a lot of random stuff but at least it make sense...

I will be creating stories that I made using the Writing Prompts that I find (or generate through ChatGPT, can you blame me for that?) and upload here.

All readers are welcome to give out their ideas, suggestions, or even your own prompt for me to write.

Happy Reading!- AquaDynaDan12 (Aqua/Dani)

Inspired by Ancient Egypt:"The Tale of Nefarion" draws heavily from my fascination with ancient Egypt's grandeur and mythology. The majestic pyramids, powerful pharaohs, and intricate legends of gods and goddesses inspired the divine and epic elements in the story.

Capricious Argon’atsu's Rise:Modeled after legendary Egyptian rulers, Capricious Argon’atsu's journey from exile to conqueror echoes the struggles and triumphs of ancient kings. His transformation reflects the relentless ambition and resilience seen in historical figures.

Divine Interventions:The god Malumae, inspired by deities like Anubis and Osiris, plays a crucial role in shaping the Argon’atsu dynasty's destiny. The pact between Uqaime and Malumae mirrors mythological tales where gods influence mortal affairs.

Complex Family Dynamics:The Argon’atsu family's dark traditions and Uqaime's defiance against them highlight themes of rebellion and redemption. These elements draw from the complex family ties and legacies in ancient dynasties.

Nefarion's Divine Heritage:Nefarion’s extraordinary abilities and divine origins, similar to demi-gods of ancient myths, emphasize the bridge between mortal and divine realms. His reign is marked by mystery and supernatural strength.

This is a collection of horror writings I wrote (>﹏<)

Some were dreams I had or inspirations from my friends dreams ( actually nightmares :)

this is a diary. romanticising little things that have happened to me. because it's a crush, it's a sin, it's a doomed love and unspoken.

[Glimpse from the book👇👇👇]

"You're avoiding the topic, he is not a regular fuck boy you know? She said putting emphasis on the fuck boy".

You don't need to pretend Zoya! Logan shouted over the radio noise.

Zoya tucked in her lips, her heart ached and she suddenly wish she could be reborn back to the time when she was still a teenager.

She is completely baffled at how the only man she has ever loved was causing her a heartbreak that could never be diagnosed under the x-ray 🩻 machine.

In the past ten years, Zoya has learned to invest her time and emotion into the marriage, she hadn't had time for another soul, including herself.

Her parents never supported her date with Logan and when he finally proposed to her, they clearly advised her to face her studies, as she was still 16 and had a bright future ahead of her.

But she had threaten them with running  away forever, & using the specs of been the only child into forcing them to accept her early marriage with Logan.

After she graduated high-school, Logan convinced her to be a full house wife and at first, the marriage was fit for her and no one else. He took her on multiple dates, shopping spree and vacations, he swept her off her feet that, she scrap the idea of furthering her education.

Later on, Logan became a successful well-known business tycoon and got very busy with work, meetings and brand parties that, their time together became limited.

Whenever she whined to him about coming home late in the morning, he would wrap his arms more tightly around her boobs and give it a gentle squeeze.

This tiny romantic gesture kept her mouth shut, of cause, she couldn't see the glare in his eyes every time he touched her or the disgusted smile on his face Whenever she reached for his belt, automatically hoping he complies with her needs.

I can go on a three months trip, she bargained, her voice discreet but sounding frail.

Through the mirror, she could seen the dirty smirk plastered on his face when she said that and pretended that everything looked normal between them.

Then she felt a tiny bump hit in the stomach, then, the pain turned sour but she didn't let out a sound of cry.

My sweet pretentions Zoya, I don't need you to think for me or go on a vacation,  he said leaning forward while staring deeply into her eyes.

Zoya couldn't see anything but plane hatred

She felt the rejection tenderly crawling into her shattered heart, she wondered if this love boat has crashed a long time ago.

She closed her eyes, she didn't want to regret choosing him, she couldn't help but remember how her father had been furious with her ten years ago, how her mom tried pacifying him, her moms interference got him to support the wedding but couldn't stop him from blocking all communications with her.

Can't you give us a try? She asked but her voice sounded more like a plea, she silently hope he could try again, as they have come this far to give up.

His lips moved closer to her ears, this isn't proper he muttered, Zoya parted her lips to protest but he squeezed her shoulders then shouted at her.

Taste change, people move on when it does happen he shrugged expressively.

What? She could see his mouth move but she couldn't hear properly because she has chosen to be deaf to his rejection.

She crawled on the floor, desperately begging him to not do this to her, she felt a urgent need to save her marriage.

Logan stepped on her hands, and grinded on it in circles, she swallowed the pain and watch her hands peel from the torture.

Logan stumbled back and spit on her, it landed on the injured hand, he picked the divorce papers up 📃 and threw it on her laps.

It's over Zoya.

Don't worry, you can keep the house cause I don't want to be stuck in the disgusting memories you have forced on me over the years. Sign that and I will have someone come get it in the morning he said before turning and backing out of the house

[ Naimah Flash Back]

Your test results shows that you have been overdosed on a contraceptive pill found only in the black market.

[END OF FLASHBACK]

Immediately her flashback ended, Naimah accidentally spills the juice on her skirt, she excuses herself from the dinning table and walks to the female bathroom to clean up the stain but halts at the male door when she hears two familiar voices kiss and say;

Voice 1: Here, it's specially made for her but different from the last one I brought, mix it in her coffee drink, she will never know. All we need to do after that is to patiently wait for her to start hallucinating and showing signs of paralysis before sending her to a psychiatric hospital to die.

Voice 2: I can't wait for her to die so, her inheritance, shares in the company will be ours...

Voice 1: You are not eager to be with me...

Voice 2: You are everything I ever needed, then the voice continued to kiss the other person.

Naimah was thankful she had her phone with her, she was smart enough to record it than cry like a baby and get discovered by those two.

She didn't bother to clean up anymore but went back to the table like nothing ever happened.

What next, she thinks to herself.