An Item of Significance

  As Clark stared outside the window, the woman behind the desk continued to punch numbers into the keyboard with relentless efficiency. He could hear the unforgiving clicks of the peripheral, its cold, plastic frame resisting her fingers as she continued to key in his information.

  He sighed. He really would have preferred to be at home right now, but his mother had given him two choices: obtain his bank card, or lose his computer privileges- so really, she had given him no choice at all. With her nagging following him, he'd left the house before she could say the words that would actually bind him and his blasted conscience, grumbling his way to the nearest bank outlet. 

  What felt like years later he was still standing there, thinking about all the (relatively) important things he could have been doing instead. The videos he could be watching, the games he could be playing, the things he could be drawing… certainly activities infinitely more significant and meaningful than this dull process of endless waiting for something he didn't even care about!

  The woman didn't seem to notice the boredom that painted his face. Perhaps she was purposefully ignoring it, or she would have increased the pace she was working at. "Alright that's the account transfer complete," she said in a robotic, melodic voice. "Just type in a 6 digit number of your choice in the keypad over there, and I'll have your card ready in another few minutes." 

  He grunted in what he hoped was an appreciative manner, which was difficult considering all the seething that boiled under his skin. He didn't even think about the six numbers, slamming in a random code he'd probably remember later, maybe. He just wanted to be home right then, and anything that sped the process was more than welcome.

  The woman didn't even flinch at his aggressive speed that denoted his lack of consideration. She simply smiled, nodded, and continued her work. He went back to staring outside the window once more, truly beginning to comprehend the phrase, 'bored out of one's skull.' An eternity later, she materialised behind the desk (had she left? He hadn't even noticed) and handed him a shiny yellow card plastered with numbers and logos. 

  "Here's your debit card, sir, thank you for your patience. We hope you enjoy this free service by Your Friendly Local Bank! A friendly reminder; please do not misplace or damage the card, as a police report will have to be made. Furthermore, the creation of the next card will be charged on your account. Thank you, and have a nice day!" Stifling a sigh of relief, he swiped the card from her fingers and stalked out the glass doors with no delay. The feeling of freedom and productivity was almost palpable: he was finally free of this irritating, unwelcome responsibility! 

  He stuffed the card into his pocket thoughtlessly, whistling as he walked down the pavement back home. The cars on the road seemed a little brighter, the day felt slightly cheerier, and the people looked marginally friendlier. He wondered which game he should play when he reached home. There was an RPG he'd bought ages ago gathering dust on his shelf, but he'd recently been addicted to a platformer that continually challenged him… 

  Out of nowhere, a man in a sequined vest jumped at him, brandishing a straight, black and white stick in artistic swirls and twirls. "Ho there!" the man shouted. He accompanied his greeting with a deep bow, removing the ridiculous top hat from his head and placing it across his chest as he did so. Clark's first reaction was to recoil in shock, but the emotion soon faded into excitement when he realised who it was: a Magic Man!
  "Greetings, mortal," the man said as he straightened himself. His hat was replaced on his head with a garish amount of flourish. "I am Calumnia Machiniato, virtuoso of the four winds and prodigy of the transformative arts! Today is your lucky day; for today, I have chosen to favour you with my mastery of the metaphysical!"
  Clark laughed and clapped his hands together. Magic Men always gave such superfluous introductions, but there were far fewer as the years went on, and he'd always been fascinated by them and their magical abilities.
  The excitement seemed to please Calumnia, as he smiled and spread his arms. "You seem ecstatic mortal, and you should be! I have powers other practitioners only dream of, and I feel generous enough to show a few today! What would you like to see first? My repertoire is expansive..."
  Clark pointed at the ridiculous hat on the Calumnia's head. "Make a rabbit!" he said with an almost childlike disposition. Without hesitation, the Magic Man pulled his hat off his head and reached within. After a short struggle, he hauled a snow white rabbit out by the ears.
  Clark shouted in glee. The Magic Man smiled and replaced the rabbit on his head, covering it with the hat. "Child's play, mortal. What would you like to see next?"
  "Make some cloth!"
  Calumnia obliged. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out unnatural amounts of colourful cloth, tossing it carelessly to the side whilst smiling all the while. Clark was thrilled; he picked the cloth off the pavement and rubbed it into his palms, checking if it was real. "You don't see to be able to give me a challenge mortal. It appears that I must show you something beyond your imagination. Tell me, do you have a fifty dollar bill?"
  Nodding excitedly, Clark, whipped out a week's worth of his lunch money without hesitation. He pressed the scrunched up bill into the man's hand and stepped back, awaiting the grand spectacle. Calumnia smiled mysteriously, and raised the bill high into the air between his two fingers. "You have given me something incredible mortal, for within all things there is life, to varying degrees. With the gift I have been given, I can see this bill has an especial quality of significance, and so I will restore the life that it has. Behold!"
  Calumnia raised his other hand and slapped the bill into his palm, squashing it and making a loud clap that jerked Clark into jumping. Calumnia closed his eyes in intense concentration and waved his arms about his head in a ridiculous manner, mumbling strange words under his breath all the while. As he did so, Clark swore that the Magic Man's hands began to glow. The world around seemed to bristle with energy, and goosebumps ran up and down Clark's skin as Calumnia continued his chanting and waving.
  With a final shout and a swift movement, the Magic Man threw his hands behind his head, and threw them forward again, splitting them apart and releasing...
  A butterfly!
  The butterfly was not normal however, the pattern on its wings were exactly those of a fifty dollar bill! It flew around Calumnia's head for a while, before resting on Clark's shoulder. Awed and slightly scared, he stiffened, trying to get a closer look at the now-living money without moving his head.
  "That, is my ultimate power, mortal. Giving life, to the lifeless," Calumnia whispered dramatically. The butterfly left Clark's shoulders to rest on Calumnia's own. "I know you have been impressed by my unparalleled power, so I leave you with this."
  Calumnia tossed a shiny coin toward Clark, who snatched it out of the air and looked at it. Calumnia's own face was printed on it. "A keepsake, to remind you of the power that exists within me, and within this world. Tell your associates, and I can be there."
  Clark nodded and Calumnia marched past him, his sequined vest glimmering in the sunlight that left colourful imprints on Clark's eyes. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Clark once more set off for home without looking back once. If he had, he might have caught Calumnia stuffing a fifty dollar bill down his pocket.

  Back at home, Clark changed and dumped all his dirty laundry into the collective basket, rushing up the stairs to his room. He pulled out an unused photo frame from his drawers and pulled out the back. Carefully, he removed the insignia coin from his pocket and taped it on, replacing it within the photo frame and setting it on his table. He smiled happily; that had been the best Magic Man he had ever seen, and it was definitely the highlight of his day.
  He turned on his computer, logging into his social media accounts and bragging about the great experience that he'd had to all his friends, all the while shooting glances at the coin that reminded him of the significance of that day.
  It was of great surprise and displeasure to him when his mom stormed into his room an hour a later, a wet and now-useless debit card clutched in her fingers.

A Memory of Bliss

  "Hold close to my side. I don't want you wandering off again, alright?"

  Jason looked up at his mother, slightly confused.

  "I mean it. I don't want to spend an hour leading a manhunt again. Just stay close to me, okay?"

  Jason did as he was told. As he clutched at the arm of his mother, the world passed him by, blurry and nondescript. Strangers were faceless and unknowable, full of motivations and knowledge he couldn't possibly yet comprehend, but that was not important. At least he was by his mother's side.
  The shopping mall was full of bright lights and colours, but most of them held little meaning to Jason. The bits and baubles inside display cases, the mannequins and powerful lighting; all of it was irrelevant to him, but that didn't mean he couldn't be fascinated by them. A cartoon played on a TV screen, and he slowly drifted away from his mother's arm.
  "Ohh no you don't. I got you." He heard her voice as his own arm was grabbed in a grip that was immeasurably firm but impossibly gentle. He looked up and the face was as clear as day, as sharp as knives, as real as reality could get. She gave him a rough smile, torn between amusement and annoyance, and pulled him closer to her side.
  "We are getting these groceries and we are leaving. No distractions."
  He nodded. No matter the pretty colours and wonderful lights, no one was more luminous or wonderful than mother. A constant, solid as stone and immovable as mountains.
  The groceries were purchased, lugged into a shopping cart, and pushed out into the car park. This time, Jason didn't wander off. Instead, he kind of helped, placing his tiny hands against the cold steel of the cart and heaving as hard as he could. Sometimes he could move the cart with ease, and other times he felt as if it was taking his entire body strength; a variable he could never understand on trips like these. He heard his mother laughing.
  Eventually they reached the car. He tried to assist again reaching his tiny hands up and trying to reach over the cart, but his mother shooed him away. She loaded everything into the trunk herself, slamming the door with distinct satisfaction. As she dusted her hands, he ran into her and hugged her. He was a little surprised himself. His mother placed her hands around his head. "What's wrong?" she asked in a quiet, warm voice. He clutched her legs tighter.
  "I love you mommy," he replied. He wasn't making sense right now, but he just felt as though it was the right thing to do at that moment.
  "I love you too, sweetie." He thought he could detect a hint of choking in her voice.
  They piled into the car. She put the key in the ignition as he settled in the back, throwing his hands up and about. The car began to move, inciting him to kneel on the car seat and gaze out, laughing as the shades of grey, white and black of road and tarmac, the green and brown of  trees and shrubbery, became indistinct hues blending one into another as they gathered speed toward home.
  "Put on your seat belt sweetie," his mother said, and he obeyed. He sat himself back down and pulled the latchplate down, letting the strap fasten him to the seat and buckling it with a satisfying click. He always loved that sound. Secretly, he pushed the button that unbuckled the seat belt and reinserted it, hearing the click come once again.
  "I heard that," she said. "Keep it buckled, please."
  He giggled, and repeated the action, trying to make the click as quiet as possible.
  "Alright kiddo, if you want me to pull over and lock down that buckle with super glue, feel free to keep trying."
  He laughed and left the buckle alone. He didn't want to be super-glued to his seat."
  For an immeasurable length of time he sat in that car seat, straining himself to stare out the window into a blank and unrecognisable landscape. He wondered at the way things seemed to bleed into each other, at how their lines blurred as his mother drew faster and faster. Then, he thought that perhaps they were not driving faster and faster, but that the world was simply bending around them. Then, he realised that it didn't matter, because he was in the car with his mother, and everything was outside it. He was safe within, not without.

  Suddenly, something occurred to him that he hadn't noticed before. He was alone with his mother. That shouldn't be right.
  "Mommy?"
  "Yes, sweetheart?"
  "Where's daddy?"
  Silence filled the air. There was no noise for a time, not even the hum of the engine. "He's... not here sweetheart." came the reply, "he had... other things to do. But he'll be back."
  "When?" he asked.
  "When he's ready," she said.

 Jason frowned. That didn't sound like an answer at all. He looked outside the window with ease, but the world beyond had disappeared. "Mom, where's Dad? How come we're out grocery shopping alone when he should be here, helping you. Pushing the cart, loading the trunk... he should be doing all that. Where is he?"
  "I don't know sweetie... I don't know when he's coming back." He heard a strain in her voice.
  The belt buckle felt abnormally tight around his midriff, and he straightened up slightly, letting the strap readjust itself over his body.
  "But Dad should be here right now; helping us, helping you."
  "It's fine, we don't need him for now."
  "But-he-should-be-here," he insisted.

  He looked directly at where her head should be behind the headrest. His eyes were completely level with it. "How come you've never told me why Dad wasn't around?"
  His mother was definitely crying now. "Because you were just a kid. How could you understand our world of adults? How could I ruin someone who was perfect to you? How could I ruin you like he ruined me?"
  "I'm not a kid anymore, mom. I deserve to know the truth."
  "We all deserve to know the truth, but we're not always prepared for it. Please, go back to being a little kid."

  There was no car. They were standing in empty space, staring at each other surrounded by darkness.
  "I can't. Please. I want to know."
  She wept tears from tired eyes, cheeks lined with care and hair grey with stress. She was no longer luminous and wonderful, but sad and forlorn, her glow of love and courage replaced by depression and exhaustion.
  "Everyone makes mistakes. History repeats itself. Love is temporary, and frugal in more ways than one."
  "I've heard that all my life, from sources other than you. Those are abstract reasons; concepts of human nature. I want to hear what you have to say."
  His mother looked at him. There was a smile on her face. It was the type of smile that she'd given him when he'd finished secondary school, when he'd graduated primary school, when he'd painted his first picture, when he'd drawn his first character, when he'd said his first word, when he'd smiled at her face, when he'd lain in her arms, dirty and unsightly, but alive.
  "I'm sorry. I can't. I wish I could, but I can't. I have to go."
  Suddenly he was a kid again. He was in the shopping mall, surrounded by strangers. The colours were blinding and lovely, bombarding him with feelings and sensations he didn't care one whit about. His mother was right there, staring at him with regretful eyes as the world swept around them. "Don't leave me," he cried.
  "I'm sorry I can't stay."
  "But you're here right now!"
  "I have to go."
  "Don't leave me..."
  "I love you."

  Jason woke with tears in his eyes. He sat up, wiping them away to stare outside the window. A bird tweeted at him from the treetop, as real and alive as the world was. He stared at the photo of his mother on his bedside table, and lay back down. She had never answered his questions. She never would. She'd been his mother, but she'd never been his friend.
  He turned and buried his face in the pillow, dampening it. Perhaps he could fall back asleep. Without his questions and anger, it had been such a good dream.

Boxed In

  Sharon tried to scream as the warp in dimensional space sent her flying through infinity. Her entire body felt both stunted and elongated at the same time. Despite the speed she knew she must be travelling at, she felt completely stationary; if anything, she felt immovable, as though her being was fixated in an abstract point. The world bent around her, distorting and blending before she finally seized. There was no warning; one moment she was progressing, the second she was not. Or was it one moment she was fixed, the next she was not? Perhaps there was no difference between either scenarios.

  As her environment finally settled, she analyzed her surroundings in fear and desperation, wondering what horrors awaited her in this new dimension. She was seated on a soft, immensely comfortable couch, in front of what she perceived was a television screen. It appeared to be playing some sort of comedy show, with a strange focus to slapstick. It was all so weirdly normal, considering she had just been transported through space-time.

  In fact, there was nothing overtly unusual about her surroundings at all. She was simply at someone's apartment, seated on the couch, watching television. There appeared to be no one else but her around, which made the silence slightly eerie, but nothing particularly unsettling other than that. She might have felt right at home if she hadn't just experienced some form of dimensional travel.

  Eventually, she found the courage to move from her seat. She checked around the house, looking for any other signs of life, but there were none. Under the bed, in the other rooms; she truly was alone in here. She opened the fridge and discovered that it was chock full with food. The sink in the kitchen was perfectly functional, and the water that spilled forward felt real enough. She even drank a little, and there were no immediate averse effects.

  She looked out the window and the world was out there, albeit strangely quiet and empty. Though there were cars in the parking lot, there was no one around; no random stranger going about their business, no child playing around in their spare time. Perhaps she had arrived in a world that had died.

  No matter. She would just have to leave this house and find out more about it. Perhaps it would give some clue as to how she could return to her own time and place.

  She left the kitchen and strode past the couch where she'd first found herself. The front door was nearby, and she reached for its handle.

  YOU WILL DIE.

  The voice rang like a gong in her head, reverberating through her skull and making her clutch at her temples in pain. She was sent to her knees with tears forming in her tightly closed eyes. When vision returned and the pain was reduced to a dull aching, she opened her eyes and searched for the source of her terror. But there was nothing around her. A particularly comic scene played on the screen, where a man did a back flip after being slapped in the face.

  "Who's there?" she said, cowering against the door.

  I AM THE MASTER OF THIS SPACE, the voice rang inside her skull again. This time, it did not cause any pain, though it did make her knees tremble.

  "What do you want?"

  TO LIVE. IF YOU TOUCH THAT DOOR HANDLE, YOU WILL DIE.

  She shook her head, pulling herself to her feet, "Why? Why will I die?"

  THERE IS NO REASON. TO LIVE, YOU MUST NOT TOUCH THAT DOOR.

  She recoiled from the object of death immediately. She looked around the room, trying to find other ways to leave. If she could not leave by the door, perhaps there were other means. The window, she thought, and moved toward it. She reached for the latch that unlocked the glass panes, smiling slightly.

  TOUCH THAT LATCH AND YOU WILL DIE.

  Again, the voice forced her to her knees. The tiles felt cool to her fingers, but it did nothing to soothe the pain that rocked her mind. She retched as she knelt there, trying to think through the pain. Why would she die? Why couldn't she touch these objects? Who was the master of this world? As the pain receded, she found enough courage to stand. She was a trained professional: she could sit on this couch, analyse the problem, and solve it. She didn't believe in any gods. Omniscience was impossible.

  The TV played before her, but it might as well have been a blank wall. She'd entered a mode her colleagues had mockingly called 'the praying mantis'. She was wholly committed to picking apart the problem and finding solutions to it.

  The answer came within seconds. She'd examined the words, found a flaw, and constructed a plan. All it needed was a little bit of string, and a weight: perhaps a spoon. She found both sitting together in a kitchen drawer and smiled. Perhaps luck was on her side. She tied the string around the neck of the spoon and made a large loop at the string’s other end. She then approached the doorway and with extreme care, looped the string around the handle. Her fingers had not touched the handle. She grinned, and used the spoon to pull it downward. The door opened.

  YOU ARE A REBELLIOUS ONE. LEAVE THROUGH THAT DOORWAY AND YOU WILL DIE.

  There was no excruciating pain this time, but she backed away from the door regardless. She almost cried. Freedom was right through that entrance, tantalising beyond belief. But she could not leave, and she did not want to die.
  However, methods to escape were not exhaustive. There was still the kitchen window, and the other rooms had windows and escape routes too. She would persevere through this until she could find another way back to her own world. Omniscience was impossible. Any problem had a solution.
  She would find an alternate route.

  YOU CANNOT TOUCH THAT PIPE. YOU WILL DIE.
  YOU CANNOT MOVE THAT STOOL. YOU WILL DIE.
  YOU CANNOT ENTER THAT ROOM. YOU WILL DIE.
  YOU CANNOT CROSS THAT THRESHOLD. YOU WILL DIE.

  She worked as long and as hard as she could. She picked at multiple different solutions, explored every angle, tried every possible combination: different tools, different items. She did not tire, she did not break, but every moment seemed to be sending her backtracking instead of forward. There was no way out of the house.
  Soon, she sat on the couch, angry and exhausted. The audience on the TV screen laughed uproariously at an obviously unfunny joke. She was tempted to throw something at the screen, to smash it to a million different shards and crush those shards between those fingers... but she did not. She had been forbidden to touch the TV, or she would die. She did not want to die.
  She sat on the couch for a long time, not watching the program or even contemplating the situation. Her body slowly sank deeper and deeper into the cushions. 
  HM. THIS IS THE WAY THIS REALITY SHOULD BE. NO HUNGER, NO THIRST. SIT THERE. WATCH TV. 

  I F Y O U L E A V E T H A T C O U C H , Y O U W I L L D I E .

  Sharon didn't know how long she'd been there. She'd curled up in a fetal position, staring blankly at the screen as it played the comedy show. There was always new content, but all of it was exaggerated and ridiculous. True to the Being's word, she did not hunger or thirst. She could sit on that couch and live forever, or she could move from it and die. She did not want to die.
  So she continued, an eternity spent in nothingness, with no progress or productivity. No next step, no moving forward- nothing.
  But at least she was alive.

Beneath the Tree

  There was a wonderfully tall tree on the hilltop that Jason always liked glancing at. It was at least five times taller than him, had long branches bursting with green leaves that shaded a large area beneath it, and gave off this fresh, wonderful smell that he could breathe in even from the pavement.

  However, he’d always been a little too busy, too in a hurry, to take any time to visit the tree. He’d lived in the area for at least two years, seen the tree almost every day on his way to somewhere or other, but had never actually been beneath its shadow before. Sometimes, he would pause on the sidewalk for half a moment, staring wistfully at the tree, before shaking his head and pressing onward, his mind pulled back to more important and urgent matters.

  However, the tree remained a constant, always in the back of his mind. Free days were few and far between, but on the morning of one, Jason decided that he needed to meet the tree. At the very least, he would spend a few minutes just standing near it; perhaps he could touch the bark, grab a leaf and find out what the fragrance was like up close.

  His resolution was set. On the morning of his intended trip, the calls started coming in: projects, work, papers, contacts; he silenced his cell phone and turned off his computer. He put on his cap and laced up his sneakers, humming all the while. His phone vibrated on the table, but for once, he didn’t even notice it. He could finally meet the tree.

  He stepped out of the house, feeling light and light-headed. The door seemed to lock itself before he set off down the path, curiously excited. The pavement was surprisingly empty as he strolled jauntily, trying to contain a sudden urge to whistle.

  Soon, he came to the spot where he would always pause for those half-moments. The tree swayed gently in the distance, seeming to dance to the breeze that now gently caressed his face. He breathed deeply, immersing himself in the scent that had become so familiar. Climbing over the fence- had there always been a fence there? He’d never noticed- he felt his sneakers sink into the grass that was taller than expected. Though they tickled at his legs, they were mere nuisances in his journey to that wonderful tree.

  In a much shorter time than he expected, he was right at the edge of the shadow of the tree. He smiled up at its leaves, and breathed deeply. It was a momentous occasion, and he wanted to feel every angle, every particle of that point in time.
  He stepped forward.
  The world became slightly darker, though the aroma grew stronger simultaneously. He took another step, and every step after that was easier. Soon, he was standing next to the trunk of the tree. He rested his hand against it, enjoying the rough texture of the bark. It was everything he had imagined.

He sat down beneath the tree, resting his back against it. He could see his house from here. Time seemed to slow; the breeze was even gentler, the grass was comfortable instead of intrusive, and the tree bark felt softer than down.
  Abruptly, he heard rustling before a head appeared over the hilltop. It was a freckled face with green eyes and red hair; she was his age.

  “Hello,” she said. She didn’t look the least bit surprised to find someone else beneath the tree.

  “Hi,” he replied. Somehow, it felt natural that both of them should be there at the same time. They stared at each other for a second, an eternity, before she walked beneath the leaves, up to the tree, and sat down.

  For a long while, they sat there, staring out at the buildings beneath them. Perhaps time froze; he couldn’t tell. He said nothing, she said nothing, and they existed beneath that tree for an untold length of time.

  Soon, she rose from her seated position, and left. There was no warning, no indication; she was simply gone, her only trace being the flattened grass where she once was. Somehow, he felt a sudden lack, as though she had been vital to the experience, even if she hadn’t done anything. In mere moments, he felt dissatisfaction with the tree.

  All he could think about now was how much happier he’d been when there was someone else to share the tree with him.

  Maybe she’ll come back, he thought. So he sat there and waited. She did not return.

  The sun began to set. Every prick of the grass seemed to sting, the bark poked against his back, rugged and deformed. He looked at the tree and sighed, mild anger simmering in his heart. He got up, and left without any intention of coming back. He no longer smelt the fragrance in the wind.

  

  When she returned, the man was no longer sitting there. Slightly disappointed, she sat beneath the tree. Staring out at the houses beneath her, she felt a sudden lack. However, she rested herself against the tree and breathed deeply; recapturing that feeling she’d had when the shade had first enveloped her.

  The sun disappeared beneath the horizon, and the stars began to appear. She looked at them and smiled. She’d been here a thousand times, but each moment seemed more alive than the last.

  She would return tomorrow.

Michael and Solitair

  "Hey Michael!"

  There it was again; the sound that signalled the beginning of lunch. He pulled out his earphones and placed them on top of his keyboard, pulling his lips into the customary smile he had practiced so much. On his laptop screen, the images kept flashing as his character lost all its health and perished to its enemies. He put his hood down.
  "Hey Cheryl," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. He realized that he could not remember if he had saved or not.
  "I'm not bothering you am I?" she asked, head tilted to the side. He shook his own wordlessly; he didn't think he had saved. He mentally punched himself; that was an hour of grinding poured down the drain.
  "Anyway, we're going for lunch at McDonald's today. Wanna come with us?"
  He nodded. "Sure," was all he said. Was there a faster way to gain all of his items back, or was he going to have to go through the same subplot all over again? The sword had been a really good reward.
  He pushed himself up from his chair, adjusting his jacket and gesturing for Cheryl to lead the way. She beamed and obliged, leading him to her group of friends that she normally ate lunch with. They included one Jack, one Ariel and one Danson. Vaguely, he wondered if Danson had ever finished the game that Michael himself had recommended to him. It was a good one, with excellent mechanics and an immersive story, although its downfall was ultimately the poor conclusion and sometimes buggy game play.
  Again, he mentally punched himself for not saving.
  Cheryl laughed at a joke Jack made, while Jack smiled from ear to ear, looking pleased with himself. Michael looked curiously at him before turning his head away.
  As they walked down the stairway, Michael gazed out the windows, catching the sunlight on his cheek and observing the numerous students playing on the grassy lawns. There was so much space for them that he saw two simultaneous Frisbee games happening at once.
  "There you go, staring out the window and spacing out again." Cheryl said, her frown bringing him back to reality. "Honestly, talk to us, we're right here! Those people are so far away, yet you look as though you'd rather be conversing with them," she huffed. Michael could tell from her face that she was halfway between amusement and frustration. It was a funny face.
  "I was just thinking," he lied. Or was it really lying? He was absorbing the world he was living in. Did that involve thinking?
  She sighed. "You know, I ask you along not so you can play games in your head. You should stop thinking about them sometimes."
  He nodded, taking her advice without a word.
  As they left the staircase, he listened to their conversations. Ariel and Danson were discussing the latest project that the teachers had assigned to the teams. It involved a lot of outfield work and effort, and they were already beginning to plan when they could do their part for it. Jack was telling more jokes that he had gleaned from friends and the internet, continuing to make Cheryl laugh and grinning whenever he succeeded. Some of his jokes were funny.
  He listened as Ariel and Danson's discussion turned to the latest episode of some popular Korean Drama. There was talk about how the antagonist had hinted at his true intentions, and Ariel thought it had a much deeper meaning to it. Danson didn't agree; he thought that the villain was just that: a villain. Michael thought about how rare villains were evil for the sake of being evil, but he said nothing.
  They ordered their food, Michael asking for a Double-cheese burger meal, with no ice in the coke. When the coke arrived, there was ice in it, but he didn't want to make a fuss. Instead, he thought about how if he had ice his character would have survived the fire traps. He chuckled to himself.
  "What are you laughing at?" Cheryl asked curiously.
  "Nothing," he replied, and stopped chuckling. She wouldn't get it anyway.
  Over lunch, the talk suddenly transitioned to gaming, and he lit up. Danson was discussing the plot from the game that Michael had recommended him. So he had played it.
  "I just don't think that the choices the main character makes are realistic to his personality," he heard Danson say.
  "I guess so," Cheryl said as she chewed on her burger.
  "Makes sense," Ariel nodded.
  "I agree," Jack said, obviously disinterested.
  Michael couldn't hold himself back. "Actually, they're completely in sync. In the first two chapters or so, they revealed how much he actually cares about others, its just that he chooses to hide it for fear that his enemies will discover his weaknesses. That's why his facial expression never changes in conversations, if you'll keep an eye on him, even though everyone else's does."
  Michael looked around at the eyes on him, and shrunk.
  "Wow, Michael, I think that's the first time I've heard you string more than ten words together!" Ariel laughed.
  "Yeah, don't run out of breath there," Jack joked.
  "Are you sure? I'm pretty sure that those scenes didn't have anything to do with the character development. Fairly certain they were just fillers. Plus, the facial expression thing could be a bug, since they're still updating it..."
  Cheryl only smiled, saying nothing.
  Michael shrugged, and said nothing, taking a gulp from his drink. He put his hood up.

  Michael set up his laptop back home, and got on Skype. Hanging up his jacket, he pulled on his headset and made himself comfortable. Most of his guild mates were online, and he entered the call to hang out with them.
  "'Sup guys."
  "You're home early, aren't you?" denzer inquired in that nasally voice of his. Michael checked denzer's game status and saw that he was hanging out in a lobby, waiting for teammates before heading into another dungeon.
  Michael smiled. "Your sense of time is non-existent, that's all, denzer."
  "You're non-existent, Soli," denzer retorted, referring to Michael by his in game name. "Hurry up and get in here. I plan on defeating ol' Dermish today, and I need another damage dealer."
  "Is that a wild Solitair?" Soli recognised the voice of his guild leader, RYOUta. It was rare to see him personally in the Skype nowadays. He was apparently very busy with his job, and he was always tired whenever Soli talked to him. "Hey RYO. Showing your face after so long... how's life been for you?"
  "Horrible as always, how do you think? It's like you like stating the obvious sometimes, Soli."
  Soli laughed without taking offense. His guild leader was always this barbed, but he never meant anything.
  "Can you hurry up, Soli? Dermish only lives for two centuries, and you're taking nearly that long," denzer whined.
  "Shut up, I'm coming. You're like a little girl," Soli bantered. He loaded up the game, signing in quickly and joining up with denzer's party. He and denzer always quested together, but there was always a cycle of different guild members that played with them. IyIsha was the regular healer, but Soli recalled that she was at camp for the rest of the week. Pity; she was one of the best healers he had ever worked with. She was fun to hang out with too.
  It was a party of five, with him and denzer on Ebony Knight and Blood Assassin respectively, boba (Soli didn't talk much with him, but he seemed like an okay guy) as the Elemental Caster, Jeeman (he was funny sometimes and annoying at others) as the Oakskin Berserker, and a Cleric of Kwan that Soli didn't recognise. It was a classic set-up, with two melee damage dealers, one distance damage dealer, one tank and one healer.
  Soli was actually quite proud of his Ebony Knight build. While the Ebony Knight was normally a decent Tank with relatively low damage output, Soli had leveled him such that he could dole out massive amounts of damage while still taking advantage of the stun based skills that normally revolved around an Ebony Knight. He had farmed for hours to find the items that would complement and improve it to new heights.
  "Who's the new kid?" Soli asked denzer. It was rare to see a Cleric of Kwan; the build was just so papery, most avoided it.
  "New guild mate. We recruited him when you went to bed last night."
  "At 4 am? Who's crazier than me?"
  "Him apparently. Also, he's in the call, and he can hear you gossiping about him."
  "Huh. Hey... uh... darth_revan? Welcome to the guild." That was such a horrible name.
  The guy had to be younger than 12. His voice was higher than Ariel's. Thinking about her made him slightly annoyed, which made him feel guilty as well. He forcefully turned his thoughts back to his new guild mate. He was halfway through speaking.
  "...excited to join you guys! I've never partied to fight Dermish before, so I hope don't burden you guys."
  Soli smiled, remembering the nervousness that he had the first time he had partied with denzer. Denzer had been in the guild for at least 6 months before him, so he was a veteran member while Soli had been nothing but a lowly recruit.
  "Listen to me and you'll be fine, kid. Let's go," Soli said, taking the lead as usual.
  The dungeon was easy in the beginning, but the difficulty scaled exponentially once the Hoard Folk started appearing. From there, it was important that the Oakskin Berserker properly use his Totems to draw their attention and make them clump, so the Elemental Caster and Shadow Assassin could use their Area of Effect attacks to easily wipe them out.
  The problems started appearing when revan (Soli was not calling him darth_revan) kept using Holy Pillar on the clusters of Hoard Folk. Holy Pillar did massive amounts of damage to enemies and healed allies in the area of effect, but did less to those that weren't undead, like the Hoard Folk. He was helping to kill them, but he should have been saving his mana to keep his teammates alive. The least he could have done was cast the Holy Pillar better so it healed both the tank and killed the enemies.
  Soli could feel his frustration building, but he said nothing.
  They finally made it to the deepest level and confronted the demon, Dermish. As they walked through the boss doors, Soli's mind envisioned himself as his character, standing with his four other party members side by side and staring into its fiery red eyes, its blazing axe hefted in its solid black arms. His blood pumped and his eyes widened. A smile of anticipation spread across his face.
  "Let's do it. Set the totems! Revan, heal Jeeman and make sure he doesn't die. Denzer, circle around and put that backstab trinket of yours to use. Keep up the pressure, boba!" He moved himself into position, next to the tank, slamming the earth with his blade repeatedly, stunning the demon over and ensuring there was enough time for his teammates to get in position. They had obeyed him promptly, letting him strike the flesh of the demon with his sword as it was distracted by the totems.
  Everything seemed to be going well, with Soli dodging in and out of the flames that periodically exuded from the ground and striking heavily where he could. He could almost feel the lifeforce of his enemy draining away.
  Suddenly, a beam of light pierced the ground. Soli felt himself being healed, but there was nothing to replenish. He was perfectly healthy, having dodged the torrents of fire so well.
  "Revan, what the hell are you doing?" he shouted.
  "Huh?" he heard his healer reply. Another pillar of light pierced the ground on top of the demon, making it scream in pain.
  "Why are you using Holy Pillar when you should be using the mana on Jeeman like I told you to?!" Even without looking, he could tell that their tank was slowly dying, increasing amounts of lacerations piling up on his bark-like skin as he absorbed hit after hit from Dermish. Another pillar of light slammed into the demon.
  "Can you STOP using Holy Pillar! Jeeman's this close to getting killed!"
  Soli's blood ran cold when he heard the response. "It's alright, I can cast it on Jeeman and Dermish!"
  He watched as revan casted the spell. He watched as the pillar of light landed on both Jeeman and Dermish, damaging Dermish and healing Jeeman slightly- oh, so slightly.
  Dermish swung his axe once more, and Jeeman's body of Oak became nothing but a husk, leaves bursting into the air, before being charred to cinders in flashes of flame.
  Immediately, Soli attempted to slam the ground once more, trying to gain enough time to put some distance between him and the demon. But he'd used all his energy for that in the beginning of the fight. He felt his Ebony Armor shatter, not designed to hold up against the augmented blades of demon beasts.
  His health bar dropped to zero.
  He watched blankly as the boss turned on denzer, then boba, and finally revan.
  QUEST FAILED played across the screen, in bright red colours, dripping blood. They weren't necessary: Soli was already seeing red.
  "ARE YOU RETARDED?!" he screamed into the microphone, slamming the table simultaneously. His mouse fell to the floor, unnoticed.
  "I literally told you to listen to me right from the BEGINNING! Do you have ears?!"
  "Calm down, dude," denzer said, "he's new, he'll learn. We can always go again."
  Soli breathed in and out, reigning himself in. "Fine. But revan, the next time I tell you to do something, you bloody listen to me. Or else, you're not gonna be in this guild for much longer." He reached down and picked his mouse off the floor. He didn't recall dropping it at all.
  "We're going to have to start from the beginning. Remember the totems when the Hoard Folk come, and to create water elementals the moment the ember lizards spawn. Keep watching Jeeman's back, denzer. Let's have a perfect run people."
  They beat Dermish under his direction.

  "Hey Michael!"
  Michael looked up from his laptop, remembering to pause this time. He had redone the quest, and his progress was saved. He executed the routine smile, removing his hood as he did so.
  "Hey, Cheryl" he said with mustered effort.
  "They're having an offer down at Subway, so we're planning on going down there today. Wanna come with?"
  He considered, seriously this time, whether he wanted to go with them or not. He remembered how Ariel had laughed at him, how Jack had made fun of him, and how Danson had dismissed his opinion. Then he remembered how Cheryl had said nothing.
  "Sure," he said, gesturing for her to lead the way.

In-depth review of MC7 Upper Bracket Semi-finals

I wrote this while bored of actually playing video games. If you don't follow competitive Team Fortress 2, I recommend you skip this one. It gets very technical and has absurd amounts of TF2 jargon.

Predicted to be one of the best matches of the season, the rankings on Saloon were heavily favouring Cute Beast, but the call was that both teams were equally experienced and evenly matched.

The write-up for the match can be viewed here.

It is important note however, that both teams had not scrimmed for more than a week due to real life commitments on either side. Thus, the epic standoff between the two teams devolved somewhat.

Play By Play

The first round was hard fought, repeatedly bouncing from last to last, going for a good 12 minutes before Cute Beast finally managed to take the first point. However, Pingu found a sudden burst of momentum and immediately took the next two rounds in 3 minutes, rolling Cute Beast from middle to last twice in a row.

While the next two rounds were more hard fought, it appeared to be futile. The coordination demonstrated by Pingu was almost mechanical, disassembling any attempts by Cute Beast to push out and ruthlessly seizing the slightest openings to make progress. The only thing keeping Cute Beast in the game at that point was Flower, whose sniping halted Pingu in their tracks multiple times (Flower hitting the most ridiculous headshot on And between Shocky’s legs was the highlight of the match).

Pingu picked up the next two rounds, making the score 4 – 1. The clock was winding down for Cute Beast, and in a last ditch effort, the Chinese played a super aggressive mid, jumping both soldiers in deep. It worked, wiping Pingu and capping last in a good 1 minute 30 seconds.

The score was 4 – 2 and Cute Beast had only 5 minutes left.

Cute Beast won the next mid and took second almost instantaneously, having full knowledge that every second was exponentially increasing in importance. They readied their last push, and ubered in through shutter. However, a single moment of disorganisation meant that not everyone was in at last, and Pingu had kited the uber too well. The post-uber fight decimated any hope that Cute Beast had of tying up the game,  and the map declined into stats padding, the score remaining 4 – 2 to Pingu.

The second map was Sunshine, rarely seen in Asian pugs and scrims. Cute Beast had to win in order to push for a third tie breaker map.

But Pingu’s momentum had carried over from Process. They beat Cute Beast at the first mid, a scene that would become extremely familiar in the following 16 minutes. In fact, from start to finish it seemed as though there was little to no hope for Cute Beast. The first round was the longest, lasting a good 6 minutes before Pingu were able to pick an overextending player and complete the last push.

The remaining time was just a sad mess. Cute Beast were unable to win a single mid and their players were constantly caught out of position. One moment would stand out to many, whereby Hysteria and Shad0w were the only ones alive after Cute Beast had successfully completed a four man sacrifice for And. Shortly after, Hysteria jumped in afterward for seemingly no reason, leaving his medic to fend for himself (Shad0w eventually dying in the following chase), denoting a probable lack in communication and overall collapse in cohesion.

It was an excruciating 16 minutes for the 73% that had bet on MC7’s favourites. Pingu emerged victorious, taking the map 5 – 0 and moving on to the Grand Finals. Now, Cute Beast has to defeat Kusoyotech in order to obtain another shot at taking down their greatest rivals…

Log Reviews

The logs for the matches can be viewed below.

Process

Sunshine

Process was dominantly a scout’s game, with the highest DPM coming out from both Flower and Teejay: only 9 damage apart from each other.

What’s significant here is how little 10 did for Cute Beast. Arguably, he did more damage than tommy, but when you have a reputation to keep and teammates to carry (i.e. Hysteria), the damage numbers weigh more. What’s more, tommy had a KA/D of 3.3, the highest in the server. While he wasn’t outputting damage per se, he was doing fantastic in the role assigned him.

In addition to this, Fury was unable to put out the damage that he normally could. A floundering 229 DPM compares poorly to his usual performance, especially considering that he took 26% of the heals from his medic.

With Flower top damaging and top fragging on the server whilst sitting with the least healing on his team, could he have potentially done more?

All in all, the conclusion is that because two of Cute Beast’s star players were not performing to standard, the entire team collapsed around them. While Flower and RLE (who was switched to roamer from medic before the match started) were able to pull their weight impressively, it wasn’t enough to make up for the fact that the remaining fragging classes scored under 250DPM.

As opposed to this, Pingu had an almost textbook game with better slightly better and spread out damage, and with 22% healing across each of the three core classes.

All in all though, the logs don’t really demonstrate how well Pingu was playing together. Much of their victory on process should be attributed to both their teamwork and the fact that many of Cute Beast’s players kept getting caught making plays for the medic.

There isn’t much to be said about Sunshine, considering it was a 5 – 0 victory for Pingu. Three things of note were: Fury did considerably better, getting 315 DPM; Flower spent more time as sniper than as scout; Teejay was out-damaged by Tommy even though tommy got less healing, which is not something just anyone can say.

All in all, Cute Beast was shredded on Sunshine, a defeat that they’ll have to keep in mind while facing off against Kusoyotech.

Conclusion

Cute Beast play a DM-centric style, and it collapsed mainly because Pingu played the team game much better- and that a DM-centric playstyles only function when each player is in shape and performing as expected on the day itself. Ultimately, with rusty rockets and dusty scatterguns, Cute Beast were unable to beat their more cohesive opponents.

Enough

In life we often never grasp
The weight of continual living
Until that moment, that final gasp
Can our mouths exude,
"It is enough"?

At dawn we wake
At noon we work
At dusk we feast
At night we sleep

At dawn we rise
At noon we slog
At dusk we eat
At night we weep

Frustration!
Condemnation!
Dissatisfaction!
Enough is Enough!

A heart's dark doubting with unanswered words
Prayers to gods on lips unheard?
A service or two to those in strife
Perhaps we once had saved a life?

As darkness falls across our eyes
The thoughts around the edge of mind
Beyond the veil, the new world lies
In our last breath,
Was it enough?

A false existence, in desperation
That everyday, begins to fade
Futility fuels our every action
No soul will ever come to aid

In a sorry bed, you go to die
The worst of pain to pass away
In death's warm arms, you softly lie
And wish the phrase,
"It is enough".

Be steadfast
The world contrasts
If you follow them,
You cannot last
It is never enough

Work for those you hold most dear
Love all life, whether far or near
And though the man will always leer
In your heart,
It is enough

Then as you walk that lonely road
The flowered path begins to grow
The scent is strong, you'll always know
At road's end,
It was enough.

It is enough.