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"A Friendship between Realism And non existing. when together, both exist as one." - Hannah

She tossed and turned in her bed as Her quilts wrapped around her clothes body as she flopped herself over while sweating.
"She sat with her friends on the couch as they watched a horror movie‚"
"Then suddenly, the room was pitched black.."

Her eyes squinting shut in fear as her dream proceeded. Her little heart drumming against inside her chest...
"The light's flickered back on..." ...

"Everyone in the room dead..." 
"Execpt her..." 
"So she ran..."
"Running outside the house in fear..."
"a rail..."
"And a train tunnel..."
"She took one step... as her foot touched the wooden metal rail a round headlight blinded her..."
"..She was hit..."

Amara woke up Cold, and sweaty. Tears running down her face. But she was not out of her dream yet.. The image's flashed through her mind, making her only more scared than ever.. She collected herself together, And went downstairs to make a drink...

I'm one of those people that had trouble learning math, especially in high school. For me, the issue wasn't so much math, as how the math was taught: generally the way it was taught in my school years, was solution based, up until around the time I was a having to study Algebra for my gateway exams. I've always learned based on visualized examples, rather than hardware algorithms.

Most of this never became issue, through out the decade I've been writing science fiction and fantasy, until very recently when I had gotten back into learning Ruby. And now I find out that Ruby is almost a dead language at this point. Although for me that's part of the fascination, as I like playing with dead things: dead systems I mean. I liked resurrecting the dead in the form of source code. I was largely self-taught, as I could never afford a university, and my passion for artificial intelligence was something of a recent thing. It made learning the flow of code something of an experience, as my mind was always more of a creative writer.

Later I would eventually learn other languages, like HTML/CSS, some Python, an attempt at Perl, bungled C++, and a few other things like RGSS, which was essentially a version of Ruby specifically designed for video games. Without going into to much detail, let's say I preferred the embodiment of actual AI more than Non Player Characters. But I only gave it a cursory glance until I had finally finished 9 novellas, 84 poems, and some articles here and there.

To me, I think we can actually all learn how to program, but whether we can all learn math is a different matter. In my case it's because I'm more algorithmic in my approach rather than solution based, similarly to how to always preferred writing the ending first, but still wanting to largely imagine my own path forward in a work of fiction. And yet now I'm left with a left of uncertainty, because I've been kind of raised with the idea that I can't be mathematical, even if this was largely a self-imposed restriction. My life like strange fiction. A story of an algorithm raised as scattered flights of fantasy poetry.

All that to say, I'm not really sure how my approach to programming is going to be going forward, or even the fiction that I write. Despite what people may tell you, you don't become more sure of yourself the more you write, rather often sometimes the more doubt you gets, and thus the more of an urge to rewrite old things you wrote. I'm a bit a nervous, as I don't want to make Artificial General Intelligence as a video game character.

I want to embody the algorithm.

Before the second civil war, that broke the broken American Union into several smaller national units.

Set in the fictional Tennessean city of Chatlanta, where virtual reality is being newly developed, and the line between dreams and reality blur. A writer who has a hard time finishing a story, is in search for love.

The playful hacker accidentally courts an assassin/spy for a rival US micro-nation, and decides to rebuild her dead acquaintance to give her a second chance. Interspersed are dreams about being hunted by cannibalistic serial killers, and essays about the nature of the game-design industry.

Author Note: This work is half way finished,  the next half is being plotted.

Fridays were always Chanella's favorite day of the week, she spent the first half of her day editing articles after she'd finished her own. When three pm struck she left work to go meet Eliza and Chance at lunatic moon to talk about the couple's pregnancy attempts, new book ideas and local author meetings Eliza had been invited to speak at, before heading off to the college to teach computer programming in the late afternoon. 
It was currently 11AMam and Chanella was sitting at her desk, proof reading an article on the increase of people committing tax evasion in Saroko Bay, when her 28-year-old co-worker, Dylan Bronxky, stopped by her desk for the third time within the last hour. "Do you have the information on the killings? The local cleaner or whatever he's called?" Chanella swiveled around in her chair, rolling her head in the process to face Dylan, who admittedly was her competition for the new front-page slot. "You know the paper has been momentarily banned from producing a story about that killer after what happened last print". Her voice was flat as she recalled the unfortunate events that had occurred. Dylan may have been a good writer, but his biggest flaw was that he didn't put enough effort into investigating and confirming his information before sending his stories to print, this had led to a well-known lawyer's divorce and the ambush attack on a high school teacher who he'd off handily compared to 'the local cleaner'. "Danielle has been saying since day one, if a story is worth chasing, chase it and we both know it's worth it. That's why I'll get the frontpage slot and you won't." 
Danielle was the publisher of the newspaper, who also happened to be Dylan's new girlfriend, so if he got the slot, she doubted it would be due to his writing ability or even his contribution to the paper. 
Chanella rolled her eyes as Dylan walked away with long confident strides that made him look boarder line egotistical. Unlike Dylan, Chanella didn't have a room near the breakroom, but rather a small cubical next to an astray coffee machine, which she didn't mind as most days' coffee was all she consumed for sustenance. 
Looking back to the screen in slight frustration, Chanella started typing away rapidly. She was irritated that Dylan was still going through with the story, knowing Danielle will in fact give him the front-page slot, even if he got the paper in trouble again because 'any publicity, is good publicity'. That belief is one of the many reasons Chanella and Danielle didn't get along, the only reason Chanella still had a job there was because her articles had sky rocketed the paper's sales, and whoever was higher up the food chain than Danielle knew that, but that didn't stop her from trying to say Chanella was 'over qualified' for her position at almost every board meeting. 
"Keep frowning like that and you'll look like that permanently." A female voice said from behind her, followed by a sly giggle and a high-pitched snort. Chanella looked to her left where the coffee machine was stationed, a tall woman with vibrant dyed pink hair and harry potter styled reading glasses stood next to a shorter woman with black hair cut into a pixie bob, blue eyes and adorable freckles. 
"I'm sure a permanent frown would still be an improvement, instead of looking tired I'd look badass or angry", Chanella jollily fired back to the two girls. "How's your stories going by the way? You still writing the story on the corrupted lawyer scandal Sarah?" Chanella asked the pink haired beauty, curiosity peaking at her story idea. It wasn't a secret that Sarah loved digging up dirt on high profile people of the community, once publishing a story on a member of parliament that had over thirty-three overdue speeding tickets and an invalid driver's license, the head line was 'would you elect someone who believes they're above the law?'.  The shorter woman, Julie-Ann, was known around the paper for sports reports and gambling-help articles. The pair were inseparable, and many had suspected they were dating, but those rumor's were tarnished when Sarah started dating Steven from the copying and printing department. 
"You and everyone else knows that I would never let a story of corruption and scandal slip past me, If I don't remove the vail of lies covering the infamous, who will?" Sarah raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and placed a black manicured nail on Chanella's nose.  Sarah had a flare for the theatrics, she was a theatre major before working here, "ooh, so you're a vigilante behind a computer?" Chanella raised a bushier eyebrow, Julie-Ann bent over giggling. 
Sarah turned and smiled at Julie-Ann's doubled over form, before turning back to Chanella. "yeah, according to the local clean up quiz, I'm the local cleaner", Sarah laughed. Chanella felt her smile drop slightly as she bit the inside of her cheeks, Chanella was never one to be comfortable talking about the local cleaner. Julie-Ann must have noticed the change in Chanella's posture because she was fast to change the subject, "Are you coming to the dinner tonight? It would be good to see you there". Julie-Ann was talking about the monthly dinner the paper organizes with the intention of familiarizing everyone at the paper and in hopes that all the workers will share information and sources. When all it really does is allow workers to drink for free. 
"I'm teaching tonight actually, sorry. Next month is on Saturday night? I can do Saturdays" Chanella made a slight turn in her chair, so she was facing the pair face on. Both girls had small frowns on their faces but didn't comment. They both knew equally well that she wouldn't ditch teaching, no matter how much they asked. Chanella enjoyed teaching coding and programming, almost as much as she liked a good cup of coffee in the morning, she viewed it as a hobby rather than a paying job. 
Sarah and Julie-Ann smiled at Chanella and made plans to sit together at the work dinner the following month. Chanella read the time shown on her computer monitor, and starter packing up. It was ten past three PM, meaning it was time to lock up her computer and leave for lunatic moon. And knowing Dylan liked to scope out her computer, Chanella had started using her personal laptop, while also using different passwords daily, unlike one of their co-workers, Craig, who used the actual word 'Password' to unlock his work computer, it's no wonder he and Lex, his cubical mate, always pitched the same ideas at board meetings. 
Loading her laptop into her handbag, she sets off to her car, and then to lunatic moon to meet the overly happily couple. 
Getting into her car, she set it in drive after texting Eliza, notifying her she was on her way. The drive over to lunatic moon was calming, as Chanella blasted music, murder song by aurora started playing. She started belting out the words without consideration for key or pitch, "5, 4, 3, 2, 1. He holds the gun, against my head!" This was always one of her favorite songs, and it demanded her to sing, or attempt to at least. 
Turning into the lunatic moon car park, she turned the music off while pulling into her usual spot. Twisting the key in the ignition, she turned the car off. 
Chanella got out of her purple jeep and made her way across the parking lot and into the coffee bar. Opening the door, a bell chimed above her head, as her eyes scanned the crowd before landing on Eliza and Chance sitting at their regular table in the far corner, with a window facing the court house. She lined up to get a white chocolate mocha and an apple and cinnamon swirl. 
Nelanne was behind the counter already preparing her mocha and putting her swirl into a brown paper take away bag before Chanella even got to the front of the line.  Nelanne was recently nineteen and living alone, she had moved to Saroko Bay when her long-term boyfriend married the lady he was cheating on her with, after impregnating her. Nelanne Casper had moved to live with family at sixteen before Eliza and Chance gave her a job, not long after that she decided she wanted to live on her own. 
Chanella smiled at Nelanne and handed her a $20 note, the extra was for her 'slush fund' as Chanella said, it had become a habit since the first week Nelanne worked there. Nelanne smiled back and went onto the next customer, "Chanella, hurry that butt up", a voice called from the corner of the room near the wooden stage set up with a microphone and bar stool for when the live bands and solo artists came in to entertain. Instantly a familiar sense of euphoria washed over her, a smile broke out onto her face as she walked as quickly as possible without sprinting and spilling her mocha. While Chanella made an effort to refrain herself and her excitement, Eliza did no such thing, as she came hurdling towards her, weaving through tables and people alike. Once Eliza was in reaching distance, she lunged at Chanella, wrapping her small arms around her, almost knocking the delicious cup of coffee out of her hands but thankfully Chanella was expecting the small outburst of affection. Although a small amount of the liquid goodness landed on her hand, where a small red mark was starting to form. 
"Coffee, coffee, I have hot coffee." Chanella chanted in hopes Eliza would release her, but all she did was hug tighter as an evil giggle rang out through her chest. Once Eliza let go of her, Chanella not so graciously licked the cooled coffee off her right hand, leaving what looked like a pink lipstick stain in its place. Eliza grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the table in the corner where her husband sat smiling in amusement, not having moved an inch during the whole fiasco. 
Nearing the table, Chance got up to hug Chanella and kiss his energetic wife. Seeing the pair always made Chanella wish for a family, a husband and children, she shook her head in hopes of physically shaking the thoughts from her brain. 
"A celebration is in order I believe", Chance spoke in pride while raising a coffee mug filled with a questionable liquid. Chanella furrowed her eyebrows in question, "Celebration? For what?" A squeal was her immediate answer, "Well for one, I'm sure the first page slot will be yours after next print comes out, and secondly, I've found a new publisher!" Chanella ignored the first half of Eliza's statement, tired of continuously explaining how and why she won't get the slot, "What happened to your old publisher? He did the job well enough." Last Chanella heard, Eliza loved her publisher, he was an older man who reminded her of her father, and it was the basis of Eliza's and his work relationship, he was her mentor and he was well known for his experience with fiction novels. "He did, but I wanted to try and make some non-fiction for a while", Eliza looked in her husband's direction for a brief moment of reassurance before continuing. 
"There may be a smaller market for non-fiction, but I'd love to branch out and do some novels about crime survivors and their experiences." Chanella knew Eliza would be better suited to this type of writing as it's what she enjoyed doing. She never got as excited writing fictional stories as she did when she wrote non-fiction. "And your new publisher is more experienced with non-fiction?" Eliza just nodded her head up and down rapidly, making her closely resemble a bobble head doll. Taking a bite from her almost forgotten swirl and a sip from her cooling mocha, Chanella replied, "okay, sounds like a good idea then." Once again, Chanella was met with a high pitch squealing and a tight hug. 
The three continued to talk, and in not too long it was time for Chanella to leave for her lecture. Saying good bye and quickly purchasing another coffee for the drive, she walked outside to the car park, making her way to her jeep. Looking back at the couple, she saw them smiling and laughing away in their own little world, she smiled as her eyes wondered over to the court house, where James Banx was walking down the court steps. He was leaving as a free man, and she knew it from the look on his face. One of his alleged victim's parents were standing by the double glass doors, crying as they watch the man who raped and killed their son walk away without charge. Another killer was wrongfully being released back into society without consequence for their actions. Chanella's smile doubled in size, making her look like a mad woman, for she knew James Banx would be the local cleaners next target.

Now only one thing remained to be done, the knife was in her hand in seconds, the need to sign her work was overpowering. Within a few hours Chanella was home, showered and feeling proud of herself, while James hung, like criminals used to be, a beautiful, red C clearly visible on his naked chest, after all, who leaves someone a present without signing the card. That’s just poor manners. 

criminals have been slipping between the governments finger tips for far too long, Chanella Foreska decided her town needed someone to clean the streets like the police should. The local cleaner was a vigilante that was well known and talked about, they were someone that caught the people that never paid the price for the unjust actions they committed. But what happens when someone finds out exact what shes doing, will she follow her vigilante philosophy in her own life ?

"Cevin," my twin sister called out to me and I automatically looked back to see her. I was quite surprised that the book that I was holding almost fell from my hands. 

Both my sister and I work in the library as student assistants. Our father died because of a car crash and our mother on the other hand works as a call center agent. Her salary isn't enough for the three of us that is why my sister and I became student assistants. It's the least we could do for us; for our mother.

"Ma'am told me to tell you to go to the room at the back of the library. She wants you to look for the book titled 'The Last True Cowboy' by Kathleen Eagle," she added and I just nodded at her as my answer. My sister got some books and she went to her desk to fix the cards of the books. I walked swiftly towards the room to find the book I was asked to look for. 

I arrived at the room and turned on the switch of the room but the bulbs didn't light up. I turned on the flashlight of my phone and one by one, I looked at the shelves to see the book ma'am wanted me to get for her.

I saw different kinds of books on the shelves, with different genres made in different timelines. Almost all of the books here are books that aren't frequently used or borrowed. Old books, to be more specific. Fiction, non-fiction, old news articles, et cetera. Most of them are all kept here but the problem is, the books aren't all organized which makes looking for specific books difficult to see.

I also have the interest in reading books. I don't find watching television very interesting because it doesn't get me to use my imagination very well. In every book that I read, I like it when I get to imagine the worlds or the situations being described by the author through his or her character's senses. In this way, I get to make my mind active other than doing school works.

My index finger stopped when I saw the book I was supposed to look for. I pulled the book from the shelf but was a little bit startled when a black book beside it fell on the floor. It was opened when it landed and to my curiosity, I pointed at my phone to see what book it was. 

"Weird," I commented when I saw nothing written, drawn, or printed on its pages. I knelt down to further examine the book but when I came across its book cover, it even had no title. I got lazy returning it on the shelf so I just left the book on the floor. 

I went outside the room and went straight to my sister, Terra, at the main desk and sat beside her.

“Only those with great intentions can see this book and those chosen by the book will make its desired story… 
but you will never return.”

~

Credit to Patricia Coleen Balmocena for doing the book cover.

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Copyright 2018 by B.thesy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual event, location, organization, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 by
Sanguine_Sanguine
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locates or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Before I left, I gave a quick glance at my masterpiece – Corbin with a silky red ribbon on his neck looking like an unwrapped Christmas gift. 
"By the way, he's all yours....and don't bother returning him when you're done" I left the place with a grin... a mask....



Copyright 2018 by B.thesy 

All rights reserved. 

No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual event, location, organization, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Those stories had filled me with fear. The type of fear that lived within you and grew with you. The fears that turned into shadows, following right behind you.

The fear of who I was, and what I was capable of.

That fear. 

Of being hated.

They hated me. I knew it because I heard the stories they told of people like me... People who had one foot in the real world, and another foot in the shadow world. 

I was one of them. A mlezi. I didn't know what would outrage my people more... Being a spirit of dark element or their princess?

Whatever their reaction was, I knew my days were numbered in this kingdom.

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Kamaria And The Shadows.

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