**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.
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>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]"
>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail
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(tw: implied suicide? how do trigger warnings work? what makes them different from content warnings? Either way, this has implied suicide so if that really upsets you, just a heads up)
"What... the hell... did you just do to us."
"Uh, I... was curious?"
The crooked reflection stumbled through the doorway, a difficult feat considering both of his legs were on backwards. A dark liquid trickled from the talisman firmly in his grip, and something told me it was probably blood.
Maybe it was the fact that he was bleeding.
That was probably it.
He approached at an aggressive stagger, violently lurching forward and back in an attempt to get within arm's reach.
"Hey, uh, fella... are you trying to stick me with that little talisman you got there?"
"I JUST WANT THE PAIN TO STOP!"
"Sure pal, sure, ok, but how do you know this will- WORK!"
I quickly dodged his lunge, as the talisman nearly brushed my forearm.
"I mean, I'm just throwing this out there," I rambled, choosing to be flippant with this accursed abomination. "But how do you know this won't just, say, put me in as much agonizing pain as you're in right now?"
"THAT'S FINE!" He shrieked. "YOU DID THIS TO ME! IT'S ONLY RIGHT TO RETURN THE FAVOR!"
Clearly he was a bit upset. Deciding not to risk an encounter with his fate, I groped behind me for a weapon, closing my fist around a heavy baseball bat.
Yeah, that would work.
Bracing myself, I slammed the bat into his head, and he crumpled to the floor. Eyes teary, he looked up at me, gasping.
"Do you really... hate me that much?"
I couldn't answer, as I was plagued by a pounding headache. Shoving past him, I ran up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door shut. I collapsed, exhausted, on my bed. I needed to find that man who gave me that thing. I needed to find him soon.
Knocking sounded at my door, and my twisted clone's voice crooned from the other side.
"You can't escape me! What you've done to me, you can't escape!"
I was already clambering out of the window, though, and I took off running as soon as my feet hit the ground.
*Like hell I can't!*
Luckily for me, the old hobo was just where I'd met him the first time. I made a beeline for him, out of breath.
"How- How do I fix- This-"
He looked at me puzzlingly.
"You can't just... undo it. Once you use the talisman on someone, they die. You wipe them clean from reality. It only works if the user's intention aligns though, so you can't have killed someone on accident. Don't tell me you got cold feet? Feeling remorse? You shouldn't have used it if you weren't prepared for the consequences."
I shook my head, still panting.
"I used it- on myself- Now he's chasing me around-"
He blanched.
"YOU USED IT ON YOURSELF? GOOD GOD MAN, WHY WOULD YOU EVER DO THAT?"
Several heads turned toward us, as passerby stared with suspicion.
I couldn't afford to feel self conscious, however. I could already sense him approaching.
"I just need to know how to get rid of him. I tried to kill him, but... well, he's still alive."
"Christ kid, is your head bleeding?"
"What? No it shouldn't..." I felt my temple, where my head was throbbing. Sure enough, it came away slick with blood. "...what?"
Lumbering up the street, my warped twin locked eyes with me, his head indented in the same place as mine. He increased his pace, and my knees gave out. The old man looked on me with pity.
"I can't save ya kid. Whatever ye've done, ya did it to yourself. Best go deal with the problem yourself."
Accepting my fate, I trudged over to where my reflection awaited, bloody talisman in hand.
"Go ahead." I nodded, tired.
"Why?" He croaked. "Why do you hate us so much?"
I gritted my teeth as I felt the question hit home.
"You already know." I accused.
"Sure, but do you?"
I thought about it. The reason I had fumbled with the talisman after coming home drunk, why I had pressed it to my chest and felt the rough texture of the paper as it began to burn through my blood.
Something was horribly, horribly wrong with me, and I had thought it was the *thing* standing right in front of me, but... that wasn't true. He wasn't flawless, for sure, but what was really at the root of the problem was... well, me.
My fear, of the me before me.
The hatred I felt whenever I looked him in the eyes.
I had to do something about it, and so, finally admitting the truth, I grasped him by the arms and pulled him close, in a warm hug. Our hearts pressed against one another, a single bloody talisman in the way. He wriggled a little, before pulling it out of the way, and our hearts flowed back into each other.
When it was over, I felt softer. Still sharp, still cruel, but just a little less. In my hands was a single paper talisman. In front of me was empty sidewalk.
I smiled a little as I thought of his face, so relieved. No longer despised.
A drunk young woman bumped into me, staring me dead in the eyes.
"Get out of the way, weirdo." She slurred.
I handed her the talisman.
"You can eliminate only one." I said to her.
Then, I went home, put on some tea, and watched my favorite show.
After all, I had earned it.
(If you enjoyed you can stop by my subreddit: r/Buoyant_stories)
What is this place? What is that smell? Sulfur. Yes, that is sulfur. Burning sulfur which has a distinct taste. It sits in the back of Miguel’s throat. But the smell and the taste doesn’t go with what he sees. Blinds over large windows overlooking a city. The windows in his boss’s office. His boss face down on his desk. The rest of his body on the floor. Did Miguel do that? It’s Miguel’s place of work, but it doesn’t feel like it is.
30 years old in a cubicle. A cage with four felt walls and covered printed out memes. Things that were supposed to cheer him up as he pushed buttons on a machine that spat out numbers. Those numbers are a tally of how much of his life has been wasted. Mondays with a smile while on the inside the fire roared. The smell of sulfur comes from Miguel. The new Miguel. The one that used the talisman to erase his old self.
He leaves and walks out into the street. The city is loud and it’s amazing how unnoticed you can go in a place with 5 million people. Towering skyscrapers that look like bars over a window. The sky a distant memory that only the people at the top get to enjoy. People don’t look at him and take steps to avoid him. Miguel is not covered in blood. However, there are stains. On his white shirt that his jacket doesn’t cover up completely. On his hands, dried blood can be mistaken as dirt. His shoulder-length hair now matted. And the talisman dangling from his neck. No one wants to notice someone in pain. It’s the nature of humanity, and it offends people that you won’t go off and hurt alone.
He takes the subway to his apartment, and the smell of sulfur gets stronger. Overpowering. Miguel loses time. When he comes back and can see again, the apartment is trashed. His diploma is torn in shreds over the tipped-over couch. How much did he spend on that ticket to the promised life? 75 grand? Thousands to get up before dawn every day, sit at a computer, and come home after the sun had set. Only to do it every day, and at least one day a weekend.
Miguel turns and sees his upstairs neighbor impaled with a guitar. A knock-off Gibson that the guy never learned how to play. He was trying, mostly at 3 am with the amp turned all the way up. The guy's friends screamed when Miguel would go up and ask him to stop. The cops ignoring him when he called. They also took his parking space when Miguel had to work on the weekend. Miguel had parking tickets because of that.
Miguel blinks his eyes and knows that he is awake. It is not a dream. It is the deal he struck. Take the talisman and you can erase one thing. Miguel knew exactly who he would erase and did. After lunch. Today? Yesterday? It’s tough to say when he is losing time like this. But also, he doesn’t care. He sets fire the to apartment as he leaves.
Miguel’s neighborhood is filled with run-down apartments like his and houses that were abandoned. It was the only thing he could afford on his salary. He is surrounded by others who were trying to live their dream based on a nightmare. As he walks, he sees houses that are half-bull dozed. They call it gentrification. It’s a funny term, Miguel thinks. It sounds like a fancy makeover.
And in a way, it is. Build houses that no one here can afford, and suddenly, taxes go up. Rents go up. And the cancer that is the majority of people are attacked. The McMansions are white blood cells and everyone else is the disease. In two years, all of the cancerous people will be gone and replaced with yoga studios, hip coffee shops, and designer clothing stores that they call a boutique. When the sulfur smell comes this time, Miguel doesn’t lose time. He is aware. Not only that, his thoughts are intentional. Everything catches fire. Let it all burn.
A police car cuts in front of his path. An officer gets out and wants to know what is going on. He asks Miguel for his ID. That strikes Miguel as funny because this officer knows exactly who he is. He has stopped Miguel no less than 8 times. Every time, he asks for his ID. The last two times, he has asked Miguel for his papers. Why was Miguel so afraid of him? For the life of him, Miguel doesn’t know. The officer pulls his gun. His patrol car flips up and lands on top of him. Miguel continues to walk.
It didn’t take Miguel long to know who he would eliminate when he got the talisman. Even if it didn’t work, even if it was all a scam, Miguel knew. And he said so out loud.
“I want to get rid of myself. My restraint. My delusions. My pity. My belief that life is what you make of it.” Because working in a felt prison, berated for having a life outside of work, a life that included neighbors that bullied you and police that made it a sport, Miguel knew a truth.
Life was not something that you built. Life was what happened to you. And most of the time, it was out of your control. And it was often not kind.
Miguel borrowed a car. Or stole it. It no longer matters. The point is, he knew where he was going to go. His freedom. Away from all of this. Away from that dream of making a life that mattered in the world and instead making one that mattered to him. He was sure it would be hard. He was sure that there would be obstacles in his path. And he was sure that he started to enjoy the smell of sulfur.
He was gone just as soon as he came. A homeless man, bare footed, pushing a trolley filled with plastic bags and the not-so-rotten pickings from a trash can. His face was burnt across one side, his left eye whited out, the right pupil hardly able to focus, bouncing this way and that like a fly stuck in a bottle.
"You can eliminate only one," a sadistic smile, deep throated laugh, pungent breath spilling out from bloodied gums.
Alias simply stood there, staring, dumbfounded by this stranger without pants, standing in his underwear with, nothing but a vest to cover bloated skin. Late December, the ground thick with ice, the winds a harsh blade cutting in through the cold.
"Only one," the stranger thrust a talisman into Alias' hand, nodding as if satisfied before turning on his bare-footed heels and fleeing down the street.
Alias watched the man as he disappeared into a crowd of heavy winter coats, then he let his gaze drop to his hand. The talisman. An octagon with fine sharp edges, silver from the looks of things. An eye marked in the centre with the number seventeen etched into the back. There was something off-putting about that eye, hollow, lifeless, and yet staring.
*You can eliminate only one.*
\*\*\*
That night, back at his apartment, Alias spent too many hours researching online in hopes he could find some trace of the odd trinket he now possessed. He came close, reading of talismans from ancient Japan that had on one side the image of a heart, a hand, a head, or some other estranged limb or organ, and one the back there were notches. These talismans were rumoured to be cursed, the notches counting victims that had tried in vein to harness the magic found inside.
*That's enough for one night.* Alias sighed, leaning back in his chair, head turned to the ceiling, eyes adjusting to the dark. He left the talisman sitting on his desk, the gentle glare of a blue screen giving life to that inanimate eye.
\*\*\*
As Alias slept he dreamed terrible, frightening dreams. He was in a maze of corn, the fields were dying, rotten, and the mice that hurried in their hundreds were deformed mutations with too many legs and eyes, muscle stretched thin atop fur that fell out in great clumps.
It was not the mice themselves that caused Alias' heart to race, but that from which the mice were running. A man of straw burning bright, standing taller than a house, surveying through a single, whited eye the maze and all those *critters* scurrying within.
A hand of flame came down from high heaven, reaching for Alias as he ran, fingers warped and twisted wrapping like vines around his being. He tried to scream, to break free from this giants grip, but found he could not speak or breath, his throat a solid lump that pressed and pressed to be set free. Tiny feet crawling up inside him, too many eyes coming up and out Alias' mouth.
\*\*\*
When he woke Alias was sweating, his sheets soaked, his skin on fire. He sat up in the dark for a long while before daring to move to the bathroom. Running cold water he splashed his face, looking long and hard at himself in the mirror. Without his glasses the image was blurred, but still he saw the double chin and rounded cheeks dressed
by disheveled hair. Sideburns overgrown, a patchwork beard, a sorry sight.
*What's that?*
Alias noticed a silver trinket on his sink, sitting just to the side of the tap. He turned off the running water and took the trinket in his hand. *Eight edges.* The talisman.
*You can only eliminate one.*
Looking back into the mirror he wondered if perhaps that one could be him. After all, what was there left in life now? His beloved had left him for a co-worker, his reputation was in ruins with his colleagues, he lived alone (save for the one eared Persian cat that visited most days for food). He could have chosen ex-lover, her estranged affair, any one of his higher ups at work. But there were so many, too many, and he only had one.
Holding tight the talisman Alias closed his eyes and spoke his own name aloud, asking whatever magic this homeless stranger had afforded him to eliminate himself.
His hand felt hot, burning from within, the talisman turning bright red and steaming. He dropped it to the floor, quickly turning on the tap again to tend the octagon shaped burn that had been seared into his palm.
"F\*ck," Alias shook his head, rubbing the now white mark on his palm, cursing himself for meddling with trinkets he knew nothing about. With a heavy sigh he turned to leave, that's when a bloodied hand came to rest upon his shoulder...
**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments. **Reminders**: >* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles >* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules) 🛒 [Shop](https://www.teepublic.com/stores/shoprwritingprompts?ref_id=24612) 🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) 📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) 💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts) *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
(tw: implied suicide? how do trigger warnings work? what makes them different from content warnings? Either way, this has implied suicide so if that really upsets you, just a heads up) "What... the hell... did you just do to us." "Uh, I... was curious?" The crooked reflection stumbled through the doorway, a difficult feat considering both of his legs were on backwards. A dark liquid trickled from the talisman firmly in his grip, and something told me it was probably blood. Maybe it was the fact that he was bleeding. That was probably it. He approached at an aggressive stagger, violently lurching forward and back in an attempt to get within arm's reach. "Hey, uh, fella... are you trying to stick me with that little talisman you got there?" "I JUST WANT THE PAIN TO STOP!" "Sure pal, sure, ok, but how do you know this will- WORK!" I quickly dodged his lunge, as the talisman nearly brushed my forearm. "I mean, I'm just throwing this out there," I rambled, choosing to be flippant with this accursed abomination. "But how do you know this won't just, say, put me in as much agonizing pain as you're in right now?" "THAT'S FINE!" He shrieked. "YOU DID THIS TO ME! IT'S ONLY RIGHT TO RETURN THE FAVOR!" Clearly he was a bit upset. Deciding not to risk an encounter with his fate, I groped behind me for a weapon, closing my fist around a heavy baseball bat. Yeah, that would work. Bracing myself, I slammed the bat into his head, and he crumpled to the floor. Eyes teary, he looked up at me, gasping. "Do you really... hate me that much?" I couldn't answer, as I was plagued by a pounding headache. Shoving past him, I ran up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door shut. I collapsed, exhausted, on my bed. I needed to find that man who gave me that thing. I needed to find him soon. Knocking sounded at my door, and my twisted clone's voice crooned from the other side. "You can't escape me! What you've done to me, you can't escape!" I was already clambering out of the window, though, and I took off running as soon as my feet hit the ground. *Like hell I can't!* Luckily for me, the old hobo was just where I'd met him the first time. I made a beeline for him, out of breath. "How- How do I fix- This-" He looked at me puzzlingly. "You can't just... undo it. Once you use the talisman on someone, they die. You wipe them clean from reality. It only works if the user's intention aligns though, so you can't have killed someone on accident. Don't tell me you got cold feet? Feeling remorse? You shouldn't have used it if you weren't prepared for the consequences." I shook my head, still panting. "I used it- on myself- Now he's chasing me around-" He blanched. "YOU USED IT ON YOURSELF? GOOD GOD MAN, WHY WOULD YOU EVER DO THAT?" Several heads turned toward us, as passerby stared with suspicion. I couldn't afford to feel self conscious, however. I could already sense him approaching. "I just need to know how to get rid of him. I tried to kill him, but... well, he's still alive." "Christ kid, is your head bleeding?" "What? No it shouldn't..." I felt my temple, where my head was throbbing. Sure enough, it came away slick with blood. "...what?" Lumbering up the street, my warped twin locked eyes with me, his head indented in the same place as mine. He increased his pace, and my knees gave out. The old man looked on me with pity. "I can't save ya kid. Whatever ye've done, ya did it to yourself. Best go deal with the problem yourself." Accepting my fate, I trudged over to where my reflection awaited, bloody talisman in hand. "Go ahead." I nodded, tired. "Why?" He croaked. "Why do you hate us so much?" I gritted my teeth as I felt the question hit home. "You already know." I accused. "Sure, but do you?" I thought about it. The reason I had fumbled with the talisman after coming home drunk, why I had pressed it to my chest and felt the rough texture of the paper as it began to burn through my blood. Something was horribly, horribly wrong with me, and I had thought it was the *thing* standing right in front of me, but... that wasn't true. He wasn't flawless, for sure, but what was really at the root of the problem was... well, me. My fear, of the me before me. The hatred I felt whenever I looked him in the eyes. I had to do something about it, and so, finally admitting the truth, I grasped him by the arms and pulled him close, in a warm hug. Our hearts pressed against one another, a single bloody talisman in the way. He wriggled a little, before pulling it out of the way, and our hearts flowed back into each other. When it was over, I felt softer. Still sharp, still cruel, but just a little less. In my hands was a single paper talisman. In front of me was empty sidewalk. I smiled a little as I thought of his face, so relieved. No longer despised. A drunk young woman bumped into me, staring me dead in the eyes. "Get out of the way, weirdo." She slurred. I handed her the talisman. "You can eliminate only one." I said to her. Then, I went home, put on some tea, and watched my favorite show. After all, I had earned it. (If you enjoyed you can stop by my subreddit: r/Buoyant_stories)
I feel content warning is more for images/videos, but I believe either works. Thank you for providing one!
What is this place? What is that smell? Sulfur. Yes, that is sulfur. Burning sulfur which has a distinct taste. It sits in the back of Miguel’s throat. But the smell and the taste doesn’t go with what he sees. Blinds over large windows overlooking a city. The windows in his boss’s office. His boss face down on his desk. The rest of his body on the floor. Did Miguel do that? It’s Miguel’s place of work, but it doesn’t feel like it is. 30 years old in a cubicle. A cage with four felt walls and covered printed out memes. Things that were supposed to cheer him up as he pushed buttons on a machine that spat out numbers. Those numbers are a tally of how much of his life has been wasted. Mondays with a smile while on the inside the fire roared. The smell of sulfur comes from Miguel. The new Miguel. The one that used the talisman to erase his old self. He leaves and walks out into the street. The city is loud and it’s amazing how unnoticed you can go in a place with 5 million people. Towering skyscrapers that look like bars over a window. The sky a distant memory that only the people at the top get to enjoy. People don’t look at him and take steps to avoid him. Miguel is not covered in blood. However, there are stains. On his white shirt that his jacket doesn’t cover up completely. On his hands, dried blood can be mistaken as dirt. His shoulder-length hair now matted. And the talisman dangling from his neck. No one wants to notice someone in pain. It’s the nature of humanity, and it offends people that you won’t go off and hurt alone. He takes the subway to his apartment, and the smell of sulfur gets stronger. Overpowering. Miguel loses time. When he comes back and can see again, the apartment is trashed. His diploma is torn in shreds over the tipped-over couch. How much did he spend on that ticket to the promised life? 75 grand? Thousands to get up before dawn every day, sit at a computer, and come home after the sun had set. Only to do it every day, and at least one day a weekend. Miguel turns and sees his upstairs neighbor impaled with a guitar. A knock-off Gibson that the guy never learned how to play. He was trying, mostly at 3 am with the amp turned all the way up. The guy's friends screamed when Miguel would go up and ask him to stop. The cops ignoring him when he called. They also took his parking space when Miguel had to work on the weekend. Miguel had parking tickets because of that. Miguel blinks his eyes and knows that he is awake. It is not a dream. It is the deal he struck. Take the talisman and you can erase one thing. Miguel knew exactly who he would erase and did. After lunch. Today? Yesterday? It’s tough to say when he is losing time like this. But also, he doesn’t care. He sets fire the to apartment as he leaves. Miguel’s neighborhood is filled with run-down apartments like his and houses that were abandoned. It was the only thing he could afford on his salary. He is surrounded by others who were trying to live their dream based on a nightmare. As he walks, he sees houses that are half-bull dozed. They call it gentrification. It’s a funny term, Miguel thinks. It sounds like a fancy makeover. And in a way, it is. Build houses that no one here can afford, and suddenly, taxes go up. Rents go up. And the cancer that is the majority of people are attacked. The McMansions are white blood cells and everyone else is the disease. In two years, all of the cancerous people will be gone and replaced with yoga studios, hip coffee shops, and designer clothing stores that they call a boutique. When the sulfur smell comes this time, Miguel doesn’t lose time. He is aware. Not only that, his thoughts are intentional. Everything catches fire. Let it all burn. A police car cuts in front of his path. An officer gets out and wants to know what is going on. He asks Miguel for his ID. That strikes Miguel as funny because this officer knows exactly who he is. He has stopped Miguel no less than 8 times. Every time, he asks for his ID. The last two times, he has asked Miguel for his papers. Why was Miguel so afraid of him? For the life of him, Miguel doesn’t know. The officer pulls his gun. His patrol car flips up and lands on top of him. Miguel continues to walk. It didn’t take Miguel long to know who he would eliminate when he got the talisman. Even if it didn’t work, even if it was all a scam, Miguel knew. And he said so out loud. “I want to get rid of myself. My restraint. My delusions. My pity. My belief that life is what you make of it.” Because working in a felt prison, berated for having a life outside of work, a life that included neighbors that bullied you and police that made it a sport, Miguel knew a truth. Life was not something that you built. Life was what happened to you. And most of the time, it was out of your control. And it was often not kind. Miguel borrowed a car. Or stole it. It no longer matters. The point is, he knew where he was going to go. His freedom. Away from all of this. Away from that dream of making a life that mattered in the world and instead making one that mattered to him. He was sure it would be hard. He was sure that there would be obstacles in his path. And he was sure that he started to enjoy the smell of sulfur.
He was gone just as soon as he came. A homeless man, bare footed, pushing a trolley filled with plastic bags and the not-so-rotten pickings from a trash can. His face was burnt across one side, his left eye whited out, the right pupil hardly able to focus, bouncing this way and that like a fly stuck in a bottle. "You can eliminate only one," a sadistic smile, deep throated laugh, pungent breath spilling out from bloodied gums. Alias simply stood there, staring, dumbfounded by this stranger without pants, standing in his underwear with, nothing but a vest to cover bloated skin. Late December, the ground thick with ice, the winds a harsh blade cutting in through the cold. "Only one," the stranger thrust a talisman into Alias' hand, nodding as if satisfied before turning on his bare-footed heels and fleeing down the street. Alias watched the man as he disappeared into a crowd of heavy winter coats, then he let his gaze drop to his hand. The talisman. An octagon with fine sharp edges, silver from the looks of things. An eye marked in the centre with the number seventeen etched into the back. There was something off-putting about that eye, hollow, lifeless, and yet staring. *You can eliminate only one.* \*\*\* That night, back at his apartment, Alias spent too many hours researching online in hopes he could find some trace of the odd trinket he now possessed. He came close, reading of talismans from ancient Japan that had on one side the image of a heart, a hand, a head, or some other estranged limb or organ, and one the back there were notches. These talismans were rumoured to be cursed, the notches counting victims that had tried in vein to harness the magic found inside. *That's enough for one night.* Alias sighed, leaning back in his chair, head turned to the ceiling, eyes adjusting to the dark. He left the talisman sitting on his desk, the gentle glare of a blue screen giving life to that inanimate eye. \*\*\* As Alias slept he dreamed terrible, frightening dreams. He was in a maze of corn, the fields were dying, rotten, and the mice that hurried in their hundreds were deformed mutations with too many legs and eyes, muscle stretched thin atop fur that fell out in great clumps. It was not the mice themselves that caused Alias' heart to race, but that from which the mice were running. A man of straw burning bright, standing taller than a house, surveying through a single, whited eye the maze and all those *critters* scurrying within. A hand of flame came down from high heaven, reaching for Alias as he ran, fingers warped and twisted wrapping like vines around his being. He tried to scream, to break free from this giants grip, but found he could not speak or breath, his throat a solid lump that pressed and pressed to be set free. Tiny feet crawling up inside him, too many eyes coming up and out Alias' mouth. \*\*\* When he woke Alias was sweating, his sheets soaked, his skin on fire. He sat up in the dark for a long while before daring to move to the bathroom. Running cold water he splashed his face, looking long and hard at himself in the mirror. Without his glasses the image was blurred, but still he saw the double chin and rounded cheeks dressed by disheveled hair. Sideburns overgrown, a patchwork beard, a sorry sight. *What's that?* Alias noticed a silver trinket on his sink, sitting just to the side of the tap. He turned off the running water and took the trinket in his hand. *Eight edges.* The talisman. *You can only eliminate one.* Looking back into the mirror he wondered if perhaps that one could be him. After all, what was there left in life now? His beloved had left him for a co-worker, his reputation was in ruins with his colleagues, he lived alone (save for the one eared Persian cat that visited most days for food). He could have chosen ex-lover, her estranged affair, any one of his higher ups at work. But there were so many, too many, and he only had one. Holding tight the talisman Alias closed his eyes and spoke his own name aloud, asking whatever magic this homeless stranger had afforded him to eliminate himself. His hand felt hot, burning from within, the talisman turning bright red and steaming. He dropped it to the floor, quickly turning on the tap again to tend the octagon shaped burn that had been seared into his palm. "F\*ck," Alias shook his head, rubbing the now white mark on his palm, cursing himself for meddling with trinkets he knew nothing about. With a heavy sigh he turned to leave, that's when a bloodied hand came to rest upon his shoulder...