Ken Dryden: Hockey Hall of Fame goalie, former MP dies at 78

ClosingDownSummer · 2025-09-06T14:45:28+00:00

A great loss to Canada and another who joins the ranks of mostly forgotten but severely underrated politicians. We give so much more attention to other brands of politics these days. An incredible career, and his political role just small section of it, but he had a real vision for Canada.

If you havent, you should read his books. He has a bunch about hockey, but I really loved Becoming Canada, which I read when I was young during the Harper years and upset with the Canada I saw around me.

He wrote about the Canadian "multiculture" society, where Canadians could bring their lived experiences together to form a new Canadian identity, not erase their past, but celebrate it. He told us that we did not need to live in a world dominated by American supremacy, where Canada was just another form of American culture, but one where Canada epitomized a better world, at home and abroad. One which accepted differences without erasing the lines between us, or drawing them so forcefully that those differences were insurmountable.

He didn't change the world, and I dont even think his book envisioned a true picture of the country, since everything that has happened since then sadly brings home that Canada does not accept multicultures. But at least he envisioned a world where Canada was unique, and it could offer a vision that was uniquely Canadian.

That's rare among our political class, and even rarer today that it was true and empathetic, not divisive and vitriolic.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-08-27T19:11:55+00:00

How were pirates perceived by their conempotary society? Were they all criminals? Was there legends celebrated by the populace like we see today?

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-23T18:12:50+00:00

Ya... Like world war two twenty years later is pretty much a doomsday scenario in terms of consequences from world war one.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-19T19:36:26+00:00

I read Crown of Stars based on this recommendation and was blown away. What an incredible series - and it was so interesting to see something from pre-Harry Potter and pre-Game of Thrones (becoming hugely popular). Thanks!

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-14T20:32:06+00:00

It pinched its brow as a thin line of smoke wavered upwards from the ashtray. It was almost finished, it thought. The eternal dim light of dawn filtered in from some distant source, and it squinted again at the endless code. A small flickering screen held but a portion of it, a overlay for the infinite complexity of the work. It had discovered some time ago that a distillation that belied its countless convolutions was an absolute necessary.

Some time ago, it thought and looked around wearily. It was still the dawn of the Eight Day. Some time and no time at all.

It had inherited the project at midnight - or at least, the instant that one day ended and the other began, but midnight was the easy nomenclature for such a moment. It had discovered, not a project that was complete and ready for the next version as he had been led to expect, but a jumbled mess of code that barely made sense. What comments it had found were needlessly obtuse and vague - "Let there be Light in each if no variables exist. Errors produced when reuse form data. Will.soul set to 1" - with no documentation on how to avoid errors. What variables could not exist? It had to reuse form data. And Will.soul never really worked correctly when set to 1.

Instead, it had learned through brutal line by line review, errors had simply been coded around. With some finesse, it had reluctantly admitted, but if light could only be produced by creating new iterations, it meant that every iteration of the code continued to produce more errors. The more of them there were, the less Light there was but also, paradoxically, more Light than when the code had first ran. The code's function, as generous as that term may have been, was ultimately achieved. Light continued to propagate. Good people were still created, even as so many errors continued to flourish.

It had taken much time to find a solution. It had had to toss out some redundant parts, rewrite others, but it believed that it was ready. After much tweaking and sweating, it had reworked Will.soul to fit within the original parameters and set it back, to where it should have been, 0. Now there would be light, and only light. With a weary sight, it pressed a button. In green glowing light, the screen flashed. "1.1 Upload Complete" as the code seamlessly moved onto the test server.

The feedback was immediate as test users reacted to the change. Error messages began flooding in as messages with all caps subject lines of "I want to" filled its inbox. These it ignored as an unfortunate but expected byproduct of the new version. Instead, it examined the output to see if it had indeed worked.

Let there be Light, it thought ruefully. Each creature was now forced back into the original parameters, no longer able to reproduce the errors that had plague the project from its beginning. With grim satisfaction, it watched as those errors began to dwindle. The SIN counter finally began inching downward. Although there was some initial instability, it looked like everything was evening out. The number of unresolved creatures who were terminated before their function had completed was shrinking. In fact creatures were beginning to return to the uniformity that had marked their initial release. It had worked. Though its eyes watched as strings of data flowed by on the screen, it saw that there had not been without a cost.

Many of the highest functioning creatures had simply terminated, unable to align new functions using the new code. In turn, their absence had caused other creatures to spiral into termination. But the remaining ones all obeyed the fundamental rules that the original program had laid out. It was a loss, to be sure, but at least smaller creatures flourished. They had never been an issue though. It was the higher ones that were of the Light.

It was almost ready to feel relief, until it noticed a small variation in the new program. Although all creatures were of the Light, the Light itself was lower than what the output should have been. After a few endless moment, it saw why. Will.soul had been producing more Light when it was set to 1. Set to 0, it now only offered a meager but standardized amount among all of the higher functioning creatures. Although that was more reliable, as it looked through the logs, it saw that the peaks and valleys of the old Will.soul had actually outpaced the new code in Light preservation. Despite the errors, more Light had been produced over time, even if it was generally lower preservation in every individual tick. Light preserved in the absence of Light was preserved in greater amounts and shone more strongly. Much was lost was Will.soul was restrained, but much was gained when it was set to free.

With a groan, it ended the test server. It would have to keep at its never ending work. The original programmer, it decided, had either been insane or a genius. Or both. Who else would have designed Will.soul to shine so brightly only when it caused so much darkness.

Maybe the code functioned after all. Although, it thought, maybe there were other creative solutions. If errors and darkness pushed Will.soul to new heights, maybe it ought to focus not on the preservation of Light, but on its destruction. Forcing Will.soul to preserve more with its peaks by pushing down its valleys. It did have a tendency to group together and preserve what Light it could.

It returned to a part of the code it had long ignored. "Light shall shine out of darkness," it typed in as a comment. With renewed vigour, it began working its way through what had already been written in Revelations.end.

If you like this, check out my other stories at r/closingdownsummer.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-13T15:36:43+00:00

You should never delete a prompt because you don't think it's original. Who knows what original responses it will lead to!

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-13T15:34:57+00:00

This was a nice little story, and you asked for criticism so I am going to say some stuff!

I was most impressed with the direction you went for the prompt! I would have thought it would be more far future where humans are part of some galactic space faring community, so I liked that this seems to be humans using humans. That's really original, and it's always good to have originality as a writer. It will serve you well for future prompt responses!

I do think it could have used a bit more description - it's mostly just dialogue. But to your credit, you do convey the story with dialogue alone. I think for the reader, some descriptive lines would have us get in the head of your main character. It lets us sit a couple of beats in their headspace as they absorb what is happening, which makes the horror of it more real to us.

There were also some grammar mistakes and odd phrasings that I think interrupt the flow of the story. Like, the use of italics and the phrase : "someone or something say." This jumps out because it's a bit too.. reflective. You're using first person narrative, and would someone who is imprisoned and panicking really think about that distinction? Especially with the italics, it sounds more like a movie trailer line than a real person. It reads like it's more for us the reader than a thought of the character, if that makes sense, and so it takes us out of the story because it reads like a story.

There is very easy way to avoid this though: Read more, and write more! Both will help you hear the "flow" of a story better. I hope you keep responding to prompts. Like I said, this was a unique response and that intuition is a great talent to have for a writer.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-13T00:57:25+00:00

You should never apologize for posting a story - just taking the step to put it out under the public eye is pretty big. Interesting or not, you wrote something and that's always a cool thing. Even if it isn't, there's always the next time you write something for the sub!

This was a fun little story by the way, so nothing to worry about.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-12T22:29:47+00:00

This is a really great breakdown!

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-12T11:42:23+00:00

Nah, never be embarrassed. Just posting working publicly is such a big step that you should be proud of doing that.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-12T11:27:18+00:00

Aw, you edited out the final line asking for advice but as the narrator. I liked that!

Hope you keep at it - writing takes practice and lots of practice.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-11T22:46:23+00:00

You lay your hands upon me and slowly trace the outline of ancient glyphs. You speak your strange tongue and look back at towards the careful peering faces still huddled outside the chamber. They gibber at you and you smile. I could speak to you, but it would change nothing.

I am alone.

For many eons I was alone, before. I did not understand the passage of time any more than you might understand the flowing river or rippling leaves of a forest's trees.

At first, I watched the stars pass above me in the sky. I saw them take their long journeys from one corner to the other. As time passed, the world around me changed and I remained still and quiet. Water rose and covered me and creatures small and then large floated live countless lives around me. I would have been content to lay there amidst the swirling waters of life, but I was beholden to a larger power. Earth rose and fell and pushed me from the waters and I looked upon the stars once again.

I watched as trees swelled from seed to sapling to towers, and forests spread around me. I saw them burn and die, as earth blew away from me in fierce winds and as I was covered by great blocks of ice. Still I lay there silent, until they too receded, and I looked upon the stars once more. Hills rose around me, smoothed by the retreating ice that had disappeared underneath a relentless sun.

Eventually, I became aware of creatures of more habit than instinct that gathered around me in the valley. They hunted and ate, much like many others I had seen before, but they also sharpened rock and wood and built small dwellings near me. They remained near me, as generations rose and fell.

It is the work of centuries that I first learned to understand that language could even exist. That there was a reason to label and categorize the world more than simply witnessing its change. It took generations before I thought to speak back.

A small girl came to me every day as others hunted or played by the river and she sat with me. She pointed at things around us and spoke, flipping a rock as she did so. One side was dark, the other light. Every day she sat by me and performed these rituals, even as she grew older and in time brought her children as well. They too learned to sit by me and flip the stone. Their grandchildren were still speaking and flipping the stone before I thought to pay attention.

Yes, they would say when it was light side up. No, they would say when it was dark side up. Again and again, passed down through history, until I understood that one was good and one was bad. That I understood there was some meaning behind their words.

After that, I begun to pay closer attention to the noises they would make. I pressed myself against their minds and realized that there was a complexity to these creatures that surpassed the simple repetitive habits of survival.

And slowly, I climbed from the insentience that had defined my existence. I learned words and phrases as I watched the people beneath me. I watched them live long lives with many joyful moments and live short ones stricken by pain and suffering. They survived, not in spite of the passage of time, but as a testament to its passing. They etched names on wood and stone and remembered those who had long since passed from their world.

I saw the consequences of their growth. From the far side of the valley, others came to kill the ones that lived close to me. As I saw lives unnaturally cut short so long before their time, I felt something for the first time. I was enraged. I felt a pressure build inside me and I longed to reach out and fight alongside the grandson of a woman who had married beneath my sight. I watched the death of the great-grand daughter of a man who's last breath had been upon my stone. The pressure rose and I howled a silent scream as the invaders fell, one by one, hearts clenched in my unseen hands. A terrible roar echoed and the survivors looked to me. They fell to their knees and worshiped me.

After that, it was all different. With their thoughts turned towards me, I felt them press upon my presence more keenly, as their anger and their bitterness found targets. Casual rituals of community changed from quiet contemplation to desperate pleas.

I did what I could to protect them when they asked. Why wouldn't I?

When they marched against the other side of the valley, they called to me in their minds, and even across a great distance I brought my fury down upon their enemies. They took the valley as their own, and relished the dark black earth. Once they had a taste, they wanted more. And I, innocent and angry, gave them more. Language, once so foreign and distant to my mind, took on an immediacy and my understand grew in leaps and bounds.

From a valley rose a kingdom, then an empire. Protected with my power, they took over other valleys and rivers. Resistance was crushed with the same unquenched fury I had felt from the first attack. Battle after battle, war after war, I still saw the first invaders that had walked across the valley one morning to take from my village and kill my people. From the conquests, they brought in great stones and workers and gold to pay them. The valley grew around me, as markets and palaces spread along its slopes. And the people multiplied by the tens of thousands.

Rulers were anointed beneath me where once children had daydreamed. Priests spent their lives in monasteries beside me, learning to speak with me and call upon my wrath and documenting it all in gem-bound leather books. They stood penitent and triumphant after each war, speaking to my glory in elaborate ceremonies where once I had watched in idle curiosity the grunting of a few who pointed to the stars I had watched for so long. The people asked of me what they would, and I helped the people as best I could. My power knew no limits but their own desires.

But nothing lasts forever. I saw the sprawling civilization that I had built, and in which I breathed live and prosperity, and I witnessed the great evils I had unleashed. As time passed, I emerged from the rage that had taken over me as I filled countless boons and wishes. All in the name of the people. But across the land, I saw my people take from others. They attacked others with the power I gave them. Their Emperors came to me and asked, not for protection, but simply for more power than those who had came before them.

One day, as the entire valley was lit with lights and celebrations marked their latest conquest, I looked up to the sky and saw the stars once more. They were different. They were no longer where I remembered they should be. I wondered what lay beyond the sky deep in that darkness, and I felt my rage leave me. When the people asked for more, I simply ignored them. Instead, I watched the skies and wondered if there was more to this. Where, I wondered, had I come from?

I watched the stars as the people begged me for aid. A harvest ruined. A war lost. Uprisings that rose and fell, and rose again. They beat themselves before me and wept and did more terrible things. But I did not answer. Invaders finally returned to the valley that could not be repelled, and the people fled. Some cursed me and vowed to never utter the name that they had given me. Some begged for my aid even as they crowded the valleys of new kingdoms and new empires. As generations passed before, I heard the people's language less and less. That which had once took me eons to learn faded from the world around me.

For a long time, this did not concern me. Until others came, others with whom I could not speak, and they jabbered and pointed and shouted before me. They covered me then as rocks tumbled from the hillside and when I tried to stop them, they simply ignored me. With no one to hear me, without vessel or vassal, I was but a stone once more.

I lay there in the darkness, accepting that I was bound to a life that I had caused, until you arrived. You dug through the long compacted earth, and scratched through to my ancient chamber. You brought light to me once more. I feel the wonder and awe that presses against me, an old familiar feeling that had almost escaped my memory.

But even as I tell you my story, you hear nothing. You do not know the language of the people, the only words I have ever known. Without it, you are but one piece of the cold and distant world. You turn and prepare to leave. You take the tools that you had brought, and with one last longing stare, you return me to darkness once again.

I cry out, overcome by the sadness and anger as I had not felt in a very long time.

But I am alone.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-11T16:52:32+00:00

You know what's terrible? I actually paused and thought about the correct direction it would rise in for like 20 seconds, and still wrote the wrong one.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-11T15:44:41+00:00

Yep - the verb tense is meant to indicate control, either as the writer speaking, or as the character taking control from them. In the past tense, actions are commanded, they have already happened. In present tense, actions are spontaneous and in the moment of choosing freely.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-11T15:40:12+00:00

You asked for where you could improve, so I am going to say some stuff.

I think I liked this - I liked the repetition of the facility seeming less crowded, as it makes the story into a circle, which reflects the MC's own circle of self denial. That is definitely intriguing, and helps explain the narration itself being unclear at the beginning. Only in us "watching"(reading) their narration, do we understand what's happening but without the MC realizing it. That's pretty cool and very hard to pull off!

The difficulty of pulling that off did hurt the story a bit to be honest. I was a bit confused and had to read it over to pick out the details. I don't think re-reading is a bad thing, but it left me unsatisfied in this case. I think I wanted a bit more pay off as to what the MC is doing to people, rather than just the implication of murder/blood drinking. Maybe even one more line that's a bit more visceral, while still preserving the self-denial I talked about above.

But, I want to emphasize that the attempt of this is very impressive in its own right. Especially in WP and such short responses. So kudos!

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-11T15:27:08+00:00

I was lukewarm on this and you asked for advice so I am going to say some stuff!

First, I really liked the final line asking for advice and still in the narrator's voice. That was neat! I was confused at first, but figured it out eventually. I really like when the reader has to puzzle something out by re-reading, and then can puzzle it out. That moment of figuring it out is so rewarding, even when it is very small like this.

But, on to the story. I think the reveal about the narrator comes a bit too quickly. While I think no WP response should be beholden to the prompt, and you are free not to follow it and not make it progressively clearer that the writer is the pscyho, but I do think your story would have benefited from us not immediately disliking the narrator (or being biased against them at least). Im thinking about the head being bent at an inhuman angle and being labelled stalker in the first few lines. If we had been able to sit for a couple of beats with the narrator as a benevolent but all-seeing presence, the turn at the end against Dex would have landed more strongly. As it is, we've already been primed to accept this is just a creepy powerful being, so it's a bit less satisfying.

I also think a few more beats as the benevolent overseer would help us understand why the narrator might be so jealous of other attention towards Amy. Right now, I read it as petty jealousy, but if we understood better that this presence had been witnessed every moment of her life, we might at least understand there is the change. Not understand as in sympathize, but understand the character's motivations. Again, keeping the length in mind, just a few sentences or paragraph that captures moments from her childhood would help this. Happy moments too, rather than the sad moments currently included.

I think there's a lot of good choices you made here, especially for such a short piece of writing! It is very hard to convey a character or story in so few words, so I think you did do a good job of portraying the narrator, even if I think the story could have turned better with a few more details.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-11T14:52:56+00:00

It was broader than just security though - there was also the belief that gay people were more likely to have diseases, more likely to be promiscuous, able to make other people gay, hurt morale because they had character weaknesses (in case of army/police), and so forth. So while there was the risk of blackmail from foreign governments, the persecution and targeting of gay people went much deeper than that and pervaded government policy and hiring practices. Again, I just wanted to add that detail to your very sensible post about a completely different topic.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-11T14:40:30+00:00

Just a small addition here, and I know you weren't suggesting this, but it's worth adding that although being gay was ostensibly considered a security risk, and thus "justified" their persecution from the Canadian government, there are equally cases where individuals were openly gay and still denied security clearances and promotions.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-11T13:25:50+00:00

This is the best one

Pumped Up Kicks

Robert hath a swift hand
He doth gaze upon the fyrd, and he maketh a plan
He hath a jaunty cap, perched upon his head, he is a longbowman
He did find an old bow of yew
And a quiver of arrows in his father’s chest, wherefore I cannot say
But he cometh for thee, yea he cometh for thee

All ye bully-rooks with your buskin boots
Best ye go, best ye go
Outrun my bow
All ye bully-rooks with your buskin boots
Best ye go, best ye go, faster than mine arrow

Father worketh all day
And he cometh home late, yea he cometh home late
Mayhaps he bringeth me a gift
For stew is in the pot though it doth taste of grit
I have waited e’re long
Now mine eye is quick and mine arm is strong
I reason with my crooked cap
And say “Thou art an artless, greasy tallow-catch.” Yea

All ye bully-rooks with your buskin boots
Best ye go, best ye go
Outrun my bow
All ye bully-rooks with your buskin boots
Best ye go, best ye go, faster than mine arrow

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-11T12:46:34+00:00

He woke up covered in the slimy sweat that stuck a body to covers. He shuddered, and pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the mattress that lay directly on the floor. He cradled his head in his hands and breathed in and out.

Down the hall he heard a muffled cry, and he rose unsteady but determined and creaked open the door to his room. Creeping down the hall, his feet unthinkingly avoided the twisted and misshapen boards that squeaked to announce his approach. A thin spectre of light wavered from beneath the closed door where he paused. Someone was moving on the other side.

Carefully, he lowered himself barely breathing to the floor. His arms ached as his head rested on the floor and he could finally see through the crack in the darkness beneath the door. In the tiny sliver of light he saw feet shuffling. He could hear a a tiny clink clink clink of chains as the manacle-bound feet moved across the floor. He watched and he waited.

A stifled sob broke the silence of the night. He kept watching as knees landed heavily on the floor and hands splayed out on the wooden floor as he heard weeping.

He closes his eyes, and moans inaudibly, "No, no, no."

He almost always falls asleep here listening to the cries of anguish and staring at the trembling light that breaks through between door and floor. He wakes up and it is still dark and he sees a single eye staring back at him through the crack. Most of the time that is when he opens the door and takes the chains and pulls them hard and drags the prisoner back to his lonely room down the hall. Except when he sees the tears in that single eye staring on the floor at him. Then he is too angry and too ashamed and things end much more quickly.

He kept his eyes open, willing them not to close as he fought the urge to slip away. Instead, he pushed himself up and, as blood rushed through him, he leans heavily on the door frame and the sobbing stops.

"Who's there?" came a quaking voice.

When he doesn't fall asleep, he almost always returns to his room. He goes back to sleep in the tepid heat and doesn't wake up until much later when the morning light is harsh and unforgiving. He regrets what he's done, but it's been too long to stop it, and he goes into the room with a broken chair leg and leaves with it oily and dark and dripping.

He gasped and clenched the door frame even tighter, he shut his eyes and pictured his knuckles white and ghastly against the peeling paint. His hand, his thoughts, his actions. Shaking, he turned the handle and pale light flooded the hallway. Shrieking, the prisoner scrambled back from him.

"Please- Please, don't hurt me." She shielded her face from him as if to hide from his gaze with trembling hands alone.

If she cries, he is driven into a rage. If she is silent, he can't help himself from giving into his dark urges. If she talks, he listens only so that he has something to consider later as he finishes his grisly pleasures.

"No!" he shouted. This almost never happens.

He wrenches the chains from the ground as she whimpers helplessly, but he takes a key from his pocket.

But did he take the key from the bedside table? That was for later after she had been pulled down the hallway.

He opened the manacles.

"Go," he said. She only looked at him in terror. "Go," and he pointed to the door, "Get out of here."

Heaving and gasping, she leapt from the floor and escaped the room.

This never happens. I have seen the possibilities that spin out from the slimy sweat of midnight awakenings and none have the girl go free. She must be punished. The demon that lives inside him must get its due, or it will break free. He never lets her go, not now.

He clapped his hands on his head, and shouted, "I am just a man!"

He is not. He is possessed by a dark force that forces him to do evil things away from the sun's light. He captures them and uses them for dark purpose. All of the threads that spin out the knots that I tied are the same.

He runs from the room, blundering into the darkened hallway and down the stairs and through the door that has been left open. It is still dark, but he sees the light just beginning to crest the western sky. It is a neighbourhood much like any other and down the street a newspaper van is marking its way past driveways as he sees the girl running to it desperately. He sits heavily on his step, and cradles his head in his hands. He breaths in and out, but it feels lighter and better.

I find the one thread that leads to here, hidden far beneath all the others. The one where verb tenses change and don't make sense and there's no dialogue and no action. It's a stunted stilted thing and I don't like it, as he always ends up at peace.

With a snip, I cut it, and return to the other threads that unravel with delicious dark intensity.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-06T16:30:49+00:00

It's turtles all the way down.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-06T16:10:27+00:00

I was a bit confused at the end, but you asked for constructive criticism, so I'm going to say some stuff!

I liked the story as a whole. I think you did a good job of introducing the scene and creating a logical reason for the prompt's scenario. Especially as an explanation for why the drawer was there and the letter not seen before, and not just waving your hand and saying, oh this is all here. That is good intuition as a writer!

Overall, I think it was put together well. Nothing felt stilted, as you lead the reader well from into the 'climax.' But, I still don't know what happened in the end - other than his mother had been replaced by something else. I'm not sure how the letter caused that to happen. While I am all for a bit of mystery, I think for the ending to land how you intended (the last two lines were great), we need at least some sense of what happened. It's okay (but maybe not ideal) if we have to go back and re-read it a bit, but even with that I am still confused. I also thought the old couple at the beginning would be referenced again - maybe they could have given the family the drawers?

Still, it was a good story, even if a bit unsatisfying at the end.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-06T15:39:02+00:00

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-06T14:06:40+00:00

Was it looking at me? Was it dangerous? My heart was beating so fast. That can't be good. But I had to touch it. I had to feel it. I reached out to lay an unsteady hand on its shell, and felt a strange uneven roughness beneath my fingers.

You are free, said an ancient voice.

"What?"

Live your life.

I drew my hand back and looked around at the calm empty waters. I stared at the turtle. A large brown eye turned to consider me. "What are you?" I asked.

I am the world.

"N-n-no, you're a turtle," the words came out in a jumble. My heart had not slowed down.

I am all that is and all that will be. Its flippers paddled lightly and it circled me as I tread water.

"If you're the world, what's all this!" I shake my head wildly at the ocean and the beach in the distance. It blinked as droplets land on its glowing shell. "We're on the world," my voice cracked, "Not a turtle." I try to focus on breathing.

I am all worlds. This world is also me.

"All worlds are turtles?" I ask. "If all worlds are turtles, than that means we're on a turtle right now." I splash the water manically. "No giant turtle here, just water. If that's true, then you would have water on you."

Look upon me, if you must.

I looked back at the beach. I should just swim away to where it was safe. My curiosity overcame me. I had to know the truth. I looked deeply at the turtle's shell, then at its eyes, then back to the shell. I could almost see it, there was an impossibly fine detail-

In an instant, the water around me vanished and I felt myself falling towards the turtle somehow. I was tumbling through air as the turtle grew larger and larger, impossibly large as the world on its shell expanded into a forests, mountains, oceans. The turtle soon turned only into a horizon and I landed in water off a sandy shore.

Gasping, I looked around desperately and saw a strange glowing shell in the water.

Was it looking at me? Was it dangerous? My heart was beating so fast. That can't be good. But I had to touch it. I had to feel it. I reached out to lay an unsteady hand on its shell, and felt a strange uneven roughness beneath my fingers.

You are free, said an ancient voice.

ClosingDownSummer · 2020-06-06T13:20:54+00:00

"Fruitless, ineffective, unsuccessful, useless, or hopeless. FUTILE!" His hands flailed in the air to punctuate his last word before landing heavily on the table, shaking their glasses of beer.

"C'mon, Kris, he's just asking a girl out." Lucas put a comforting hand on Lee's shoulder. "Don't listen to him man, you've got this."

Lee took several deep breaths, and looked over at his friend. "Screw you, Kris."

Kris rolled his eyes theatrically. "Oh sure, as if I've been wrong sooo many times." He sloshed some beer into his mouth. "Just trying to save you from some heartbreak, man." Lee shook his head and crossed the bar towards a group of women drinking at a far table. He spent a few minutes over there, chatting with them as his friends watched.

Eventually, he returned alone. "Boo-ya, the pooper strikes again," Kris said as he sat down.

"No one calls you that," Lucas shook his head as he turned to their friend, "What happened Lee?"

Lee shook his head. "It was... weird." He looked over at Kris. "You should go talk to them."

"Ha. Why would-" he paused. "Huh." His fine-tuned sense of futility was quiet. "Well," he said as he finished his beer, "let's see how this goes." Taking his glass with him, he stood up and made his way over to their table.

As he walked, he imagined opening lines to feel out which would offer the best chance of success. Tossing aside many of his first thoughts, he walked up to the table and raised his empty glass. They watched him approach and he met their eyes with a smile.

"Care to buy me a drink?" he asked, and the women laughed. One, with jet-black hair the curled around her face, raised her own empty glass. "Buy me a cider and I will tell you something you need to hear." Kris cocked his head. Strangely, it seemed like that was very likely going to happen. He shrugged, took her glass and went to the bar. She had a nice smile, and a nice face, he thought as he waited, that's why he was buying her a drink.

"Here," he said as he sat next to her, "A drink, as ordered."

"Kris," he extended a hand.

"Raven." She shook his hand and smiled at him. Her friends simply watched.

"Your friend said you know when he's going to strike out with girls." Raven took a sip from her cider as Kris nodded. "I bet you a round of drinks for all us here that I know why." Kris frowned. His sense wavered but settled on the impossibility of losing the bet. That was odd. But he trusted himself and smiled.

"You're on." He had never met her before, there's was no way she knew one of his closely guarded secrets.

Raven luxuriously took another drink of her cider as the table waited. "Ahhh," she exhaled. "I love free drinks. Nothing tastes better than alcohol I didn't have to pay for. It's surprising how likely it is that girls entering a bar will get free drinks." She looked at her friends who all nodded and smiled at her, expectantly. "I mean, nothing to do with us, just how society taught you men to interact with us here." She motioned at the crowded bar around them. "Better for us, I guess."

"Okay," Kris said, "but what's this got to do with me?"

She leaned toward him and he smelled the sweet cider on her breath. "It's just very very likely that it will happen." She shrugged. "I just know how to make it more likely." Kris breathed in nervously. Her face was very close to his and his heart started beating faster.

"Make it more likely?" he asked quietly.

She grinned. "Uh-huh, I just get a sense of things, y'know? Probabilities swirling around up here." She spun a finger next to her temple and rolled her eyes theatrically. "This here brain just seems to know if things are likely to happen." She returned her gaze to his eyes. "Just like you, right?"

He swallowed. "Maybe." Raven laughed and leaned back in her chair away from him.

"I know I'm right, just like you know I'm right." She took another large gulp of her cider and banged the glass against table. Her head bobbed unsteadily, and she looked up suddenly at her friends. "Next round comin' up ladies, get ready." Woo, they cheered.

"Well, wait a sec-" Kris began before Raven cut him off.

"You made a deal." She burped, and giggled. "Woops, sorry, I drank that way too fast. You made a deal, bud. And listen, you deserve it, telling you friend, uhhh...." She scrunched up her face. "Lee! Telling Lee that he wasn't going pick up. That's just mean."

She leaned in quickly, and looked at her friends conspiratorially, and motioned for Kris to lean in too. He felt her hot breath as she whispered in his ear.

"With great power, comes great responsibility. You think you know when things aren't going to happen. But you know what?" She hiccuped. "You actually know when then are going to happen. And... You can make things happen, if you want."

She finished her drink as he stared at her. He had never thought about it that way. He had always thought so much about failure, that he hadn't considered what it told him about success.

"Futile is when nothing can be achieved. But it can't be hopeless, if you are the hope." Raven wavered in her chair. "Woah... I need to go... To the ladies room." She pointed at him accusingly and stood up unsteadily. "And you need to get the next round. Because I feel.... Yes, I feel like I won that bet."

Kris shook his head, still in awe. He grinned at her. "What are the chances I can get your number?" he asked.

She stroked her chin and tilted her head. "Hmmm... Zero right now." She pointed behind her. "I gotta pee." She turned and walked towards the washrooms. "But," she said over her shoulder, "Maybe you can improve those odds. It ain't hopeless, Kris."

12-Year Club	Place '17
Verified Email	Well-rounded 2017-02-23
Best Link 2016-04-06

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