A Washed Key

 a key. He pulled it out of the clothes. It was small with a rounded top. It didn't appear to be anything special; but he did not remember where it came from. It didn't look like any keys he owned. He would probably have to take it to a locksmith to figure out what it went to. Then he might be able to figure out where it had come from.

Dead Bodies. For Real.

Now there were two in the middle of her living room floor. She stared at them in horrified fascination, not really sure whether to scream or give in to her curiosity and move closer. There was an obscene amount of blood. It was pooling on her carpet and being seeped up into her couch through the blanket that had fallen half to the floor.

Finally, against her better judgment, she decided to embrace her curiosity. Careful not to step on or disturb anything, she loved watching cop shows, she moved closer to the nearest body. There was a hole in the middle of his forehead. What she could only guess was brain matter was splattered with the blood around his head. His face was frozen in a look of shock, eyes wide open and unfocused.  She moved to the other body. This one's eyes were closed. Staring at the body, it's eyes closed and the haphazard placing of the limbs, she reasoned that he had been wounded before the struggle in her apartment. Apparently, after struggling with and shooting the other man, he passed out and bleed to death.

After staring at the bodies for a few more moments, she called the police. Then, she went down to the building's coffee shop to wait. As she waited, she pondered all the reasons of why and how as she sipped her coffee. In her mind, of all the questions these two bodies proposed, the most disturbing one was, "Why were they in her apartment?"

The Hidden Cave

a cave up ahead, but all he saw was a rock wall. He checked his compass and and did a mental walk through of his trek thus far. He hadn't taken a wrong turn. Great. The cave had to be here. He couldn't go back home empty handed. It had been a uphill battle just to get the funds and permits to go on this trip. So many people had tried to stop or discourage him from going. He had to come back with something. He  sat down on a nearby boulder and pulled out the worn journal that paired with the map. As he read, the sun shifted the shadows. He looked at the rock wall and noticed a shadow that shouldn't have been there. He walked over to the wall and took a closer look at the shadow and a moment later let out a shout of relief and excitement. The cave was hidden behind a boulder that blended in seamlessly with the wall behind it, unless viewed from the right angle or the right time of day.

The Infiltration

He stared at the 3-D display before him. The subtlest path to the tower was highlighted for him. As he stared at the path he ran through scenarios that could arise. He also contemplated, briefly, bringing someone else in. No, it would be best if he did this alone. Infiltrating the citadel alone would be hard, but not impossible. Adding another person would add more opportunities for things to go wrong. Most importantly, it would open him up to betrayal; something he had experienced before and never wanted to experience again. Ever.

He sighed and leaned a little more on his hands. On the other hand, having another person could speed things up. The timing had to be perfect. The High Protector would only be gone from the tower for an hour at most, and he had to be in and out of the citadel before then. If the journey to the tower was off by even a minute, he would be captured and killed. The Protector had an uncanny ability of knowing everything that was going on in the citadel while he was in it.

This was not going to be easy, but it had to be done. The outcome would be worth it. Well, it would be if he was successful.

Pain and Memory

Mr. Grey had told her that she had been unconscious for three days, and missing for two weeks before that. She had simply disappeared one night after stating that she was going to her dorm's gym. Two weeks later, her friend, Pasha had found her lying in the floor if the entry way. She was dressed, although not in the clothes she had left in, but her feat were bare and bloody. She had no memory of how she had gotten there or where she had been for those two weeks. Every time she tried to remember what happened, s searing pain shot through her head. If she tried to press on through, the pain and pressure only got worse. The doctors said it was probably due to the fact that she had sustained two concussions. She also had three broken ribs, two cracked ribs, busted knuckles, lacerations on her face and arms, and the bottoms of her feet had been scraped raw. They said that, from appearances, she had at some point gotten into a fight barefoot on rough terrain. They said that the broken bones and cuts would heal, but they could not tell her for sure whether her memory would return.

Only a Name

Literally. Up and down his arms, across his chest. Even all over his back and legs. They were written in different styles and sizes, but the were all my name. I knew this because no one spells their name the way I do, well, no one on their right mind anyway. Thanks Mom, whoever who are.

"Why do you have my name written all over your body?" I asked, dreading the answer.

He have me a sheepish look and answered, "Honestly, I have no idea. "

"What do you mean you have no idea?!?!" I shouted and he flinched. "It's all over you! That doesn't happen by accident."

"They kinda just......appear." He answered, not looking at me anymore.

"They just appear." I echoed. My voice dripped with sarcasm and skepticism.

"Ever since I turned eighteen they've been showing up. No explanation, no reason. There's not even a set number of days in between when they appear. No set time either."

I staggered and flopped down in a chair. This was too much. Not only was there some guy that had my name written all over him; but he didn't eve know why it was there. What in the world was going on? This was like some crazy sci-fi scenario. This couldn't be happening. It-

"Uh, excuse me," his words brought me out of my racing thoughts, "can I put my clothes on now?"

A New Me

My current one was getting a little too popular. I had just gotten comfortable with it too. Finally, it didn't take people calling my name two or three times because I didn't realize they were talking to me. Luckily, they just thought I was deaf or deep in thought. But now everyone knew my name, and I do mean everyone. That's what happens when your name is broadcasted in the evening news with the tagline "Wanted for Murder. Considered armed and dangerous. If seen, please call your local law enforcement or the FBI hot-line listed below. Do not confront or antagonize." They didn't have a photo yet, but they would soon. The fix for that was easy. A little shave and some dye and I'd be a "new" man. I also kept a stash of colored contacts for times like this. My name however, that would be harder to change. Not just on paper, but in my head. Once again, I would have to train my self to answer to a new name. One of these days, I am going to forget what name I started out with. Further more, the next time a strange body appears in my living room I will get rid of it and disappear immediately. No trying to figure out who it is or why they're dead. Once the body's gone, I'm gone.

Scribbles to Kill For

 He stared at the scribbling on the wall. The entire back wall, ceiling to floor, had been painted to be a gigantic chalkboard. Every inch was covered in mathematical and scientific formulas and scribbles. He knew his father had been obsessive about his work, but this was a bit extreme. There were whiteboards hung from the other walls, also filled with writing. Two tables stood parallel in the center, littered with paperwork and contraptions with no obvious purpose. Plates with half finished food and cups of coffee shared the tables with them. He was a genius in his own right, but even he could not decipher his father's work, but somewhere in this madness was something worth killing for.