Centuries ago our universe breeded it's first seed, a like specie with slight resemblance and characteristics. A diverse alternative timeline that coexists alongside the regular. So, the inhabitants of this alternate timeline first labeled everything as fiction (Fic.) before their actual name comes along. Because they were found to be living in a breathing fantasy. On the other hand, one can say that there needs to be an intercourse before a breeding. To this it's fair to say that our universe was once banged, fucked raw by voodoo itself. Centuries ago before the dawn of this incident, a great number of our ancestors gave themselves fully into witchery and raw voodoo, practicing spells bigger than their knowledge, and incantations higher than their mere mortal beings. They performed sick rituals in mass that even the universe couldn't take any of it anymore, so much sin and blood on such holy grounds. And so to survive as it is, our world begat itself an offspring. Making for itself

"Water," a philosopher's voice narrates from a big Bluetooth speaker that takes the shape of a cube, "though seen otherwise by most, is a living thing in it's own rights. Living, in a sense that it exhibits all our predominant characters. What can arguments work out in this case? Or how many characteristics should a living thing actively display.For one, living things grow, thus water grows too. Or how else do small ponds get filled? Or earth shrink to offer the ocean a bigger dwelling space? Living things move, surely water does too. If you oppose, jump into a river and watch it drive you crazy like the madness of love.Living things adapt to environmental conditions. Watch the flow of water as it curves to dodge hills, and yet progressing still, continuously, nonstop. Or feel it as it lies on hot or cold grounds, then tell me its temperature.Living things feed, yeah water does too. Though it being a cannibal, feeds of its own kinds. For how else does it grow?Living things respir

Thud! Thud! Thud! Palo's feets knock against the floor as he bounces to the middle of the red zone in majestic steps and ice-cool calmness. "Relax guys. You don't want to hurt this people," Palo preaches to his men and then turns to Jackson wearing a grin, "They put food on all our tables." He scoffs and walks closer to Jackson, pushing his own forehead against his gun muzzle. "That doesn't mean you should ever disrespect me, Jackson!" His voice suddenly swifts to show rage.In a sudden shift of moods, Palo begins to laugh again, nonstop. In the fifth second Jackson chuckles, coldly though.In that moment, confusion quickly establishes its throne amongst everyone in the room, as they stand their ground wondering whether to drop their guns low or hold strong.Still in the joyfulness of the moment, Palo gives Jake a handshake and then a quick buddy hug.At this point the answer is pretty obvious, the men drop low their weapons and rather choose to observe in alert."Like always, your m

Struck by the sharp glare of death Jake's brain quickly floods up with ideas. He puts a leg on the steel table from his siting position and throws a backflip supporting his hands with his chair. As he returns to the ground he flips his chair up and hooks Megan through the chair with the landing velocity.With Megan trap in between the chair, at least Jake is more assurred that he ain't getting his neck twisted today, but the possibilities of that horror lay in great number all around him. He quickly races for the exit, taking an high jump that lands him on the stairs.Unfortunately, Jake is not the only one that can jump. Behind him Jackson's crew chases after him in their number, a stretch of a hand is all that separates them. Nonetheless, Jake has his way.He hurries up the stairs like a stopwatch counting 123 but rapidly, behind him the crew follow up close, jumping and chasing him like the stuntmen that they are.As he reaches the last of the stairs, he finds the dark hallway star

"Yesterday," a voice from a speaker tells, "the streets were filled and minted with joy. But today, well today's different. The streets have grown scanty, for what once intrigued them as mere myth, lacking the ability to touch them, has unveiled itself in their reality, now with the full capacity to grip them where it please. Who invented the term werewolf? What led to its novelty?Are our minds extremely creative as they say? Or are we being deceived? For the mind, in its own right, feeds on what's real to fabricate fiction. If so, then what is fiction, and what is nonfiction? Is it a term designed to make us imagine our world as a much safer space? Why else do our parents tell us to stay away from forests and bushes? Nonetheless, it all doesn't matter now, werewolves are real.So when next you go to the market, take heed, stay on guard, for the man standing next to you, trying to act as nice as possible, might be a werewolf. Forbid your arms on this day for they will do you no good,