Victoria Baker | Updates

The Weak Amazon - Fantasy

Victoria Baker — Fri, 01 May 2026 23:20:32 -0400

The first time I saw his face, I was planning to kill him.

I can remember it so clearly. He was young, his back broad and arms thick from working in the coffee fields of Brazil. He had a strong jaw and bright eyes, his skin darkened from labor in the sun. Attractive, and of suitable age. He displayed all of the base characteristics of the weaker sex: aggression, pompousness, arrogance. He was the perfect choice.

I watched him from the jungle, leaves obscuring my body, melding into the background of green foliage as I followed him home. Nobody ever noticed me. I had been trained and prepared for that moment.

The moment I would follow him home, seduce him, and get rid of him.

But I had failed.

“Elena,” Kaiala says. She sits above me, her golden dress encircling her shoulders and draping over her long body in waves. The life tree, dripping with fruit, is woven into the bodice. Her throne nestles in the trunk of a great Kapok, its bark grown into a seat rather than being cut into one with a human’s rudimentary tools. Vines fall around her, the leaves of our rainforest offering us cover. The other Amazons stay to the edge of the trees, leaning against them while I stand in the center. Unprotected.

I keep my shoulders back, head high. I am unaccustomed to the shame that pricks at the back of my eyes, but I force myself to meet Kaiala’s gaze.

The coarse brown garments they put on me chafe against my breasts and hips. The skirt comes to my knees, as is custom, but it does nothing to protect me. I miss my armor, but I am not here to be protected. My hands are empty, my spear torn from my clenched fist.

“Do you understand the charges brought against you?” Kaiala’s eyes are fixed on mine. “Do you realize the seriousness of what you’ve done?”

“I extended mercy,” I say.

“You risked us all.” Kaiala doesn’t sound angry. More disappointed. Our sisters had lived in the secret places of the world for hundreds of years, and now I have placed them at risk of exposure. “You know what we must do.”

The urge to please her, to throw myself at her feet and beg for forgiveness, is overwhelming, but I try to contain it. “Please.” The word bursts from my mouth as though seeking escape. “Don’t kill him. He knows nothing.”

Kaiala shakes her head. “It is the law. Do you think we would make an exception for you because you loved him?”

I drop my hand to my round, bare belly. The life that exists there fills me with joy, but that is not the issue here. “I accomplished what needed to be done,” I say. “My daughter will be brave and wise.”

“You did not answer my question.” Kaiala’s beautiful brown eyes are not without kindness. They look at me with the same love and belonging that I’ve felt my entire life. My mother had those eyes, as did many of my sisters who surround us. How could they be full of such love, understanding, and compassion for me and our clan, but not realize that same emotion could be shared and given to others?

And how would I ever be able to explain?

“I beg you to spare him,” I say. “It is not for myself that I ask.”

Kaiala’s eyes narrow. Murmurs spread around us as the other Amazons whisper to each other. I do my best to remain tall and strong, but a little of that shame starts to curl my shoulders inward.

“Explain,” Kaiala demands.

Where to begin?

When I’d followed the man from the fields to his home, I hadn’t noticed the poverty. The city was dark, which made it easy to sneak unseen through streets littered with trash. Tiny houses of various colors were crammed into the mountainside, begging for space. Children played in the muddy ruts in the road while their mothers stared at them with hollow eyes. The road, wide enough for trucks, narrowed until it would barely fit a laboring mule.

I was callous towards their suffering. The rainforest we had claimed as our own was a perfect protection against such human difficulties. I had been watching the man for weeks, studying his patterns, his weaknesses, and with them my understanding of his kind had increased. I’d heard stories, but seeing their degradation for myself had solidified my opinion of mankind. They were good for one thing, and that thing only.

Yet, upon reaching the man’s home, even I couldn’t deny its destitution. I watched him push aside mud and wood in order to crawl inside his hovel. I peered through a window with no glass into a dim room lit only by a small oil-burning lantern.

An old woman sat in the corner, her hair wispy and thin as it hung in her lined face. The man walked to her, put his arm around her, and gently kissed her on the cheek.

“Home at last, little man?” the woman said, her eyes sharp and twinkling despite their age. The man sighed and shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“How are you, avó?” he asked. “And I’m not little anymore.”

“If I do not call you little, who will?” the grandmother said. “Your head is too big!”

I tensed at this. I had seen him throw beer bottles at his companions for such slight insults. If he attempted to harm the woman, I would have no choice but to intervene. I could not allow such violence against a woman, even if she was only human.

But to my shock, the man chuckled, his eyes shining with a light I had never seen from him before—one I had yet to see from anyone of his sex. He disappeared behind a ragged curtain and returned with a hairbrush. Then, kneeling, he began to gently brush the old woman’s hair.

“I do not know why I put up with you,” he said, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He brushed her hair back from her face.

“Because you respect your elders,” the woman said with a cackle, but love shone from her as she leaned into his touch.

I couldn’t understand what I was seeing. Was this the same man I had been following? The man who had knocked someone’s tooth out in a fight just the day before? Who screamed and cursed with the fluency of habit, throwing his head back and laughing boisterously as though he hadn’t a care in the world?

Yet he cradled the old woman gently, as though she were something precious.

I listened as he sang to her and fed her, his bulging muscles and hard-lined face suddenly soft, melting into expressions and mannerisms I could barely understand. She patted his cheek, love shining from her eyes.

“You’re a good boy, Gabriel,” she told him, her hand cupping his chin.

“Only you think so, avó,” he whispered, then kissed her palm and pulled away.

I was supposed to take him to my bed that night, but found I couldn’t do it.

“There is a woman,” I say. “An elderly woman who needs him. How can we abandon our sister and kill her caregiver?”

A few of the younger Amazons look shocked, their eyes widening as they turn to each other. I can hear their disbelief. Many have never been beyond the forest which bears our name, have never seen a man. But we all know men weren’t strong enough to care for other people. I can’t blame them for doubting me; the idea of a male caregiver is still strange for me as well. I would not have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. But the older Amazons just look sorrowful, as though they know how my story will end.

Kaiala’s expression changes to one of pity.

“Was he a good caregiver, Elena?” she asks.

I want to defend him. But smoke comes to mind. Little blue pills and a short temper. Tears.

I look away.

“Tell us what happened, child,” Kaiala insists.

“I did my duty,” I mutter.

I berated myself for becoming so distracted and approached him the next day. Knowing he was caring for the aging woman had spiked my interest rather than depleted it. We were a warrior race, and therefore those with the qualities closest to the war god’s were considered desirable. But there was something fascinating about a man who could break someone’s skull choosing to comb her hair instead.

I wanted to know more, to understand how this man, who was so full of arrogance and pride, could also be as soft and caring as a mother with her new child. I justified it, thinking that if he was so kind to his aged relative, then perhaps our daughter would be both strong and loving. Perhaps she’d be an Amazon beyond anything we had ever seen.

He was, of course, enthralled with me. I am descended from the gods—my beauty, like that of all of our kind, exceeds that of human women, and it took very little to seduce him. He handed over his heart without objection. My own was untouched by the hyperbolic stories he told or the simple gifts he crafted in his attempt to gain my affection. He resisted bringing me to his home, instead begging to show me off to his friends. I refused. The law dictated that I was to remain unseen by anyone but the man I had chosen as mate, and I was uninterested in any humans beyond the man and his grandmother.

I followed him home to watch as he carefully made feijão, the simple dish of seasoned black beans he shared with his grandmother. He enchanted me when he brushed her hair, bantered with her, and laughed. He was patient, even kind. The strength his sex so often neglected was on display every second he was with his elder, and I couldn’t understand why he refused to let me in, to see her in person.

But he was embarrassed. He didn’t want to bring me to his home. The more I insisted, the more brisk he became. When I finally managed to convince him to allow me inside, he apologized uncomfortably whenever his grandmother was in the room. He started hiding her behind an old dirty curtain when I visited, wanting more and more time alone with me.

It was all horribly . . . dissatisfying.

“I distracted him from his duties,” I say. “I should never have chosen him as a mate. I should have left him to take care of his grandmother, but he is a man, and once he knew me . . .” A small smile can’t help but curl my lips, even as I loathe myself for it. I look up at Kaiala and see the same understanding in her face. We are Amazon. Men cannot help being attracted to those superior to themselves.

“I had already become pregnant with my daughter.” I touch my belly again, feeling the small kick there. “I thought that if I left, the man’s attention would return to his duty. He didn’t know who I was. He didn’t know where I came from. I didn’t think it would be a difficult transition.”

“Your duty called upon you to end the father’s life, so he would be unable to tell anyone about us,” Kaiala reminds me. She no longer looks sympathetic. I had broken the law. I must be punished. “Your duty was to kill him.”

“He needs to care for his grandmother,” I say. “He will not come looking for me.”

“You underestimate man’s desire for the pleasures of a woman,” Kaiala says.

I bow my head, no longer able to meet her eyes. “Yes, I did.”

Once I left him, I hadn’t intended to ever return. I knew the law; I knew I risked banishment, debasing my name and that of my line by letting him live. But how could I slaughter a man who had the capacity for kindness? I didn’t love him, no. What Amazon could love a man? But I loved the love he had for the woman under his care. I loved the way she looked at him, as though she knew he would never let her down.

I couldn’t stay away. I found myself hiding in the woods, watching his little house. I wanted to be sure that everything had returned to the way it was.

It hadn’t.

He no longer brushed her hair or sang to her. Instead he would sit outside, his eyes bloodshot and wet, a bottle of porradinha in his hand. Occasionally he would go somewhere by himself and weep.

Months passed and his grandmother wasted away from his neglect. When she called his name, he would avoid her, his eyes darkening. I did not understand it. I couldn’t understand why he was acting this way.

He spiraled into despair. He’d always been prone to drink, but never at home, never around his grandmother. Now he was drinking, taking other substances—things I didn’t recognize, couldn’t place. They put him into a state of complacency and bliss, but when they wore off, his eyes were more bloodshot and tear-filled than ever.

His grandmother tried to rise to the challenge, but there was nothing she could do. The fire in her eyes dulled as she tried to help him, and I grieved for the pain I had caused her. My sister. She was not Amazon, but she was female. It was not right that I had abandoned her to this. But it wasn’t her own well-being that she mourned. The lack of food, the clean clothes, none of it seemed to bother her.

Instead, she worried for him.

“Gabriel,” she said. “You will give your grandmother a heart attack staying out this late. What are you doing?”

“Nothing, avó,” he said bluntly. “I will be out with friends.”

“Again?” Sadness entered her eyes. “You know they are no good.”

“You don’t get to decide who I spend time with. I am not a child.”

“You are a better man than this, Gabriel,” she said, voice sharp.

He turned to look at her with rage in his eyes, but it died and his shoulders slumped. He looked away. “What do you know about it?” he muttered, and then left.

Tears shone in the woman’s eyes, but she stubbornly held them back. Despite all of this, her love didn’t waver, and the look in her eyes when she saw him never changed.

“I made a mistake,” I say, raising my head once more. “I took a good man, one who had very little. All he had was his grandmother. And then I seduced him, deceived him. Made him believe that there was something better in this world then the destitution he lived in. I blinded him. I took him in my arms and made him believe I loved him, and then I vanished without a trace. Perhaps it would have been easier if I had killed him. But I didn’t, and now he has sunken into despair.

“But there is a woman, a woman who needs him, a woman who refuses to give up on him. She has fire and spirit, a heart to match an Amazon. How can we take him away from her?”

Kaiala sighs, her hand traveling to the sacred tree embroidered on her gown, her eyes staring at something far overhead. Then she stands and leaps to the ground, the distance nothing to her strong legs. As she walks toward me, shivers travel up and down my spine.

“Elena,” she says, her voice filled with sorrow. “You misjudged. You thought you found a man with the strength to care for another, but you did not. It was not your actions alone that brought him to this fate. A man weak enough to be seduced by the pleasures of the flesh would have fallen to vice eventually.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I do not believe it.”

Kaiala sighs and cups my chin in her hand. “You are not to blame for his decisions,” she tells me. “Only your own. You broke our laws, and now must suffer the consequences. Don’t you think the man’s grandmother would rather have her pain ended quickly then have it drawn out as she watches her grandson spiral into nothingness?”

I pull free of her grip, holding her hand in my own. “No,” I say again. “She wouldn’t.”

The grandmother’s face is still so vivid in my mind. Her eyes as bright as a flame when she knelt on the dirt floor, clasping her hands together, almost in challenge, holding the cross necklace between her palms. Weak and feeble, yet she looked as powerful as a queen.

“God,” she said. “Help me.” It didn’t sound like a plea, but a request for assistance, as though between equals. “Gabriel is all I have left in this world. And he is a good man, Lord. He forgets himself. He is afraid to show weakness, but he has always been a good man.” She drew in a breath, steadying herself. “He is hurting. He no longer believes that good exists in the world. All that is good has been taken from him throughout his life. So he flees into those noxious poisons, and they’re killing him. Oh, God. They’re killing him!” Her voice broke, barely above a whisper. “Please help him. Please help me help him.”

No matter how many nights he left her alone, how often she was forced to drag her aged body away from her soft blankets to cook and clean. She still knelt every day and prayed to her God to watch over her grandson. To take care of him.

To keep him alive.

“I think that for as long as she has breath, she will try to save her grandson. There is a reason he was the person he was before I came, Kaiala. There is a reason he loved his grandmother enough to take care of her the way he did. If she can overcome the innate selfishness of man once, who is to say that she cannot do it again? We have to let her try.”

Kaiala sighs and removes her hand, walking back toward the great Kapok. My warrior sisters step from the edges of the clearing and grab my arms, pinning me in place. “I see you cannot be reasoned with,” Kaiala says, looking back at me over her shoulder.

I keep my head high, my back straight.

“You will not perform your duty,” she says, forcing me to admit it once again.

“I cannot betray her,” I say.

“As he did.” Kaiala’s eyes are locked on mine and I fight with the shame she expects from me. “Can no others care for her?”

“No,” I admit. “She won’t let them.”

It took a long time before I made up my mind to approach the old woman. My daughter had swollen in my belly and it was becoming more difficult to move silently amongst the trees, but I still did it. The man’s weakness had become repulsive to me. I found myself more and more angry as I watched him.

He was supposed to be different. I’d seen him be different than the other men in this world. I’d seen his strength, and now he was throwing it away because he couldn’t have what he wanted. It was pathetic. I never should have spared him. I had risked my people’s safety, my status amongst my sisters, for him. And for what? It was becoming painfully clear that he was too selfish to appreciate what he had. Everything I had done, and it was all for nothing.

I should have killed him then. He was walking out of the house, his eyes dazed, his hand clutching a bottle, dragging it to his lips, and draining it. He stumbled away from their tiny hovel, his step already swaying. I knew where he was going. I knew the den where he would pump himself full of poison, dulling his mind and forcing him into a state of stupor.

My spear was heavy in my hands. I could do it. Great with my child or not, it would take little effort to destroy him.

I was halfway out of the trees before a voice reached my ears. “Elena,” she said. “You came back.”

The grandmother had been watching her grandson leave through the window and had spotted my movement. Her eyes betrayed no hostility, though they were carefully guarded as they flickered down at my spear and then up again. Whatever she thought of my appearance, she kept it to herself. I drew myself up to my considerable height, staring down at her.

She looked at my swollen belly and a hint of a smile touched her face. “Foolish child,” she said softly. “I should have known. I thought I’d raised him better.”

Her face was pale and thin, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she looked at me, her hair in vicious snarls around her face. My anger surged in my veins. How dare he? After everything I’d done, all that I’d sacrificed and risked for him, he’d abandoned her. The only good man I’d ever met, and he’d thrown it away in a temper tantrum.

“Why do you put up with him,” I growled. “Why don’t you leave him to rot in his own putrescence?”

Surprise flashed across her face. She shook her head, as though bemused by my ignorance. Her obvious pity made me bristle. I was Amazon. I came from a line of warriors, descended from an ancient race that had spread across the world over two thousand years ago. We had taught the native women to defend themselves, and the people had named the great forest in our honor. She was nothing but a human woman being taken advantage of by a man—how dare she look at me like I understood nothing.

“Come with me,” I said. I reached forward and grabbed her hand. The bones felt as fragile as a bird’s. “I can take care of you so much better than he ever could. Even before, when he loved you. I can do even better than that.”

“Oh Elena,” the grandmother sighed. “He still loves me.”

I scoffed. “Men are incapable of love.”

I do not know if she knew what I was, or if she guessed. But she looked at me for a long time, studying me, pinning me with her gaze. It was uncomfortable, as though she were attempting to examine my very soul.

She pulled her hand free and reached into her pocket. After a moment, she pulled out an old photograph. It was wrinkled and stained, as if it had been folded and unfolded many times.

She held it out for me. The photo was of a young boy, no more than three years old. He was grinning, holding a large fish in front of him, eyes shining with pride. Someone in the background helped him hold it up.

“Do you want to know why I put up with it?” The grandmother said softly. “Why I don’t kick him out of my home, send him to destroy his life out of my sight? It’s because of this little boy, right here.” She tapped the photo, her wrinkled finger gently touching the child’s face.

“This little boy needed me,” she said. “When his parents died of malaria, I brought him here to live with me. He was so tiny, so scared. He knew me, of course. But he missed his parents and would cry out for them in the night. He needed me to be strong. He needed me to love him. And when I see that man,” she pointed down the path, where her grandson had disappeared. “When I see him hiding another drink or downing another pill, I think of this little boy.”

I stared at the photo. The child was so young. His eyes were bright and full of the light I’d seen in the man’s eyes when I’d first seen him with his grandmother, before I had come into his life and ruined him. Inadvertently my arm encircled my belly, feeling the kicks of my daughter. Looking back into the grandmother’s eyes, I saw her smile.

“This little boy is still somewhere in that big man,” she said. “The world took this baby and destroyed him. It stole his parents from him, forced him to grow up in poverty. Convinced him that in order to be strong, to be protected against the cruelty of the world, he needed to be tough, hardened. That emotions were for the weak. It broke him. And I failed him, because I wasn’t able to stop it.

“This little boy?” she touched the photo again. “This little boy needs me now just as much as he did that first night he came to me. He needs me, and I’ll be here. I’ll be here until the day he draws his last breath, because he is my grandson and I love him.”

“What if he no longer loves you?” I whispered.

She smiled and put her hand on my cheek. “Dear child,” she said. “That was never the point.”

Kaiala shakes her head and turns to the warriors lined up against the trees. “Elena, daughter of Amazon,” she says, addressing me. “You have shamed our people, broken our law, and must therefore be punished.”

I brace myself, my eyes closed.

“You are stripped of your rank as warrior,” Kaiala says, each word a blow to my heart. “Your daughter will be known as the child of a traitor and a weakling. You will never hold a spear again.”

I try to stay upright, proud, but my shoulders bow and I drop to my knees. The shame I have been fighting wells within me, and I fear I will choke on it. I know I must stand and accept my fate, for my daughter, but I cannot get myself to do it.

Kaiala watches me with pity in her eyes but doesn’t waver in her decision. She turns back to the Amazons. “Hunt the man down and kill him. We must clean up this mess.”

“No!” Stupid, stupid child that I am, I can’t help the word as it bursts from my lips. The Amazons all turn back to me, surprise crossing my sisters’ faces. I force myself once more to my feet. Shame hangs on me like a cloak, but I straighten my shoulders.

“Please, Kaiala,” I whisper. “You cannot do this. Study him. Watch his grandmother, as I have. Do not take my words alone. See for yourself. But please, please. You must spare him. For our sister.”

Kaiala stares into my eyes. “I do not understand,” she says eventually. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because she does,” I whisper. “I was fascinated when I saw him love and care for his grandmother. I had never seen a man act with such compassion, but to the grandmother, it did not matter. When he was kind to her, when he was cruel to her, she acted the exact same way. She loves him, Kaiala. With the love that a warrior has for her child.” At this, I touch my expanded belly, my heart still flush with the shame I’ve brought upon my child. “If we kill him, we will not be serving some great justice. We will only be taking away the last relative of an old woman who doesn’t deserve to be alone.”

“Maybe she should be alone,” Kaila says bluntly. “Maybe she doesn’t know what is best for her.”

“Please,” I say. “Please, let her try to help him.”

Kaiala and I hold each other’s gazes for a long time. “No,” she says, her voice quiet. “I cannot do that.”

Looking into her eyes, I do not blame her. It is impossible for her to understand. My heart beats painfully in my chest, and it is as though I can feel the heartbeat of my child syncing with mine. I take several steps backward, planting myself between my queen and the path to the village. She watches me with hooded eyes, not understanding. I am unarmed. I have been stripped of my spear. As far as my sisters are concerned, I am nothing.

But I am not nothing.

“Then you will have to mow me down,” I say. “For I will not let you hurt him.”

Kaiala’s eyes darken. Her brow furrows in frustration. She holds out her hand and the rays of light filtering through the trees condense together, forming a golden spear. My heart races at the sight of it, but I hold my ground.

“You would risk this for him?” she says. “You would risk your child?”

For a brief moment, I hesitate. I can imagine my daughter, how strong she would be, how kind. The thought of her being taken from me is a pain I cannot imagine. But then I think of that little boy in the picture. The hope in his eyes. The smile on his face. My beautiful sisters will take that beloved child and destroy him, taking him from an old woman that has already had the world turn against her.

I cannot let them do it.

“Please,” I whisper. It is all I’m able to say. I know I will not live through this. My sisters walk toward me with the grace that we have all been blessed with, their spears sharp and their grips steady. I look into their eyes, hoping to see some glimmer of empathy.

There is none.

When this is over, I pray they will save my daughter, raise her as one of their own. And that, maybe, their bloodlust will end with me.

“He is not worth this,” Kaiala says.

I clench my hands and set my feet. “It isn’t about him. It was never about him.”

The End

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Through Rose Tinted Lens - Horror

Victoria Baker — Fri, 01 May 2026 23:02:22 -0400

Through Rose-Tinted Lens

I shift into park and sigh, squinting against the glare of the sun through the windshield. Sweat trickles down my back and makes my hair stick to my neck. Stupid air conditioner. Did it have to give out now? I shove the door open with one foot, reaching across to the passenger’s side to grab the limp McDonald’s bag I’d been so eager to have. It smells gross, but at least I won’t have to cook tonight.

Hopefully, Jake will understand. McDonald’s may not be the healthiest choice, but there’s just been too much I need to get done. Besides, fast food is dirt cheap. He really can’t argue with the savings.

I step out of the car and look across the lawn. My neighbor, Desiree, lounges on her back in her sun chair.

“You’re gonna burn, hun,” I say, laughing. “At least roll over onto your side!” She lets out a laugh, but doesn’t move.

I shake my head and head toward the house. Long stalks of grass brush against my ankles, making them tickle. The lawn is peppered with dandelions and discarded toys half buried amongst the weeds. Ugh, this place is filthy, I moan to myself, kicking out at a rubber ball and watching as it rolls and bounces against the bottom stair of our grime-stained porch.

Yet another thing I need to bug Jake about. If we aren’t careful, we’re going to get mice. Just because he is out of a job doesn’t give him the excuse to sit around the house all day. I love the guy, but this is getting ridiculous.

Though, I think as I push open the front door, Considering my housekeeping skills lately, I really shouldn’t complain too much.

The door scrapes against dirty carpet, sending puffs of dust into the air. I should get that vacuum fixed. The house is a mess - as usual - though I’ve been trying to clean up little by little. Toys litter the floor of the living room. They surround the TV stand and pile onto the bookshelf. Unwashed dishes have stacked up in the kitchen sink and I can’t help the clench of guilt in my gut at the sight of them. I probably should have washed up and made dinner instead of going out. Again.

I sniff the air and cough, then cover my nose with an arm. I must have left the meat out of the fridge, because it smells like someone died. Sometimes, I am so scatterbrained, I’m surprised I ever get anything done. Or maybe it isn’t me and a skunk decided to crawl in here after playing in a fecal pool.

I sigh and rest my head in my palm for a second. No more excuses. I have to deep clean the kitchen. Today. And the living room.

The smell gets worse as I walk further into the room. I rub my nose against my shirt, trying to burn the stench out. How does Jake stand it?

Jake sits on the couch facing the TV. Same position as I left him, his head slightly tilted to the side, and eyes glazed over from staring at the screen for too long.

“Hey sweetie,” I say. Despite myself, I feel a warm glow expand in my chest. The man irritates the crap out of me somedays, but seeing him there makes me feel like a teenager again. What would I do without him? I don’t even want to imagine that. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” he says. His eyes don’t move away from the TV screen, which, ironically, is off. I go over and flip it on, but nothing happens. Is the TV broken too? I need to call someone to get that fixed.

“Is Sophie still sleeping?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, the word empathic. I throw him a weird look but he still isn’t looking at me. His gaze still fixed on the TV, but his mouth deepens into a frown. I shake my head, he’s probably just worrying about work again.

I navigate the maze of toys so I can curl up next to him on the couch, snuggling against his side. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, so his face is nice and scruffy, which looks great even if it’s a pain to kiss. I wrap his arm around me and breathe in his scent, before leaning away -- retching.

“Dude, you reek.” I laugh, and push against him, but then change my mind and snuggle close again. “When was the last time you showered?” His eyes look sad, but I brush it off. “Just because you’re unemployed doesn’t mean you get to forget basic hygiene.”

He looks down and then back up, never moving his head, just his eyes.

“Hey.” I cup his face in my hands. “It’s going to be fine. You’ll get a new job. I just need you to get up and moving, all right? You’ll get sick again if you just sit here.”

“Kelly, you have to listen to me.” He sounds so heartbroken that I can’t help but kiss him.

“I love you,” I tell him. “And you’ll find a job. But not if you don’t get off your butt and take a shower.” He looks away as I giggle and stand up, “I’m going to go check on Sophie. She’s been sleeping too long.”

“Kelly,” Jake says again, his voice cracking, but I wave him off, already heading toward the baby’s room.

I trail my fingers along the walls of the hallway as I walk, leaving clean streaks amongst the grime. I should dust. And then maybe we can paint them. I saw a hardware store somewhere in town, I could go there tomorrow. Though, with everyone getting sick lately, it’s probably closed. Everywhere seems to be these days.

I open the door to Sophie’s room and peek in. The baby is quiet, but she has slept enough. I flip on the light and then groan in frustration when it doesn’t turn on. Great, now we need new light bulbs.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I say, walking toward her crib. For a moment, the baby lays still, her tiny chest unmoving. My heart catches sharply in my throat, pounding painfully against my jugular, but I just look closer and sure enough, she’s fine. “Silly baby,” I whisper. I’m always getting so freaked out by nothing. I reach down and pull Sophie from the crib, cradling her to my chest, “Wake up, sweetheart. It’s time for dinner. Are you hungry?” Humming softly, I leave the room.

Jake is, of course, right where I left him. He hasn’t even touched the bag of McDonald’s I’d left on the couch. Not that I really blame him. Fast food has really gone downhill the past few weeks. The food’s always cold and I can’t even get some of the specials anymore. But regardless, he still needs to eat.

I bite my lip and walk over to him, placing one hand on his shoulder.

“Jake,” I say softly. “Honey, you need to eat something.”

Silence.

He still hasn’t moved from his position on the couch. I clench my fist and grind my teeth. Why is he being so stubborn? Just eat the stupid food!

I put Sophie down on the floor with some toys. She doesn’t reach for them. A small pain forms on the side of my forehead. Why does everything have to be so difficult with these two? I grab a toy and shove it into her hand, curling her fingers around it. “These are brand new toys,” I tell her. “They’re fun.”

She doesn’t respond. Which is good, that’s fine.

She usually cries whenever I put her down, but she’s been so much better about that lately. It’s not like I want her to cry.

Except, maybe I do. The silence in the house is deafening.

I jump up and spin around to face Jake. “You have to eat something,” I tell him. “Right now.” I grab a mushed fry from the bag and shove it into his face. His head falls backwards on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Something nags in the back of my mind. A frantic pulse that makes the edges of my vision turn black.

Stop it. Get it together.

“Kelly, you can’t ignore this,” Jake whispers. His mouth doesn’t move.

Shut up! I want to scream, but don’t. I need to be patient. Everything is going to be alright, I just need to calm down.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, forcing my heartbeat to slow. I’m being silly. Dramatic, like a teenage girl. Jake is stressed. He’s worried about his job and the baby and how everyone is getting sick so he has every reason to not want to move off the couch right now.

I look up and Jake stares at me from deep sunken eyes. His lips pull back from his black teeth, skin fallen deep beneath his cheekbones. Rotten flesh pools on his shoulders and beneath his chin. His nose has entirely vanished.

“No!” I slam the palms of my hands into my eyes, forcing them closed. My stomach quivers and I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I’m on edge. Everyone at Jake’s work has been getting sick and it’s just stressing me out. That’s why they’d shut the office down, sent everyone home. But Jake is fine. He’s gotten better. He is fine.

“Kelly,” Jake says.

I pull my hands away from my eyes.

“It’s okay.” He isn’t looking at me, his neck unable to hold the weight of his head. It lolls against the back of the couch, he has no lips, his jaw unmoving. “I promise you’ll be okay.”

I heave, bent over, bile rising to the top of my throat only for the muscles to clench, forcing it back down. I reach for my daughter and scoop her into my arms, cradling her tiny body against my own.

What am I thinking, keeping Sophie up so late? She needs to go to bed. A strict sleeping schedule is the only thing that will help her sleep through the night. Babies need lots of sleep.

I run back toward the hallway and slip and smash into the wall as I turn a corner. I shouldn’t be running with a baby. What is the rush? No big deal. I will just rock her for a while.

“It’s okay. We’re okay. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

I stumble into her room, falling into the rocking chair and kissing my baby’s head. She is so perfect. So, so perfect. I remember the day she was born. Everyone had been so worried, they were afraid she’d get sick. But she is strong. Strong, and fine, and perfect, and I won’t let anything happen to her.

“Shh, baby, shhh. I love you. Did you know that? Did you know that I love you more than anything else in the entire world?”

The light above me blinks and flickers on and off. I glare at the light. Why does nothing in this house work? Why is everything so temperamental? I just want things to be fixed!

The bulb stops flickering and light floods the room. I smile in satisfaction and glance down. Dried blood coats my baby’s lips and chin. Her belly is twice the size it should be, bulging outward and pressing against my chest. Something wiggly squeezes between my fingers as I hold her. Her eyes stare into mine, open and glass-like, half of one already missing.

Reality splinters.

I try to throw the corpse away but my hands clench around my baby’s body, refusing to let go.

Screaming fills the air. This isn’t happening. I can hear the noise, but I can’t feel the sound in my throat. It rises in volume and pitch until I’m not sure if I’m crying or dying. I drop to my knees, curling around the rotting infant.

This can’t be real.

I rock back and forth on the ground, my head tapping against the crib every time I lean forward.

It’s not real. I won’t let this be real.

Scenes flash through my mind like an old-fashioned slideshow. Going into the McDonald’s, grabbing a moldy bag that had been left on the counter.

So what if it was a little greasier than normal? It’s McDonald's.

Driving on roads littered with abandoned cars.

No. Traffic is always bad at that time of day.

The doctor looking at me with sad eyes, coughing into his elbow as he examines Jake, before shaking his head.

That isn’t how it happened!

Sophie, dead in her crib.

NO! It isn’t REAL!

Jake, smiling at me when I get home. Sophie gurgling happily every time I peek over the crib.

The three of us, a family. We go on picnics and have barbecue’s in the backyard. We go on camping trips and Jake carries Sophie on his back while we hike up the mountains. We visit my mother in Florida and call my dad in Europe every week.

I remember this, that’s what happened, I know what’s real!

I look down at my bloated baby and grab my hair with one hand, yanking it until my eyes water. Not real! I won’t let it be real. I grab the bars of the crib and smash my head into them. The pain splinters through my mind, cracking across the memory of Jake’s sunken eyes, his black teeth. I bash my head against the floor, my vision splitting, half filled with maggots squirming between my fingers while my baby smiles and coos at me from the other.

Again, I crash my head to the wood, to the floor, against the wall. Blood stains the carpet, dripping down my face and staining Sophie’s already ruined pajamas.

It’s not real!

***

The sun filters lazily in through Sophie’s window. Is it really morning already? My head aches and I must have bit my tongue, because there’s a copper taste in my mouth. I cough and wipe it away. Did I hit my head? How weird.

I smile down at the sleeping baby next to me. Did I sleep here all night? What am I thinking, sleeping with a baby on the floor? What if she rolls away?

“Hey, you,” I say, gathering her up in my arms. She isn’t moving, but that’s okay. I cuddle her against my chest, humming softly. “Last night was rough, huh?” I sway a little as I walk out of the room, my legs feel a bit like rubber. There is something rust colored on the carpet, but I don’t focus on it.

My vision spins a little as I walk. I must be hungry. I never eat enough food these day. I should go to the store, but everything is always closed, since everyone’s been getting sick lately. I should write a letter. Sick or not, people still need to eat.

Jake is sitting in the living room. His head at a tilt, staring at the ceiling.

“Jake,” I sigh, shaking my head but maybe smiling a little too. “You need to get off that couch. Being stressed about work is no excuse to be a lazy bones.”

“Kelly,” he whispers. I ignore the tears dripping down his face, and they disappear.

“It’s fine,” I tell him. “Everything’s fine. Everything is going to be just fine.”

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In the Mouth of Cerberus - Fantasy

Victoria Baker — Fri, 01 May 2026 22:58:30 -0400

A stone wall barred me from the mouth of Hades. Icy spikes stood as sentinels; their jagged edges littered the path to the gates, making each step treacherous. The river behind me set off a chill that seeped through to what should have been my bones.

I didn’t have bones anymore, nor flesh. Just a slip of a soul standing in front the gates. I felt the same; still human, still human shaped, but my being looked . . . different. Fuzzy, like I was seeing myself through a pool of water.

Beyond the gates were three judges who would decide my fate. Maybe I’d go to paradise. Elysium. Bliss for the rest of eternity. And maybe I wouldn’t.

But that was only if I could get past the dog.

It was the size of a building; three sets of black eyes locked onto me as drool dribbled out of the corner of one of their mouths. It stood in front of the gate, its muscular shoulders bulging against the dark fur that covered it. The saliva spilled from their lips and splashed on the ground, drenching what should have been my feet.

I had nothing. The clothes and possessions I’d accrued in life were gone. The body I had fought so hard for was lying in a bed somewhere far above me. My money spent on a ride in a boat. My accomplishments, my friends, my family, everything that I had earned -- gone.

Only I remained.

It felt like my very spirit quivered in terror so deep I wasn’t sure where it ended and I began. I didn’t want to take a single step toward those gates and the unknown judgement beyond them. Who knew where I'd end up? There was paradise, yes, but also Tartarus; an eternity of misery and pain, neverending. And even that was contingent on making it passed those powerful jaws.

Being dead lent a certain clarity to things, and looking up at Cerberus let me know I was seeing the only creature in existence that could utterly destroy my soul.

The only way forward was past the guardian of the gates. I could keep going, or I could wander the edge of the River Styx until I faded to nothing.

Cerberus’ faces twisted into a snarl. There was no chain around its neck; that shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. As though Cerberus was a tame dog that could be held back with a leash. This wasn’t a public park. This was eternity.

I wanted it. More than anything I’d ever wanted in life, I wanted to reach those gates. I’d heard stories of the Underworld, of course. Different tales that all tried to explain where I’d go when my body couldn’t hold me anymore. Maybe it should have come as a surprise that the real thing ended up being a dog guarding the gate to Hades, but for whatever reason it wasn’t. I knew what lay beyond those gates. Not my accomplishments, not my belongings, but everything in my life that had ever been important. My parents, my siblings, family and friends I hadn’t seen in decades.

I took a step forward. Cerberus lunged, and I leaped back. Its lips curled back over long, glistening teeth. Three different mouths snarling in unison.

If I had a heart, it would have been pounding. Apparently the physical sensations of living hadn’t been forgotten, as my mouth felt dry and my palms sticky with sweat despite the lack of flesh and moisture. If Cerberus grasped my soul and ripped it to shreds that would be it. No second chances.

My foot shifted, first forward, then back. I didn’t have to go. I could stay on the bank of the River Styx and never face judgement. I wouldn’t find myself in paradise, but there was no guarantee that was where I was going anyway. Maybe I would wander an endless field forever. Maybe they’d find some black spot on my heart and send me to be tortured for eternity. What was the point of trying to pass this beast if where I ended up was worse than where I was now?

I didn’t have to be brave. I could quit.

The dog wouldn’t follow me, I knew that. Its job was to guard the gates, and it would never leave that post. Nothing would stop me from turning my back and disappearing forever.

Nothing but me.

I ran. Three judges sat behind the gate wearing expensive silk robes, barely visible behind the bulk of the guardian of Hades. They had authority over my fate, yet watched with identical expressions of indifference; completely unconcerned with whether or not I won my race.

Cerberus’s middle head latched onto the spirit of my right arm; teeth the size of my hand sliced through the fibers of my soul. Pain ripped through me as it jerked me backwards and up, the ground vanishing beneath the wisps of my feet.

The dog shook me like a rag doll. I was certain that my arm would rip off, but spirits were made of something stronger than flesh. My scream filled the silence of Hades. For a moment I thought someone would come running. Maybe the judges would call the animal off.

They didn’t.

The head on the left lunged for my legs, the one on the right growled and barked but couldn’t reach now that my spirit was stretched tight. They fought over me like puppies with a rope.

I couldn’t wish for death; I’d already died. I tried to hang as loose as possible, and to my surprise, it seemed to help. They didn’t release me, but I no longer felt as though I was about to be torn in half. I didn’t feel the stretch as intensely. They could have eaten me, and maybe I wouldn’t have noticed.

With a particularly enthusiastic tug, the left head pulled my arm from the middle head’s mouth, but in its exuberance I slipped from its grip, and I was flung against the stone wall, my hands gripping the edge. On instinct, limbs shaking from the sudden release of pain, I pulled myself up and looked down at the eternity beyond the gate.

A large field stretched out into the distance. Billions and billions of souls crowded together, all mingling and churning in an unending pulse of humanity and life. But it was different than I thought it would be.

The Asphodel fields were where those who had achieved nothing went to spend the rest of all time. It was supposed to be a place of drudgery and boredom, a punishment for never achieving anything of note or worth in the entirety of life. But that wasn’t what I saw.

Men and women danced in the field, laughing as they kicked up their ankles and twirled around their partners. They didn’t dance well, but they enjoyed themselves just the same. Family members met and held each other, weeping with joy at being reunited, though I could still see some tension, old wounds that hadn’t been resolved. Stories were being told, countless stories always varying between different mouths. People taught each other crafts, and showed their rudimentary works of art made from random objects they found amongst the grass. None of them were particularly beautiful or inspired, but rather simple and created with love if not skill.

It wasn’t . . . paradise. There were no palaces of gold, nor people of great repute. In the distance I could see the lights of Elysium, so bright I could hardly look without squinting. The Fields held no euphoria, no grand prize. It was just people. The good parts. The kind of goodness that was found at the hearth of a loved one, in a conversation with someone you respected, in the loving embrace of someone you’d lost.

It wasn’t without flaws. I could feel the taint of petty jealousies that still existed. People occasionally acting cruel. Nothing evil occurred, but it wasn’t without pain. That felt exceptionally disappointing, after having to live a lifetime with people’s imperfections causing untold damage.

It struck me then, in a moment of clarity that had probably come directly from the Underworld god himself, that if I stayed still, and didn’t move, I wouldn’t have to be in pain ever again. The dog would consume my very being, and I’d cease to exist. I couldn’t get to the fields by going over the wall, I had to use the gates, which meant fighting. And if I moved . . . oh, if I moved. The pain would return and there wasn’t even a guarantee that I wouldn’t fail, and disappear anyway.

It was a choice. A question. I needed to decide if I was willing to try.

One of the heads ripped me from the wall and threw me upward. I spun as though in slow motion, looking down as the heads each aimed to swallow me whole.

Maybe it was too late. My chance had already come, and I missed it.

The left head reached me first. I fell between its gaping jaws and felt its muscles work to swallow. I threw my arms and legs out, lodging myself in its throat. It gagged, heaving, and a swamp of acidic bile crept up its esophagus.

Slick slime coated my soul. I could feel myself slipping down the sides of Cerberus’s throat and shoved my limbs against them, desperate to hold myself in place. The beast gagged, and as its throat contracted I clawed my way up and latched onto the back of its tongue. Bile touched my foot and I screamed, the acid burning through my spirit. Cerberus coughed, the force of it shoving me through its teeth and out of its mouth. The ground hurtled toward me. If I’d had bones, every single one of them would have shattered at the impact.

Everything grew still. Cerberus was silent above me, and I waited for it to grab me between its teeth and bite me in half. But it didn’t happen. Relief felt far away, and I couldn’t bring myself to reach for it. Slowly, I raised my head and looked at the giant dog.

Three tongues lolled out of three canine mouths. It didn’t grin, in the way I’d seen adorable puppies grin back when I’d been alive, but there was a touch of light in its dark eyes that made it look . . . less frightening than before.

I crawled toward the gate. The judges watched me without expression as I hauled myself once more to my feet in front of them. I waited for them to speak, but they were silent. The gate opened, and when I took my first step from the bank of the river into the edge of the underworld, each of them gave me a small, satisfied smile.

You weren’t clever, one whispered.

You didn’t develop a plan, the other said.

But sometimes not giving up is good enough. The three of them welcomed me in.

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Scary Thing

Victoria Baker — Fri, 1 May 2026 00:00:00 +0000

So, I did a scary thing today. I submitted the Little Girl and The Tortoise to Publisher's Weekly for review.

Now, the odds that I'll actually get picked up to be reviewed by them is . . . very miniscule. I can hope and dream, but I'm counting on it not going anywhere. That said, putting yourself out there is a scary thing, and the imposter syndrome was strong as I was filling out the form.

Who did I think I was, that someone like Publisher's Weekly would review my book? And even if they did, how likely were they to be kind to it, and not rip it to shreds for its obvious faults?

I had to fight that voice in my head because I'm really proud of the Little Girl and the Tortoise. I'm proud of the art, I'm proud of the story, I'm proud of the work that I put into it. I want people to see it, and this was an opportunity for me to try and get it out there. There will always be things for people to criticize. I don't anticipate that everyone will love the art of the book, or maybe the messaging, or maybe the rhythm of the prose won't vibe with some people. And all of that is okay.

That doesn't mean that my book doesn't deserve to be seen.

Dealing with criticism is something I've struggled with my whole life. It's that whole rejection sensitivity thing. But if I'm gonna make it as an author, then I've got to develop a thicker skin. So here I am, sending my heart out to a big review company, fully expecting to be ignored or rebuffed.

But at least I did it. It's worth a try, right? And if it turns out to be a mistake, then that's one more thing I've learned on my journey. I've got this. I can do scary things.

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