I almost burned the beef patty, I was too distracted.

I'd woked up in the morning, to find my short story had over a thousand reads. The feeling was amazing and now I needed moooore!

Under the shower, I desperately tried to come up with something new but my brain kept hitting a wall. I couldn't come up with anything!

I'd already checked the restaurant five times to see if Az was back. He'd encouraged me to write, would he be interested in reading the result? What would he say?

Maybe I just wanted to see him again because he was so beautiful.

Az showed up half an hour before closing. He sat down in the same booth, and ate leftover french fries like he was some kinda prince.

I offered to bus Beth's tables before she could even ask, just so I could walk past him and say "hi" without getting in trouble. Mitchell was in his office doing the books, whatever that meant.

"That was quite the story, Timothy," Az said, as I put the dirty dishes from the table next to his in my grey plastic bin.

"You read it?" I asked in shock. How?

"Would you like to write another one?"

I felt myself nod stupidly.

"Well, as they say, 'quid pro quo'. How about... a kiss?"

What?! Was he making fun of me? Why would someone like him want to kiss me? I smelled like grease and felt like...

He suddenly stood in front of me.

His eyes did that thing again and before I knew it, I had his tongue in my mouth. He kissed me like in the movies, making my knees fold.

I'd never felt anything like it and I touched my lips like I'd dreamed it all. This couldn't possibly be real?!

Az was sitting in his booth, pretending like nothing had happened. He stared at me like a lion looked at an antiloper.

Mitchell shouted my name, and the lights flickered. When I turned to say goodbye, Az was gone.

Words suddenly rushed through my head. I felt like I had to write them down quickly before they went away.

I asked for a smoke break but I'd never smoked in my life. To play the part, I bummed one from Beth and walked out into the dark, sketch as fuck alley way where the dumpster was.

Pulling out my phone, I typed as if I was oppressed or something.

In the beginning, there was nothing.

Then there was Light. It wasn't the first Light, nor would it be the last but it was... our Light.

Vast yet alone, Light yearned for experience but had no equal. Thus, it sent a pulse through the eternal nothing, shaping an illuminated sphere.

Within the translucent orb's confine Light found its voice and sang a ceaseless song, cracking the flawless surface.

Of the imperfect light, reality was born; a fabric that would be woven across aeons of make, break and make again.

The first epoch bore witness to the rise of the Great Monument Builders. The second told the history of their self-inflicted ruin.

The third epoch is hence upon us and none hath providence of its unfolding, yet a prophecy was uttered unto which few desired to fall beholden.

Thus is the First Revelation of the Dreamer.

°°°

The Duke stood on the balcony of his palace bedroom and looked out over Alaria; the independent citystate on the coast of the Pÿrian Sea.

Tinkerbarges filled the skies, puffing out plumes of steam. As the central supply hub of the six Eastern Kingdoms, the city barely slept, much like its benevolent ruler.

Sorens; the young man that had extracted three carnal crescendos from the Duke now stood beside him in deep thought, utterly unfazed by his own nudity.

"A copper for your worries," the Duke said, a gust of wind whipping through his long locks of white hair.

The young man's demeanor seemed somehow conflicted, when he asked, "Do you believe the Dreamer's prophecy to be true?"

"What an odd thing to ask," the Duke said with a raised eyebrow.

"That wasn't an answer," Sorens said, caressing the old man's cheek.

The Duke was not in the habit of entertaining the hubris of those he paid for companionship, but Sorens was different.

He was unexpectedly clever, sophisticated even, and the Master of Alaria had sought his counsel on a number of occasions.

Perhaps, an honest answer just this once?

"Yes, I believe it is," the Duke said, stoically.

"And if the one the prophecy speaks of were to be brought before you?" Sorens whispered into his ear.

The Duke's flesh tingled and his cock rose beneath his thin, white robe. He swallowed and answered in truth, though many considered it treason.

"I would offer sanctuary."

Sorens sighed and whispered, "Alas, the Empress anticipated this answer."

"And what do you know of..."

The Duke could not finish his sentence, his hands clutching his throat. His attempts at stopping the blood from gushing out through the deep wound would quickly prove futile.

Sorens took a step back as to avoid the pooling red. He watched the Duke twitch through his dying breath before calmly getting dressed.

"Glory to the Empress !" Sorens muttered, as he shed a single tear for the Lord of Alaria.

Where was this all coming from? This tiny story was so weird but insanely cool. Prophecies, a Punksteam world, a queer Duke... Seriously, like what the fuck?!

Would it gain as much attention as my other little story? I opened my Wordpal and uploaded the single chapter.

I selected "generate AI cover" because I wasn't good at making pictures. I added a few tags including the word "gay" because I'd written about the Duke's cock.

The next step was "publish". Should I? Fuck it!

It suddenly popped into my head that I should share the AI cover on my PicIt account. Upload and share. Done!

"Timmy!" Mitchell yelled. "Get your ass in here!"

***

On the bus home, I finally had a chance to check my phone and I almost dropped it on the floor.

What the fuck?! The PicIt post had been re-shared six hundred and sixty-six times and I'd never had this many likes on a post... EVER!

That's when I opened my Wordpal.

Holy fucking shit! How did this happen? In the two hours that it took to finish cleaning up the kitchen, my short story gained more than three thousand reads and I had a hundred and eleven new followers!

It all seemed as unreal as the kiss. Was I really this good a writer? I wished that grandma was still alive, she always believed in me, even when mom called me a loser.

Damn, I hoped mom had took her meds, she'd been very confused in the morning.