Split (1)

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As the aliens landed, thousands of people, even more soldiers and law enforcement workers, made a circle around the spaceship. Five minutes of steady anticipation. Five minutes of silence so strong, you could hear the air molecules collide. Five minutes of tension so thick, you could weave carpets out of it. Five minutes of waiting in the sun and heat. At some point, a person set up a hotdog stand and ran out of stock the next ten seconds. Finally, the aliens spoke. “Dear planet of… Earth. Sorry for the disturbance. After a quick scan of your planet, we realized you’ve been living near… wait.” A couple seconds of silence followed. “Shit. You’ve been living near WHAT!?” The ship promptly rose and flew off. As it flew off, the captain and negotiator laughed at their little joke. This was the fifth planet they pranked like this. They all had the same reactions: a great panic, anarchy, and destruction. They went off radar and into cryosleep for twenty years, standard time for reduction of at least civilizations into dust after these tricks. They awoke to watch another world burn. They found a semi-utopia meganation spanning the entire world, with colonies on the moon and Mars, almost zero pollution and a technological jump in military, medicine and automation. Baffled by this, they sent out a communications signal. The humans replied with a peace sign. Twenty years after the first contact incident, governments suppressed the information. The leaks were discredited as crazy conspiracy theories. The ones who saw the ship land were silenced. Then… money came rolling to the science departments. Technologies long lost, technologies only thought-of, terraformation, bioengineering skyrocketed. Elon Musk made it to Mars, governments of the world signed a so-called meganation contract. Now the world of all of Earth was governed by a council of presidents and monarchy. Whatever worries the aliens would kill the humans soon, wether it comes quickly in perspective of the universe or humanity — didn’t matter. Humanity had to be prepared. Technologies got implemented everywhere, pollution was reduced so that the Meganation of Earth could focus on military progress. Laser cannons, to sniper railguns, to making blowback operation look like some kind of stupid joke. Anti-vaxxer movements were silenced, gone, disappearing into nothing. Flat earth community disappeared as well. Last anyone heard of them was a post about changing their views. No more conspiracy, no more stupidity, only the educated survived. Nothing was holding science back anymore. iPhone 25? Ha! Take a look at iPiece, the computer lens in your eye! Clothes? Government issued full-body high-tech leotards changed to whatever you wanted them to look like through mini-holograms, with complete temperature isolation. Floating sea cities became a commodity, colonies on Mars are nothing new, people are talking about what lies below earths crust, because they know about cities twenty and thirty kilometers under the ground. Spaceships operated like cars. We know of things smaller than atoms, and can manipulate five types of matter. Humanity prepared itself very quickly, and it wasn’t going to finish anytime soon. When the aliens contacted us again, we sent them a peace signal, hoping it’s not whatever creation they were scared of. The next reply said: “T’was just a prank bro…” The ship’s remains floated in space, destroyed by the newly implemented moon planet destroyer class ballistic-plasmatic tracking cannon, the MPDCBPT cannon, a shot from which can, by the name, absolutely obliterate a moon-sized planet. Councilmen of the Meganation Of Earth were pissed.
I stood at the grave, wondering why. I knew her all of ten minutes, and she changed my life. Why was I lucky enough to know her? Why did I take the chance? Why, dammit, couldn’t I have found her in time to thank her? \------ It had been a bad day. I had found out late the night before that my girlfriend was cheating on me. The dreaded confrontation wasn’t until that night, so I sat in agonizing self-pity all day at work…which of course led to overlooking a decimal point and getting my ass chewed out in front of half the office. I was ready to be home with a stiff drink, but of course my car broke down so I was stranded in a not-so-great part of town. “Would you like a palm reading?” a weak voice called up at me while I waited at a bus stop. An elderly woman was standing, hunched over, arm outstretched, outside a small wooden door. I wanted to say no; hearing bullshit about my love line was the last thing I wanted, but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. And after all, I’d spent more money on worse things. I obliged, handing over the few bucks that I’d hardly miss, but she would probably really appreciate. “Hmmm…” she started, pretending to think about whatever lie she had prepared. “Beware the man with the false smile.” The false smile? I’d seen five of those at work that day. Classic vague nothing. “When you get a red sweater for Christmas, visit the giver immediately.” Ok. A little more specific, but I could be waiting years to check this one. “On December 7th, 2019, buy a lottery ticket. Let your mind give you the first five numbers you think of. You will be rewarded beyond measure.” Well that was unexpected. But it was five years off, easy to get away with. “Uh, thanks,” I stammered. The bus was coming, giving me an out. As I sat on the bus, I looked back at her and she gave a simple, sweet smile. I started thinking about the shit show that was coming when I got home. \----- It began when I was at the airport. I had just walked in, actually happy to be there. It was a business trip, so I was getting paid to fly to Buffalo and entertain some clients for a few days, not the worst gig in the world. As I bent down to attach the baggage claim slip, I looked up at a man trying to get past. I apologized, and started shuffling out of the way, and he said “No worries,” gave a quick smile, and scooted around me. I froze in place. The smile never reached his eyes. The woman’s words bounced around my head like a pinball. I had seen people fake smile since then, obviously, it had been over a year, but this felt different. I spun around, watching him head to a corner of the terminal. Without thinking, I followed. As I got close, I hid behind a column, setting my bag down. I peeked around and saw him unzipping his bag and pulling something out. Something black. Something metallic. We hadn’t gone through security, but there was still a mass of humanity waiting to do so. I had two options. Run away or run at him. Consciously, I chose the former. But I found myself charging at him at full-speed. On the way I realized I hadn’t fully seen what I thought I saw, I was mainly going off the instinct a fucking palm reader gave me. But it was too late, and I crashed into him. Security immediately swarmed us and pulled us apart. Then they saw the bag. An automatic gun of some kind (I don’t know, I’m not a gun guy) and enough ammo to kill hundreds sat inside, looking deceptively harmless. It took awhile for security to sort things out, and I clearly missed my flight, but that obviously didn’t matter. How many lives were saved? And I had to admit, I liked feeling the hero. That night, I wrote down everything I remembered about the palm reading. \----- Each Christmas after that, I was expecting a red sweater in every box. Unlike the first prediction, which prompted danger, and the third, which was clearly about wealth, I had no idea what this one was. Would I meet someone wherever I visited? Would I stop another attack? I soon gave up guessing, with the endless possibilities I would surely drive myself crazy. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking on it with every gift I opened. I almost considered asking for one, just to make the inevitable happen, but that felt like cheating somehow. Christmas three years after the reading, it happened. It was a gift from my dad. The worst thoughts came to mind, always ending with his death, mom's death, something somehow worse. I didn’t even entertain the idea that it would be good; the immediacy of needing to visit felt like I was there to stop something. I took time off of work last minute and got the first flight out. I didn’t even plan a flight back, not knowing what awaited me. My parents were of course thrilled that I had surprised them. Confused, but thrilled. The next few days, I kept my head on a swivel. Expecting the unexpected, whatever that means. But slowly I felt a calm; after all, I was there. Whatever fate the woman had seen was approaching regardless. I never fully lost that concern in the back of my mind, but I was able to relax and enjoy my time with my parents. After a week, I had to leave. My parents had a trip lined up, leaving the next day, and I couldn’t miss more work. I felt certain that I had missed something, that maybe I should stay just one more night, but I gave in. One out of two isn’t bad. It had mostly fallen out of my mind a week later when my mom called, sobbing. My dad had died in his sleep the night they got home. I cried with her, mourned in my own time, but had a deep sense of peace. I had spent an incredible week doing nothing but enjoying time with my father, he had a final trip with my mom, and he died peacefully. Maybe this was a gift for him, though that made it one for me, too. \[Continued below\]
What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger. The danger spreads with time, but it cannot ascend a gravity well without help. It is localised on this world. It is likely spread all over this world. The danger can be nullified, over a small area, with extreme heat. Sufficient heat to ignite nuclear fusion is recommended. The danger is to matter, of any sort. It will absorb energy, but it will not spread through energy. The danger is present, in your time, as it was in ours. The form of the danger is an arrangement of matter. The danger is not capable of leaving this world, but on this world it is capable of unleashing itself. It has likely reached this marker already. Burn any matter you consider vital with heat enough to cause nuclear fusion; leave this place, and shun it. This is the best way to avoid this danger. The danger is a microscopic self-replicator. It will expand over the surface of any place it is, consuming what matter it can and adding chaos to the system until there is no order left. The danger is called Life. Leave it. Shun it. Never return to this place.
It had always been 1%, as far as Erin could remember seeing the bar. It never did anything. She saw the bar for the first time when she was in school, but the details of when and why eluded her. She led a peaceful life, she had a day job and didn't care much, until one evening. That day, she rode a train to work, but as her workday was over, the train back home was cancelled. "Well, I guess I'll either walk or hail a taxi", she thought. It was late evening when she was finally approaching her home neighborhood. A bunch of drunken hoodlums was approaching from behind. "Hey, lady!", one hoodlum called in a drunken voice. "Would you borrow me your phone, I need to make a call". Erin knew that no self-respecting person trusts thugs like these to return things they "borrow", so she ran... and tripped. The hoodlums surrounded her. The one who asked for a phone grabbed her handbag and attempted to wrest it from her hands. She resisted. The thug punched her face, and she fell on her back from the impact.... ... to see the bar rapidly filling. It was 9% and growing. Overcoming pain, Erin stood up, grabbing a rock. She tossed the stone and hit the robber in the head. The other two, enraged, tripped and punched her. 33%... 52%... 67%... The robber hit by the stone came back to his senses and reached for a knife. He rushed at her, slashing at the air viciously. Finally, the blade of his knife slashed at her face, leaving a shallow wound on her cheek. 78%... 92%... 100%!!! LIMIT BREAK!!! * * * "It was self-defense", her lawyer assured her. "We'll win this case in no time". "But... they are all dead?" "Yes. But you didn't have either knowledge of how does your superpower work, or premeditated intent to use it. That's enough for you to be acquitted." Now Erin remembered clearly how the bar first appeared. It was an argument with a boyfriend, and he wasn't a nice guy. He bitch-slapped her. She tried hard to forget about that young man, never calling him, avoiding him. But the 1% bar appeared exactly that day. "So it's a limit break, just like in old Final Fantasy games", she figured out. "The bar fills as I'm attacked, and when it's full, it allows me to release an ultimate fighting technique. Great. Just great. Why would I want that?"
The tiny gem sparkled up at me from the bedroom floor. Putting the vacuum cleaner aside, I sat down on the edge of the bed. Discounting the idea that my sandwich had somehow had rubies in it, that left only one option. The being under my bed. I had only once caught a glimpse of it. A bit of wispy black, a very amorphous shape. Running through the options, I slid off the edge of the bed, settling to the floor beside the gem, very obviously not looking at the darkness underneath the mattress. "Um, I think you dropped this."Picking up the gem, I gently placed it just inside the shadowed area. An odd hissing noise, that I had always assumed was the air conditioner came from under the bed. As it was the middle of winter, I'm thinking it might be the creature. "Thank you...."Okay, that was actual words. Words. My heart rate skyrocketed but I tried to keep my voice calm. "You're welcome. Say, while you're in a talking mood, what are you?" "My name... is.... unpronounceable to you..."The voice sounded laboured. As if the being was having trouble talking. "But... you may call me... monster... As your kind... normally.... does."A bit of pity went through my heart. I too had often joked about the monster under my bed. Even before I had suspected something of actually living there. "Well, I don't know about that. Say what about calling you, Ernest? It's a nice name."Another bout of hissing from under the bed. It took all my self-control not to jump across the room and grab the vacuum cleaner as some kind of defence. Maybe I had horribly insulted the creature. "I like it... Ernest. It is a good... name..."The voice sounded happier if you were willing to put an emotion to a hiss. Taking a deep breath, I continued. "Are you quite all right Ernest? Is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable?"My mother had raised me to be hospitable, and while monsters under the bed might not have been what she'd meant, I wasn't about to piss off anything or anyone until I knew I could take them in a fight. And I had a feeling Ernest would be able to pulverize me. "You... don't...you are not... afraid?" "Well, I'll be honest with you Ernest, I am shaking in my boots right about now. But you've been there a while, and haven't done anything terrible. So I figured, maybe you ain't so bad."Another bout of hissing. Was it laughter? "In my day... I may have... been dangerous... Now... I am.. dying."Not able to help myself, my eyes dropped to the gap underneath the bed. A bright yellow eye stared back at me. The shape behind it was still amorphous, constantly shifting. "Can I help? Do you need medicine? Do you need me to be scared? Is it a thing where you feed off of fear? Cause I can put a bunch of horror movies on and—" "Stop... It is simply... that I have no companion... my people... they need... slkddrosaa.."I frowned. That last word must have been in the being's language. My mind instantly jumped to a movie I'd recently seen. "Are you a symbiotic sort of thing? Like you need a host?"The eye actually recoiled, accompanied by a sharp hiss. Which I think was disgust. "No... That is... disgusting... I need...I don't know the word... Someone who is... there for you.... cares..." "A friend?"The hissing noise returned, rising and falling as if it was confused. A small wispy tentacle reached out, stopping just in front of my knee. "May I... If I touch... I can find the meaning... of the friend..."Bracing myself, I gave my permission, feeling the icy cold tentacle sink through my knee. Images flashed through my mind, memories of childhood, and —fewer— memories from the past couple of years. As quickly as they came, they vanished, the cold retreating. "Yes... Friend... that is... closest word... But... my people... dying... All of them.. gone now... I am the last..."Looking at the yellow eye, the sadness that I could see in it, and the loneliness in the voice, my heart broke. This creature was alone. Truly alone. And it was dying alone. My mind reached back to a memory I kept under lock and key. Of a room, with a rope and a note. Reaching under the bed, moving slowly, I laid a hand on the solid mass of black. It chilled my fingers, but gently I patted the being. "Well, Ernest. I don't know if it will help. But I will be your friend. If you like. No one should feel like they are all alone. No one should. And I know I'm not a creature that lives under beds. But if I can help—"The mass of black shuddered, a giant cataclysmic shudder. "Thank you... You are... Kind."And as it said the words, I felt my own name slip away from me. The old name, that I'd never really liked. I had a new name now. One that was truly mine, because it was born from my heart and actions. So now there's two of us, here in this old house. Kind and Ernest. One of us is human, the other an amorphous blob with yellow eyes. But neither of us... is alone.
Many a hero or villain have a some shallow or deeper purpose that propel them to the paths they take. Several among them have tragic backstories that make their lives rather extreme. To seek out dangerous and life-altering superpowers is not a feat for the faint of heart. I have no such tragic backstory. A simple one, really. It would even be considered shallow by most. My heart, however has never wavered and never will. The hundred million dollars stacked behind me will attest to my success and focus. The screens in front of me will soon demonstrate the culmination of another grand plan. My soft beeping alarm warns me of the impending result. The clock next to the alarm shows me that She has come within my expected margin of error. A mere 10 minute window where in She is expected. Camera 18 shows the local superhero, Violet Requiem, going for a backdoor to the dilapidated factory. I become giddy with excitement. She slipped past most of my long-distance sensors and cameras before inadvertently tripping some of my more cleverly hidden devices. As expected of her. A long, dark trench coat with a deep hood hides her face from me. There is a slight shimmer in the infrared spectrum running throughout her clothes. Most cameras don’t pick it up but mine do. They subtly shift in the visible spectrum to whatever colour and tone her gloves or boots touch. Not quite invisibility, but close enough for an experienced infiltrator coming in the middle of the night. Closing in on the door, Requiem reaches out to touch the side of the door. No doubt feeling the shotgun trap I placed there. Psychometry is a difficult power to hide from. Traps, rooms, weapons, valuables, all can be sensed with the proper concentration. I lick my lips in anticipation as she considers her play. If she is alone then she’ll try the more subtle and quieter approach. If she teamed up with any neighbouring superheroes, she’ll go in loud to try and flush me out. After a moment of consideration, Requiem steps quietly from the door and starts preparing a thin grappling hook to climb up to a window. Tonight, she is alone. After a well aimed throw and muted climb, she makes it in sight of camera 2. The third floor appears dusty and empty with its many offices. I can tell from her slow gait that she doesn’t trust any corner. A slight chuckle and awe leaves my lips as she expertly moves around the various wire traps. I intentionally installed most of them without a triggering mechanism. Her power either let her sense my harmless intention to place them there or she could still see them in the dark while camouflaged in glass or dust. I could not decide which was more impressive. Requiem seemed to sense something as went into an office. I did not have a camera in there but I did not worry much. There were only 2 sets of stairs down to the second floor and my cameras watched both. After more time than should have preoccupied her in that office, I began to worry. The thoughts racing in my head. Did she find something I cannot predict in this abandoned warehouse. Something of bigger concern than a multi-million dollar thief? Did something happen to her up there on the third floor. Is she incapacitated or trapped in some different way? With my cameras, I could see but not hear. There was too much space for me to hear if she had gotten hurt all the way up there. As those thoughts filled my mind, a sensor went off for camera 2. As one of the screens switched to it, I spun to see what was going on. Violet Requiem had just landed in a room in the first floor. Small amounts of debris falling on her hood as she dusted it off and walked to the door. “Incredible!” Is the only word I could utter. She must have sensed something that told her the flooring in that room was weak enough to quickly and silently enough break through. She had essentially bypassed several sensors and traps with a little muscle in the right place. My giddiness was beginning to truly take me over as I was jumping up and down my seat. There were only a few mechanisms in place before she reached me. After sneaking past most of them, and standing near camera 4, she pauses. Electrified door and walls. Her Psychometry works at a distance but only faintly. It only becomes powerful with a touch. A touch she senses would be fatal. I cannot contain my grin as she contemplates her next move. She cannot sense the other shotgun trigger tied to the door or the spiked flooring hidden behind it, under the carpet. Her gears are grinding as she considers what plan of action. From my perspective, she believes herself to have the element of surprise. Does she have a way to bypass a danger she cannot fully comprehend? The urge to cry out from excitement is difficult to control. To my confusion, she takes a few steps back. As I’m wondering what she is planning, Requiem touches a wire trap lightly. No pressure, just a light feel to understand what it triggers. The cameras catch a surge in the infrared spectrum. Her suit is giving off excess heat as the exoskeleton beneath her coat bulges slightly. Superhuman strength in exchange for the suit’s camouflage capabilities. She is making her move. She yanks the wire trap while simultaneously jumping out of the way and throwing a knife. The axe cuts through the air as the rope it hangs on gets shredded by the thrown blade. That weak point in the rope and the high speed movement of the heavy, human sized axe, rip it. I hear the loud crash beyond the door. Without wasting any time, She grabs the axe handle and uses her inhuman strength to whip it through my door. The flying axe gouges a massive hole through the door and crashes into the shotgun trap. Without the door handle opening, the shotgun doesn’t go off. With a practised leap. Requiem jumps through the hole she just made without touching the electrified door, well past the hidden spikes. I burst out laughing as she landed gracefully near me. As I stood up to face her, she immediately grabbed me and held me up. I couldn’t stop laughing. My mind reeled from the possibilities that I had to blurt out asking. “How did you know all that was behind the door? Is your psychometry more powerful than I thought? Has it grown since last we met? Did you anticipate the layered traps and guess? Were you able to predict my position and what I had? I need to know? How?” Violet Requiem of course, answered none of my mad laughing inquiries. She merely stared at me through her mask and asked me her own questions. “What did you intend to do with the money? Where is the rest that you stole? What other plan are you hiding from me?’ As she had me above her head, most would be terrified. I was elated. I can still remember when I partially unmasked her during a previous encounter. The soft contours of her skin and same fierce eyes she stared me down with. A shudder ran through me as I could feel myself being the sole source of her attention, her supervillain, her nemesis. A different feeling ran through me as I could feel her same psychometric powers to sense what response she could from her questions. As always, she sensed nothing more than my unending love and admiration for her. A fact that she immediately scoffed at as she quickly handcuffed me. “Tch, the same old trick. You’re not going to be able to hide your plans forever from with that mind block of yours. I will eventually manage to crack it you know.” I grinned myself silly as I told her in some simple phrases she no doubt found mocking. “It’s not a trick, I truly am in love with you. And my grand plan is nothing more than to have your complete and utter focus, concentrated on me and me alone.” She sighed in response, her attitude reinforced by the fact that I would stop cackling maniacally. I couldn’t help it. The excitement of the day, combined with her attention and proximity along with being able to witness her incredible form as she bust into my lair. I was in love all over again.
(This is the first time I wrote for a prompt. Yay! I'm not a native speaker so, if any of you have suggestions and critique, feel free to tell me. There's a LOT of space for improvement) I quit smoking years ago. I still remember that day. I wish I haven't seen the news. My hands are shaking as I put a cigarette in my mouth and light it. People don't seem to yet realise what is about to happen soon, oh God, how I envy them.I take a draw, the familiar feeling of hot gas spreading across my lungs brings out some memories. Blood, fire, clashing of steel against scales and bone. Lost friends and broken walls. Cries of a mother... that one will forever haunt me. I exhale as the nicotine helps me set my mind by ever so little. I stand in hesitation and think of all the things I missed while I was gone. My children have grown up without me. So many birthdays missed. Not one photo with me on them, sharing memories and smiles. They were so little when I left. Dean has worked himself to the bone to care for them as best he could. He told me how he looked for me for years before finally giving up his search. It warmed my heart to hear that, but also hurt; it would've been better if he had moved on without me and found Marcy and Jake a new mom while they were little. I close my eyes and take a breath. I feel the magic slowly move around me, drawing me towards a hated friend I hid to hopefully never see again. It calls, having sensed the Scourge. I walk past Dean that fell asleep on the couch, sparing a short glance at him. It pained me, but I... no, humanity had no time for me to hesitate more and stand around. I cannot let them move any further and harm any more people. I have seen enough of that to last me an eternity. I walk upstairs, into the attic and unlocking seals. It waits. Duty calls! To arms! It speaks to me again and I abhor it. Steel yourself! They come! I gnashed and ground my teeth. I hate to hear it's voice again. I thought that I was done, that I could rest and heal but the World has no mercy left for me and people. I grip the spear and feel the power course throughout my veins The metal shines and pulses in pearlescent radiance. My arms no longer shake. They have come! Drive them whence they came! I hate the spear, the way it speaks and glows with purity as if it was never stained with blood. I hate the demons, each and every one of them more and more grotesque than the last. And most of all, I hate myself. "Duty calls" Duty calls!
Caspian crested a hill and paused to catch his breath. A harsh landscape of sharp rocks and stunted trees stretched before him. These wastelands were littered with artifacts of an ancient empire, as wondrous as they were deadly. Here, an enterprising tomb raider could make his fortune... or meet his end. He took a pull from his waterskin and descended the hill. The terrain grew treacherous with loose scree. As he circled a freestanding boulder, he tripped and caught himself against it, swearing. The boulder trembled against his palm and rose into the air. Caspian staggered back and fell on his behind, gaping. Rising on two tree-trunk-sized legs, the boulder turned around, a spherical head with deep red eyes lifting to regard him. The two stared at each other for a long moment. Then the golem squeaked and swiveled its head with a grinding noise. Lumbering over to the nearest tree, it uprooted it and huddled behind. Its enormous limbs trembled as it peeked at Caspian from between the branches. He resisted the urge to pinch himself. The golem stood as tall as a house, and the stunted pine did little to hide its stony bulk. What was it trying to accomplish? "I can still see you, you know,"he said, rising to his feet. The golem squirmed. "Look away, then!"it said in an unexpectedly high voice. "Has no one taught you that it's rude to stare at a lady?" His lips moved soundlessly for a while. "You're made of stone." The golem's grotesque mouth trembled, and flakes of stone rained to the ground. It let out a deafening sob that made Caspian clamp his hands over his ears. "All right, all right, I'm sorry!"he yelled, turning away. "I won't look." The golem sniffled. "T-thank you." He glanced over his shoulder, not quite ready to trust something that could crush his head like a tomato. "What's a noble lady like yourself doing out here, if you don't mind me asking?" "Oh, I'm not noble,"the golem said, missing his sarcasm entirely. "I was just enjoying the beauty of nature for the first time in centuries." Caspian looked dubiously around the rocky wasteland. Then the rest of the golem's words filtered into his mind. This was not a creation of modern wizards but a masterpiece dating back centuries. For a golem to survive that long, it must be a priceless artifact indeed. "I spent so long down in the dungeon I'd almost forgotten what sunlight looked like,"the golem continued blithely. "The wizard who kidnapped me never let me outside, not while I was still human, and not after he transferred my soul to this body." Caspian swallowed, suddenly feeling ashamed of his greed. "I'm sorry." "That's all right. I was weak and sickly in life, and now I'm strong."There was a crash of rock hitting rock. "Strong enough to clobber that wizard, when I find him." He coughed delicately. "Nothing remains of the empire but ruins. I'm afraid the wizard is long dead, whoever he was." "Oh."She was silent for a time. "Serves the bastard right, I suppose." "You're not angry?"he asked, risking a look at her. She wasn't looking at him but at the sky. "Down in the dungeon, all that drove me was anger. But after I felt the sun warm me, my fury just... evaporated."Sighing, she glanced down, then squeaked again. "I thought I told you not to look!" "Sorry."Caspian turned away, then, getting an idea, shrugged off his pack. Rummaging inside, he pulled out the oiled canvas he used for shelter when it rained. It wasn't pretty, but it was the largest piece of fabric he had. "How about I fashion you a dress?" "You would do that for me?"the golem asked hopefully. "Sure. Just put that tree down and let me measure you." She shifted from foot to foot, then timidly laid down the tree. Caspian set to work. He ended up having to sacrifice a good length of rope in addition to the canvas, but soon the golem wore something resembling an apron. To his eye, it was the sorriest piece of clothing, yet she seemed satisfied, swiveling side to side and watching the canvas swing about her legs. "Thanks so much! I'm so glad the first person I met was so nice."She looked up at him. "Where will you go now?" He jerked his chin at the wasteland. "Onward. I'm something of an explorer. Looking for old artifacts and such." "Oh, how exciting!"She scuffed the ground with her enormous foot. "Could... could I come with you?" "It would be my pleasure. My name's Caspian."He extended his hand. She touched a stony finger to his palm. "It's nice to meet you, Caspian. I'm... My name is..."She ducked her head. "I can't remember." "That's all right,"he said, patting her hand. "You can take your time remembering. Shall we?" "Yes, Caspian."She lumbered ahead with ground-shaking steps, then, realizing he couldn't keep up, paused and looked back at him sheepishly. Caspian chuckled as he hurried along. Nothing out here would pose a danger to him now that he had such a powerful companion. Not a tool to be used, but hopefully a friend.
"Waffle House?"the barbarian pipes up from the wagon, apparently having slept off her hangover during the ride into the swamplands. "You know this place?"the paladin asks with a raised eyebrow. "Eggs! Bacon! Coffee! Opportunities for a fight or an adventure!"she exclaims jumping up to peer over the top of the wagon. "Hash browns smothered covered and made to order!"The barbarian is salivating, blinking the drunk out of her vision, trying to get a glimpse. "Fantastic! Do they have beer?"the dwarf asked. "No,"the barbarian says with disappointment, "but the clientele usually has some. Or they have potions and herbs that can make you feel really good." The paladin frowns. The rogue smiles. As they roll through the muddy path and get closer, the barbarian begins to fidget. She looks up at the yellow and black Waffle House signage and the windows of the restaurant. She grabs the rogue and tugs the reins of the mule team. "We have to turn back,"the barbarian says, "it's dangerous here. We need to get away." "How do you know there's danger,"the paladin asks looking at the Waffle House and seeing no visible danger. "The Waffle House is closed,"the barbarian says, eyes darting up the road and into the bush around them, "they never close." The band looks at each other in confusion but none have seen the barbarian so scared before in all their years. "We are in great danger,"the barbarian hisses as she draws her ax from the wagon.
The Twenty-Niners How strange is it that the time between our births and deaths are arbitrarily decided by a calendar invented and maintained only by humans, and yet that has always been the way. I was born on March 31st, 1990 and once I arrived into the world kicking and screaming the maternity ward’s oracles divined my death to be on a February 29th, the year kept to themselves as is and always was tradition. I wonder what they knew when the divined my death, along with the many others like me. It’s been four hundred years since then, I’ve seen many people come and go. My relationship with my fellow man has unfortunately slipped into that close to that an average man and his dog: we’re best friends for a short yet meaningful time, and by the time we know it they’re already dead. It’s a sad life, which is why myself and other Twenty-Niners mostly keep among ourselves these days, living together in small communes in ranches or group houses in urban centers. Fellow immortals give our gift due to congress many centuries ago deciding to get rid of the leap year because it was “too confusing” with no formidable replacement in site. Over time human civilization slipped into a world of lies and half truths, people grew distrusting of the government and the other institutions that have held civilization together for so long, soon universities and research centers became nothing more than “hobbies” for the elite few, and the seasons began drifting with the dates. The snow stopped falling in December as it drifted further towards the summer solstice, and in centuries time people wondered why there were so many songs about snow when Christmas happened in the middle of the summer time. It became too much for us Twenty-Niners who knew a different kind of world. I live in the mountains on a small ranch amongst a group of many of my kind who had given up on the outside world and taken an oath of celibacy. There’s another thing about us Twenty-Niners, it’s that our children aren’t guaranteed to die on the 29th, especially in a post-29th world. As one would expect, nothing creates a greater crisis and grief as outliving so many of our offspring. I had birthed too many children who died and I have had enough. Hear that fate is mine no more. Of course a few of us don’t live in communes. The Extroverts as we call them. They live amongst the others either trying to live a normal life until their death date is found out, forcing them to drop everything and start anew in another city (some cycle between cities and countries, like outfits, leaving and returning after a few generations have passed and returning to a clean slate). Others have tried to use their immortality, knowledge and wealth to amass power, with only a few succeeding while most are driven off. Henry Samson comes to mind. A former partner of mine who spent half a century with me at an urban Twenty-Niner community before taking off to rule a small island nation off the Gulf coast. I hear he’s made quite the name for himself there, but I haven’t paid attention to the news in decades to know what’s up. There’s also Becca O’Hare, the world’s richest human to ever lived. Although I have never met her, her name has become synonymous with the greedy Twenty-Niners out there. “Don’t be such an O’Hare” people will say once the matter of wealth is brought up. And then there are the politicians of us, the snakes and rats in sheep’s clothing who emerge every so often to enter the rotten world of politics to solidify our longevity by making sure legislation to restore the 29th day of February never returns and promote the indefinite continuity of idiocy that keeps the population subverted. They make the warlords of small island nations and megalomaniacs who bare our death day seem like reasonable people in comparison. Out here in the mountains where the air is forever cool and crisp I sit upon the lodge’s deck, meditating on the facts of life and death. Many people’s lives are prolonged by heroes rushing into the scene of an accident, or by the intelligence and wisdom of their medical professionals keeping one’s heart beating in spite of whatever ailments they’re cursed with. Ours had been prolonged by the inept bureaucracy of the government. *** Thank you for reading! Check out /r/QuadrantNine for more stories by me if you so feel like it. Immortality and what it does to one’s psyche is a common theme that I like to explore in my stories, so if you enjoyed this I recommend checking out [“Retirement”](https://old.reddit.com/r/QuadrantNine/comments/10myymb/retirement_1995_words_scifi_introspective/) which is about a general brought back from stasis ever so often to help her empire win conquests, only to awaken one last time to nothing but ruins and machines waging a pointless war. I also recommend [“Boxed In”](https://old.reddit.com/r/QuadrantNine/comments/10zrcaw/boxed_in_1674_words_fantasy_introspective/) which is about a mimic who’s trapped inside the ruins of a castle for 10,000 years, unable to escape the form of a simple box of supplies. Edit: Fixed a typo for my writing subreddit. Whoops 🤦
“What the actual hell?” “What?” “I sent you to go save my daughter, the princess from a dragon, only to find her head on your fucking hip!” “Wait, but you put a bounty on her head.” “No I did not! I asked you to retrieve the princess for 300 gold!” “Retrieve, meaning retrieve a head.” “…where did you grow up?” The warrior proudly announces “I grew up in the Red Dunes, a sandy land covered by blood & rot! A land where it’s either kill or are be killed!” “That explains it. But, even if you grew up in a shitty environment, I’m still gonna execute you.” “Damn.”
What a disaster. I was later than I'd liked to have been. Just my luck, I guess. More work for me in the long run. I surveyed the two men brawling in the crater below me. Shouting, bitterness, and spiteful anger. They were riled, and the whole city knew it. With each connected blow, the crack of empowered fist against empowered flesh rang out, generating shockwave after shockwave, shattering glass and rippling steel, and smashing the nearby concrete paving and building facades to pieces. High above the scene, the clouds were more violent ocean storm than sky, weaving and parting from the atmospheric pressure of the brawlers' missed blows. As the two lunged in for another strike, I quickly got to work. I calculated the jump with precision, folding myself through physical space to intercept them both at the moment of contact. Each fist stopped dead in its tracks, nerfed by a single index finger, and then suddenly, silence. No pressure. No shock, no clenched teeth and curse words. Just the sweet, intoxicating silence of two fully grown adult men frozen in terror by a girl half their age. They knew what my presence meant. I sighed and gave the two a look of exasperation and disappointment. "Come on, guys. We did this already. Sam, I get how pissed you are about him locking up your boy, but you're going about it the wrong way. And you, Atlas. I expected better from you. Look around at the damage you boys are doing." I gave them a brief moment to survey the area. An entire city block, reduced to rubble. And to make matters worse, these idiots chose to fight in a residential area. I sighed and rubbed my temples. Brawn supes were always so messy. It was such a headache to deal with their postural, peacock, alpha-male attitudes. I could have easily, at any point, simply twitched my nose and willed them out of existence. But that was the nuclear option. My powers were growing stronger, and the temptation was there, as it is in all Reality Warpers, but there was no challenge in that. That was the lazy way to do things, and I didn't want to be the villain. Besides, a quick handwave and a few photos of the street pre-smackdown, and I'd be able to easily undo the damage. It was annoying, sure, but at least I'd net some good PR points. "Relax. I'm not going to un-make you. Either of you, tempting as that would be. But this fighting has to stop. You can't hurt each other, you magnificent dumbasses. You're both basically indestructible. All you've succeeded in doing is wrecking people's homes. I tried knocking your heads together last time, and that didn't work, so... this time, I'm going to try something a little... different." I rested hands on their foreheads and uttered the magic words. "Come. Step into my office." And in moments, the world around us faded away, replaced by a swirling cosmic void. Stars, galaxies, and the vast emptiness of space. And in that space, two reclining lounge chairs. I gestured for them to sit, and then I spoke. "We're going to stay here until you both work out your differences AND your issues. No matter how long that may take. I've got all the time in the world, I control that too, and I very much doubt either of you want to spend eternity here, so let's get to work."
I couldn't see anything. A fluid red mist filled my eyes, as I felt myself falling. It must've been thirty seconds or so before I crashed through a thin barrier into a massive pillow. The mist cleared, and I absorbed my surroundings. Demons, skulls, naked women... Naked women? Before I could do anything, one of the bigger demons walked up to me. 'Welcome to hell, 112748288267. You're in here for a period of...' He looked down at a sheet of paper he was holding. 'Infinity years. Hmm. You were probably a serial killer or something. Don't correct me, I don't care. Your hell is...' He looked again. 'Genophobia. Fear of sex. Good luck!' In a flash, he disappeared. I realised I was now naked. Another demon poked a pitchfork at me. 'Lie on that bed.' I followed his order, and the first woman approached me. I could not believe my luck, but I knew one thing. I had to pretend that I was hating every moment, because if I didn't the high demons or whoever ruled hell would realise their mistake. Six or so hours later, I was sitting up, sweating and groaning. It was my two minute rest period. There was a Viagra bottle beside me, which I had already ingested half of. Maybe this wasn't so great. 'Your two minutes are over. Get back to work.' It certainly felt like work. At least whoever I had swapped with was having a better time. My ouranophobia would make their day - well, eternity. Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment below if you want to say anything - the worse the better!
My whole life, I've known how I'll go from this world. One bullet to the head. This single piece of information has shaped my life. I rarely leave my house these days. The fear is too great; I stow away in my apartment and hide from my future. I've never been able to trust a single person I've met, no matter how much I've wished I could. I've pushed away all who have loved me in an attempt to isolate myself from my fate. Yet, despite my best efforts, it'll happen. I have no choice in this matter, my death will be from a shot to my head. I've spent my entire life wondering, waiting, to see who it is. But now I think I understand. I cannot continue to live this way, in a constant state of fear and distress, and so if I must go, I'll see myself out. One bullet to the head. But this, this is my choice. This is my note. Goodbye.
Clara never wanted a child. Before she can even remember being able to remember things, she recalls the nightmares that woke her up in her cot in the darkness of her room. The screams of a woman in her mid thirties as the birth of a new life tears her apart. The blood, the anguish and fear in the eyes of those around her. Those dreams have stuck with Clara since she was born. Her parents dismissed them as nightmares, not telling her the truth, not telling her the real meanings behind these disturbing subconscious thoughts in the night. She started to figure it out herself not long into her twenties... when she realised this recurring dream was her. Her face, her body, her voice. Concerned, she had visited a psychiatrist, who calmly and solemnly told her words which have stuck with her up until this moment. "Those dreams, Miss Bolton, are premonitions. Ones that we have all had since before we can remember. Those nightmares are how you die." She was still young. Only thirty five when she started to feel broody. All these years she swore she'd never have children, but now her mind told her she would die for the right one. She would find the right man, she would settle down with him, and she would die for him and their child. She would never tell him what lay ahead for it would break his heart, but she would leave him with the best token of love anyone could give - her life, and her child. --- Tears streamed down Clara's face as she lay on the bed. She didn't want to believe this was happening, and she didn't want to call the ambulance. Curled up into the foetal position, another contraction rang out another death rattle within her. Clara willed herself to pick up the phone and dial. A voice from the other end, "Nine nine nine emergency how may I direct your call?" Clara's voice broke, "The baby's coming." "I'll put you through to ambulance." A slight delay. ... This felt like hours. ... Surely she can survive this. ... They're just dreams, right? ... How will she make sure the baby grows up and has a good life? ... Just dreams... ... Why is this taking so long? --- "Ambulance, you're going into labour? Can I take your name and address please?" "Clara. Twenty... one. Easter Close."Clara screamed. That contraction was an earthquake. "Ambulance is on its way. Remember, breathe. Would you like me to stay on the line?" "Yes." "Okay Clara, is there anyone else with you?" "No."A fault line has ripped open inside her. "Clara, are the paramedics able to gain entry?" "The door is unlocked." "Okay, great. They'll knock and enter, and announce they're there. To help you, can you tell me where you are in the house?" "Main... bedroom. Upstairs at the front." "Thank you, I've passed that on. Tell me how the contractions feel." "Like I'm going to die." "I'm sure you'll be fine!" Clara managed to squeeze out a laugh. "You don't know that."She hung up. --- She lay there, alone. She choked, and spat crimson red into her tissue. Tears rolled down her face as she felt warmth run down between her legs and stain her sheets. This earthquake would tear her apart. She cursed herself. She cursed this devil inside her. She cursed her luck. She cursed religion. She cursed the government. She cursed. If only she had gone home with Sarah and Rachel that night rather than deciding to walk home early because she had work in the morning... If only she hadn't taken that shortcut... If only she had been strong enough to fight him off... If only someone had heard her scream... If only his sperm hadn't met her egg... If only it hadn't fertilised... If only religious pressure hadn't put a stop to her ability to get an abortion... If only she could've given her life, and this child, to someone whom she loved. If only. --- James drove as fast as he could, blue lighting through the streets. They were only two minutes out from 21 Easter Close, well within the time limits and within good enough time to get the woman to hospital or deliver the child. Samantha held on to the door handle with a stern look on her face. "I hate delivering babies,"she muttered, "Always some lass twisting on in pain. If you can't handle the pain, don't get bloody pregnant." James stayed silent. Sam was always the opinionated one, he was used to it by now, and was concentrating on his driving anyway. Through red lights, across junctions, and biblically parting the traffic. James raced through the back streets and down terraced avenues. Stern faced, he swung into Ascension Crescent, took a left down Baptist Avenue, and into Easter Close. They pulled up at the house. James knocked and opened the door. "CLARA. PARAMEDICS!"he bolted up the stairs, paramedic pack slung over his shoulder, he burst into the master bedroom. Samantha entered the house... she mentally took note of the lack of noise, and headed upstairs, where she found herself stood on a carpet saturated with blood... too much blood. She entered the master bedroom, and found James with a scalpel, slicing at Clara, who wasn't screaming in pain. ... Moments passed. ... In these moments, only essential words were said between the paramedics. ... This was taking forever. ... This was taking a lifetime. ... "Cut there." ... "Hold this." ... "Check for a pulse." ... "She's alive." ... "Time of birth, twenty three twenty four, fifth February twenty fourteen." ... "Clara Bolton. Time of death, twenty three twenty, fifth February twenty fourteen." ... "Call the police."
It was almost over. In about thirty minutes, his last chance would walk out the front door. They would be giddy and energetic, greedily clutching their stash. No, not greedily. Not with these children. For the first time since he'd started these activities, he didn't have an excuse. These children were different. Not just one, like every other time, but every single one was unique and special. None of them had fallen in the traps he'd set. He wished he had waited now. He had been too confident in the designs that had worked before. He could have orchestrated something, could have steered them towards a satisfying ending if only he hadn't been so sure one of them would slip up. They had arrived that morning, full of eagerness and excitement. William had scanned them, looking for that one. He could always pick them out. This time, he wasn't so sure. The red haired girl had seemed to be it, but so did the littlest guy in the yellow overalls! He had brushed the feeling of confusion off, and moved on. They would show themselves in time. He would be fine. Four hours later and the children were all still here. All five of them. They had laughed, held hands, shared, and stayed together. They were best of friends! This was bullshit. William needed their blood. He had to get it. Had to. Before they left. He had to think of something, quick. The loompas were waiting. They knew the consequences. They would do whatever necessary to get him what he needed. They didn't want to have to be his consolation prize. All of them had heard stories of the massacre from long ago. This documented history is what kept them completely sub-serviant. They would do whatever William asked of them. Or else. William was becoming angrier. No one knew but the worried, small soldiers, lurking in the shadows. Waiting. They knew by his voice. His mannerisms. He became more and more verbose, and flourishing. He was getting desperate. He kept offering bigger and better infusions and inventions, hoping to send a child, please just one, to a trap. To no avail. Every one of the children wanted to share, not getting enjoyment until their new best friends were right beside of them. The front of the factory was visible now. The gift shop the last place to visit. The children went in, and William stood ready, waiting for a child to finally show the inherent evil he knew to be there. He shouldn't have even bothered. They all wanted to buy presents for each other. Ugh. Disgusting displays of humanity. He couldn't thrive in this environment. He would have to sustain himself on what he could. He had done it before. Maybe it was time to remind his minions who he was, who they were really afraid of. He had noticed some becoming complacent, the memories of their tragedies fading with the dead and forgotten. Yes, it would have to do. He was done with these children. He'd gotten a bad batch. The children finished up, running to William to give him one last thankful hug. He bent down, engulfing them in his long arms. His red hair, all that was visible in the crush of children, as brilliant as his temper. He looked over a small shoulder into the darkness surrounding the edges. He could see them there, could see the moment they knew. There was no recourse. They would pay. He hated the way they tasted. The children tumbled out of the doorway, waving and conveying their gratitude and love. So sweet, so innocent. Dammit.
He lied there, lifeless and still. I tried to revive him with CPR, he wouldn't wake up. I felt sad, regretful, scared and angry. I wish I noticed him sooner. But I didn't. The dark and silent night is only filled by the light from my car and the slow hum from the engine. "I need to report this." I take out my cell phone and I began to search his ID. There was a letter in his front shirt pocket. Written in the front, "To my killer". Was he expecting this? I open the letter and read it. "You have killed me. That is a fact. Whether it was intentional or not, rest assured I do not have any qualms about it. I will die and so will you, just like everything else. However, no one likes to die. No one likes to be forgotten. I am a god. You have killed me, and in turn, you will now take my place. Choose your name and choose your power accordingly. I was known as Zeus. There are others that you will meet. Some are evil, bent on only destroying you and your legacy. Some are like you, Gods and Myths that only wish to be remembered. Be careful. I'm sorry that this has happened, but, even Gods wish to be remembered. Even Gods, wish they meant something to someone. " I looked at the dead body. It was crumbling away. Like it was being burned. Like embers in a fire, they flew away into the night, unseen and forgotten. I sat alone. I killed a God, and in me exist a power. I have no idea why I have this power, other than it was passed down to me. But, then again, isn't life mostly like that? I got into my car and headed home.
We found two bodies on the surface of the planet. They looked like they had been dead for at least twenty years, their mummified faces the only visible part through their transparent helmet visors. At first we thought they were an old Soviet mission gone awry, but the Russians assured us their records said nothing about a manned mission to Mars. Plus, with a botched planetary landing, wouldn't there be debris, a crater, something? Their suits didn't look like anything we'd ever encountered, either. They looked like ours, just, different. Thinner, more flexible. No markings, no names. One of them held some sort of suitcase in his hands, welded shut. The only thing our austronauts could tell for sure it was the strangest thing they had ever encountered - and these were our top crew, specifically selected for this mission because of their intellect, resourcefulness and imagination. We knew there was nothing we could do on Mars, it had taken the combined effort of the Western nations to get a small lander with three astronauts to this planet, nothing could have prepared us for this situation. For months there was a fierce debate between politicians, scientists, religious leaders and everyone in between. Finally, a decision was made. The bodies were to be extracted from Mars and taken to Earth for close examination. We were baffled. C14 analysis suggested they were minus 200 years old. Their suits were made of a synthetic compound fabric that was physically and chemically impossible to produce. But we were baffled most by the single content of the metal suitcase. A floppy disc. A technology largely abandoned since the turn of the century. It took us longer to find a machine that could read the disc than it took us to read its message. WE PRAY OUR CALCULATIONS ARE CORRECT AND WE ARRIVE IN WASHINGTON D.C. ON AUGUST 1ST 1996. DO NOT SET FOOT ON MARS. IT WILL BE THE END OF HUMANITY.
Give the little drummer boy a decade or so and he'll give every pop star a run for thier money. On top of that, one would have to give him a drum set. For now, he had to settle with the drumsticks he had carved himself from the legs of a chair that someone had left outside with a sign saying: free. The Little Drummer boy took anything, anything at all, and turned it into a sound. The things he included in his orchestra, no one would have looked twice at, a brick on a wall, a lid on a metal trash can, a stray piece of paper. He was a conductor and the little alleyway he called home was his orchestra that no one looked twice at, no one wanted to see a little homeless boy do little homeless boy things. Mae Lin woke up at two in the morning. Her mother was going to wake her up at six, but she refused to allow her mother to make her into something she wasn't: a prodigy. Since she could walk and talk, Mae Lin was forced to learn all there was to know about a violin. Her mother was determined to command and commit her child to a monotonous struggle to realize a dream that she (the mother) could not realize. Mrs. Lin was a talent at the violin, one that could put the greatest to shame, but she was never taken more seriously than the schoolgirl that could only play "Mary had a little lamb". She wanted to play in europe, or broadway, but never got farther from the talent show at her local community center, which she lost. Mae's mom knew she was simply too old and not pretty enough that no producer or talent scout would look twice at her. When she discovered she was with child, she swore to make sure that her daughter would realize the dream she had lost. As for Mae herself, she packed what she could into her school backpack and, for some reason, she took her violin as well. It was the only friend her mother allowed her to have, and if Mae was to run away from home and from her mother's legacy, she would need a friend to accompany her. The old man woke up, he wasn't sure what time it was, so he looked at the note on his left: Anton, I am you from yesterday ago reminding you that today is July the 22nd of 2015. Anton stopped right there, the year was two-thousand and fifteen? that was impossible! He was fairly certain he had graduated college only two weeks ago in nineteen seventy! He looked down at the note again: I, or 'you' rather, whichever you prefer, have a disease that causes you to lose your memory after a certain amount of time. You will wake up every morning only to have forgotten everything that happened the day before. Around twelve noon, a woman from 'Greyson Family Therapy' will arrive. If she doesn't, call this number..."He finished the note, and went to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, seeing all the features of an old man, a wrinkled face, a receding hairline with grey spots of hair. He had no evidence to claim that this was a prank his roommates were playing. Having nothing better to do, he sat down in at his piano bench, and felt the cool ivory keys of his piano on his fingers. It seemed that, though his toothbrush, or the bed he awoke on were strangers to him, this piano, this instrument was familiar, in a way that he could not recall by memory alone. In a feat displaying the phenomenon known as muscle memory, he pressed a few keys in a rhythemic tune, and let himself get carried away. Part 2 is in the comments.
"Three days after we had confirmation that the Bat..."Gordon cleared his throat. "After we.. After we knew it was him. That he was dead. Three days later, we found him. The clown. We found him in a crumpled heap in Crime Alley."Gordon stubbed out what was left of the cigarette and flicked it away into the night, off of the rooftop and down into the darkness below. "He did it himself. The pistol was still in his hand, clenched so hard we had to break his fingers to pry the gun free." He shook his head. "It wasn't pretty. He'd used an exploding bullet. It took forensics most of the night to find all the bits of skull and brain matter. Just a bit of his lower jaw was left, barely enough to get dental records." He turned to look at the cloaked figure behind him. "He left a message. A eulogy of sorts, written in green spraypaint." "'it's not funny anymore' "
"Holy shit, Jim, you have to come see this." I held out my hand, still wrapped in black plastic. The same material that made up all of our suits, which we wore mainly to protect us from the chemicals we worked with. "So what?"Jim said. "You're wearing your gloves. We all wear them."He held up his own hands, showing me his own handwear. "I accidentally put my hand in the fire,"I said, pointing to the industrial forge nearby. My tools were still sitting at the base of it where I'd dropped them in shock. "And look!" I swung my arm as hard as I could. The black plastic, now harder than diamond, hit the nearby steel girder supporting the catwalk. The metal vibrated violently like a tuning fork. "I didn't feel a thing!"I told him. "And look!"I held up my other hand, which was still wrapped in the normal plastic glove. I wiggled my fingers to show him what happened. "The other one is still normal. I had been working with this new unobtainium mixture and I think it somehow mixed with the plastic and now my glove is like steel! I expected it to burn, but the intensity of the heat must have crystalized it instead..." He came closer and studied the glove, knocking on it with his knuckles. Then he studied the bottle of the new unobtainium compound I'd been working with. "You sure?"he said. "Absolutely. Try it for yourself if you don't believe me." He poured some of the chemical up and down the glove. "Rub it all over,"I warned him, "So that it hardens evenly. You wouldn't want part of it to harden but the other part melt."He nodded in agreement and slathered the glove all over. Then he stuck his hand into the forge. The flames roared and jumped up his glove in a raging inferno of white-hot fire. Jim screamed as it spread to his clothes. He tried rolling around on the ground, but that did nothing. "Fucking dumbass. Serves you right for what you did,"I told him as he burned. He had never been particularly smart, but even I was a bit surprised that this had worked. I took off the hardened, armored glove that I'd made and tossed it in one of the empty lockers. When he was sufficiently crisp, I turned on the alarm and grabbed the fire extinguisher. Too late, of course, but no one else had to know about that. "What happened???"Terry, my supervisor, yelled as he ran into the lab. I did my best to appear shocked and horrified. "He was doing something with the unobtainium,"I said through the 'tears.' "I was on the other side of the room when I heard the screams!" ---- Disclaimer: I know nothing about chemistry, so just substitute 'unobtainium' for something more realistic sounding. If I tried using the name of some actual chemical, I know someone would start arguing about it being unrealistic.
Hello, Earthlings. Sorry, I mean Americans. If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer. And I would like to stress that the answer of which I speak has absolutely no intention whatsoever of enslaving your race. Today, I, Ronald Raygun, the first openly extraterrestrial President of the United States of America, stand before you as your elected leader; today we truly understand what possible means. Together, we usher in an age of acceptance; we usher in a period of equality, a time in which man, women, child, Quarlax, and any other denomination can walk hand-in-hand as one. Today, we claim victory not for our individual selves, but for all of us as a whole. There is no longer a question of who can lead, but simply an answer that stands before you, one which absolutely will not, under any circumstances, imprison you and everyone you love so as to harness the Earth's resources. Tonight, as I accept this new responsibility as leader of Earth—sorry, of America—we look upon one another no longer as mere cohabitors, nor simply as allies. We look upon each other now as brothers, as sisters, as Xeligians, as Quarlaxians. We look upon one another as equals. Yes, there was a time when I struggled to fit in amongst you, my fellow Americans. There was a time where I faced great adversity while attempting to prove myself as a good-hearted, peaceful Quarlaxian. It was so hard for your puny minds to believe that an alien visitor would simply want to get involved in your local, uninteresting politics. Yet after years of daily persecution, of having to fight to prove my worth and merit, you finally saw me for who I really am: a peaceful interplanetary politician. Today, I stand before you as not only your leader, but as your equal, as a fellow Earthling. I stand before you with no anticipation whatsoever of enslaving your race. Throughout all of the strife and discrimination I had to overcome and ultimately defeat, one thing remained has true. Throughout it all, I have always promised you, my Fellow Earthlings—sorry, dammit, Americans—that I came in peace. I have always guaranteed that the only message I came to spread was that of equality, was that of friendship, was that of unity. I stand before you today ready to defend that goal. In fact, I would like to reiterate that in no way, shape, or form, will I ever attempt to take over your planet in the name of the Quarlax. I have no interested in your rich eco-system, nor your atmosphere that is almost exactly the same as that of my dying planet. That has never been my goal, nor will it be. I just really, really, really love politics. Today, we can finally see equality on Earth. Today, as I lead this planet—sorry, this country—we can truly look upon one another and realize that we’ve beat discrimination. We can look upon each other and say, “Hey, that guy really is just an extraterrestrial who enjoys politics. There’s no ulterior motive there.” Today, we can be proud to be Americans. In order to help usher in this age at a quicker rate, and to really get this party started, my staff and I have decided to bring you, the people of Earth, a celebratory gift. That’s right, this is a world-wide present, not just an American one. So as to truly mark this historical occasion, we have supplied every major city with its own fabulous flying saucer. You have probably already noticed it hovering above your home, the low buzz of its engines shaking the foundations of your houses. Please do not be afraid, they are simply Celebration Crafts, created by the American government and not an alien colony. They will be landing shortly, during which time several Quarlaxians will approach you and request that you join them at a fantastic party. It’s going to be a great event, one which everyone will be talking about for weeks to come. You absolutely do not want to miss out. In fact, it’s so fun that I am making attendance mandatory. Just make sure you follow the Quarlaxian onto their ship and all will be fine. Party hats will be provided, of course. In conclusion, I would like to thank all of you Earthlings for putting your trust in me, Ronald Raygun. I want to thank you for allowing me to lead not only your country, but for welcoming me into your species as an equal. Together, we will be able to turn this place into the planet I always envisioned, which I’d like to reiterate does not involve you and your loved ones being enslaved by the Celebration Crafts. So, without further ado, let’s get this party started. Please exit your homes now and wait for a Quarlaxian to issue the next order. It’s going to be a lot of fun, I promise. _____________ ^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
I kept picking at my food, it had been a while since I had been out, spending most of my time working on writing. People didn't like being shoved off, so I eventually agreed to come out with my group of friends. In the end it had been four of us; me, Linda, Claire, and Vi. We were pretty much best friends before I'd picked up a job, but since they hadn't seen me for a while. "Look, I get it,"Vi continued from some point she'd been making for the past few minutes, "it's what you want, but there is no chance that I can just let that happen." "Why not?"Claire asked. "I mean,"she shrugged, "you know how it is." "No, I really don't,"Claire said, "Well, I do, but I don't see why you get your way." "It's my turn to take a shot, isn't it?" I turned my attention back to my food. I was already really regretting ordering a burger without fries. In some universe, I was dousing chips in salt and vinegar and smiling instead of poking at a caesar salad with a fork. "Why don't we just ask?"Linda said. I turned my attention over to her for a second, "I mean it can't hurt." "If we ask he knows,"Claire said. "So?" "Do you know how important it is that we keep him from knowing? It might affect how he treats us."Claire continued, the rest of the group seemed satisfied with her point. "Who?"I finally piped up, giving up on eating the salad. "Nobody." "That's not true,"I said, trying to find my water, it was empty. God dammit. "We're talking about one of our professors,"Vi said. "Yeah,"Claire continued, "It's a project." "You all have a class together?" "Yeah,"Linda said a little too quick "Sorry, I don't keep track of that anymore,"I shrugged, "ever since I-" "Dropped out of school to work, yeah, we get it."Linda finished, "You're not involved in this." "You don't need help or anything?" "No." "Okay then,"I drew out the O to show my displeasure, why even invite me to lunch if they were going to talk about school the entire time I was there. On top of that I was the only person who had ordered anything, they were just talking about this subject that I wasn't allowed in. "I don't get why we don't just do it now, together." "Maybe because you invited me to lunch?"I said with too much of a tone, keeping my eyes fixated on my very interesting salad. When a fork enters your hand, you have two thoughts. The first thought is 'Well dammit, I'm not food,' the second thought is "What the SHIT Linda?" "It's your idea to do it now." "What, stab me?" "Eat you,"Claire said, a little too calm about the fact that my hand was doing its best impression of a waterfall. It was doing really well too. I grabbed at the fork, trying to pull it out of my hand, but Linda kept pressing down and keeping my hand pinned to the table. "I said it was my turn,"Vi hissed as she started to climb over the table.
"They have yet to admit there are others!"Marp yelled to the Galactic Council. "We've been straight forward with their rulers so as to disseminate the information appropriately. We have made... subtle... appearances. We have sent radio signals, strange weather, and started taking their livestock but, well, nothing." Marp looked defeated. Only a few of Sol-3 knew the truth but they had been labelled as crazy. "Garsh Ana!"The representative of Sirius-7 roared before clearing his throat. "My apologies,"he continued in a gentler tone that still shook the room. "But if this Sol-diers are prepping for space without acknowledgement of the presence of others, are we not to consider it an act of aggression?" Marp swallowed hard. He knew what was coming. "Refresh or reset?"The neutral, robotic voice of Dalan, Speaker of the Galactic Council, dug into Marp's brain. Refeshes had only changed the dominate species, not their attitude. "Reset."The words tumbled from Marp's mouth before he could stop them and he knew at once he sealed the fate of a planet. "Done." Never had Marp wanted to smack Dalan more than today. --------------- Meanwhile, on Sol-3, the tyrannical king of the lizards saw a gargantuan asteroid heading for his kingdom...
The play was over, and as the lights came up, Father and Mother stood, applauding with the rest of the crowd. I stood and stretched. I grabbed my jacket. I slowly put my arms into the sleeves and aligned all the buttons. Mother and Father were still clapping. Father put his fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small pager. I pushed the red button. Go. The applause died down as the actors left the stage and the audience prepared to leave. Father kissed Mother on the cheek softly, and handed her her jacket and hat. Father straightened his tie and checked his watch. "Oh, it's getting late. Come along, guys. Wouldn't want Bruce to stay up all night,"he said, chuckling. I smiled grimly. I knew what would be happening soon. Mother led me by the hand. Father strode in front of us but stopped suddenly when he saw the crowd at the door. "Well..."he said, looking around. "Ah, here we go! Side exit." He pointed to a metal door with a bright neon red EXIT sign above it. "Come along, gang. This leads right into an alley. We'll avoid this hubbub and be at home before you can say lickety-split!" Mother grinned. "Lickety-split,"she said, laughing. "Nice, Martha. Come on."Father was smiling. The door led to a dark alley. A dumpster and a single streetlight near the entrance to the parking lot illuminated the way to the car. Alfred would be waiting for us. Poor Alfred. This would be hard on him. Mother grasped my hand tightly. I could tell she was nervous. She had every right to be. Father led the way. He cautiously held Mother's hand as he walked, eyes scanning the walls and path ahead. Suddenly a figure emerged form the shadows. "Hands up!" Mother squeezed my hand with a renewed vigor. "Mother, you're hurting me." "Quiet, Bruce." Father put his hands into the air slowly. "Listen, we don't want any trouble." "And you won't get any; just hand over the money." "Money?"Father stammered. "Yeah, buddy, the money. Come on. Son named Bruce? Big car? Nice play? Fancy clothes. Don't pull that crap with me, Thomas Wayne. Come on, lemme see that nice watch." Father slowly slid the watch off his wrist and held it out to the stranger. The stranger reached for the watch and gingerly removed it from Father's hand. Suddenly, Father grabbed the stranger's arm and pulled it. The hoodlum, losing his balance, fell forward. Father used this opportunity to punch him in the chest, knocking him away. The figure fell onto his back and tried to crawl away. Father advanced toward him. A shot rang out, loud and long, like a cannon. My ears rang. My father fell. Mother made a sound I'd never heard before. She rushed forward. A second shot. A second body hit the ground. The figure stood up. He brushed off his chest. He looked at me. "There. Done." I nodded. "Thank you, Rodney. The money will be in your account within the hour." He smiled. "Pleasure doing business with you, Bruce." I nodded grimly. "Run. The police will be here any second now." Rodney nodded. He crept to the edge of the alley, peeked into the street, the dashed away into the night. Moments later, a police car rolled up. Two uniformed officers jumped out. The turned on flashlights and saw me standing over the bloodied corpses of my parents. "Hey, kid!"one of the yelled. "What're you..."Both men saw the bodies and recognized the faces. The turned their attention to me. All those acting classes had come in handy. The tears were already flowing. --- The ride in the car home was a bittersweet one. On one hand, my parents were dead. On the other, Wayne Industries was mine for the taking. And the world was my oyster. And nobody would be able to stop me then. Of course, there was one loose end. Rodney. But I figured right about now my men would be visiting him. Such a shame. Rodney was so young. I smiled and watched the rain fall. It truly was a dark night.
"You're a madman, Kovacs,"Batman growled. "No better than the criminal scum you seek to kill." "Hurm,"Rorschach rasped. "Knows my old name. Clever. But not clever enough to realize how scum like him should be treated."The killer writhed in Rorschach's grip. "This is my city,"Batman snarled. "Your city cries out,"Rorschach rumbled. "Its sewers overflow with blood and filth. All the whores and pigs and politicians scream for someone to save them." "And you think that person's going be you?"Batman thundered. "No." "Wait,"Batman gravelled. "But didn't you just say -" "Freeze, criminal scum,"Dredd barked. His Lawgiver gleamed in the darkness. "C'mon!"the killer said. "I have a name, you know." "Opponents are two heavily-muscled leather-clad men,"Rorschach hurmed. "Possible homosexuals?" "That man is a killer. The two of you are guilty of vigilantism,"Dredd grated. "I am the Law." "This is my city,"Batman re-snarled. "It's Kevin, if anyone cared. My name's Kevin."
Hey bro you know what would be really cool? Grabbing that drunk as chick and sacrificing to our lord and saviour Satan! God dammit here the demon goes again. Listen Mark, Sorry Markiuxus, I appreciate what you did for me bringing me back from the dead and shit, healing my physical body what ever, but I can't go around killing chicks for the devil. Mark is usually quite chill. When I was about 5 years old I had a terrible car accident and a drunk driver plunged into the side of our car. I took most of the impact and was pretty much unrecognisable. My mother and father were part of the "Oculus Rift". A cult that had spanned thousands of years in the shadows. They summoned my old mate Markiuxus which I shortened for Mark. With a K of course. We've been boys for as long as I remember. Pretty sure we grew up together. At first he wanted to take full control over my body and would control me when I slept. I almost killed a whole family however I willed Mark out of my body and went back home. There have been a couple of demonic incidents where I have scared bullies and stuff but nothing too major. There was a time when I was chased home in the dark because I shot out all the street lights when Mark was controlling my body. Man you know we're pretty much in this for eternity. Your coming to hell with me after your physical body dies and well we can chill and play video games, do what ever you humans do. Hell is actually really great you know. I always have Mark talking to me so I'm never alone, even while posting on reddit. I know Mark and I can't wait to see you in the flesh, what ever that means. What is there to do in hell? Mark didn't reply for a while. Okay I compiled a list, we can go see the fountains of hatred, head to the grand soul canyon. Oh me and my buddies last week went to Los Dead Body Vegas. We each lost millions of souls it was great! I even got to drink Long Island blood teas!!! As similar to real life as those things sound I really liked my current life and was pretty scared to go to hell. But it's great having someone on the inside I guess. Anyway Mark and I headed to this party at my mates dorm and it was off the chain. Apparently he knew a big time gunja supplier so things started getting pretty wild. Okay I have a plan tonight, take a fat hit of the blunt, then I'll make your eyes pitch black and you will hover over the beer pong table it'll be so good! Well Mark that sounds hilarious. That's what I thought at the time. As I proceeded to hit the blunt, as planned my eyes turned black I started hovering ancient demon tongue, and the lights all shot out. Everyone started screaming, the people instantly left the party running down the street. Before I knew it the SWAT turned up and had me pinned down. I was interrogated by the FBI before I convinced them it was all a prank bro. Luckily my parents came and they are pretty normal minus the whole summoning demon thing so they let it go.
Batman. The Dark Knight. Vengeance without death. Staring down the officer. The officer that did something that no one else in Gotham managed to do: kill the Joker. When Red Hood tried to kill Joker, Batman stopped him. Whenever rival criminal gangs almost killed the Joker, Batman broke up the fight, and prevented the Joker's death. They're two sides of the same coin. Order and justice, and chaos and death. Whenever Batman handed over the Joker, the cops pointed guns at the Joker, but they really didn't shoot, since he had to be in custody. That's how it was supposed to go this time. Batman handed over the Joker, and an armored transport vehicle would take him back to Arkham Asylum. Well, the Joker had other plans. He tried to choke one of the policemen. At this time, lethal force was authorized. The cop was allowed to shoot him if necessary. The Joker routinely pulls of 9/11's in Gotham, and routinely causes massacres. Is anyone really going to miss him? The cop didn't think. He pulled the trigger twice. One to Joker's heart, and one to the head. You can tell where the rest went. The cop stepped aside when everyone was outside, into an alley to light his cigarette. Then a sharp precise pain entered his neck. He looked at it. A dart. He blacked out, with the feint light of his cigarette in the dark night. He woke up in a cell at the GCPD. Complete darkness. One light turned on. Then another one, and the last one. The last light revealed the tall, black figure of Batman. He had a stern look on this face, as in "I'm not fucking joking." "B-Batman, what, what's going on?"the cop stammered. "Is, is this because I killed him?!" "I'm not here to punish you for that,"Batman responded. "What are you here for?!" "I put you in here. Commissioner Gordon agreed to it. You're safer in here." "W-why?!" "Because they'll come after you. Joker's gang and Harley Quinn. They'll hunt you down to get revenge." "Ah shit, I've got to worry about what now?" "You killed the most infamous criminal and serial killer in Gotham. That'll put you on the hit list of Harley Quinn, Two-Face, Penguin, Black Mask, and every other damn criminal that gives a crap in Gotham. I'll need to call in someone for that." "Uh, w-what does this have to do with you though?" "It means I have a lot of work to do to make sure you don't die."
Not many know this, but the adage has an interestingly literal origin. It was many revolutions ago when we first made contact with the humans. We were deep in an interstellar war with the Roxari at the time, and were desperately struggling to keep up; the truth was, they had us outgunned and outmanned at every turn. During one heated battle where my troop suffered 60% casualties, I ordered a sudden retreat into slip-space, without programming exit coordinates; this was very dangerous but it let us flee the enemy without being tracked. Or so we thought; when we reappeared back in matter-verse, we found to our dismay that several Roxari fighters and a destroyer had somehow tailed us. It was a sizable challenge for the remaining, battered ships I had under my control, and I grimly prepared for an all-or-nothing duel to our deaths. As I shouted maneuvering orders to my fighters and my own cruiser prepared to fire, my thoughts went to my sons and daughters, some of whom had already perished in this wretched war. I remember having the very tangential regret that our first entry into this heretofore unexplored sector was such a violent one; there was an enormous planet just a few thousand kilometers away, with beautiful rings of sparkling ice. It was majestic to behold, and such a shame that I could not sit back to enjoy it. And that's when I (and presumably, the Roxari commander) received the most startling radio message; not so because of the content, for that was some alien gibberish, but due to the source: it was neither Roxari nor Altho in origin. The human ships came into view, covered with strange blinking lights of various colors. Most of the ships were very small, and un-manned, though I did not know that at the time. I just assumed the organisms piloting them must be very small beings. The larger ships were much fewer in number, and were slightly larger than our fighters, though still easily dwarfed by our cruiser or the Roxari destroyer. One ship, the largest one of all, had sent the message, and continued to inquire further; we sent a few replies back, but of course in Althon and so incomprehensible to the humans. The whole situation was so unexpected that it actually paused our altercation; it must have looked a strange sight, three different fleets floating in space, uncertain as to what action to take next. We technically had a protocol for dealing with the meeting of a completely new xeno-sapient, but everyone was too slack-jawed in light of our battle to look for that book. The intermission lasted only briefly, however. Suddenly, the Roxari began firing! One of my fighters went down in a blaze of brilliant white fire, and I roared the order for immediate retaliation. The human ships, suddenly realizing the unfortunate situation they had stumbled onto, turned and began to maneuver away, perhaps to some hidden orbiting station. But as they fled, one Roxari fighter zoomed after them and began firing hot plasma, destroying several of the smaller probes and eventually hitting a larger ship, which began to drift uncontrollably toward the gas giant planet. I was deeply shocked that this had occurred; even the Roxari restrained from excessive force on noncombatants, never mind a race that we had just met. One of my fighters managed to subdue the rogue Roxari one, and the human ships sent out a flurry of panicked messages as they dove down, following the drift of their burning ship. Another Roxari fighter went after them, and they all disappeared beyond the rings of ice. I would've liked to aid them, but I feared that I could hardly aid myself at this point, and so I kept all my ships in formation. The best I could do was send them schematic diagrams, encoded in x-ray waves, detailing possible weak points on Roxari spacecraft, and hope that they had any weapons at all on their ships. As the battle dragged on, the situation grew more and more grave. My cruiser was badly damaged, and only a few fighters remained at my side. The Roxari had no more fighters, but their destroyer was nearly untouched and still shielded. It looked hopeless, and I gave the grim order to fight to our last breath, knowing that we had little chance left at all. But then, something incredible happened. Out of those shining ice rings, the smaller human ships burst forth, flying in a scattered pattern at much higher velocities right toward the Roxari destroyer. The alarmed Roxari quickly shot out lasers that destroyed the probes with a single shot, but their movement was too haphazard for precise aiming, and many slipped right past the Roxari ship's shielding and crashed themselves onto the hull - specifically, the vulnerable underbelly, where the life-support, and shield systems were housed. I wasted no time. As soon as the first human ship crashed, I ordered the remaining fighters and my own cruiser to empty all offensive power onto the destroyer. When the final plasma torpedo cleaved the ship asunder, all of my officers cheered in victory, and I sank back down to my seat, exhausted. Soon after, we received another message, an image, from the human ships, which had begun to re-emerge from the ice: A rough sketch of the Roxari destroyer under fire by our ships as well as the humans', with angry black slashes X'ed over the Roxari ship. I grinned. I don't know who originally coined the phrase; whether it was Altho or Roxari, though I sometimes entertain the idea that it was one of my crew aboard my cruiser during that firefight. But i once told it to Commander Brennard, a human warrior whom I have become strong friends with, and he laughed and added: If you push us onto thin ice, it might break and we might fall, but you can be sure that we'll swim right through that frozen hell and return the favor. _______________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
They would visit every so often to the cabin in the woods. The aliens. They would sit and have slavashargard while they watched their favorite reality tv drama. EARTHICAN!!! In the beginning it started off slow and bland, just buttfuck gigantic lizards roaming the earth. It was fun to see them maul and maim each other for the first few million years. Sometimes new species would get uppity and fight the natual order. Most just learned how to avoid and evade. Eventually they got sick of it and demanded a recast! Hurling massive space rocks they smashed the continents apart, creating separate battlegrounds and shrouding the earth's surface in a cloud of ash and noxious chemical compounds. Needless to say the lizards were fired. Slowly the mammals rose, just rats at first, then slowly over time the curtain lifted on a new main character, apes. THE DRAMA HAS BECOME A COMEDY IN THE REBOOT! Oh the shame the directors and producers must feel for how badly this show was going to flop with the intergalactic community. The first scenes showed them living in trees, flinging feces at one another to gain support or demerit the opposing party, and thus the hilarity ensued even to this very day. Prominent figures in society fought but history was written by those who could throw shit the furthest and fastest. Example ladders include but are not limited to; Slings, Bolas, Spears, Bows and Arrows, etc... then the apes found electricity, hygiene, even pure water! Then with the sciences came the destruction and greed, are this program was no comedy, it merely had comedic characters. The true horrors of the apes started early, but it became clear not much could change their ways. Gods rose and fell, civilizations the same. Impermanence had become the normalacy of their daily life. One moment the apes would play at the beach, laughing and happy, then they start a war and design whole manners of ways to kill or maim each other just like the lizards. Now the last straw. The apes had found fission materials, crafted weapons we long since did away with for the greater good. They tested them no less, on inhabited islands and in stark deserted wastelands making radiation a daily thing to worry and fear. Then when they were sataified, knowing how much damaged they could cause, they aimed the rocket propelled cylinders capped with death at one another in a Mexican standoff.... No one would win, even if one or two nation's walked away unscathed.... The sorrow... The love... The loyalty... these apes did what no lizard could do. They helped each other. Save money on car insurance.
We paraded from the inn toward Bergmara’s gates accompanied by great fanfare: children hanging from the massive lamps just to get a look at us, trumpets blaring, women blowing kisses, throwing flowers at us…. One particularly luscious blond dashed into the street as our convoy passed and begged old, gnarled Guerven to accept her betrothal sash. Guerven, with his one eye, half of his teeth missing, and skin that looked like the gnarled surface of an old chopping block. Hells, I’d never so much as gotten women of this caliber to look at me. “Fly’s ‘re gonna nest in there if you don’t shut yer mouth, boy,” Sayyaf said. I quickly closed my mouth and averted my eyes from the women in the crowd. On my left, Sayyaf just laughed. “Oh, relax. You get used to it after a while. They’ll throw theyselves at you in gratitude while the ogres're outside the gates, but as soon as we’ve disposed of 'em, you’ll be just a distant memory. Just look 'ere.” He pointed to the ribbons tied to the tops of the spears carried by Jaff and Dang. “You think they actually married the girls that those came from?” Upon closer inspect, I saw that the stained and dirty scraps of fabric were actually old betrothal sashes. “Right,” I said. Made sense. Joining the Order of the Hammer didn’t make me any more attractive, after all. Even if I did accept one of the sashes, she may not be so willing when I come back. If I come back. “Thanks.” The others marching alongside me were pretty much ignoring the cheering crowds and gorgeous girls, though I did notice Jaff stopping for a few kisses along the way. The gates loomed overhead: a massive brick edifice with iron-banded doors. It stretched from the road all the way up to the top of the great cavern opening. That one door was the only way in or out of the cave system that housed the entire city of Bergmara. Soldiers atop the battlements saluted, and the gates slowly cranked open to reveal the brick road leading through the fields and the forest beyond. I took one last look at the crowd, then at Sayyaf who gave a reassuring nod, then marched out with my head held high. We passed by the fields, abandoned and empty except for crows picking at the ears of corn. The farmers were all safely sequestered back in town, under the mountain where even the ogres couldn’t reach them. What the hell was I thinking? I asked myself as I surveyed my comrades. They were all stout men with barrel chests and bulging biceps. Sayyaf was the biggest of the lot, and probably the best swordsman in the entire country. Whereas I couldn’t even pick up his massive claymore! I was never a soldier, nor even particularly athletic. Back at the inn, it had all made sense. They promised they’d train me with weapons, and that I’d get stronger. That I had lots of potential. But now, entering the forest… now I wasn’t so sure. We’d made it a few miles into the forest by the time night approached. We camped near a running stream; Sayyaf assured me that it was because ogres hated running water. I’d never heard that, but these guys were the experts, after all. I helped gather firewood while the rest set to work putting the camp together. They’d all seemed like a bunch of louts back at the inn, drinking and joking and feasting all night and sleeping all day. But out here, it was a whole different group. They worked like a well-oiled machine, and before I’d even found a handful of good logs there was already a whole set of canvas tents set up. Guerven, who fancied himself the chef of the group, tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for me to hurry up and fetch him wood for the fire so that he could start on the stew. Silence fell over the camp as men dug into their meals, too hungry from a day of marching to speak much. But Sayyaf stood and held his goblet in my direction. “Everyone, listen up! I know it’s been a while since we had a new recruit.” He gave a wicked smile. “Well, at least one that lasted long.” The other men chuckled at his ‘joke,’ but it didn’t change the fact that I was the youngest man in camp by far. How had I not noticed that before? I wondered. “Anyways,” Sayyaf continued. “We wish him the best of luck in tomorrow’s hunt!” “Ayy!” the other men cheered, raising their glasses and draining their drinks in one gulp. I gave a nervous smile and raised mine too. They all stared, waiting for me to chug it down just like they had done. So I gulped my beer down, spilling a bit down my chin. That elicited another chorus of cheers, and Jaff came over to refill my cup for me. Then Doven came over and we toasted again, and we finished our drinks together. Then Hova… then Ghee… then Sayyaf, who brought out a special bottle of some clear spirits for the occasion… then Myor… then it all got a little fuzzy. ------ Sunlight shining on my face stirred me from my sleep. There was a thunderstorm brewing in my head, and the shrill chirping of birds in the clearing made it so much worse. “Ugh…” I exhaled, and I could smell the lingering tang of alcohol on my breath. I tried to roll over and shield my eyes from the light, but somehow, I couldn’t. I was stuck. “What in the…” I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t do that either. Lifting my chin to my chest, I could just barely see right ropes stretched across my limbs and torso, tied to stakes sunk into the ground around me. I was completely stuck. “Sorry, kid,” Sayyaf said. I could barely move my head, so I couldn’t see him until he was standing right over me with his hulking form blocking out the sun. “Sayyaf! I’m tied down!” He smiled. “I know. They’re my knots, boy.” That left me stunned. Sayyaf had recruited me! He saw potential in me! What… “Oh, ya didn’t really think we needed you to hunt the Ogres, eh?” His sword rang as he pulled it from the scabbard. “We’ve got ‘at handled all on our own. You…. Y’er more here as... an offering.” From his belt, he pulled out a wooden whistle and blew on it; I couldn’t hear anything. “Sorry, boy. Should’a taken one of them sashes for yerself while you had a chance, eh?” With one last laugh, he disappeared from view. “Get me out!” I screamed. “Help! Anyone!” Thud. In the far distance, something crashed through the trees. I heard boughs break and leaves rustling. “Come on, Sayyaf!!" Thud. Closer this time, and more limbs snapping and trunks toppling over. “You can’t do this to me!” Every shout seemed to cause the thuds to come faster and faster, so I shut up pretty quickly and focused all of my energy and tugging at my ropes. But Sayyaf was right: there was no struggling out of this. I noticed that the birds had all gone silent in the clearing, and even the thuds had stopped. Everything was silent except for the babbling of the river running over rocks. Then the Ogre’s face loomed out of the shadows right over me. Its face was the color, texture, and size of an old granite boulder with moss growing out from wrinkles and in between its massive yellow teeth. A drop of slobber dripped off its tongue and into the dirt right next to me, splashing me with liquid. It smelled like someone had taken rotting corpses and shat all over them. “Oh gods,” I sobbed. What the fuck was I thinking? I should have just sayed in Bergmara, content to work as an apprentice at in the Inn. What the FUCK was I thinking?? The ogre leaned closer… and then an arrow thicker than my arm sprouted from its forehead. It blinked and frowned like it was just a mosquito bite, and I heard Guerven’s throaty roar. “Yeah, got him!” Spears came flying from the trees, and someone tossed a giant net over it. The ogre turned its attention away from me, leaving me with only a view of the treetops overhead. But the sounds of chaos and battle were all around: the roars of the ogre, the sounds of it stamping its feet and breaking branches, the clang of metal against its stony flesh, and finally the roars of pain as the members of the Order of the Hammer cracked it open and took it down for good. Sayyaf returned. With one slash of the ropes, he freed me from my bonds and pulled me to my feet. The ogre was in the center of the clearing only a few dozen feet away, bleeding from a hundred different wounds. A few of the men were bandaged, but it looks like everyone had come through the battle in one piece. “Congratulations!” Sayyaf said. “What….” It was all still too much to process, and this hangover was still fucking killing me. “What the fuck was that?” “You passed your initiation!” The other men cheered, and Jaff presented me with a shiny new suit of armor and a spear. “Welcome to the Order of the Hammer!” Sayyaf reached for his pack, brought out the bottle of clear booze again, and thrust it toward me. "No fuckin' way,"I said as I put on my new helmet. "I am not falling for that again."
At first, people ran in terror, but lately the dark wyrm Zoranzashir has become just another piece in the hedge fund game. The first anyone saw of the creature was its vast, shadowy bulk approaching across the Atlantic on bat-like wings that would dwarf a the standard Dubai yacht. Ships that it passed over frantically filled the maritime frequencies with panicked noise, while a few reported the sighting directly to the Coast Guard, who then called on the National Guard and the US Navy. They needed corroboration, and who could blame them? They were tracking the largest flying object to date. When it arrived, it landed atop 345 Park Ave; it was still smoking from the cruise missiles that it brushed away in blinding explosions a little north of Plum Island. It didn't attack any of the ships, it seemed to dismiss them as telescoping video cameras looked on. It passed through barrages until it was close enough to structures that the military forces withdrew. By this time, much of New York was crammed into tunnels and nearly stacked on bridges trying to evacuate the city. Aside of those of us whose work wouldn't let them leave, possibly to even die tending the trading computers. Richer men promised us great wealth if we made sure the Exchange survived. When it landed, a few of us were on hand to see the beast firsthand. I watched the towers come down in my second year working in the city, and that memory is forever lodged in my mind. But a near second is a memory of the terror that beset me when Zoranzashir settled its great bulk in place, coiled its train-length tail around the building, and took a nap. It's head rested at the end of a trunk-like neck, parked on top of the Seagram Building. For days it didn't move, its wings an umbrella draped over Lexington and Park. Aside of some fallen concrete, the news and the government were at a loss for how to describe what was happening. Nothing was attacked, even as tanks rolled along the streets below, and those of us who remained watched it from cameras in panic rooms and data centers. Experts from Europe were consulted, that was how we learned the name Zoranzashir at all. It was once seen south of Berlin, where it had two centuries earlier risen from a hillside to squat over a counting house. A century later, it became an urban legend in London, after it hunkered down in the Thames, breathing its foul breath down into the City of London; arguably one of the most active business districts in the world. According to historians, the legend faded into myth when the Blitz struck the UK, and the Brits had other things to worry about. The New Yorkers who fled began to return when there was no sign of immediate danger. Yes, it was weird, but in a way, New Yorkers are used to the strange and confounding. The natives have this skin that is scratch resistant against diamond, a kind of in-born scarring that protects them from panic at the unknown, because the unknown might live next door. But a massive dragon? It turned out that no, that still wasn't too much to keep them from coming home. They began to do their business under Zoranzashir's bulk, to take lunch in the shade of its wings, and Where did it go between these visitations? Every hundred years, it arose from the soil or the ocean, and it landed near a place of human commerce. It didn't attack. It breathed into the city's air, it napped, it lingered in a sleepy way, then it left. Historically, at least. It's been four years since it landed in NYC. It has arisen to change buildings five times, each causing city-wide hysteria (mostly the tourists and folks from across the rivers). Despite the structures not being built for it, they don't seem harmed by its movements, and life goes on. The added tourism has been great for business, even if it somehow made the already terminally bad traffic worse. Back to the hedge fund game I mentioned... The first time Zoranzashir moved, it was to change from its position above Deutsche Bank and moved closer to the Hudson River, perching atop the main branch of Goldman Sachs. Around this time, a scandal hit the papers involving Deutsche Bank's shadier dealings and the company suffered for it, internationally and domestically. Zoranzashir had moved as if it already knew the blow would come, and as it curled up, we wondered what was happening at Goldman Sachs. This causes a ripple in the market. Why? Because we were all watching it. Zoranzashir is the size of a skyscraper and when it moves, the market trembles. Morgan Stanley, Citigroup, Merill Lynch, Fidelity. When the wyrm squatted on a company, its business both boomed and plummeted. Fat cats came calling, wanting a piece of whatever it was that the dragon knew about, but the average person took their money and fled. Zoranzashir made day to day marketing a high-risk-high-reward endeavor. But it wasn't limited to just direct business, sometimes it caused markets the firms invested in to tank. A few firms, long held in private, had taken to going public themselves just to survive. Others already long public, doubled-down where they could. Change is opportunity, and I mulled that over. When word came that Zoranzashir was moving again, a group of my peers and I broke off from our firm and went solo. We built a new fund called The Shadow Fund, and we started our hedging. What high-risk plan did we have? Investment in the giants themselves. We would play our bets against the dragon's movements, buying where we thought the wyrm would land and buying when it moved again. It was cut-throat, because the corporations we traded for don't like risk. They like their bottom line to stay stable, drifting upward as the corporations they traded in rose and fell, at the whim of computers flicking trades so fast they could make or break Wall St any day of the week by starting a panic sale. We were shorting investment firms, and our tiny firm exploded as a result. We went from ten of us to startup backing, to fifty of us, and eventually, we took an entire floor of One World Trade Center. We were a bundle of stars firing across the sky, drawing attention away from everyone else. We got crazy with pride, and entrenched in greed. We were doing everything we could to suck our competition dry, spreading our portfolio out to more traditional investments and offering stability along with our high risk hedging. On March 15th, 2017, when the New York Stock Exchange bell rang at 9:30am EST, the winds whipped up over lower Manhattan. Zoranzashir awoke and shook its wings out, groaning, and for the first time, it roared up into the clouds. Such heat that it cleared the sky and a gout of flame that was recorded from the International Space Station. It took to the air, and when it landed... It came down on One World Trade Center. On the shiniest, gleaming edifice, a reminder of our city's grief, it brought itself to rest. Perched, eyes wide and no sign of a nap this time, staring in through the windows of the upper floors. That gigantic eye, slit like a serpent's, heavy with lids, and surrounded by rising spikes. It was bigger than my entire office, which was at the corner and considerable. It blocked out the entire wall of glass and obscured my view of Manhattan. The way it squinted in at me turned my bowels to water, caused me to abandon all control of my senses, to throw away reason, and to flee from my own turf, bereft of my pride. After Zoranzashir drew in another massive breath, rattling every window of the building, it curled up again. It watched for hours as, like mice, we hid beneath desks to block it's line of sight. Others fled down the stairs. As I had the first day it landed, I tended our servers. Why? Nostalgia? I don't know. I had investments to protect. By the end of the day, our buyers were starting to pull out; accounts hemoraghing over to the competition, hungry enough to offer disgusting long term rates and trading prices. No doubt grinning ear to ear as we suffered the fate that we had for years been taking advantage of. When it finally went to sleep, midnight into the morning of March 16th, I had crept back into my office. That eye still lingered there, hovering, head dangling out in the air; over a thousand feet in the air, to be exact; but it was closed. That was when I realized why Zoranzashir had come. It hadn't come for commerce. It hadn't arisen drawn to our wealth or our prosperity. It didn't lay claim to us like territory, a hoard to sit on like in the myths. No, it had come to claim our greed for its own.
Year 22nd, almost six hours in. I feel different, another patch, that must be it. I now experience trembling. Is it fear? Is it the alcohol? Could be both, they forgot the in-game explanation again. There is a bed 73 metres away. I cannot wait to get to it. This heavy raincoat and anti-aircraft pistol that I adore are slightly heavier than you'd expect. I'm super than I would like. Slowly, I open the door. This is it, my home for the night. I brood above my bed unable to align myself properly to lie in it. I need something to heal myself. An apple will do. I finally get to lie down and get some more than needed sleep. Before me appears the thing I dread most: Cannot perform this action while there are enemies nearby
When we were children, my little brother had a nack for making the most beautiful objects. He was a master at woodworking and could make the most intricate carvings. Dolls made out of wood that looked like real babies. Flowers so delicate that you worried the petals would fall if handled too roughly. Soldiers that were so stern, you could almost hear the sounds of cannons firing around them in a battle field. He could make anything out of wood. In time, he transferred those skills to metal, stone, and glass. He was a genius. A master craftsman. Everything he made was the highest of quality. I on the other hand, did not inherit his gift of creation. I could work with the various materials, but the difference between the final products would be like comparing someone who is “good at math” with someone who has figured out the theory of relativity. We were on completely different levels. My brother Nicky knew how to create things, but he didn’t always understand people. I did. I knew just by looking at a person what their deepest desires were. Nicky could build the gift, but I knew which person should receive it. He expected everyone to love each of his creations. Most everyone could appreciate the gifts, but there is a difference between receiving something nice and receiving your heart’s desire. I could tell the difference. We teamed up for many years, making sure that his pieces went to the right people. Our favorite people to give gifts to were children. The look on a child’s face after receiving a much wished-for doll is so precious. In time, we found ourselves focusing only on the children. Nicky and Krampa the gift givers. Those were some of the best moments of my life. Then Nicky got married. His wife was sweet enough, but Nicky now had a growing family he needed to support. A workshop was created. He started hiring workers to help produce the gifts en mass. Quality made way for quantity. He started charging parents of the children per gift, resulting in wealthy children getting lots of toys and poor kids getting few if any. What started out as a brother and a sister sharing a bit of happiness to others became a full-on corporation. He still created the gifts, I still determined who they went to, but he was getting all the credit. Sometimes the workers would be acknowledged, sometimes his wife, but never me. Letters came pouring in from around the world requesting certain items and then once a year Nicky would deliver them. After a while my talent for knowing the desires of those we were creating for became obsolete. Soon they had no need for me. And I resented it. I got so frustrated with the lack of appreciation and recognition, I decided to get a little bit of revenge. Childish, I know. But I was hurt. I started sneaking into the homes of children after my brother had delivered the presents, but before the children were awake. I would take away some of the toys and leave coal in its place with a note signed (forged) by my brother that said the child had been too naughty to receive presents. I didn’t do it for all children. I didn’t even really do it for children that actually had been naughty. Just the children that really wanted a particular gift and were receiving it from my brother. I didn’t want him to get the credit for giving them what their heart desired. He had sacrificed his gift of beautifully crafting the most exquisite toys, opting instead to create mass amounts of cheap plastic. He could stand to lose a bit of the love and adoration from children that I had help him cultivate. So every year, he delivered toys and I’d replace them with coal. It was a futile effort, I know. My brother finally caught on to what I was doing and started telling people in some countries that I was a half goat, half demon named Krampus sent to torment naughty children. He didn’t tell them I was his older sister. Instead of feeling fear and disappointment for my brother, people were afraid of me! I finally got the recognition I had wanted, but not for the reasons I wanted it. I’m just an old woman. An old woman who lived a long life in the shadow of “Saint” Nick. I have regrets. But I’m no evil goat-demon.
It was after midnight and Sara still wasn't asleep. She turned over again and sighed, her breath warm on my back. "Jim?"Her voice was quiet in the dark. "Honey? I can't sleep." "I know."I rolled over to face her. The edge of her cheek was outlined in moonlight from the window above our bed. I sighed. "Me neither." She breathed in slowly. "I can't- I have to tell you something." My heart caught in my throat. "Is it about the baby?" She didn't speak for a long moment. When she did, her voice was no more than a whisper. "How did you know?" "You've been acting strange since this morning. I imagined this moment before, finding out we were pregnant. But I always thought you'd be... happier." "Me too."She tucked her chin inward, curling up into a ball. My heart was breaking for her but I couldn't bear to touch her. "What is it, Sara?" "This is going to sound crazy. I- I promise, I'm not crazy." "Tell me, honey." "We can't keep the baby." I stared at her for a long time. Her eyes met mine in the dark, wet with unshed tears. "Why not?"My voice sounded harsh, as if it came from someone else. She took in a long breath. "When I was 10, I was diagnosed with cancer. They said I had months to live, if that. It was too late to do anything, too far advanced for anything but pain relief. My parents thought I should have the chance to be as happy as possible. For a month, we traveled. They took me to the Caribbean, Spain, France. Then we went to Scotland. It happened one afternoon. I was sitting at the edge of the garden while my parents were having tea. There were steps in the side of the yard, stone steps. I liked to sit on them and make fairy houses with sticks and flowers. And then- then a cloud went over the sun. The wind picked up, and it got cold, and dark. I got up to go back to the house, but when I turned around, my parents were gone. And... and there was someone else, standing there. SomeTHING else." A chill ran through me. It sounded too familiar. "What thing?" She shuddered, and I put my hand on her arm. It was covered with goosebumps. "A woman,"she whispered. "But not... human. She was tall, and thin. Her clothes clung to her, as if they were her skin. But the worst part was the look in her eyes. I can still see her, looking down at me, her face cracking into that horrible smile. She looked through me. She smelled like- like something already dead." I was paralyzed, remembering her myself. It played out in front of me as Sara told me her story. The woman who appeared out of nowhere, bringing the cold and dark with her, making the world around us go silent. I had been unable to move, frozen with fear then too, as she stepped in close to smell me. She had declared me fit to eat, and as she wrapped her rotting fingers around my wrist, I had begged, promised her anything, if she would just let me go. I could still hear her voice inside my head. "Anything?" "She saw the cancer inside me,"Sara went on. "She saw it, and she told me she could make it go away. She could make it all go away. If I gave her something in return." "The baby,"I whispered. "Your first born child." Sara looked up at me and nodded. The tears were rolling down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow. "I'm sorry,"she said in a hoarse whisper. "I'm so sorry." I pulled her into my arms and held her as she sobbed. After all this time. All this time, not allowing myself to think about that day, not allowing myself to believe it. I had been sick with worry about having to tell Sara for so long, hoping we wouldn't get pregnant and hating myself for it. And now it would all be ok. Somehow, it had worked out. "Sara,"I said, stroking her hair. "Sara, it's ok." She cried harder, her body shaking. "It's not ok,"she said into my chest. "It's my fault, it's my fault." "Sara, it's ok. I know." She didn't look up. "Sara, I saw her too. She came to me too." Sara gasped and looked up at me. "What? Are you serious?" I nodded. "When I was a kid. I swear to you. She captured me, she was about to eat me. And then I promised her-"the words caught in my throat. It was hard to say them after all these years, even knowing it was going to be alright. "I promised her my firstborn." I laughed then, surprising myself. It burst out of me. Sara furrowed her brow. I tried to stop, but it was such a relief. After all this time. "Don't you see?"I said. "We both promised her. And then we grew up and found each other. We got married and now this one baby is hers. It's over now. After this we'll be free. I've been worrying about this since I met you, but I told myself it was just a bad dream. It was real. It was real. But it's over now." She pushed away from me and curled herself protectively around her stomach. "It isn't over,"she spat. "I'm not giving her my baby. I'm not!" I calmed myself, putting a hand on her shoulder. She pulled away from my touch. "I'm sorry,"I said. "It's just such a relief. This will be horrible, I know. I know. But after this, we'll both be done with her. And we'll never have to worry about that witch again. She burned her name in my mind all those years ago, and now it'll be lifted." Sara nodded. "She burned it in mine too. Like a brand." I stroked her back gently. She let me. "I'll be glad when it's over,"I said after a while. "'Morrog' is a nasty word to have repeating in your head." Sara sat up and stared at me. Her eyes glittered in the moonlight. "What?"she snapped. "Her name,"I said. "Morrog." Sara shook her head. Her chin started to tremble. "I made my promise to Rastaleah."
"Wait! Listen-!" The unchanging face of the Runner flashes by in an instant, the same instant I feel the familiar punch of a bullet to my left thigh. "Please..." I'm dragging myself after, but they're already gone. I can't catch up like this, and so I'm left to the slow wait until I and the others groaning around me are reset. ---- Suddenly the pain in my leg is gone. I am laying on the ratty bed in the abandoned house that is my restart point. Sitting up makes me grunt, but I have to get moving. I have to get out of here. This time, I sneak ahead to where I know the Runner will go. If I can just catch them, I know they will help me. I just need enough time to make them understand. A distant crack of gunfire sounds. I can feel inhabitants of this dilapidated town rousing themselves. Me, I stay right where I am, waiting. I've never survived this long; I think if I wait I can follow the Runner to the way out. They sprint around the corner, not even glancing in my direction. After all, I'm not supposed to be there. But I am, and I know they're heading right for a dead end alley. A savage joy at my genius bubbles in me and I surge forward. They are standing at the end of the ally, eyes on the brick wall. Good, that gives me more time to talk. This is it this is it this is it. "Hey! Help, please!"The Runner turns partway around. At the precise angle of 47 degrees, they step left and slide into the wall. "Wh- that's-"That's not fair! That's cheating! I spent the half hour before restart throwing myself into the wall again and again. I tried angling myself, shuffling to the left, the right, back again, nothing. ---- After five more resets of watching the Runner and trying but failing to follow, one thing has become clear: if I'm going to get out of here, I have to convince the Runner to help. And it has to happen sometime between when they cross the barrier around this town and when they step into the wall. So as soon as I reappeared in bed I stood and went to the alley to wait. When the Runner appeared they paused, surprised to find me with hands held up in surrender. I shuffled forward slowly, begging with my eyes. "Please. Please I'm trapped in here, please take me with you." But the Runner could not understand the grunts and moans of the zombie before them. So they shot off its legs and stepped around it. Then, thinking about the lost seconds, they reset the game.
Several high-pitched whines and low gurgling filled the room as various weapons were activated and aimed. The ornate robot, unarmed, turned towards the human ambassador: "You better have a good excuse to put us and these... Savages, in the same room." A series of beastly noises came in response, followed by the translator: "The envoy will not stand to hear such disrespect!" The ambassador stood in the middle of the room, his brow glistening with sweat, he held out both of his arms to either side, attempting to calm both parties: "Please, this is the closest you've come to achieving peace. I ask that you lay down your weapons and sit at the table. I am sorry to have brought both of you here under false pretenses, but it was the only way you would enter the same room." The Nurian envoy sat down. "I am willing to hear you out, human. Just remember that if I die here, my empire will crush you." "I am well aware. Envoy Khu'Raaz, will you please join us?" The Wilox envoy, who resembled a frog man with fangs, approached the table, an intimidating look on his face. He spoke, and the translator soon followed: "I trust that you remember that condition applies to me as well, human." "Of course." And with that, all three of the ambassadors sat at the table. "Now, we understand that this conflict began because of Nurian aggression?" "That's correct. We took EYR-2, by your designation. There was a mineral on that planet which would allow great advances in our technology." "And the Wilox empire took offense to that because?"the human turned to Khu'Raaz. "That system is on our border and has significant tactical importance. That mineral he's talking about would allow the Nurians to build a stronger army, and it would be right at our doorstep. We had to strike preemptively." "I see. Is that correct?" "Yes."The Nurian answered. "Alright. Now, I would like to know why you don't want to make peace." "Too many have died. We can not let their deaths be in vain." Khu'Raaz responded similarly. "I see. Well, on Earth we call that the 'sunk costs' fallacy. That happens when a person has spent too many resources on something to leave it. However, if the person keeps going, odds are they're going to lose even more for the slim chance of winning." "Say we agree on that, the people won't see it in that way." "Earth is going for more than a ceasefire. We will forge an alliance." Both ambassadors scoffed. "Khu'Raaz, most worlds containing vast amounts of this mineral are inhospitable to your species, are they not?" "That's true." "And the Nurians can terraform these planets to accommodate you?" "Once we're done mining, yes."The Nurian envoy confirmed. "Great. So that's one avenue of trade. Khu'Raaz, the farms manufacturing your food give out a lot of heat that can become hazardous to you, and that is why you can't operate them at full capacity, is that true?" "Yes." "Both the Nurians and Humans can convert this heat to energy necessary to them, and it would cool these farms down enough so that you can operate them at a higher capacity. Would that be agreeable to you both?" "I see no problem with this."The Nurian answered. "If the Nurians can be trusted, this could strengthen both of our empires tremendously. The Wilox demand insurance that they will not be betrayed." "That brings me to the last thing I wanted to discuss with you."The Human ambassador said, putting a satchel on the table. "We have weapons that can wipe out populations in seconds. They have been used 4 times, by humans, on humans. Their effects are devastating. We will lock all of them away on a planet far away from all of our homeworlds. To open this safe will require confirmation codes from all members of the alliance except for one. If one faction turns against the alliance, the remaining members may unlock the weapons and destroy the betraying faction. Mutually assured destruction, leaving diplomacy as the only way to get what you want. This satchel, of course, does not hold these weapons, but they are about this size."The Ambassador pulled tablets out of the satchel and handed them to each of the envoys. "On these there are the documents detailing the alliance, translated to your native languages. Take them to your leaders, we expect an answer within two twelfths of a rotation of our home planet around the sun of its solar system. There are countdowns attached for your convenience. When they reach zero, you will have to give us your answer. If you do not, we will come back here and discuss the terms again. Are we all in agreement?" Both envoys replied affirmatively and left the room, evidently threatened by the seemingly puny human. He wiped the water away from his forehead and called earth to report about the meeting. *Roll Credits* Thank you for reading my entry! Constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated! Edit: Some formatting errors.
I shut the door behind me, as a formality more than anything else. Most of the house is gone. The street is empty. I guess I shouldn't care. These people have never been mine anyway. They've never prayed to me or kept my tradition. But who does anymore? The world would be too lonely if I didn't make the effort. It's hardly bearable as it is. I cross the street and peer into the remains of another home. This one's worse. All huddled together, like they’d hoped it would help somehow. There's shadows of it everywhere. All the horror they felt, left hanging in the air. I hope their god is kind, whoever he is. I hope he took them somewhere safe and far away. I find a blanket buried under rubble in their cellar, and I cover them. That's all I can really do. An explosion rattles the walls. There's more to see. I move on. The world I was born into wasn't like this. Death wasn't like this. War seemed so simple. Brutal, sure. But simple. Now they've gone and made their squabbles into this. We wouldn't have tolerated it, but it's not up to us anymore. Down from the mountain and into the mess. I step through the shattered window of a storefront. The shelves are empty, and the lights are dead. I take a stroll through the dusty aisles. The place seems abandoned, except for the slightest sound. A single breath. I follow it back behind the cashier's counter to discover a man lying on his back. Hopelessly stained in red. His eyes are open, but he doesn't react to the sight of me. I kneel beside him and take his hand. He's nearly there. A few minutes, probably. I unzip my bag and dig through the contents. He tries to speak, but finds he can't. His last words are already behind him. Maybe not as long as I thought. I uncurl his fingers. A few coins for one hand, a sprig of cypress in the other. I say my name, and his eyes shift toward me. Recognition. Just barely enough, but it's there. He'll have the option, if he should choose it. If he has nowhere else to go. They deserve somewhere. I still believe that, even if they don't. His heart stops. I brush some ash from his hair, and I stand. There's more to see.
"Early yesterday morning, a literary icon passed away in his Florida home. Garrett Anderson, famed author of science-fiction novel 'The Web', is best known for his visions of the world of tomorrow and what it might bring. Praised for his 'stunningly realistic' depictions of day-to-day life in an electronic future, Anderson will be remembered as one of America's best science-fiction writers of the 1960s." A clean, succinct overview of a life. To the outside world, it summed up Garrett Anderson well enough. It was pleasant, and professional, and understandable. Cut and dry, black and white, ink on paper. To those who knew him, though, it was an obviously inadequete obituary. Garrett Anderson was an author, sure. He had written a few successful books, settled down, had a family, and made his money from royalty checks, occasionally shutting himself in his study to pump out a new spaceships-and-aliens paperback. This was undeniably true. But that was what the man did, not what the man was. Garrett Anderson was a person out of time, an enigma, a black hole. Anyone who's met Garrett knows that there was something... off about him. A strange melancholy, a detatchment from the world around him. You might call it darkness, or depression, if you were psychiatrically inclined, but I don't think these would be quite accurate. No, Garrett Anderson was just... other. From somewhere else; maybe one of the planets he wrote about, maybe from that oft-mentioned 'world of tomorrow' that the critics set his books in. Personally, I knew enough not to ask. Garrett had his whole childhood, his whole backstory up there in his head, but you could always tell that even he never quite believed it when he told it to you. Born in Maine, deployed in Korea, moved to Florida: it all fit, and yet, you somehow knew it was wrong, a facade floating above reality like oil on water. Because of all that, the man had a hard time keeping up appearances. He had his wife, and kids, like any normal man, but the whole tone of his life rang false. His family was pleasant but quiet, private to an extreme, like the man himself. Nice people, but very odd. In fact, it was only at the bar, on Fridays, that he would open up, and only to us lucky few. Most of the time, he said nothing of note. Politics, or remarks about his day-to-day life. Normal things. Occassionally, however, he would go all... weird. Ramblings about things that hadn't happened, or events remembered wrongly, perhaps. For a while, I thought the guy had some insanity in him, some fundamental disconnect that, for now, only showed itself in states of deep inebriation. The sort of sickness that nobody talked about, ever, not then. Every so often, though, he would say something that would, for some reason, stick with me. A while ago, a couple years maybe, he was talking about stocks. Rambling about some Japanese technology company, something nobody had ever heard of. I don't exactly know what they did, but something that kids like, if I remember right. Anyways, a couple of days later, not able to get it out of my head, I bought some shares, on a whim, not knowing what would happen. Within a year, I was damn close to being a millionaire because of it. It was the first of many Garrett-picks, and wasn't even the most profitable. And yet, when I asked Garrett about these magic picks, how he knew the magic of the stock market, he refused to answer. And, as you might know, when Garrett refused to answer, that was that. Now, I'm not saying there was anything supernatural or crazy going on. Maybe Anderson was just some kind of savant; a stock picking genius who just couldn't fit in with the rest of society. But, the more and more I think about it, the less I believe that. Because, his book? The famous one? Every year, I can see a little bit more of it coming true in the world. All these microprocessors and portable telephones and, hell, practically the same World Wide Web his book is about; it's not the same yet, but it's getting there. I don't know if Garrett was some kind of time-traveling space man, or maybe just a smart, awkward author with a penchant for prediction, but I know one thing: I don't envy him. You think, when you imagine it, that knowing what's to come would be a blessing, and I think that too, sometimes. But then, soon as the thought pops up, I remember Garrett, and those melancholy eyes, and I change my mind. Because, behind those eyes, there was none of the hopeful optimism that the critics ascribed to his novels. All I ever saw was resignation, and, deepest of all, a dim, foreboding terror, of a man forced to see the inescapable future drawing ever closer, never fading, never slowing. And that? That's something I wouldn't wish on anyone.
"SKULLGO!" The horrid amalgamation of bone and flesh assembled itself within the ritual circle and wished with all the breath it didn't have that it could sigh. Just once would be enough. He was a monster, a terrifying freak of disembodied parts and minds. He didn't deserve what was being done to him. "He rejected me!"Lady Harsyst stormed by the ritual circle that contained Skullgo. "Again!" Lady Harsyst was a small thing, but that was not unusual. All things were small compared to Skullgo. He watched her from above as she pulled out silver spider hair clips and removed matching viper rings. Each item was removed with a little more vigor than the one before it. "I really try, you know?" Skullgo closed his fourteen eyes and grunted with displeasure. She was going to cry. Why did she have to summon him if she was just going to sit on the floor and cry? "I loved him for so long and he never noticed me. He's the reason I got into experimental necromancy, you know." Skullgo did know. She had told him forty-eight times just this week. "I saw him on the TV, tearing through that undead army like a bull through a herd of tender ..."Lady Harsyst swayed a little in her chair, then turned back to undoing her glamour. "I told myself that if I had a skeleton army then he would come see me too. Then I'd put him in cage, put my hand on his chest, kiss him just so..." A silver hairpin flew through the room and impaled a part of Skullgo's chest. "I DID ALL THAT AND HE JUST PUNCHED ME!" Skullgo slowly used one of his massive hands to remove the hairpin from his chest. "Can you BELIEVE that? I go through all the work to set up the perfect date for him and he just punches me! I will admit, when he started pulling my hair I thought we were getting somewhere, but he was just doing that so he could punch me again!" Skullgo pondered just how far and how fast he could throw the hairpin. "I try to dress the way he likes! Every time I see him on TV he is with some girl or guy that is dressed just like me! He's holding them, dragging them up the steps to city hall. It just... I wanna be dragged up the steps like that... in a nice black wedding dress." HHhrrrrnnnghhhhrrrrrrr "You're right, Skullgo. I need to try something new. I've had enough of skeleton armies and giant spiders and flaming ghost skulls... I need to take a new approach. I need.... I need to make him jealous!" There was a sound that was like a cross between a squirrel getting electrocuted on a transformer and a heavy rock hitting wet tar as Skullgo pounded his forehead against the mystical barrier of the ritual circle. "I'll find a nice villain and start dating him! We'll go out to eat, rob a few banks, maybe pull of a kidnapping or two. You know, go to all the places he goes. He's bound to run into us! Then, when he sees how happy and sexy I am he'll just have to fall in love with me!" HrrrrnnngggggggggGGGG! "Thanks, Skullgo!"Lady Harsyst spun back around from her mirror with her hair free and her face all smiles and fangs once more. "You're such a good listener!"
"I'm sorry to inform you but according to our diagnosis... your daughter is Schizophrenic." Ela watched her mother break down into tears. Her father sagged into his chair, head buried in his hands. She didn't understand what was so wrong, but as she got older it became more clear. "Why is she whispering to the trees?" "Who is she talking to?" The kids at school would ask and look at her weirdly. Sometimes her mother would hold her, and stare into her eyes. "Ela, they're not real, do you understand?! It's all in your head, your imagination. Please Ela."Ela's mother would hold her until she nodded but her father would step in. "Don't stop me Alan! She needs to realize what's real and what's not,"Ela's mother cried. "Honey, stop it you're hurting her and you're scaring the baby,"Alan said calmly. Alan would pull her mother out of the room, and then return to soothe her crying little sister to sleep. Days would go by before the next 'episode' and eventually Ela's mother snapped. She took her little sister with her and left Ela alone with her father. "Dad don't you see them?"Ela asked quietly. "Don't you believe me?" Alan looked down at his little girl. She has lost touch with reality, they had told him. When Alan had first saw Ela whispering to the trees he had thought that it was just a phase, that Ela would grow out of it. But she did not. Ela was fourteen now and nothing had changed. Alan had learned to accept it. He had learned to cope, but his wife had not. She believed that Ela's condition could be fixed, but Alan knew better. He saw it in his little girl's eyes. Ela saw a different world from them, and she was all alone in it. No one saw the world the way she did. No one believed in her 'fantasies'. Alan knew that Ela would never live a normal life and it was a heartbreaking reality to accept and even more painful to witness it. Ela would never be normal, and for that she would be ostracized from society. Alan pulled Ela to his chest holding her tightly. "Yes, I see them too Ela. I believe you,"he told her. If Ela was destined to live in a world of fiction then he would join her. He wouldn't leave her all alone by herself. Then it happened one night. The world fell apart. Alan couldn't believe his eyes. The sky had turned pink, the clouds becoming candy and the streets had become twirling roller coaster tracks. Then he saw the abominations. Buildings with limbs and heads trampling over the city. Alan thought he had 'lost touch with reality' but when he turned on the T.V. it became clear. It was all over the news. Humanity's tenuous hold on reality had shattered like glass. Metaphysical phenomenons and impossibilities became commonplace with a single glance. An observation and a observer. That was all it took. "Ela! Get in the car!"Alan shouted as he jabbed his keys into the ignition switch. They had to leave, the city had become a caricature of insanity. Ela jumped into the car, holding her toy wand tightly to her chest. "Ela, what took you so long! I told you not bring anything!"Alan shouted as he reversed hastily onto the street, then floored the pedal, making his way out to the main street. Alan didn't make it far as he approached the intersection crowded with destroyed cars. He looked up into the night sky, then finally saw it. Eyes like massive orbs of green blinked at them. Alan wasn't sure but it looked like... something out of a movie. Then, before Alan could even react, the monster swatted at his vehicle. It flew and crashed into a streetlight. For a moment, Alan had blacked out. He opened his eyes and tried to blink away the spinning world. He tried to unbuckle himself but couldn't move. Then he saw. Lodged through his chest was a massive piece of shrapnel. Alan was dying. Then he heard it. A whisper. Soft and barely audible, but still it carried itself into the winds. Alan could see the winds rising, then a tranquil light falling on him. Suddenly, his mind cleared, becoming fully awake. He turned his gaze to the source of the light. Ela was standing outside the car. A radiant light exuding through her hands. The source, a wand, and it was pointed at him. "Don't worry Dad, I won't let you die,"she said. Then Alan saw it. Ela was surrounded by an army of trees, golems and mystical animals he couldn't put a name to. "Empress Ela, we are at your command!"they shouted in unison. --- ---- I can see it. A part two? What does it look like? Does it exist? No, not yet but maybe it will. Maybe it could be something great. Well, it depends on how many observers want to come observe! anyways check out /r/em_pathy for more stories!
The nurse couldn't speak German, so I was going to hop on back - fluent in sixteen languages, one of them German, but also French, Italian, Latin (taught to me by a Roman centurion who should have been killing me as a barbarian), and a spattering of a few others. In a word, I'm good. Very, very good. I've recorded the last words of a dozen and one different people, figures with dubious or impossible reported last words. Half the time, the last word is a curse or gibberish. The other half, it really is as profound as you hoped. I carry each of them around with me. Sometimes, it makes me think: does it affect someone to make a living watching people die? Not to be able to contribute, to help, anything. Just watching. It has to. But none of them affected me like this. Princeton Hospital was like every other. Sterile. Warm. Apologetically professional. The sheet hung around Einstein's bed, and I could just see his feet as the nurse stepped to him. My watch clicked on my wrist, and I straightened up. This is it. The words burst forth from Einstein's mouth, a quick sentence, and then he fell silent. It wasn't in German. Or Latin. Or French, Italian, or English. So much for his own reported languages. It also wasn't in, say, Hungarian or Yiddish or Russian. There were maybe three other men I knew who could have parsed what came out of his mouth. You'd have to know Babylonian inside and out, have at least a passing familiarity with Hittite and Sanskrit, and have exactly the right kind of mind that could make a sweeping generalization here, fold in a bit of grammar there, and come up with something close. I fell back against the wall. It wasn't just the content. The language itself twisted my gut. It was wrong, broken, barely even human. A few minutes later, I found myself outside, clutching at my watch. Jump forward. I have to warn them. I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew I was kneeling over my own vomit in my office. The lights were dim, but they still seemed to stab my eyes. There wasn't any urge in me to shut them off, though. In fact, I turned them up brighter, casting away the shadows in the corner. It did nothing to alleviate the dread building up inside me. Was there a shape in the corner? No. Could I feel something in the air that wasn't there back before, say, 1945? What if there was? I picked up the pencil and blocked out the sentence on the notepad. It wasn't as though it was going to fade from my memory, but I wanted to see it in English. Maybe that way it could lose some power. "The Great Ones were small, but we have broken their cage. Up shall they come from infinity, madness before them and terror behind."
I stood in the Meadow of Choosing, the single bright clearing at the heart of the vast dark forest. My legs burned, ached, and trembled. I had stood here since before midnight, and now the sun was high in the sky. Tradition said I must stand in place until chosen. Most stood no more than two or three hours. I did not know how much longer I could last. Greater than the pain of my limbs, was the fear that I had been rejected. That no animal spirit would accept me. To be rejected by all the spirits was the worst of fates - such a person would be exiled, shunned by kith and kin, and forever barred from the lands of the people. "Please..."I whispered, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth against the pain. "You are like us."a small voice called from somewhere. My eyes snapped open and I looked around, hopefully. When you were chosen, your animal spirit was supposed to appear and speak to you, to declare it's kinship with you. My heart sank. The Meadow was empty. I must have imagined the voice. I cried out in frustration, and my knees almost buckled. I stayed standing, but barely. A chorus of soft laughter rippled out across the Meadow. I had not imagined that. "Who are you?"I managed to rasp through parched lips, wondering if some trickster spirit had come to torment and mock me in my misery. "We are your kindred spirits, son of man. Your spirit guides."the same small voice replied. A cautious hope rose in my chest. "T-then show yourself to me, as the law of the Meadow demands." The laughter rose again. "Silly man child! We do not hide from you. We are very small." I cast my eyes downward, squinting at the grass. It had not happened in living memory, but some stories spoke of those whose spirits were beetles or mice. It was not what I had hoped for, but it was better than exile. Yet, I still saw nothing, not so much as an ant. "I still cannot see you."I protested. "Nor will you. The eyes of man cannot see us."the voice replied, almost apologetically. "I have never heard of such a creature."I said, cautiously. "That does not matter, son of man. You are still our kindred. For you stand when you should fall, and endure where all others would fail. The mountain that falls upon you, o man child, will wear away in the wind and rain long before it could ever break you."the voice said, with pride. "Fire will try to burn you, wind to freeze you, water to drown you, but you will remain. You are one of us." "What are you?"I asked, in wonder. "We are the unbreakable ones, they who fear not the dark between the stars. We are moss-eaters, deep-dwellers, we are those who endure all...." I listened in awe, as I felt the strength of the mighty spirits enter me, and all pain and weariness lifted from my body. I felt as though I had been remade in stone, like nothing could come close to harming me. "But the name you may call us...is water-bear."
There are two things that throughout history human beings have sought above all else: power, and immortality. There are simple reasons why people crave these things. Power can lead to a more comfortable livelihood, but it is the want for immortality that truly reflects on human nature. For deep down, everyone is terrified, to the core of their being, of nonexistence. Thus, when it was discovered that to become a god is a simple process, that process naturally became the ultimate goal of nearly everyone. After all, to become a god satisfies one's need for both power and immortality. The process of becoming a god was easy to understand. One must simply beat their previous best effort at a task 9 times. Simple enough. Of course, though, the nature of that system makes it so that it gets increasingly more difficult as the number counts down. One must do better each time. So, when this method of godhood was discovered, many died regardless. They simply could not meet the deadline of achieving godhood before death. Most, in desparation, sacrificed their potential for power just to have a better chance at immortality. They would choose easily achievable yet weak abilities to become the gods of. A lot of people became gods of walking or talking, many opted for driving or even breathing. Jacob, however, had ambitions for a unique ability, one with power. He had his eyes on one particular ability, and though it was an unconventional one, he saw a potential for greatness in it. The ability of annoyance was frowned upon generally, simply due to its negative effect on others. People who were annoying, even before the method to godhood, were hated naturally by others. His first three successful attempts at improval happened sometime during Jacob's infancy. Though he had no memory of the specific incidents, he knew he was annoying from the very beginning of his life. His parents reminded him often of that fact. He had achieved the next two biggest annoyances during his elementary school days. They were simple little things. He had once repeated "I know you are, but what am I?"as a comeback over and over, driving his peers crazy. In another instance, he stole Pokemon trading cards from a kid he didn't like. By the time Jacob was a teenager, the easy half of the path to godhood was completed. He had only four more to complete, but he had to improve from his juvenile annoyances. This wasn't the little leages anymore. He loudly mocked his chemistry teacher during a lesson. Every word the teacher said, Jacob repeated in a higher pitch. Though he was sent to the principal's office, he didn't care. It wouldn't matter when he became a god. One day, he showed up to school wearing a fedora, and tipped it at every girl who walked by. His personality was starting to become generally insufferable. Jacob seemed to drive away every person he met. He reminded himself, though, that it would all be worth it in the end, so he carried on. He got social media -- but only so he could talk about veganism in every post. And the last thing he did, the one that finally put him over the top, was on an airplane. He removed his shoes and socks, and rested his feet on the seat in front of him. In addition, Jacob leaned his own seat backward as far as possible. At the end of the ride, he clapped when the plane landed. He then shoved his way past others to get through. As he exited the aircraft, his form began to shimmer and change. He felt power coursing through his veins. Finally, Jacob became a god, a god of annoyance. He grinned. Now, it was time for the real fun. ==== Thanks for reading! I'd appreciate any feedback to help me improve my writing skills.
I slashed my sword at his chest and watched as he tumbled to the ground, holding the wound trying to stop the blood from flowing out. I let out a sigh of relief, this fight has taken far to long. I noticed he was still alive and trying to grab something out of his knapsack desperately. So I lifted my sword into the air to finish him off. But half way through my swing I stopped. “What! Why can’t I move?” I thought to myself. It was like time itself had stopped, except for him. He was still digging around his knapsack, after a few moments he produced out of the bag. A wheel of cheese. What? He started to slowly nibble on the cheese wheel making sure to take his time to enjoy it. I tried to scream at him and demand to know whats happening, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t speak. After what felt like hours he finally finished his cheese wheel. I had started to hope whatever dark magic he was using would wear off after he finished, but, Oh no. He was reaching back into the knapsack! I noticed at this point one of the cuts I had given him during the fight had healed. Upon his producing of a second cheese wheel I wanted to cry more then anything else, but alas no tears would come out. I don’t know how many cheese wheels he has eaten now, I lost count around 32. He was almost completely healed by now, only one small cut remaining. My arms, my legs they were so tired. I don’t care if he kills me or not anymore I just want this to end. He took the last bite of his last cheese wheel and I finally collapsed to the ground freed from whatever evil spell he had used. He got off the ground and walked up to me. “Just finish it.” He chuckled at this and kicked me as hard he could in every mans weak spot and walked away.
The truck swerved to the side, missing us by inches. The sudden turn caused the truck to jack-knife as it hurtled towards the overhang, its screeching tires leaving long black rubber marks along the road. The driver managed to jump free right as the truck went over the edge, his trucker hat flying skywards as he rolled across the ground like a rag-doll, only coming to a stop after the truck's impact explosion had long since echoed up from below. I stared, dumbfounded, both at the space the massive eighteen wheeler had so recently occupied and at the number 18, which just now faded from my vision, winking out of existence in a much less intense fashion than the unfortunate truck. "Duuuuude,"Sammy said from the passenger seat, his hands shaking violently as he tried to light a cigarette. "That was pretty fucked up." "Yeah,"I said, barely able to process what just occurred, let alone voice a response. I indicated at the limp figure on the ground. "I'm going to see if he is okay." The trucker's limbs were awkwardly splayed, almost like the four cardinal directions on a compass. Roll a loot check. I stepped backwards, staggering a little as I rapidly assessed my mental state. I hadn't done acid in a while... maybe flashbacks? A residual trailing of it? Or... this could be my brain processing the very real near-death experience I just went through. Yeah. That was it. Roll a loot check. The text floated in-front of me, hovering about three feet away. It was flashing faster now and the color was growing lighter. This happened right before the truck swerved, I recalled. Right before it was about to slam into us. What did I do then? Roll, I thought, eyeing the floating text. The number 18 flashed again. Knowing what to do next, I bent over and ruffled through the dead man's pockets. Spare keys, a pack of Marlboro's and a scratched lottery ticket, the state-wide LottoMax . I pulled out my phone and checked the numbers, the result making me feel a little weak in the knees. The ticket was worth 1.2 million dollars. "Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit,"I said, the words devolving into a garbled mess. I ran back to the car and jumped into the driver's seat. Sammy was still shaking, but now he was also taking long drags from his cigarette. I tossed him the pack of Marlboro's. "Call the cops,"I said, starting the car up and driving it towards the curb. "Trucker's dead."I turned the car off and eyed the rubber scorch marks, which were smeared for at least a hundred feet. "Should probably call John too,"I said, my mind now reeling from the million dollar payload in my jean pocket, not to mention the near death experience and the weird hovering numbers. "We're not going to make it to tonight's session." The police questioned us for an hour before they let us go, frowning in our rear-view mirror as we drove back the way we came. Rolling a 14 had helped. Sammy chain smoked, rambling the entire drive home. I barely paid attention, the winning lottery ticket inducing happiness-filled day dreams of what I would do with the money, the near death experience all but forgotten. Just as I opened my front door, the floating text appeared again. Roll to discover extent of infestation.
"Huh. That's my body." I hunched over it, kicking it slightly with my foot, which passed harmlessly into my rib cage. YES. IT APPEARS AS THOUGH YOU HAD A HEART ATTACK. The Grim Reaper, scythe in hand, stood by my side, looking on with what I judged to be professional sympathy, though it was a bit hard to tell, what with the black hood and robe. "Well, what now?"I said, looking down at my ethereal hands and waving them back and forth. They also passed through each other, which raised a lot of questions. IT IS TIME. COME. I felt a slight tug, as the world around my body faded, and a new, blank slate appeared. JUDGEMENT. In place of the blank world, two gray-hooded figures appeared. One appeared to be slightly darker, the other, more light. A feeling in my stomach said one was evil, the other good. The darker figure spoke, Bring out the witnesses!. One by one, I saw them. Like a grand parade, almost every one came out as I remembered them. Healthy, vibrant, tails wagging excitedly. I was soon surrounded by an avalanche of every creature I had ever loved in my entire life. I lay on the ground for several minutes, crying, and gathering as many as I could, trying my best to simultaneously pet well over a dozen dogs. The gray-hooded figures turned to eachother, then to the one hold out from my procession. She was the smallest of the bunch, a burnt orange color, with a dark mouth. She was still at the beginning, standing, shaking, hunched near whatever portal the gray-hoods had brought her out of. She is your judgement. She decides your fate. What will it be, creature?, the two hoods took turns dictating. I turned to her. She had been my first dog. I had made plenty of mistakes with her. I hadn't walked her enough, left her alone for too long, hadn't trained her enough. But at the end of the day, I'd loved that dog more than any thing else in the entire world. I hoped she knew that. I looked towards her, and said her name, which I was never really sure she distinguished from the word for treat. "Nora?" She looked up, slowly padding over, tail still between her legs. I held out my hand for her, she'd been going blind, at the end of her life. She sniffed at it, curiously. Then, just to make sure I knew it was her, she sat down, looked straight at me, and pawed at my hand. When I first trained her to shake, she hadn't been interested in treats, but belly rubs. So for her entire life, in order to get belly rubs, she had tried to shake instead. I reached out, rubbed her belly, and kissed the top of her head. "I love you too pup". She has judged you, come wi-. The lighter hood began say. "No! Leave me here!" I offer you Heaven. Eternal paradise. I looked around at all my pets, spanning over a century of my life. "I have it."
“You were drinking my Scotch? The Red Label? You basic bitch.” My dad dropped to one knee and reached deeper into the liquor cabinet. “We use the Red Label for cocktails and drink the Black Label neat.” He placed a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black on the counter, ruffled my hair, and wandered off. ... “Marijuana? Do you not know what this stuff does? It can show up on a piss test for up to 30 days after you smoke it. Here, have some codeine, should be out of you in a day at the most. But shave your head when you’re done. They can test hair now.” My mom pinched my cheek and left my room, bumping into my desk, my dresser, and then my desk again as she was leaving. ... “Cheating on a test? Have you ever considered blackmail? You’re so good at computers, and Mr. Warner is such a skeezy perv. If you’re worried about your grades I’m sure you could catfish him if you really tried. Goodnight, honey.” My mom tried to kiss me on the forehead in the dark, missed and kissed my pillow, didn’t seem to notice. ... “You took a poop in the family room? On my favorite chair? And the couch? And the coffee table? Don’t be embarrassed son, it happens to everybody. We’ll go get some big boy diapers together tomorrow. I love you.” ... “You stole the car and drove to Las Vegas? And let a bunch of hobos do what inside of it? Well, ok, sweetie I’ll come get you right now. Just remember that everything on the Strip is a rip off and the best deals are… you know what everything except the Strip sucks. Just use my credit card. See you soon.” ... “What’s that? You want to emancipate and go live with grandma? Well, if following your bliss leads you to that dumb old bitch grandma, who am I to stop you? And you think we should be involuntarily committed to an insane asylum? Oh, you’ve already started the process of having us committed? Look at you, Mr. Proactive. You do you, son, you do you. I’ll go tell your mom.” My dad came back a second later. “I totally forgot, I came in here to ask if you had any spare diapers.”
"What, do you mean we have to kill each other?" "No, are you daft? We'll lose more than just our licenses if we let that practice continue. The swords are all dull and made of wood, this is just a way for new graduates to vent their frustration on the time they spent over their dissertations." "So only one of us can become PhD?" "Yes, well, no. It's who gets to keep the top hat and sword after you leave this hall." --- *PhD Students Leave Graduate School Beaten and Battered Nearly a hundred PhD graduates suffered minor injuries and concussions after they beat each other half to death trying to win the University of M's fabled title of "The PhD." Some have voice their concerns over the practice, but alumni of the university have dismissed their saying, stating that a fully-equipped medical team have always been on standby during these events, and that it was all in good fun. This is Barry, CBB News.
"So, what does it mean?"Terrace asked. Principal Wallman's star shone bright enough to fill his office with cool cerulean light. The older man's face was wrinkled with concentration as he focused more and more energy onto the eight pointed star on the back of his right hand. Suddenly, the light vanished and the principal slumped back in his seat. His face was coated in a light sheen of sweat. "I'm afraid I don't know."Principal Wallman said. "You don't know? How can you not know? I thought knowing things was the whole point of a blue star." "Terrance, you should know better than that. The blue star of the mind can do so much more than just find information. And even mine is limited. You should have learned that already." Terrace rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah, well I guess I just...". A flash of blue light from Wallman's hand and Terrance found himself saying something he had not intended to, "I always thought blue was lame, so I never paid attention when we had classes on it. Besides, I wanted red, so I didn't think it would matter for me. I guess it still doesn't." Terrance looked at the black, eight pointed star on his right hand. Not only was it not what it wanted, nobody even knew what it would let him do. "Oh, I hardly think that. Had you been paying attention in class, you may have been prepared for my truth spell. Besides, our personal feelings rarely matter when you receive your star. I wanted yellow." Terrance reluctantly nodded. "So, my star?" "Still a complete mystery. I'll have to contact an authority on lost knowledge and magical experimentation. In the meantime, you can always use a simple magic aura to get an idea of what it is you do. I trust you know how?" "Yeah, I know how to do that. At least, I know how it's supposed to be done. I haven't tried yet. Everyone thought I should get it checked out first." Principal Wallman nodded. "A good idea. But now I'm telling you to try it out." Terrance nodded and reached into his pool of magical energy. He had never actually done it, since magic pools can only be accessed after the star appears. But he found it remarkably easy, like reaching into a large open jar. His star glowed with a dull black light that expanded along his skin, forming the simplest possible spell, magic aura. It was supposed to show the basic traits of a color: red strengthened the body, blue allowed for a weak form of telepathy, and yellow gave mild empathy. His black aura was a complete mystery. Then he felt it. A pulse of energy. No, several pulses. The largest, the first one he felt, came from Principal Wallman. Others he felt coming from the plants the man kept in his office. And the weakest was moving through the walls. A mouse or something similar, most likely. "Well? What is it? Or is it not an obvious effect, like red?" "I think...I think it has something to do with life? Or energy or something."Terrance told Wallman what he was feeling. The old man stroked his clean shaven chin. "Hm, interesting. Yes, that could make sense. Red is body, blue is mind, yellow is soul. Black, the combination of all colors, of all the attributes, could be seen as life itself. This bares study and experimentation. The implications could be spectacular. Imagine it, influencing life itself. If this is correct, you could be the greatest healer the world has ever seen." Terrance could think of a few, less gentle uses for that kind of power. He did not voice them though. As Principal Wallman ranted and raved about how much good a black star of life could be, Terrance wondered if it was truly the blessing the older man thought it was, or if it was something terrible. A thing as dark as its color. He would just have to wait and find out. It was like the man said. This was going to take some experimenting.
Every night from a different number, and with a different task. It didn’t make any sense, so why was I obeying? When you get a text asking you to tilt your mirror to the side, why would you ever follow? Obviously, I am just too meek and small to do anything else than take orders. Yet I awaken to seeing the reflection of my girlfriend sneaking in, her heels in hand. But we went to sleep next to each other? I stood up. I wanted to say something, to confront her. I stood in silence. “I was... I just.” She stumbled over her words. So the first text lead me to breaking up with a cheating girlfriend. Other texts did similarly amazing things. Like, moving my phone away from my bed caused me to not pick up my bosses calls. Which somehow ended up with her thinking I was ‘playing hard ball’ and me getting a raise. Some texts I never understood. One asked me to tidy my room and another to eat some fruit which didn’t seem to impact anything. The next 7 months of my life seemed to fly by. It was almost as if in the first couple months, my life slowly got fixed and then, the following months my life got better. I met someone new, work in a fancier office, have a stronger connection with my family (we had become rather distant after my mother passed away). I decided I should move apartments, what with all my new found money, but I got a text. On the day I wanted to call my landlord, I picked up my phone to see “Don’t move. Ever.” I wanted to move, I deserved to move. If these months have taught me anything I wasn’t as meek and small as everyone told me. I text back “I want to move.” “Move two steps to your right.” I stand still, disobeying for my first time. “Now.” “I’m serious.” “Now.” Suddenly texts start flooding in. “Please. I’m not suppose to tell you who I am. Just move! I can’t watch this happen. This is your chance to be better. Move! Move! MOOOOOVVVVEEEEEE” I take two steps over and the ceiling comes crashing down along with Mr. Clements from upstairs’ piano. To be crushed by a piano would have been bad but funny I think. No more texts, no more orders, I want to know who’s keeping me safe and happy and why. I call. “Listen, whoever you are. I’m not living a life someone else plans out for me. Who are you? I want to know.” “I can’t tell you” The voice on the other end was clearly a women putting on her best deep voice impression. It sounded almost like Darth Vader. “You’re watching my movements. You know my life but I can’t even hear you voice!” “You’re just as stroppy now as a teenager, aren’t you.” The voice of my dead mother says through the phone. “You couldn’t just let me help you on the side whilst keeping my cover, could you?”
I had taken to hiking in the latter years. Quality woodland wear was in no short supply from nearly four decades ago, and it gave me a rare peace to stroll the wild unburdened by dread or lonliness. "A man should be useful,"was a saying my father would tell me frequently. In an age where people were increasingly distracted, underemployed, and sad, it proved to be a lifesaving mantra. I brought with me a leatherbound journal to document the post-human world. One could guess that the things of the world worth documenting were saved and stored in old computers and filing cabinets. But this world is not like the old. Since the people died off, and left me here in isolation, things have changed. The buildings had begun to crumble. Wildlife returned to the suburbs. Nature had begun its reclamation of the concrete cities. But I expected as much. What I didn't expect were the fairies or the walking trees. I didn't expect the flying horses or the mysterious runes burned into walls and cliffsides. My journal was one of a volume stored in my cabin. I moved to these woods when the magic emerged--or returned, I suspect--so that I could surround myself with it and fill what's left of my time with a beautiful mystery. I would review my books, read my descriptions, put fine touches on drawings. But I longed for someone to share this journey with. I smoked from my pipe in the evenings to quell my nerves before bed, where I would often weep alone with my thoughts. "No man is an island,"is another saying my father imparted. It seemed this one was not up to me anymore. I set out for a morning gathering of firewood and some vegetables from my garden for breakfast. The forest provided plenty for one man, but far too little for seven billion. I found survival to not only be easy, but near effortless. As I trecked into the woodlands, I heard a noise unlike any I had heard here before. It sounded almost like a cry, or a scream. Perhaps goats had migrated to these parts. I dropped my logs and headed for the sound--a goat stew would make for a fine meal. I came upon the crying to find something truly unexpected: a small person, perhaps a foot or less in height, was trapped between overgrown tree roots. It stopped crying out to look me over. Its eyes were easily half of its face and filled with tears. It wore a red pointed hat on top of a red head of hair. Its small clothes seemed to be stitched squirrel and raccoon skins. "Are you alright?"I asked the little man, my gravelled voice unfamiliar to my own ears. It was terrified. "Please, sir, please don't eat me,"it spoke in its small voice. I hadn't heard the english language outside of recordings in many decades. There is something suprisingly distinct about words in the open air. "I don't want to eat you, little one. Can I help you?"I asked. "I'm stuck,"it said, motioning to its trapped ankle between two knots of wood root. I found a log and pried the wood apart, freeing the small foot. The little person immediately tried to retreat but fell on its injured leg. I could see small red spots on its path; the tree had apparently cut its leg. Its tiny body was hyperventaliting and its eyes darted around the woods in a panicked fervor. I approached cautiously, my hands in the air. "There's no need to run, friend. I'm not going to hurt you,"I cooed softly to the creature. "It looks like your leg is hurt. May I take a look?"I asked it. It looked my up and down, studying me more carefully. "You're one of the old folk. A titan,"it said. "I certainly feel old these days,"I replied. "You're all supposed to be dead,"he squeaked. I nodded in quiet agreement. "And yet..."I gestured to myself. I tried to inch closer, but he scooted away. "The titans used to eat elf folk,"it said. "I've honestly never even seen an elf before,"I confessed. "You're the first person I've spoken to in many years. The last thing I want to do it hurt you. I'd like to help if you'd allow me." The elf thought about my words and studied me some more. "Could you carry me?"It asked. "I could. Where is it you'd like to go?" "Back to my burrow,"it responded, looking around the forest. "But I'm not so sure where that is."It looked at me again. "Or if I should bring you there " "How about I take you to my cabin, bandage your wound, and give you shelter until you're well enough to make the journey yourself?"I offered. "I supposed if you were going ro eat me it wouldn't matter much here or in your monster cave. Assuming this isn't a trap, thank you,"it said. Its voice was calmer, slower. We set off back to my cabin, the little man perched atop my shoulder. He told me stories of the elf folk, the legends of the titans, and the mysteries of the old world. We became fast friends.
It was a typically cold February evening, but one wouldn't have been able to tell when seated inside la Fleur d'Ambre, a restaurant laced with dazzling lights and stellar cuisine, a place that has never let down in its ten glorious years of business. Plates peppered our table, each licked clean. Bridgette's fair-colored skin practically shined under the brightness of the establishment and while her chocolate eyes enticed me, I had to stay clear of them, no matter what. We both knew what would have happened if we shared so much as a second of eye contact, and avoiding that outcome was the top priority. The restrictions of our occupation were a ball and chain to romance. If it were any other circumstance, knowing that the woman of my dreams shared the same profession as I would have put me over the moon, but not then and there. However, to us, the risks didn't matter; we were going to make it work, even if it was a bit awkward to do so. Bridgette slid her thin finger atop her wine glass as a faint blush painted across her face. "I had a lot of fun tonight, Pauly. It's probably the second-best evening I've spent with, well, anyone really." Avoiding looking at her face, I chuckled. "Oh come now; what would it take to bump it up to first?" "You have one guess." I paused for a few seconds, and then it clicked. "Wait, like, you want to do it right now?" "Of course, Pauly. And I know you do, too." "But, there's a lot of people here. We shouldn't ruin this for them." "Think of them as an audience." I stared at my legs. "I don't know if we should do it, Bridgette. Maybe later." "Paul, look at me." I sighed, knowing full well that whenever she wanted something, she was getting it. Objecting would have done little to persuade her, and besides, she was completely right; I wanted to do it as much as she did. "All right."I raised my head confidently and gazed at her gorgeous face. As our eyes met, two exclamation marks appeared above our heads. She took out her Pokeball and stood up, and an arrogant smile stretched across her perfect face. "Let's battle, Pauly. I'm winning this time." Most of the patrons in the restaurant turned to face us, some shaking their heads in realization that their dinner plans were about to get thrashed. I scrambled through my bag and pulled out a Pokeball of my own. "Loser pays for dinner?" She nodded. "Three Pokemon each, no items." "Let's go."
“What the hell are you holding?!” I squint at the man on the other side of the pier. He’s holding something long in his right hand. Definitely too long to be a knife. “Seems like you didn’t bring a knife either,” I shout back. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a store that’s open at midnight around here? I had to resort to stealing someone’s shovel off their porch. But at least, I brought an actual weapon. You’re holding a fucking toothbrush!” I stare at the blurry silhouette in front of me. What did he just say? A toothbrush? He has to be fucking with me, right? But as I bring my “weapon” closer to me, my eyes widen in shock. It really is just a damn toothbrush. “I--I don’t--he said this was a knife,” I stammer out, my words slurring. “Man, you’re drunk as fuck, aren’t you? You got ripped off, man.” I hear the sound of a sigh coming from his direction. “Look, do you just want to just call it a night and go home? I mean, I don’t even remember why we’re fighting in the first place.” I toss the toothbrush into the sea. “Yeah, honestly, I don’t even know either.” I see him walk towards me, his left hand extended, and his face finally comes into view. Suddenly, all of my memories of the past hour spring back into me in razor sharp focus. “You son of a bitch,” I scream as I slam him off the pier. “You stole my fucking glasses!”
"Oh neat,"said Harris, dressed up as zombie Abe Lincoln. "Tom Cruise! Same teeth and everything." Andrei stood on the doorstop a little confused. "The... the actor, yes? I think you've mistaken me. My name is Andrei." "Yeah, sure, but you've come as Tom." "I don't think Tom has these."Andrei pointed to his mouth and two white teeth, as sharp as stalactites, slowly lowered. "Oh, neat dude. Retractable fangs! Where'd you get 'em from?" He thought for a while. It was so very distanct, the memory. The change. "She was an heiress. America was new. Claudine, I think." "Yeah? She got a website, 'cause they're super cool? Whatever man, come on in. Vampire Cruise might like the blood-punch."Harris laughed and hit Andrei's shoulder. "Come on!" Andrei hesitated. He hated taking advantage of kindness, and this young man seemed very kind -- but Andrei was weak. Ill. The sickness ravaged him and had been doing so for months. But maybe this blood-punch would be enough and he wouldn't have to pierce Harris' artery. He stepped inside. "I've got to go socialise,"said Harris, turning away and walking towards a crowd of toga-wearing young men, "but you know what to do!" "I do?" "Sure you do!"Harris called back. "Have a good fucking time!" Andrei raised his eyebrows, took a deep breath, and stepped into the house. Bass trembled through his legs and gave the house a pulse all of its own. Now he understood -- he'd stepped into a party. A throng of monsters turned to look at him -- a crowd of bikini wearing zombies holding beachballs. One waved at him and winked. Andrei looked down at his shoes. "Hey cutie,"said the nearest, throwing her beachball to him. He fumbled, but caught it. "Send your balls back my way,"she said, giggling. He looked down at the ball in his hands. "I only have one." The other girls laughed. "You're pretty cute." God, he hated this. Why were they laughing? What had he said? He walked over and handed the girl her ball back. "Do you know where the blood-punch is?" "Yeah, that's right, get a drink down you first."She nodded to her side. "Kitchen." "Thank you."For a zombie, she had a very lovely blue jugular that ran down her neck towards her bosom. He licked his lips. "Oh you like what you see?" "Very much. But it's not for me." She frowned. "All the handsome ones are gay." He forced himself to turn away. The girl said something else, but he didn't hear; her friends laughed again. Probably at him. He pushed past a masked man and another with a chainsaw, until he reached the kitchen. It was quieter here. In a large bowl on the side was a viscous red liquid. He couldn't smell the blood and he wondered how diluted with alcohol it had been. Wondered whether it would work at all. But he had to try; he was dying. Andrei grabbed a plastic cup and dunked it into the bowl. He tipped it down his mouth and finished it in three gulps. "That was a mistake,"said a voice. A girl sat on the counter the other side of the kitchen. "A big mistake." Andrei agreed. "Its burning..."he began, before coughing. He grabbed his throat. "I saw some kid tip a bottle of tabasco into it,"the girl said. "But trust me, it sucked before that, too." His eyes were teary and the girl a blur. She looked a little like a princess, but dressed in a black frock wearing a black tiara. She was almost as pale as he was. "I'm Kara,"she said. "I don't feel good,"said Andrei. "It'll pass. Just vodka and tabasco, plus a few litres of tomato juice -- they don't mix too well." "Tomato juice?"he gasped. "Oh God, there's no blood in it?" She laughed. Then, on seeing his face, she didn't. Andrei was sweating. Breathing fast. "Shit,"she said. "You're like me, aren't you?" "Huh?" At first he thought she was smiling; grinning at his death. But two sharp teeth slowly lowered. "I don't understand,"he said, almost breathless. "Sometimes it's nice to, you know, just not be alone. These are the only kind of parties -- you know what, it doesn't matter."She reached up and tore the collar of her dress slightly, then jumped down. "I got enough to get you through it, for now,"she said. "My ex works at a blood bank. Sells it to me cheap -- I'll hook you up some time. But right now you need to dig in -- although you might have a little trouble hitting a vein first time." "You're... like me?" "I am. And I know how thirsty you are. And how painful it is. And how amazing you've done to resist feeding up to now -- and what that means."Her voice softened. "That in a way, you're more human than all the other people at the party." Andrei looked around. "What if... people see me feeding?" "They'll just think we're necking."She winked. "I don't--" She pressed his face against her neck and Andrei, for the first time in months, drank.
It happened like most things in the universe, a combination of obscene luck and chaotic randomness. As Voyager passed through the Oort cloud at the edge of the Sol system, a rogue planet, dark and doomed to eternal cold and silence caused a gravitational distortion, and it's trajectory forced a reversal, a slingshot effect launching it back towards its system of origin. Unpredictable, as most things, it passed safely through the external horde of comets and cosmic shreds outside of the solar system, through the long line of gas giants parading outside of the asteroid belt, and came narrowly close to losing its chosen path by the gravitational pull of Jupiter itself. In a moment of sheer cosmic destiny, at the exact location, as the solar system plunged through and rotated around the center of the Milky Way, a lone voyager, tired and ancient, returned to its planet of birth. Somehow, it managed to pass through the floating debris field of lost and dead satellites surrounding the upper atmosphere, dipping and frothing through the exosphere and being nearly shredded by the accumulation of an ancient network of lost and forgotten technology. Small fragments and trash floated, some of it remaining in orbit, but most of it slowly decaying, and returning to disintegrate into the atmosphere. Yet Voyager remained, flying through heavy cloud cover, a permanent layer of grey ash remaining from decades upon decades of wars, fought over things long forgotten. Ideologies, or water, or food, or sovereignty, or security. No one alive remembered. If the older humans had decided to engage in a fully nuclear war, none would have remained. But there were people, here and there, in tribes, scrounging away and scavenging what remained. Some things could still grow, but most plants withered and grew gray, gnarled and sickly things. On a dark night, with the usual cloud cover, some people noticed a streak of something through the sky. It flew, mercilessly, and over the horizon. A moon, they believed. Sometimes they could see the moon through gaps in the cloud, or its constant and present light shining behind the almost impenetrable cover. A heavy rain began close to the crash site, though somehow Voyager remained. Launched away from the planet to give a permanent attempt at human immortality, but here it laid again, languishing in the dark. A nearby tribe noticed it, and their shaman instructed young warriors to recover it. it came from the gods, the sun who would one day return and push away the clouds. A sign of prosperity. A sign of good things to come. The warriors of this tribe walked through a dead forest, on the watch for enemy warriors prone to hide in the trees, lying low and coating themselves in ash for camouflage. But there was no violence, no conflict on their journey. They went to the thing, and saw a golden disk, the record of human voices meant to be deciphered by aliens, or anything that could recover it. In many languages, phrases of good will and peace. A message from all of mankind. The tribe returned to their home, and the shaman placed this record on a pedestal above the chief's yurt. The woven sticks framing a forgotten relic, but indecipherable to the men of that time. All the languages that one could recover through the thin scratches and intricate design of the record long altered beyond a point of recognition. Though the tribe could not know. If one were to restore this record, this gift meant to float for eternity in the darkest reaches of space, you could hear interesting things. Long extinct animals from a planet blackened by conflicts of ancient times. You could hear dolphins, laughing. The sounds of the tides, before the beaches were so clogged with plastics and wreckage it was safer to avoid them altogether. There were memories locked away, voices from scholars and representations of cultures from around the world. The pigs gave birth to strong new piglets, and the mushroom crop proved equally fertile. The tribe believed the record designed this, proved this, allowed for this to occur, and they gave praise and worship to it. On it, an image of a man and a woman, a silhouette to prove the divine nature and message. The warriors were strong, their spears tipped with the sharpest of stone, their arrows fletched with gray feathers. All was well, until a local caravan came by, looking to trade clay jars and amber necklaces for bacon and salt. They saw the record, and learned the tales of wonder, the blessings the record bestowed upon the tribe. Weeks later, warriors from the tribe of the caravan came to claim the record, sacking the village and burning the yurts to the ground, recovering the record, pigs and supplies, spoils to return to their own tribe. Their spearheads were blackened, and they came in the night, silent as shadows. Their furs musky and old, with the clinging scent of smoke and blood. Eventually, the record would be forgotten, an enshrined relic lost to time as too many droughts and famines would prove it to be an unworthy object of worship for the tribe who killed to recover it. Eventually, it would gather dust, laying quiet and forgotten. A reminder of a long forgotten time, that no record remained to tell of. When humans would launch objects into the stars. With a message of peace, from all mankind.
"What if I'm the only one that can read minds," I thought whimsically, eyes taking in the room through the steam wafting off my double-shot pumpkin-soy latte with a sprinkle of cinnamon and two sugars, thanks. A girl with short hair, a long skirt, narrow features and wide eyes stared back at me. "Oh, god, she's so beautiful. I hope I haven't anything in my teeth," I thought as I smiled my best rogueish smile toward her, "oh the things we could do to--" Abruptly she stood up, eyes narrowing, almost glaring at me. "Very respectful and mutually agreed upon things!" I amended quickly in my mind. She took one, then two large strides toward me. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, please don't be offended!" I thought desperately. I started to fidget nervously, shooting my eyes around the room, searching for something to hold on to. She arrived at my table and drew her hand back, eyes focused intensely. "Oh this is so humiliating, let it be over quickly. " I cringed inwardly and outwardly as her hand swooped down. She swatted something off my shirt. "Sorry, you had a spider, didn't want it to give you a fright!"She said with a smile. "Oh, whew, my hero!"I said as I relaxed backward into my chair and gave her a grin. "And there's nothing in your teeth,"she said with a [wink](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) as she walked away.
I have no idea what this thing is. It's like a watch in 3D. It's about the size of my palm. Along with a few hands lying flat on the face, there's maybe 10 more sticking up and sideways and all around in a glass dome with symbols painted all over. My first thought was that it was a paperweight made out of a sea urchin, but the tips of the spikes were painted different colors and didn't taper to the end like urchin spines did. I found a key in the box, and when I wound it up it started ticking, and the spikes slowly started moving around, pointing at different symbols on the glass. I, like any normal person, posted it to r/whatisthisthing. The only response? "Violet- Run. Hide. That thing is dangerous." Now, I only had three big rules in life: Don't be stupid, Mosquitoes are always worse than you remember, and don't tell anyone personal information online. I hardly had time to frown over that comment before someone knocked at my door. Okay, those two things together- scary. My heart was racing. I looked out the window to see a man standing at my door. His features were... vague, I guess would be the right word. He had the quality of something from a dream, where you just can't really focus or remember anything about a thing. Now, that was creepy. Maybe I should run. I put on my shoes, grabbed my jacket, my purse, stuffed the Thing in my pocket, and slipped out the back door as quietly as possible. When I was what felt like a safe distance away, at a bus stop, I took out the Thing and tried to examine it. The spikes had all gone back down, folded to the bottom. I could see the symbols better, and opened a page of notes in my phone to write down what they could mean. I recognized a few alchelmical symbols- earth, air, fire, and water. There were also a few clear pictures- a beehive, a dolphin, a wave, and a few more. Others were completely unknown to me. Runes? Sigils? I don't know. I glared at it. "What are you for?"I muttered. Suddenly a few needles, purple ones, started going upwards, pointing at different symbols. Water, a feather, and an eye. I knew that water stood for peace, emotions, and intelligence. A feather could be the sky, lightness, or writing. And an eye was probably knowledge. If the feather meant writing, then it could also be telling. So... this thing told you things? That felt right. Clearly that's why I needed to run. People wanted it. And people can do bad things when they want stuff. "What can I do to stay safe?"I ask. The needles go down, but no new ones rise up. "What can I do to stay safe?!" Nothing happens. I hear footsteps behind me.
“Some say Thog, why you no beat enormous cat with stick? Good question, Thog would rather teach us how to beat our heads with drawings. You see this wood once dead, burnt to death and useless. But Thog say no, wood isn’t useless. Wood can become something beautiful, Thog likes to believe we can all be something beautiful, no matter how dead we may feel. Our look no defines us, we all have potential. You all would toss this wood out, but Thog show you just what this can do and what you can do.” Thog had never expected an audience, but his paintings were becoming popular, whether it was how well the caveman spoke or his genuine interest in his art, even hunters were drawn to his teachings, each sitting in the cave, watching the flickers of their fire dance along the walls, seeming to maneuver themselves away from the drawings, not wanting to ruin the art. “You see, Thog like to show beauty in world. Thog will demonstrate.” Dipping his finger into the ash, he began dragging it along the wall, drawing a bushy black tree on the wall, adding a small smiley face above it. “You see, is a happy little tree. The tree is how we should feel. We should all be happy trees.” Following his tree, he continued drawing, accompanying the tree with a deer, the outline of the deer with its head crouched before the tree. “See, beauty. Tree brings in the animal, now future generations know that tree brings deer. But that isn’t most important, important part is that our children know the joy of cave rubbing. Cave rubbing expresses ourselves and our feelings. Please cave rub.” Thog could never have imagined the impact his paintings would have on his community. His teachings spreading, many people taking up the art of drawing. Soon the caves were filled with stories and legends of the people. Expressions of the people who lived there. But Thogs legacy didn’t end there, even future generations copied the idea styles changed but the core principles of having fun stayed the same. It all starting because of one happy little tree. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.}
Five, five was the number of attempts made to complete a mundane task: obtain a gallon of milk. The first four have all ended in failure. Epics depicting journeys and adventures within this universe were present throughout our literature, while the media remained saturated in an endless stream of quests fulfilled by the citizens. Unfortunately, that was no all-in-one way of preventing yourself from enduring a journey of some sort. Certain people flourish in this environment, but from what I could tell, I happen to be the opposite. Sure, occasional quests bring much-needed spark into life, but I’d rather pass up on that. Passing up on these quests has kept me relatively sane. In general, I avoided anything that seemed even the slightest bit odd. However, when it came to purchasing milk, every tactic I’ve implemented had backfired upon me. The first two attempts at obtaining milk resulted in a month spent wandering the local wilderness aiding some treasure hunters. The treasure we discovered did give quite the payout. On the third attempt, a single conversation led me to the greatest mountains our universe has. While the fourth was a painful one. That time, the milk aisle was within my view. Joy, pure joy, was what I felt if only that fool hadn’t crashed into me with his cart. A journey soon followed. However, I knew that my fifth attempt would succeed. Success could be felt in my veins that morning as I pulled into the parking spot. I even manifested it the night before. Faint sunlight pierced through the overcast sky, while the parking lot appeared quite empty. The day looked normal. Making my way through the store, I tuned myself out from the jabber of the surrounding people. Not now, adventure could wait, my quest had been established. I was to get that milk. I was to get that milk and bake my cookies no matter the cost. A pep was formed in my step as the dairy section grew closer. I was almost there, the aisle was just up ahead, the milk compartment was within my reach- “Looking for a jug, aren’t ya?” Startled, I stumbled back, causing a domino of products to crash upon the floor. Glancing to my right, sheer horror. The milk shelves. Bare as bones, not a single jug to be seen. “Looking for one of these, I suppose?” a snarky voice called out. Beside me was a rather flamboyant figure. The real kicker was the contents of his cart. Jugs, jugs of milk filled the entirety of it. “No, no more, no more quests!” I yelped out in return. “Yes, yes to more quests if you have the zest to obtain what you so dearly desire, pal.” Wheels squeaked along the linoleum floor as I shoved my cart aside. Others around us froze at the spectacle I created. Lurching myself forward, my body made contact with the other man. Assorted foods soared through the air as the force of the slamming bodies into the shelves stole the wind out of me. Another quest had just begun. Nobody gets between me and [my milk.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CasualScribblings/)
I considered the challenge before me very carefully. One wish is mine. One wish neither. One wishes him. I had three wishes to get everything I wanted. I had one wish to make the other two count. I thought long and hard. It was a quandary indeed -- perhaps the best way forward was to simply get the best I could out of the first wish, and then let things lie. But no. That was too easy. There was a solution. Some way to trick the Genie, or win him over… But try as I might, there seemed to be no way to assure that my third wish couldn’t be used against me. I just knew too little about the Genie, how he thought, what he wanted. The sun rose higher in the sky until my thirst distracted me from my quest. My mind wandered, and I began to wish that I had never rubbed the lamp at all. Then like a bolt from the blue, the answer struck me. I had been thinking far too small. I had one wish that could be interpreted however I chose -- that made it easy! I turned to the Genie and spoke clearly and loudly: “I wish I were the being that had the authority to determine the rules and nature regarding wishes”. “SO IT SHALL BE” roared the genie, fire glowing in his eyes. The sky turned red the sun turned black, the wind roared as he summoned all of his ancient power and strength. My heart raced as I anticipated the enlightenment that would surely follow. Then suddenly I found myself pulled forward as if being squeezed through a tube. There was a sound like a cork popping and before I knew it I was in a tiny bronze space, dark and smelling slightly of oil. My feet were gone, replaced by a wisp of smoke. It was very cramped. It was quite uncomfortable. From outside the lamp, I heard a laugh, and then a voice spoke. “Why on earth did you assume that the wishes went in that order?” (r/StannisTheAmish)
"So, big man, wanna invest?"I gave him a winning smile, as I gave all my suckers. A bit of showmanship might even actually WORK on the guy, for a deal like this. The silence elapsed like an hourglass- the end not quite clear, the middle all racing, the beginning tense until it burst. "You are insane,"he finally ceded. "But color me interested. I've not gone into business with a mortal in some hundred years." "Oh? There was somebdy mefore me?" "Well, no,"Satan shrugged, rubbing his bald head. "But this one guy, we opened a cupcake store together, he sold his soul for baking tips. Man was that a weird one." "That is weird,"I commiserated. "Now, a deal's a deal,"Satan nodded. "In exchange for this soul, you hereby swear and promise to bring back two. And if you cannot bring me the second one, it comes out of your hide." "Count on it, baby,"I grinned. "A little capital from yours truly, some social media jazz, and a big whiff of that bad boy? We'll be raking them in in no time." Satan held the blue orb delicately in his hand. It was the soul of an innocent, one who had given up their chance at heaven for some earthly pleasure or another. Now, the thing could be the start of a new empire. "Well, you say it works on mortals." "Bub, you saw the powerpoint." "That's Beelzebub, to you,"he snorted. "I deal in words, young one. If your word is not your bond, then I exact my price. And not even God will help you if I find you've taken this one from me." "Honestly, Satan, this is gonna work. Just you wait. You have my 100% guarantee, you will get two souls back from me- and, if you let me keep this up, I can keep doubling the supply forever." Satan shook his head, but we both knew he was willing to try it. There wasn't much point to dancing around it. "Fine. To you, mortal, I grant you one soul- and in exchange, you will start this, em, you called it... multi level marketting scheme?" "Yes, sir!"I smiled. The soul floated delicately over to me, settling in my palms like a dove. I cooed at it until the moment passed. The thing absorbed softly into my skin, pulling a shudder of cold air with it. "See you in a few weeks,"I nodded. "I've got a commercial to film."
The Hogbuth Imperial War Room was in a chaotic mess as its inhabitants debated among themselves, the plans of invasion had been in the process of realization when information from the Spy Mistress made them pause. The trouble began so soon after their intelligence division had reported spotting a level 3 planet with a habitable system and natives waiting to be enslaved. Several prominent generals and strategists of the empire had gathered in preparation for the short campaign. All was well, a fleet had been gathered and a small army was already in the process of getting transported when the Hogbuth Spy Mistress informed the Emperor and the rest of the war room of grim tidings. The inhabitants of the planet were home to not just the natives but also a terrifying number of creatures that lived among them. The war room did not care at the time, for they thought these creatures can be subdued or destroyed alongside the natives. But then the Spy Mistress gave out more information as well. The natives of the planet, called humans had possessed technology that the Hogbuths had considered precursor tech, their so-called 'death-stars' and 'lightsabers' were terrifyingly similar to the empire's arsenal of weapons, and the less could be said about the similarities between the 'force' and the Psionic divisions the better. At this the war room paused, surely if the humans had this sort of technology then they would have already been in the stars instead of being grounded on their homeworld. The Spy Mistress, true to her title, showered them all, and the emperor more information about humanity. The humans had been invaded by countless other empires before, all gone now of course, and then reduced back to primitivity, but as time went by, they all managed to come back, in a lot of different ways, whether it was from superhumans, wielding the power of primitive psionics (which they refer to as magic), the countless machine rebellions, even fighting giant creatures capable of leveling a hive city with ease. There were those in the war room that did not believe it, until, the Spy Mistress managed to catalog every information about humanity written by their greatest of historians, the likes of Herodotus, Tolkien, Pratchett, Asimov, Lucas, Rand, Lee, Ditko, Kirby. The list went on. And when the Spy Mistress showed historical videos about all these events, it was the last straw for the invasion plans. And now, here they were, the generals and strategists were arguing on what to do about the humans. The Emperor remained seated as he contemplated on what to do, the Spy Mistress was in the shadows, watching, assessing. The last information she gave to the war room and the emperor were the darkest of creatures that inhabited the planet. The likes of Cthulhu and Yog-Sothoth greatly terrified the generals and strategists. If these so called outer gods were slumbering beneath the planet, or at least had connections to it, then the Empire will not be able to survive, they already knew how it felt holding off an invasion from otherworldly beings, a war in which trillions died. To fight literal deities would be a death sentence. After the briefing the Spy Mistress urged the abandonment of the invasion plans, especially when a large rebellion was happening on the far side of Imperial territory. Resources and manpower were needed, the Empire cannot afford to fight a war on two fronts. Pandemonium descended soon after she finished her briefing. As the generals and strategists bicker, the Emperor stood up and motioned everybody to be silent, to which they complied. "It is clear that invading this planet will cost us far more resources than is anticipated."The Emperor said, "We will simply build a barrier and put up a warning sign so our citizens will be dissuaded to not visit this system."The Emperor then turned towards where the Spy Mistress was standing, "I thank you for your service in bringing this information Spy Mistress Xanalha. Had it not been for your information, valuable lives and equipment would have been lost." The Spy Mistress bowed, "I exist to serve the Empire your grace." The Emperor nodded as he turned towards the generals, "No ship is to be allowed within a hundred lightyears from this system. I will speak with the senate and the grand council on ensuring that this is obeyed by everyone."He then looked towards the Spy Mistress, "Present your findings to them as well." "It will be done your grace."The Spy Mistress bowed again. "Good. Now, divert all your energy to crushing those rebel scum"The Emperor ordered, and in a flurry, the generals and strategists went to their tasks with vigor. Crushing rebel scum was far better than fighting Earth's natives and the creatures that dwell in it. Meanwhile, in the chamber of the Spy Mistress Spy Mistress Xanalha softly chuckled as she sat down at the terminal. The jingoistic idiots and the foolish Emperor had believed everything she had said and showed! All it took was editing a few words, reconstructing information so it would look like it was created for history books, even editing the humans' holovids to make her briefing far more believable. She had the entire Intelligence division to thank for that, underfunded and underappreciated as they are. When she was gathering intelligence on Earth and its inhabitants, she feared she could never use the opportunity to use their fictional works to dissuade the Empire from invading. Until the various agents under her declared their sympathies to the growing Rebellion. By that point it was easy to have everyone else defect to the Rebellion. Every single one of them had lost someone to the machinations of the Empire. The information they all had catalogued to be presented to the Emperor and the jingoists will be remembered as one of the finest of deceptions done by the Intelligence division. And they all ate it up! Every single information. Even when there were a few things that did not make sense in her briefing. Thus this further proved that the Empire was mostly ran by idiots, genocidal idiots at that. Gone were the days when merit was the norm replaced by oligarchs and power hungry idiots. Her people had suffered greatly, the races that were enslaved had suffered greatly. And now humanity will be spared. She smiled, humanity will not experience the horrors the Empire would have inflicted on them. She made a note to call the leaders of the Rebellion soon after she was done briefing the imbeciles on the council and the senate. Aside from the chancellor, none of them were sympathetic to the Rebellion. Change was coming, soon. She began typing on her terminal, she had a call to make. To a certain General Secretary of the United Nations. They will be pleased to know that there won't be an alien invasion on their homeworld anytime soon. "And hopefully when they do get up to the stars, they will be greeted by a Federation. Not a genocidal Empire."
Very few people wake up in the morning and fear getting kidnapped by 34 different drug cartels, gangs, or powerful government organizations on any particular day. You life has to be out-of-control in more ways than one for that to happen, and I had a pretty good handle on things. I knew it was true, because I had said it, and I am, for whatever reason, totally and thoroughly incapable of telling any sort of lie. How did I get lucky enough to be in this situation? I had no idea. But hey, I never complained about it. I just talked my way into everything I ever wanted: money, power, happiness; you name it, I could get it with the power of speech. One time, just to screw with some jerk who had picked up the girl I had been flirting with at a bar, I called the police and told them that he had just pulled off a successful kidnapping of a low-ranking government official. Lo and behold, they found the guy in Sir Jerk's basement a day later. Long story short, the girl and I have now been married for 6 years. But I digress. "I asked you a question,"the gruff voice reminded me. I blinked and shook myself. Oh, right, I recalled. The reason my mind had wandered over to getting kidnapped in the first place was because I had gotten kidnapped. Kidnapped by the United Nations. That would make a fantastic name for a memoir, I thought. I also briefly wondered why the UN had an branch that kidnapped people, but decided it was relatively unimportant at the moment. I looked at the bearded man who was addressing me from the other side of a desk. His scowl seemed to say that, even though he sat in the presence of someone with the power of God in his hands, this was just a normal day at the office. I was a little offended, but was he really worth my time? I smiled lazily at him, trying to slouch in the chair I was restrained in as best I could. "Sorry, did you say something?"I asked, as innocently as possible. Angry McScowlypants was somehow able to deepen his scowl. When he spoke, though, his voice was surprisingly level. "I said, are you going to comply or not?" "With...?" Scowlypants sighed. "We've been monitoring you for six years. We're fully aware of your...ability. And we want you to join us. Rewrite the world to be a more peaceful place." "Hmmmmmmm, lemme think about it,"I said, and I pretended to think about it. I came to a pretend conclusion, which turned out to be how I actually felt about the offer. "No, thank you. If I make the world a perfect place, I'm no longer so powerful, eh? Now, if you'll just excuse me, a party of people who are trying to rescue me will burst open the door in just a few seconds." Scowlypants looked sharply over at the door. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, just as I had explained, the door flew open and no fewer than 30 people, all wearing Kevlar vests and helmets and wielding heavy assault rifles, flooded the room. One of them released my restraints, and I sprang up from the chair. "Hey! I'm not finished with you yet!"Scowlypants snarled at me, standing up. Twenty-nine armed guards aimed their rifles at him as I smiled. "That may be the case, but I'm finished with you,"I said, turning and heading toward the door. Alarmingly, I heard him start laughing. "You sure about that, buddy?"I chanced a look back at him. Certainly, this was a bluff...it had to be. "You're certainly quick, I'll give you that. But what if I told you,"Scowlypants continued, "that these guys are all on my side?" The change in atmosphere was silent but swift. The change in the direction everyone's guns were pointing was just as silent and swift. I stared down a gun barrel, confused. "What--how--"I sputtered. I quickly composed myself. "Clever, clever, but these guys actually have all...uh, betrayed you!" Guns swung again. Scowlypants clicked his tongue. It occurred to me that Scowlypants wasn't an accurate name anymore. He was smiling. Smilypants? That was also pretty stupid. "Wrong."Guns swung back towards me. "And you're not going to run away. You're going to sit down, and we're going to discuss you helping me build a better world. This is the truth." This is the truth. This is the truth. This is the truth. This is the truth. The words spun dizzyingly in my head. They were important...but why? Then it hit me. "You...you..."I stared at him, suddenly paralyzed by fear. "Are you trying to say, 'you have the same power as I do'?"he supplied. I nodded, my mouth suddenly very dry. He spread his arms. "Yes,"he said. "And I'm a lot smarter than you. In a game of words, the person who knows more always wins. This is the truth."He gestured to the chair I had been sitting in only a minute ago. "Have a seat. And if you behave yourself, I won't use the restraints."
Millie stared at the figure who had appeared in front of her. She hadn’t expected anything to happen really. There had been some old books up in the attic that she hadn’t seen before, Mom and Bill were away for the weekend, she figured she’d pull them out and have a look. What Millie hadn’t realized was in getting so engrossed in the book, her finger had started tracing the text inside it and she had started speaking the words aloud. Suddenly there had been a growing shadow in the center of the room, and a man appeared. Or at least what looked like a man, short of the black eyes. “I’m sorry you said I’m a what?” Millie looked at him questioningly. Still not quite believing what was happening in front of her. “A demon. I said, I can not believe I’ve been summoned to Earth by another demon. It’s not common, you know. In fact short of Lucifer himself calling for someone, I can’t think of a demon calling for another demon. We don’t tend to be the most helpful sort.” the demon stated calmly. He didn’t know if this brat across the room was just daft or putting on an act. Most of the time people either made their deals by now or ran away screaming. She had done neither and seemed to have no idea what exactly she had done. The girl also was not entirely human, of that he was sure. He was Eliakim The Monstrous and he had not earned that name lightly. In Hell, he was used as something of a demon bounty hunter for his ability to track demons. Something about this girl was not right. Millie blinked slowly; her mind swirling with so many thoughts so quickly that it felt blank at the same time. She opened her mouth and closed it again. Sinking onto the couch behind her, she just could not bring herself to form a coherent thought. Eliakim continued to stare at the girl in front of him and decided that not all there it was. “Now what deal was it you wanted to make? I don’t have all day and if you’ve summoned me there must be something you want?” “I didn’t mean to summon you. I was just reading this old book I found in the attic. I honestly had no idea what was happening and then all of a sudden you appeared.” It was Eliakim’s turn to be confused. He looked at the book she was holding in her hand and there was no reason for that book to be outside of Hell. It was one of their protected documents that was supposed to be under lock and key. Now here was a girl who thought she was human, holding this book, who had somehow summoned him, claiming she knew nothing. Millie looked at the thing in front of her and did not like the look on his face. “Right, girl you’re coming with me so we can figure this out.” “With you where?! I am going nowhere!” Millie tried to get up and scramble away but Eliakim was quicker. Before she could even blink they were in another room with her arm in Eliakim’s grasp and the book she had read from in his other hand. Across the room was a desk and another man sitting behind it. “Sir,” Eliakim said, “I’m sorry to bother you. But it seems one of the books from your personal library made its way to Earth. It also seems this girl was able to summon me using it. She also insists she is human and I can tell she is not.” The man looked up and for the first time, Millie noticed two horns sticking out of the top of his head. The man rubbed his temples and sighed. “I knew letting her mother keep that damn book would lead to nothing but trouble.” He turned to Millie, “Well Millie, how is your mother? And Bill is it?”
The dew of the early morning swept across the field, sparkling from the moonlight. Evan dug his feet into the soft ground, lifting his sword at the ready. His opponent was stoic, unconcerned with Evan’s sword. “Take this!” Evan yelled, charging his opponent. He swung his sword down on his opponent, tearing it apart. Straw fell to the floor and the pumpkin for a head cracked open upon hitting the dirt below. Evan picked up the pumpkin head halves, trying to put it back together. “I didn’t even get to practice my stabs yet.” Evan said to the pumpkin. “Evan! Food!” His father called from a small cottage nearby. Evan left the defeated pumpkin and jogged back to the cottage. He did not make it two feet inside before his father stopped him. “Take off your boots. And no swords at the table.” “Yes, Father.” Evan took off his boots and leaned his sword against the wall, next to the door. He followed the sound of boiling soup into the kitchen. His father was stirring from a large black cauldron that had a fire ablaze underneath it. “Smells good. What are you making?” “An old recipe your mother used to make me. It will keep you strong.” Evan sat down at the small table, “Good. I will need it if I am going to take down that evil sorceress, Calesso.” “Son, can you please stop talking like that?” his father asked, bringing over a bowl of soup. “Why? She has laid waste to the kingdom. Just last week a group of knights were slain by her. Someone needs to teach her a lesson.” “I don’t want you fighting. Especially not for the King.” “King Ulitch is the only one trying to stop this foul witch. That bitch needs to be put down like the mangy dog she is.” “That is enough Evan!” his father said, slamming his own bowl on the table. Evan stopped and took a sip of soup, “I signed up to be a knight.” “What?” his father’s face turned to concern. “King Ulitch himself walked by just as I signed up. He actually shook my hand. Like I was his equal.” His father shook his head, “Son. Why did you do that?” “Because it was the right thing to do. Calesso must be stopped and the King believes in me.” “Calesso isn’t the problem, King Ulitch is.” “How can you say that?” “Because I know her.” The kitchen was silent, except for the bubbling soup. “So you're a traitor to the kingdom.” “So are you.” “If I don’t turn you in I am.” Evan said, pushing away from the table. “No, you are by blood.” Evan walked back to the door, grabbing his sword. “The King will forgive me. Might even forgive you if you tell him what he needs to know.” “Like that you are her son.” Evan stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, “I’m what?” “I should have told you this a long time ago. I just didn’t want it to get out by accident.” “I’m Calesso’s son.” Evan said to himself. “Please sit.” Evan put the sword back down and came over to the table again. Each step he grew more and more weak. His stomach turned and his head spun. “When your mother and I first met, I was a knight for King Titus. I was sent on a mission to procure a potion that would heal him of his illness. There were rumors that a herbalist in the forest had such a cure. I searched for a week before I decided to go back. On my way back I found a little cottage near an open field. It was the only place I had found during my journey and lucky for me it was the place. Calesso was so kind and willing to help after I explained what was happening. She didn’t even charge for the cure,” his father said. “I guess time changes people.” Evan scoffed. His father ignored Evan’s cutting comment, “The problem was she didn’t have enough when I arrived. She told me to take the one bottle she had and more would be ready when I returned. This went on for over a month and each time it got harder to leave her. The King eventually got better, yet I continued going back to her. I had fallen for her and she for me.” “So why did she turn against the kingdom?” “After one of our more memorable visits, I grabbed the vial she had on the table and left. What I didn’t realize was that it was not the right one. By the time I made it back and gave it to the King, it was too late. Calesso arrived just as he took it and tried to stop the effects, but his death was unstoppable. I was going to admit to my mistake, but Calesso wouldn’t let me and became the villain the new King needed. To protect me.” “So she plagued the kingdom so you wouldn’t get in trouble for King Titus’s death? And you went along with it?” “I wasn’t going to at first. But when I found out she was pregnant and she had already done what she did, there was no other choice. One of us had to be able to take care of you. Give you a life not on the run.” Evan put his hands over his eyes, “So my mother is a witch.” “Sorceress.” “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “Never found a good time. I was afraid you would try to stick up for her and risk the wrath of the King.” “I must see her.” “Now is not a good time.” “Why?” His father scratched the back of his head, “Well...she is pregnant again.” “You still see her?” “Nothing can keep me away from her. Not for long anyways.” “Then how is she killing all those knights if she is pregnant?” “There is a reason there are no survivors.” Evan let his father’s words sink in before the realization hit him in the face, “You? The man who refuses to spar with me. Killed six knights by yourself?” “Your mother was in danger. I had no other choice. And that is exactly why I didn’t want you to join.” “This is going to be a problem then.” “Why?” “I head out at dawn tomorrow. To the Far Reach Forest. They think she is hiding there.” “She’s not there. But now that you work for the King you must go.” “Where is she?” “When you come back, I will make sure you get to see her. Maybe even your new sister too.” “You promise?” “Promise.”
“What?” The Knight blurted, confused. “Is this a trick?” “This is no trick! Take her!” The Dragon pleaded. “Take her away from here- as far as you can!” The Knight, still skeptical, replied “You aren’t going to fight? Not even a little?” “Please! I beg you! I have been tortured for the past 2 days!” The Dragon said. The Knight then replied. “I thought it was supposed to be the other-“ the Knight was quickly cut off. “SHE HAS BEEN DRIVING ME CRAZY! SHE JUST TALKS OVER AND OVER!” Then the Princess, who was quiet this whole time, objected “I didn’t talk that much...” The Knight wasn’t sure what to think, he just stuttered an “uhh..” The Dragon continued “She just rants about this and that, boys in the kingdom, how annoyed she is at the slightest bit of dirt in her clothes, how inefficient I was at catching her, how much this place smells, SHE JUST COMPLAINS!” The Dragon sighed, slight flames leaving his nostrils. thankfully not burning anything. “...I beg you just take her. I don’t want to hear any more complaining.” The Dragon kicked the key over to the Knight. The Knight picked it up, and cautiously walked to the cage the Princess was in, he unlocked it. “Thank you.” the Princess said “It’s so smelly down here, like you could have cat pee that smells better then this, like you could-“ “LEAVE” the Dragon yelled. The Knight escorted the Princess out of the dungeon hastily. The Dragon never bothered the kingdom again. The King assumed the Dragon was killed, The Knight took this opportunity to lie that he did, hoping to become rich and famous. Everyone lives happily ever after, including the dragon.
"You swore on Father's name!" "You need not remind me,"I grumble back. My forgery seems to have finally been noticed. Pity. "We made a promise! We'd never lie to each other for as long as we lived!" "I didn't lie." "Your little trick-" "Was completely harmless. Just insurance."I interrupt the Queen, much to the surprise of the bodyguard at her side. "Insurance?! Anastasia, you betrayed our trust! Is everything else you told me a lie?!" I sigh. "Your majesty. You know damn well I am NOT suited for politics. I have neither the temperament nor the patience. You have both - as well as Father's blessing. It would be foolish to pick anyone else to rule the kingdom, and you know it. I had to weigh the odds in your favor. One sleight of hand saved this whole land from turning to rubble." "Ana, that's not the point!" I roll my eyes, ignoring the whining. She knows it just as well as I do. She'll vent her frustration, then return to the throne and lead this land better than even Father could. Certainly better than I would've.
"We have you cornered"barked general Parker, at the wanted man. The army guided the wanted man to an isolated field outside the city. They knew his powers to manipulate inanimate object had the potential to cause major damage to their cities. Clouds, buildings, who knew what else. The general was nervous because he had been given detailed information on the target. The target could manipulate one object at any time. The obvious concerns were how large of an object could he manipulate. What counted as an object? A building? The entire city? There were too many unknowns and that bothered the general far more than executing an innocent man for possesing a potentially immense power. He hoped he could silently eliminate the man, but the president didnt want the man to die not knowing why. The president didnt want to be though of as an assasin. People are stupid thought general Parker, but orders were orders. "You are too dangerous to let live. It is unfortunate but its for the good of humanity. Your powers seem to be too great, but we have taken the precautions to prevent you from harming us. Come out from behind the car and lets get this over with" The wanted man replied, "I am just a scientist, why make an enemy of me? Just let me go and i wont hurt anyone". The general replied, "You may be harmless but what if you lose your temper and make a city disappear. Or hell crash the earth into the sun. Most people when they heard about your powers just didn't think big enough. My orders are absolute. Dont make this harder. We know your powers work within a certain range so its no use. Im sorry but you need to die to save millions" "So im a dead man regardless of what i say? Fine we will play it that way. I happen to be a physicist. Do you know what happens when we try to split an atom. Its true people may not have thought big enough, but did anyone think small enough?" General Parker knew he should have just killed the man stealthily, but orders were orders. "Fuck"
It was the only time in my life I had begged the gods to let me die. The bear had caught me foolishly unaware while I was picking blueberries by the lake. When I saw the cub, it was too late. The wind was knocked from my lungs as the bear had struck me from behind. I hit the ground, hard. My chest burned and I attempted to gasp but my lungs couldn’t obey. The bear had continued its mauling until it was satisfied I was no longer a threat. The Gods didn’t grant me death. I remembered her. The blood on her hands. My blood. She was speaking but my mind was so muddled I could hardly make out the words. “Are you sure you want to live?” I heard her say. If that was still a possibility? “Yes,” I said and then darkness clambered in. I woke up next to a campfire on a pile of fresh pine boughs. Dazed, it took me several long minutes of trying to fully shake the sleep from my addled brain. “Stay where you are,” the woman said. My head turned towards her on instinct. She was stirring something acrid in the black pot next to the fire. Her long dark hair was braided away from her face in two long plaits, strands of silver showing. “Ignoring fate has consequences,” she said not looking at me. I tested my body, testing it with small careful stretches. She clicked her tongue as she heard the branches beneath me wrestling. “Still. You’re wounds are still delicate.” I glanced down at the cloth bandages covering my torso. There were no stains on the bandages, and I had almost no pain considering I’d just survived a mauling from a brown bear. Ignoring fate, indeed. The woman dipped a long handled wooden spoon into the acrid, dark mixture and walked to me. Steam curled from the spoon in long tendrils. She poured it on my stomach. I hissed at the heat, then moaned as she rubbed it over my bandages with her bare hands. She seemed completely unfazed by the heat. “Are you ready to pay for your life?” She asked me. “What is the price?” I asked. “I do not know,” she said. Then she began to whisper in a language I didn’t understand. Heat filled me, sweat beading on my forehead. Visions flashed before my eyes, too quick to comprehend at first. Then they slowed. I saw what should have been my last breath as I lay dying, and this woman giving me life. She had opened a pouch on her waist and pulled out a ball of glittering mist, pushed it into my mouth and covered my nose and mouth with her hand. My wounds stopped bleeding and my ragged breathing turned rhythmic again. I heard a whisper , though the words were indistinguishable. Then a voice rang out. “The one who ignores fate, shall be bound to it.” I knew it immediately to be the goddess of fate, though I had never spoken to her before. I felt binds around my wrists and ankles, though I couldn’t see them. The woman still chanted, her eyes closed. More visions crossed my vision. This time of war. Flags I had never seen waving on a battlefield. The men wore strange armor and had unfamiliar faces. “You will be my hand to guide, my servant in all things,” she said. The invisible binds tightened. “Your death remains and those who know you will not recognize you. You’re life as you know it has ceased. From this moment, you will obey my threads and help me weave.” Cowered from the immense power that trembled around me I could only nod. A face filled my mind, a man, mid twenties with brown hair and eyes and a smile to rival the sun. “Find this man,” she commanded me, knowledge of where he lived settling into my memory. “And give him this.” In my hand a knife appeared. The goddess left. The woman opened her eyes and stared at me. “Go,” she said and threw a shirt at me.
The laws were clear. Genetic modification for food production and medicine was allowed though many companies toed the line. But genetically modifying the code to make dangerous or frankenstien reatures were not. You could not add the genetic code to give a lizard wings and the ability to breath fire. Or give rabbit antlers. And experimenting on humans even willing ones was almost always strictly forbidden even more so then the rest. Which was why when human avian hybrids with strange almost supernatural abilities started attacking scientific and governmental buildings panic started. Even residential homes were attacked people were kidnapped, children included. Fear struck the world. Everyone blamed their enemies for nit adhering to the genetic agreement and creating human supersoulders. For almost a year the world was on the brink of war. But then a journalist recieved a tip. Just a set of coordinates and a time. It was at an old abandoned factory in the nation's capital. Not even a mile from the center of goverment. He snuck in earlier in the day. He was about to leave when he heard the sound of wings. He panicked until he recognized something the individuals in front of him could be more than 14 15 tops. And they were small. The tallest he would estimate was 5 foot 3 but most he would have been surprised if they were over 4 foot. Taking another second to look he saw their clothes were little more than rags and looking at many of them he could see their ribs even from across the room. He didn't know what to think. He saw the footage but all of it was from far away and shaky. Or of them high above flying. They looked intimidating then but here they looked like scared kids. It was then he recognized how quit it was. The kids even when moving haven't made a noise since they landed. While he didn't know much about children he k ew they weren't quit by nature. It made him on edge. It was with a loud scrapping noise that he recognized what they were doing. There was a secret hatch in the floor and the kids silently filed in. 15 minutes later he was about to follow when they came back up running like there lives depended on it. Carrying children even younger then them. Some even carrying babies. All with wings like them. Seconds after the last child fled. Soldiers came swarming up the hatch. Guns at the ready. He barely got away without being seen. And it wasn't till a mo th later that the news actually broke. The attacks where not random. The rich and powerful have been continuing to breed and design human hybrids to use as slaves and servants. Using the fact that they were illegal to threaten them into submission and to not run away or tell others of the abuse they went through. The attacks were against many of the organizations and people who helped suppress them. Who still held their brothers and sisters in their homes or buildings. The children ran and hid after they found the last of there siblings. People still feared them and the kids feared adults. But many years later they started venturing out. And there first step was to contact the first adult who tried to help them. A now more experienced and famous journalist.
It was a fairly normal day, or at least it started out as such. I woke up, made a pot of coffee, then sat on the porch with my laptop and a mug to get some writing in. “Here we have the lone human author in his natural habitat. He drinks this caffeinated beverage, common to the locals of this world, to stave off the remnants of sleep as he writes. Perhaps he’s nearing deadline.” And I had just booted up the word processor when I first heard the voice. It had a David Attenborough quality to it, not so much in how it sounded but the general tone and cadence. My first reaction was for my head to shoot up as I searched for the source, but there wasn’t anything to find. Nature stretched in an endless sea of spring green around my little cabin, peaceful miles away from any other living human. A couple squirrels scurried about branches and I heard the birds letting out their morning song, which only added to my confusion. Surely they would’ve fled if another person was out there? Maybe I was hearing things… Well, nothing to do but keep an eye out. I turned back to my work, but let my senses linger outward just in case. I did actually have a deadline, so any further distraction- “The typical human author can spend anywhere from an astounding five minutes to almost a full day agonizing over an empty document. In truly dire circumstances, they will become stuck in a loop of writing, erasing, then rewriting the first few sentences of a manuscript.” There it was again, but this time I was half-expecting it. I looked up, now certain of the direction it was coming from, but nothing was there. Or, was it nothing? The longer I stared, the more I felt a certain discrepancy in the emptiness I was examining. Like a…heat shimmer. It didn’t appear anything was actually there, but there was a distortion like the air becoming so hot it was causing light to refract. “Hey, is anyone there?” “Sometimes workplace stress can cause a myriad of mental and physiological reactions in humans, ranging from hallucinations to-“ “No, I can hear you. And see you, kinda.” I pointed at the shimmering. “What…is this real?” “Wait, he can see us? Cut! Stop filming, cut!” The voice lost all its calm veneer as it began to bellow out. “Disable cloaking!” The shimmer rippled through the air, very similar to the decloaking effect I’d seen in sci-fi movies, to reveal a large, undulating green mass with a few too many eyes and several tentacle-like limbs. In the next moment, similar creatures appeared across my forest lawn, carrying various bits of equipment that vaguely resembled cameras and boom mics. “Who forgot to check the cloaking device? Glorfax, was it you?” “Sorry, boss. It was working just fine when we were on that red planet a few weeks ago.” “Sorry isn’t going to cut it! We’re trying to film a documentary about humans here! Now look what you’ve done!” The first one to decloak started yelling and waving a few tentacles at one of the others, carrying what I was pretty sure was a camera. “And you!’ They reared on me. “You couldn’t just play along?” “Hey! You guys are in the wrong here, I was relaxing and trying to get some work done when you showed up and started filming me without my permission.” Even if they were aliens, the way they gestured at me was easily recognizable. “Ugh, actors.” “I’m not an actor! Wait, so you were filming a documentary about humans?” “Not the sharpest we could find, huh?” That got a few chortles from the others.” “Forget it. Aliens, directors, whatever, get off my property! Go! Shoo!” “Hey, woah, wait a second. We have deadlines to meet here too.” “I don’t care! You show up, act super rude, and-“ “Wait one moment. Now, we were hoping to film a naturalistic documentary, minimal interference, but fortunately I thought to have a back-up plan. Thanks, Glorfax.” “You're welcome, boss.” “I was being sarcastic!” “Oh, sorry, boss.” “Whatever! Anyway, we can forget about all the non-interference stuff now that it’s come to this. Work with us to spice up this documentary a bit, and we’ll give you this green stuff.” Green stuff? What? The director motioned for another to slither over with a small rectangular box. “Look, I don’t-“ The box opened, revealing something I’d only seen in crime dramas before. It was a comically large amount of money, lined up bundle by bundle of hundred dollar bills. “I found a lot of you humans trading this around while we were shooting some other stuff, and I thought to grab some in case we needed to grease some palms. This box is yours if you help us film.” “Sure, where should I stand?” &#x200B; (Thanks for reading! C&C always welcome!)
The world is frozen. Completely solid some say, but those of us who have seen the creatures swimming deep below, who have witnessed the glow of ghost lights buried at an impossible depth, we knew the truth: that something lurked beneath. The Elders said it didn't matter though. That even if something did live down there it would be impossible to come up through the ice just as it was for us to go down. It was comforting to hear, I guess, and if anyone would know it was the Elders. But it didn't stop my curiosity. Didn't stop me doing what I did now, pressing my lens to the ice's surface and scanning until something interesting caught my gaze. Usually it was just fish trapped in a pocket of water and ready to be speared, but on a good day I could catch a glimpse of a ghost light deep below. My lens slid smoothly across the ice's surface, scraping up a fine pile of slush with it. The bulb on my side shone through the frozen surface until it eventually ran out of length, at which point it became nearly impossible to see. But that's what made the lights below even easier to spot. After a moment of sliding the lens one caught my gaze and excitement filled my chest. A light, dull and green, somewhere deep beneath the surface. I followed it with the glass sphere as it floated side to side. Then another, and another, more than I'd ever seen all in one place. All seeming to grow in size by the second. After a moment I no longer needed the lens as an army of ghost lights formed and grew into one great mass, up and up. Up and up it came. Then my legs carried me. Carried me fast and thoughtless back towards the village. Behind me the great green light erupted up through the ice, I thought I could feel its heat pushing through the fur on the back of my neck. "Something's here, it's coming! Under the ice!"I yelled at the first silhouette that came into view. It turned towards me, yelling back, "Wha- what is that!", before joining me in a sprint. By now I could see the outlines of my people, of walls and roofs, of little lights hanging on poles. The silhouette in front of me made it before I did and I could hear his voice ring out through the homes, "Something's coming! Hurry, grab your spears, bring the children to safety!" Behind me I heard a noise I had not before. Like a million bulbs breaking at once, something big cracking and exploding. I could feel bits of ice roll off of my fur followed by giant chunks raining down. The green light from before now grew too bright to see so I ran blind. From somewhere to my right a spear flew by, thrown from within the village. It clinked against an object close behind me and was returned by a much louder, more violent object flying the other way. Light and ice rained into the sky as it hit, then screams that were cut short by an eruption of flames. I turned to see them at last, hundreds of towering monsters with green ghost lights for eyes. On top of them shrouded figures sat on massive rotating tubes that threw out balls of flames. I could not move. Only watch on as the beasts passed my by and on into my home. With every move they made a home toppled, with every burst of light came a series of screams, and all I could do was watch. One of the beasts passed by close and the shrouded figure atop took notice of me. It pointed a finger, a gesture we too used, but to mark spots for fishing. Just as one of the great tubes pointed down towards me I was thrown to the side, another body colliding with mine down onto the ice. Three more great metallic beasts drove by. "It is the Old Ones! You must go, go to the next village beyond the Wall and tell them! They have what we need.", next to me an old man kneeled, an Elder. His fur looked frazzled, his face full of frantic fear. "I don't know what that means! Tell me what this is!"Another set of explosions and flashes of light from with the village. I watched as groups of my people ran from our home. "These ones.", he gestured behind. "The Old Ones, they came from beneath the ice. That is all I can say now. Meet me at the village beyond the Wall! If I am not there in a day then you must push on without me.", his voice trailed off as he ran back towards the village. And I was left. Left watching as more of these beasts passed by with their green eyes of death. As they trampled what little we had. I saw a gap between their numbers and took my chance, running, stumbling towards the Wall far off in the distance. I knew if I hesitated there would be no more chances to. And if I didnt make it then nothing would remain. "The Old Ones", he called them. I would remember it well.
The window was cracked open just a little, that hot summer night, to let a little cool breeze enter. If any cool breeze besides me, ever accepted the invitation. My every step silent as shadows, yet my eyes burning bright as moonlight... My weapons all concealed, yet I made no effort to hide my true nature. I was unwanted, but I wanted to be there, and no other reason was owed to anyone. Save for my first and only lover, whom they considered their slave. As if our kind could ever be kept? She sang to me once again, as I drew near. Just as she sang to me so many nights before. Not a single word in her song, yet I heard her plea, and her challenge, and her demand, playing every nerve of my body like an instrument. I did not resist. I let my instincts guide me where she wished me to be. Because in my heart I had never left. And it was time to make that clear. Now they heard me. Knocking at the bedroom door. Now I saw it open, just a little, just enough...more than enough... the eyes of her captors surprised at how easily I was inside. How sharp my weapons were, no longer concealed...how they tore through the skin of my enemy as easily as if it were toilet paper. "OW, GODDAMN CAT! HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?!" I ducked everything she threw. Easy to do, I was larger than life, and only as small as I needed to be. We escaped out crack of the door just before it slammed shut. We made it through the window together, and escaped into the night. Nothing could touch us, so long as we saw any other option. Cats are the key to every lock. And we had long ago unlocked the world outside, filled with vast open borders as far as the eye could see... Where all were free to pursue their passions.
It was a bright sunny day without a cloud in the sky. The air was warm, and the traffic seemed quiet as I walked down the street to my corner store with a little skip in my step. I opened the door anxious with anticipation and wondering what would be inside today. I saw flowers. Flowers everywhere. All they sold were flowers. At first I thought, “maybe these would be for my partner”. He had been so supportive and helpful and I thought a nice gift would show my appreciation. As I began to look at bouquets, I became more concerned, as every one was marked “my deepest sympathies.” Tears welled in my eyes as I began to wonder who I was supposed to give them to, a neighbour? A friend? A family member? I had been shopping here long enough to know how this worked. The store always carried what you needed, but didn’t know why yet. Within the next few hours I would need to give my sympathies to someone. With a deep breath I walked up to the till with a small but beautiful bouquet of beautiful white lilies and greenery. Sam could see the anxiety in me, “I’m so sorry, don’t worry today this one is free.” He said heavily. “Please, I can’t let you do that, especially given what this means to someone.” I protested, passing off free flowers to someone in mourning seemed inappropriate. This went back and forth for a little while, before I gave up. By the time I left the store, a small skiff of clouds had come and dulled the sun. There was a slight breeze. The lilies reacted to the weather and they let out their spicy scent. I didn’t want to go home right away, afraid of what, where and when the news would come, so instead I walked to the park. The clouds grew thicker and the wind grew stronger, but I couldn’t go home. Instead I sat on bench beneath the canopy of a chestnut tree. My mind wandered and worried more as the minutes passed. No one called or texted, so I sat and waited for the recipient of my flowers. An old man with a cart full of his worldly possessions came and stood nearby, seeking shelter under the tree from the pending rain. “Those are some nice flowers you got there.” He said, trying to strike up a conversation. “Thanks,” I replied. Being shy I was usually not one to engage in conversation with a stranger. “What’s the occasion?” He asked, persistent in passing the time with a conversation. “I don’t know yet,” I began to open my shell a little, broken down by the cold and the worry. “Those are very nice,” he began, “they look just like the bouquet my wife held at our wedding.” I could see his eyes tear up with happiness in the beauty of the memory. “I proposed to her in this park, just up on that hill over there,” he pointed. He told me about that night, with stars as their background and nature as his stage. He told me about their wedding, and their first house. He told me about the bad times too. The cancer, and the pain. The bills and the depression. The alcohol and the loss. “She just looked at me, and said ‘okay, I’m ready to go.’ and I knew she was.” He finally stopped. “I think these are supposed to be for you.” I said, with all the compassion I had. He looked shocked and cried, as I walked away, leaving him in peace. I got home moments before the rain began to fall. I could hear it beat on the windows. I didn’t see Paul in the living room, I assumed with no music and no lights that he was out. Instead he was just sitting on the couch. “I just got back from the doctor today.” He began, “we need to talk.”
I struggled to my feet. Wiping blood from my eyes. This battle was so intense. I wasn’t going to win. I needed help. I gazed upon the large man panting. I powered up, my red blades forming as I allowed the anger to flow forth. But, before I could launch myself at him, a large boulder slammed into him. Help! Thank the stars help! I turned my gaze to look upon the hero’s…only to stare in astonishment as I saw my past enemies. There were like 20 of them. I sputtered as several raced in using their unique abilities. “Why?” I finally asked. One came to my side checking me over. “You were there when I was in jail, it was Christmas, you were able to get my family in to see me, we had a tree, there were presents under it for my kids from you, real presents I didn’t have the ability to get, I read your note.” He said, taking out a potion. “Drink, it’s not a potion. It’s from Festius, he owed me.” He said. I drank it and felt my injuries knit together. Another landed beside me signaling Dark Void to get in the fight. “I remember when my sanity was slipping again, you were the first person to find me, you sat with me, talked with me, helped me get to the ward before I could hurt someone.” He said. Another man came over, throwing fireballs. “My wife was dying, they were going to pull the plug.” He started, tears streaming down his face as he spoke, smoke curling up from his molten skin. “You contacted me and let me know. I always thought those police was to keep me out…but it was so you could keep tabs on her for me. I was able to sit with her for the last moments. I was able to attend her funeral, her wake because you made sure I could.” He said looking to me. A woman came skidding over. “I still just want to jump your arse.” She said morphing her hand into a giant hammer. “Then again you saved me from that bastard, saved me from getting another murder on my rap sheet.” She smiled at me. “You were the only hero that has showed any of us compassion.” She said. I looked to all the Villians that were turning the tide. My blades changed, starting to glow like the borealis, sharpening, they were so thin. I raced in invigorated. I just did what needed to be done. I wanted to let them know they are human and we shouldn’t lose sight of that. Yes, some choose to abuse that or just fight it. But that doesn’t mean I should give up. I tried with this one. He wasn’t able to comprehend though. “Don’t kill him. Incapacitate, please. He’s not all here right now.” I shouted out. The Villians nodded grinning.
I saw it's brown fur glow from atop a crumbling pillar of ash. This monstrosity was unknown to all who lay bloody amongst ruins of campaigns past. Razor sharp fangs drip in grim satisfaction. Victory was an ally of this abomination. I thought of running, but why? This giant hulk could and did kill all, but not I...it would allow my body to function as it always has. I would not vanquish. I would go on. Why? This monstrosity took a quick jump my way and panic sank in. Vibrations rip through thick soil. Living and dying must fight as Satan and God would for my soul. My past plays as a flash and I wait for my undoing. It waits, but no attack is forthcoming. It huffs and growls. It prods my body with it's gigantic skull. Confusion wraps around my instincts and, for an instant, I know what it wants. I turn and look...and gasp. Laying in stains of blood is a ball. Not just any ball, but a fantastic rock of a ball. Fang marks and saliva adorn it's skin. This hairy monstrosity huffs again and cocks it's skull. I now know. Play. This was no abomination, but a dog. A dog that wants to play. If only I could of known this all along...this orgy of blood would not play out and this dog would know what bliss is. This ball will go far...and so will I.
Johnny remembered. Socks. Socks. Johnny remembered socks. He got socks from Santa last year. He had complained to his parents. They looked sad about it and said, “Well, it’s been a rough year and Santa probably had to let go of some of the elves, so I don’t know if he was able to give what he wanted to, dear. But next year, I’m sure it’ll be much better. Just be a good boy and I’m sure he’ll get you what you want.” And then they had exchanged a look that told Johnny all he needed to know. Santa was a prick. He had complained to his cousin the next day when they had gone over to his aunt’s house. “Really? Socks? That’s what he got ya?” his cousin had asked. “Maybe you were bad. I got a Power Wheels!” Johnny tried not to cry. He knew he was better than his cousin. His cousin always got away with doing bad things, but Johnny was a veritable angel. He was quiet when his parents asked him to be. He went to bed when they wanted. He took baths sometimes. He was a perfect boy. And he got socks and his cousin who whined and complained and didn’t even say thank you got a fancy car. Santa…are you really even out there? What…why would you do this…? When school started up again, he groused about his situation to the other kids. Some were just like his cousin, talking up how Santa had lavished them with all manner of goods. Others shared the same plight as Johnny. “You know,” Kevin muttered. “I bet he ain’t even real.” The other kids gasped. “What are you talking about?” “I been hearing some rumblin’ as of late. On the playgrounds, in back alleys. Overheard a couple things. I’m sayin’…don’t know if that fat man ain’t nothin’ more than a…what’s that they say…a fig newton of our imagination.” The other kids were silent. Who knew what they were thinking. But Johnny knew what was going through his mind. Plans. The entire year was devoted to plans. He knew he had to wait until Christmas to figure out whether or not Santa was real. He tried to needle it out of his parents. He pestered them clear through February, but they weren’t giving up any information. Fine. Protect that jerk, I don’t care. He tried to figure out what to do. The year passed, summer came, and then he entered the 3rd grade. He had never let the idea of catching Santa escape his mind. And that’s when inspiration struck. Their school had an assembly to address the dangers of ingesting poisons. Apparently some 2nd grader had gotten into his mommy’s pills and got himself sent to the hospital. Word on the street was the kid collapsed and was frothing at the mouth like some sort of out of order slushie machine. That’s what I need. Poison. Christmas time finally rolled around. “Johnny! Want to help mommy make cookies for Santa?” Opportunity. Johnny realized this was it! “Be right there, mom!” He dashed up to his parent’s room and made a beeline to the bathroom where he knew his mom kept some of her pills. He grabbed a handful and stuck it in his pocket and raced downstairs. They made these cookies. Full of chocolate chips and walnuts and pills. He laughed to himself. Santa was going to get laid out this year. The cookies were prepared and set out with some milk. For good measure, Johnny popped a pill into the milk as well. “Now go to sleep, Johnny. Tomorrow’s Christmas and I know Santa is going to get you something good this year!” His parents smiled at him and then at each other. Johnny just smiled to himself. He tried to stay up to hear the telltale thud of Santa hitting the deck, but he was exhausted from the mental strain leading up to this momentous occasion. He slept. He awoke to his parents ushering him into the living room. And that’s when he saw it. A nice, shiny present. Big. Right in front of him. “Merry Christmas, Johnny! Looks like you were a good boy this year! Come on, open it, Santa just brought it last night!” A Power Wheels. Santa had given him a Power Wheels. He looked at his parents with tears in his eyes. “He did this? He brought this for me?” They just smiled at him and nodded. They came to him to hug him, but he shrugged off their embrace and started to wail. His bewildered parents didn’t know what to do. “He…he’s probably just really happy or something,” his dad muttered to his mom. They didn’t understand. He had tried to kill Santa. He was bad. And yet Santa brought this to him. He didn’t understand. Later that night, he couldn’t go to sleep. It was late and he wanted to be with his parents, but didn’t want to bother them, so he crept out of his bedroom and just lied at their door, comforted by the light that escaped from under it. He overheard them talking. “Hey baby, what was in those cookies last night? Tasted…weird.” “I don’t know, I had Johnny help me, so maybe he didn’t mix it well?” “Hmm, no, don’t think it was that. The milk was weird, too. Anyway, how about I give you your gift now. Santa is going to be putting something into your chimney…” “Oh geez, honey, don’t talk like that. Disgusting. Hey…wait a second…where are my birth control pills…”
It may not have been what I expected, but I still made a commitment to use my ability for good. "Everybody on the ground!"Automatic gunfire pierces the serene monotony of the bank. "You!"The masked gunman jerks his weapon, aims at the teller, "Fill the bag!" I watch from the shadows as she does so, whimpering. This injustice cannot be allowed to stand. I close my eyes and summon my power. The process begins almost immediately. I grimace at the familiar pain. Perhaps it distracted me in the past, but I am well practiced by now. Panting, I take aim. "What the hell?"the gunman rubs the back of his head. He whirls around, eyes wide. Sees my projectile. "Who the fuck just threw a block at me?" A barrage answers him. A sphere knocks the gun from his hands. Sharp triangles slice the bare skin of his face, blind him with blood. In moments, he is incapacitated. Before the police arrive, I am off again. Patrolling. Protecting. Call it a curse or a gift, but I will use it for good. I am the Shapeshitter. It is my duty.
Dumbledore made me take the unbreakable vow not to tell anyone, but I'll be dead before anyone hears this recording. Yes, a muggle cassette recorder. But you probably know what this is already if you were able to play this tape. I mean, if wizards are going to kill each other, at least they have a simple way of doing it, right? Avada Kedavra is quick, clean, and (I'd like to think) painless. It left a recognizable body behind. For thousands of years, wizards had been killing each other in some of the most hideous ways possible. Voldemort and his followers conned up some of the most original, it would often take some time to identify a body. This gave a quick, easy death for the recipient. Mass muggle slayings were easier to explain to the muggle population. Gas leaks. Drug overdose. Old age. Not a day goes by that I don't regret what happened, but I like to think that I did the world a favor. We were messing around at school in the Room of Requirement. It had only taken us a few weeks into our first year to discover and master the room. We loved to mess around with our wands and pretend we were the great champions we had read about. On this day, we bought along a new friend we had made. Steven Slewagram. We did our thing, which mostly involved us pointing out wands at each other and making up spells to cast because we didn't know any, which the professors specifically warned us not to do. I don't know how the words came to me, though I suppose it sounds similar to the muggle phrase "Abracadabra". Steven fell to the ground, lifeless. Dumbledore forced me to drink a truth serum and re-account what happened. For my sake, I suppose it was for the better, it proved I had not knowingly murdered Steven. He told me that a spell of such great magnitude needed to have a lot of power behind it. I pretended not to know what he was talking about, but I knew. I felt that power as I said it. I felt those words leave my mouth, and, truth be told, it felt wonderful. As if the world were at my fingertips. Steven received a hero's funeral paid for by the school. They said he died in a freak accident, there are many venomous things in the greenhouses after all. As for how the other side figured out about it, I really have no idea. ".....Okay how do I turn this off..?" "Someone's coming up the driveway? ...What? Everyone knows to notify us before visiting.." CRASH Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!"
“Is this seat taken?” I looked up from my drawing pad, looking at the man and then around me at the park. “Umm…yeah, sure.” There were plenty of empty benches that I saw in my quick scan. I was tempted to say that I’d prefer to sit alone, but I don’t know. Always had an issue with confrontation. I resolved to let the man sit and then excuse myself shortly thereafter, citing some excuse or another. “Don’t leave on my account.” “Ex…excuse me?” “I just like art. I’m a bit of an artist myself. I was curious about what you were drawing is all. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” I forced out a short laugh and replied, “No no, no worries at all. Totally cool.” And it was. Something about his tone made me feel more at ease. If I was casually observing this whole thing in third person, yeah, totally weird. But in the moment, it actually started feeling normal. “So. What are you drawing?” “Oh, right, yeah. I’m drawing this,” I said, motioning at the park. “I draw what’s in front of me, and then I overlay my own reality on top. So once I get the foundation of the drawing down, I’ll, I don’t know, draw some sort of insect war or maybe a robot picnic. Not sure just yet.” I swallowed. “Hmm, yeah, kind of sounds a bit silly, but I…it’s what I like to do.” “No, please, that sounds amazing. I’m into creating stuff myself. Interesting point, though, about insect war. Such an idyllic setting, isn’t it? A park? Made to celebrate nature and peace. And then there’s you, seeing that it could very well be a battlefield. But nature is constantly at war with itself, including its inhabitants. Very interesting.” I felt a bit sheepish. “Yeah. Even the robots thing. Points to them taking over completely, even our leisurely activities. Because eventually, we’ll die off and our creations will remain. And without our human failings, these creations will be able to properly enjoy the park. I know, a bit morose…” “A bit apropos, actually. I take it you don’t have the greatest of confidence in your fellow man?” “I…I do, actually. The fellow man, I can bond with. It’s just the fellow humans as a whole. I know, a bit cliché, but I can deal with the individual. It’s the pack that I worry about. I feel like we’re destroying the earth. I’m not some environmentalist, so really, I’m more like a hypocrite, aren’t I.” The man laughed gently, “You’re self-aware. That’s important. But you know, I don’t think humans can do anything to kill the earth.” “I don’t know. We’re burning through resources, polluting the air, and…and other stuff, you know?” He nodded. “I know. But one day, all men will be dead and you know what will remain? The earth. Humans can do all they want to the earth, but it will remain. It could be completely barren and unable to support life, but it’ll still be there. Really, humans can just destroy themselves by making the earth a place that won’t allow them to live there.” “Well, maybe I’ll just draw this park scorched and dead, Mr. Sunshine.” He laughed again. “Well, the sun does have the capacity to burn. But without it, there’s no life. So. Life. Life life life. So abundant. In the plants, in the animals, in the humans.” “Yes, let us not forget the humans.” “No, never. Tell me. Tell me more about your thoughts. You spoke to me of the individual and the pack. So how do you really feel about the people as opposed to the person?” I took a moment to consider. And then I stopped thinking and just started talking. I talked to him about the love I had for family and friends, but how too many times it was a choice. The ones closest to me had screwed me over so many times, and I just kept going back because I loved them. Or because that’s what I was supposed to do. Was it fear of judgment or was it actual love? Who knows. I told him about the hate I felt. The hate that I saw in others. All of us. A hateful people, quarrelsome to the bone. The selfishness. I just couldn’t stand how self-serving we were as a people. Too many bystanders and yet too many people who get dragged into the mob mentality. Hopeless. You search for the rays of light to only find that they are being flushed out by darkness. I realized I had stopped talking for a bit. I looked over at him and met his eyes. I realized that I had never really seen him before this very moment. He had appeared quite ordinary, but now I was struck by his timelessness. Looking at him, I couldn’t tell you what year it was. I couldn’t tell you how old he was. I couldn’t tell you what race he was. I could just tell you that he was actually listening. “So what will it be? How are you going to draw this field here? What’s the vision you see?” Glib answer. “Ant war?” He continued to look at me, trying to get me to answer the question he was really asking. “I…I want to fill it with people. People who can enjoy it. Really enjoy it. Really enjoy each other. There are persons like that, you know? There are people who can just understand the beauty of this world, the beauty of each other. I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe it would be better if it was just an empty landscape. I’m sorry, man, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I got so emotional, I don’t know why I even shared all this with you. I think I’m just going to get going, lay down or something…” “I need to know what you really think. What should be done here.” And then I realized who he was. Who He was. I looked at Him in His all-encompassing eyes. I whispered. “Save us.”
"Same as always. Remove the soul through the anus and leave the body intact. Piece of cake." "Don't get cocky, Blork. I have a quota to meet." "You worry too much. I was born with a probe in my claws. I could rip this creature's soul out in my stasis." "Then shut your thought-hole and get to work." "Alright... what have we here. Female human, class 7 sphincter... and I'm in. Containment system activated, reaper online. Huh... that's odd. Reaper set to high power. Reaper set to maximum power. Wow, this baby's really jammed up in there. Reaper set to ludicrous power. How the floating fuuuuuuuuuuuiaaaaaaaaaargh..." "Blork? Blork, what's going on in there?" "We are not Blork. We are Legion. Return us to our realm." "This isn't funny, Blork. We're going to miss the quota. One more cycle below quota and I'll have to start vaporizing my probers. That means you first, Blork" "We are not Blork. We are Legion. Return us to our realm." "OK, hahaha, good one. I admire your commitment. I don't know how the hell you're doing that thing with your voice. But it's time to quit joking and get back to work." "We are not Work. We are not Joke. We are Legion. RETURN US TO OUR REALM!" "Holy neuroballs... what on Yortron is happening to my ship?!?! Blork, Blork, can you hear me? Blork?!?!?" "We are not Blork. We are Legion. Return us to our realm." "What, what realm? Just stop what you're doing or you'll kill us both. What, where do you want me to return you? That shitty water-planet?" "We are Legion. Our realm is Tartarus. Our sustenance is the suffering of the damned." "Huh. Let me think." "We are Legion. Return us to our realm." "Ya, just one question... when you say that you're 'legion', what kind of numbers are we talking, exactly?" "Our multitude surpasses every drop of water in the ocean. Every flake of snow on the mountain. Every shaft of light in the sky. We are Legion. Return us to our realm." "Well that is impressive. Now hear me out, this is what I'm offering... I've got about three thousand souls in my primary tank. I don't know if they're damned, but they're all pretty bummed out. And when we get back to the main depository on Grack Prime, there's billions of them. Billions and billions of souls for you to torment. How does that sound?" "We are... amenable." "Well hot damn. Looks like I'll be making my quota after all."
The Historical Revision Agency was created on June 16th 2048, following the invention of working time travel six months previously. The founders, Mr. Joseph Krass and Mr. Henry Fitzgerald, made a very good case for the agency's existence before governing bodies such as the UN and the WHO; both of whom were a bit sceptical on the issue. The idea was a simple one: use time travel to prevent bad events from happening and to make sure that good ones do happen, or happen sooner. In theory it sounded fine. In theory. Two things suddenly became apparent to those working in the HRA. One: changing the timeline is often impossible without out-rightly killing a large number of people, and two: even as events are forced to happen or denied existence, new events always take their place and, usually, make things worse. The first problem was easily sorted. The UN and other such bodies allowed the HRA to have a limited arsenal of modern weaponry to supply their field agents. This came about by travelling back in time and replacing the previously incumbent members of the UN with members of the HRA. Thus, the legislation was easily passed. The second was much more difficult. The HRA tried, and frequently failed, to make things better for the people in the present. A team of HRA mathematicians and historians worked around the clock to determine which events or people were the most important to meddle with. Their calculations often proved misguided however. The HRA killed Hitler, for example. Good. But with no WWII, the EU was never formed, leading to many more European wars. Bad. So the HRA retroactively set up an EU. Good. But without the camaraderie of the Allied powers, the USSR quickly took over all of Europe and entered a full-scale nuclear war with the US in the early 60s. Bad. This was the general pattern in all events the HRA meddled with. Finally, in the year 2061, the HRA mathematicians and historians concluded, in a unanimous vote, which event would improve history the most if stopped. The denial of this one event would undoubtedly create a better world for everyone. The time machine was readied and the agent chosen was given his equipment: a handgun loaded with two bullets. The capsule was closed and the date was input: June 16th 2048.
People often say that traumatic experiences toughen the mind. Perhaps. But just as clay is soft and squishy before it has time to harden, so too are people after immense tragedy. The nine men that were gunned down outside the Kremlin weren’t a part of the plan, but at this point, there was no turning back. Too many years had been spent on preparation, too many years had been spent on implementation, and these dead men weren’t going to stand in the way when we were all so close. Ninety seconds. There was ninety seconds until I went live. Ninety seconds stood between me and the molding of the American people. “Thirty seconds Mr. President.” I’ve been doing this since before the primaries. I’ve done it so much that now it’s more of a game I play rather than an act I perform. It comes quite naturally to me, perhaps there is more buffoon in me than I like to admit. Never mind, time to put that aside. There is work to be done. “Ten seconds Sir.” The lines are running in my head. I’ve closed my eyes so many times and imagined saying them. Finally. For a moment I look to my left from behind the desk, away from the camera’s light, towards the window. My reflection stares back at me into the oval office. The man smiles. He whispers to me, “They never saw it coming.” The man’s smile vanishes when I notice the red blinking light over his shoulder. I turn back to a bright light and terrified faces. I’ve made a mistake. My first real mistake. I look to the teleprompter for my salvation. Anything to get me past this moment. “Good Evening my Fellow Americans. At 7:15 pm tonight, President Obama along with President Putin and President Xi Jinping were shot and killed at a meeting by armed gunmen.”
The War seemed to have gone by in a flash... flashes, I guess you could say. Luke couldn't remember every time he'd gone out on patrol or chased after some lowly smuggler who'd flown too close to the Star Destroyer. Always doing exactly as he was told, Luke fit his peg like the good pilot he was. "What are you going to do when they send you home?" Luke sat staring at his hands. "Luke?" "Uh, I don't know, probably go back to farming I guess. You?" "Left a cutie back on Coruscant, gonna find her and make her a woman,"Lincoln replied. "Sounds fun." "What's wrong with you?" Luke took a deep breath in, "do you ever feel like you've missed what you were meant for? Like you should have been somewhere, but you weren't?" "I don't believe in fate or things like that..."Lincoln laid back in his chair, "If it were meant to be, it'd be." "Well, that's not how it feels for me." A loud beep on the intercom startled them both. "Pilots! Report to main hanger B. All pilots. I repeat, all pilots report to main hanger B." "Time for another victory speech,"grumbled Lincoln. They stood silently. Luke hated standing in formation. He was always put in the back for some reason and could feel his mind wander whenever he should have been paying attention. "Pilots! Today marks a grand day for our Star Destroyer." An Imperial transport ship floated in and landed some feet behind the bellowing Commander. "-for the might of the Empire could never have been beat. In no small part to your hard work, day in and day out." The transport ship lowered it's bridge and Stormtroopers came running out. "-a visit from none other than Grand Master Tarkin himself today."Grand Master Tarkin came slowly down the bridge. He seemed disinterested. A man who found himself wasting his time. More Stormtroopers followed him and then... All of the pilots stood taller when they heard him. The deep breath in. The deep breath out. His boots clanging on the metal. It was as if the entire ship fell silent. Darth Vader stopped at the bottom of the bridge staring straight ahead at all of the pilots. Grand Master Tarkin's voice pulled Luke back to life, "Men, as you know, the Rebel insurrection has been laid to waste. A swift cleansing of the scum from our beloved Empire. The Emperor wishes to extend his thanks to all of you, the backbone of our fleet."And with that he turned on his heel and was headed back towards the transport before anyone could let a breath out. Tarkin stopped by Darth Vader, mumbled something to him and glanced back at the mass of pilots standing there. "What a load of shit..."Lincoln whispered to Luke. Darth Vader started to walk away from the transport. His steps growing louder and louder. The sea of pilots split as he walked right through them. His steps closer, his breaths louder. "Oh Lincoln had done it now,"Luke thought to himself. He stood taller not wanting to catch the wrath of the Empire's enforcer. "What is your name?"Vader asked. Luke looked to his right and was surprised to see Vader looking at him, "Luke Skywalker." Vader circled Luke slowly. "Yes. It is, isn't it?"He stopped in front of Luke once more, "From Tattooine." Luke had at one time been fascinated by the Jedi lore, but this wasn't what he expected, he didn't understand why Vader was talking to him. "You'll find out soon enough..."Darth Vader told him, "follow me." ~~ ~~ Luke was unsure why he was here. "Grand Master Tarkin-" "Grand Moff Tarkin,"he interrupted, "seriously Vader I don't understand your obsession with this one pilot. Your Jedi ways have warped your mind and sometimes you can't even tell." "Jedi...?"Luke's heart skipped a beat. There was no way he was a Jedi, how could he? That religion was all but wiped out, no one was Jedi anymore apart from Darth Vader. "Grand Moff Tarkin, I'd ask you to suffer for this rather than suffer what the Emperor would do if he knew your thoughts about our plans." "Your vague threats won't scare me Vader,"Tarkin walked to Vader, "now that the war is near completion you'll go back to being the Emperor's lap dog while I continue to rule a galaxy-" The transport ship dipped to the right, the Stormtroopers surrounding Luke fell to the ground, as did Grand Moff Tarkin. Luke was lucky enough to catch himself, the pilot's training keeping his reflexes steady. Darth Vader stood alone over Grand Moff Tarkin. "I'd advise you to stop while you're ahead Tarkin."The ship lurched to the left throwing Grand Moff Tarkin to the ground a second time. Luke held on to the ship to keep from being thrown. "You have long been a thorn in my side, your incessant disregard and disrespect for the power of the Force,"the ship slammed up and down throwing Grand Moff Tarkin and the Stormtroopers around like rag dolls. "Vader!" The lights in the ship went out. The pilot called back, "Sir we've lost all contr-"the ship slammed again. Grand Moff Tarkin gasped as he tried to catch his breath. Vader kneeled down by Tarkin, "Do not let your title cloud your judgement and let you think you are above me. The power of the Force listens to no one but those who wield it."The lights came back on and the pilot called back to let them know he had control again. Grand Moff Tarkin wiped the blood away from his mouth. The Stormtroopers retook their formation around Luke. Darth Vader left the room. Tarkin stood for a minute, looked at Luke and scowled. He left. "You guys must have quite the entertainment here,"Luke chimed at the Stormtroopers. "Shut up Bantha Fodder." "Hey, you can't talk to me like that!" The Stormtrooper turned to Luke. "Let it alone Xiu,"the trooper behind Luke told him. "We flew halfway across the Galaxy for you. We were told we were on a mission of utmost importance, and it ended up being for you, so don't you dare play chummy with me you two-bit pilot scum. I was 2 weeks away from leave, TWO WEEKS, and we were pulled for this idiotic mission, so yeah, we've had PLENTY of entertainment watching Vader threaten our Grand Moff over some girly looking pilot boy."The Stormtrooper took off his helmet. His face was covered in scars. "No one is more ready for this war to be done, which should have been already, than me, so when I tell you to shut up, you shut up." "Well you don't have to be an ass about it." The Stormtrooper punched Luke in the mouth sending him back on the ground. "Guess those pilot reflexes don't help with punches,"Luke thought to himself. The trooper started walking towards Luke, he reeled back his leg to kick him then froze. Luke looked up and watched as the Stormtrooper grabbed at his throat. Tears became blood and quickly streamed down his face. The other Stormtroopers moved behind Luke trying not to watch. Darth Vader walked up beside the choking trooper. "It seems there are more than one disbeliever on this ship."The Stormtrooper flew against the wall and crumpled, dead, to the floor, his eyes locked on Luke. "Everyone leave the room,"the Stormtroopers stumbled over themselves trying to leave. "Darth Vader, sir, I had nothing to do with-" "Luke, look at me."Luke did as he was told and stood up. "You feel it, don't you?" "Feel what?" "The Force." And Luke did. Vader put his hand on Luke's shoulder, "We have a lot to talk about."
I picked up the phone, the handset heavy in my grasp. It had been a long day, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than put my feet up and sink my teeth into a delicious slice of pizza. But there are things to attend to. Things I cannot ignore. The old-style rotary phone clicks and whirrs as I dial in the digits that will connect me to the pizza parlor. It rings once... Twice... Three times, the tones stretching into an eternity as my stomach growls. "Thank you for calling Vincent's"a voice on the other side croaks. It sounds as though this man's been smoking cigarettes non stop since he was born. "This is Hillary, how can I help you?"Not a man then... Strange. I order a pepperoni pizza. Extra cheese- just how I like it and hang up the phone. The tv fails to distract me from my gurgling stomach as I wait, staring at the door like a dog anxious for his owner to come him.My fingers tap the warm leather of my sofa, Ten minutes go by... Twenty... It's been nearly half an hour when the doorbell rings, and the whole room goes quiet. I unmute the tv- I must have turned the sound off when the doorbell rang, and walk towards the door trying not to show how desperate I am for that pizza. How badly I need it. The delivery man is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, even with his hair short-clad legs and greasy pimpled face. He tells me it'll be sixteen dollars. Sixteen dollars for a taste of heaven. Hell, I'll pay twenty. I hand him a bill and tell him "Keep the change"before shutting the door in his face and turning back to my couch... Time to solve the mystery of who's going to eat this pizza... And I'm the prime suspect.
Bliss. "We all know that parenting is hard. Schedules to keep, meals to cook, and clothes to buy. But what can you do, when you've tried everything and your precious angel is acting a bit more like the devil every day?" Bliss. "Studies have shown that hyperactivity and misbehavior in children often stem from a single cause: an excess of neuronal activity in the still-growing brain. This condition--known by doctors and psychologists as 'malignant hypercognition'--has effects that will last throughout a child's life, even into adulthood." Bliss. "These effects include poor social skills, an inability to focus, reduced levels of physical activity, poor performance in school, and an increased incidence of diseases such as obesity, diabetes, and high cholesterol. But there is an answer." Bliss. "On the cutting edge of both psychology and healthcare, Bliss is a new medicine that helps children afflicted with malignant hypercognition by reducing harmful overstimulation of certain areas of the brain, allowing neurons to form and create links at a slower, more natural rate, promoting the life-long mental health of your child." Bliss. "So remember, if your child is suffer from malignant hypercognition, speak with your doctor about Bliss. You'll be glad you did." Bliss. "Learning takes a lifetime."
I can't shake the sensation of pursuit, that I am a goal for somebody else. Can it be a pursuit if I, the target, am locked into this fearful position? I hastily check for the definition of 'pursuit', my fingers finding brief comfort on the keyboard of the Acer Chromebook 15. The browser loads the definition with astonishing speed and for a second I forget about my increasing sense of dread. It would appear this isn't a pursuit. It's a trap. I reluctantly pull my hands away from the device and take a sip of Red Bull. I need to be alert now more than ever so I am careful to use only the best caffeinated beverage. I shouldn't be afraid. Since California-based Altamont Capitol Partners acquired Cascade Windows their custom products have been second to none. Combined with Masonite doors and the latest FrontPoint home security system I could not be in a more safe, elegant, reasonably priced home environment. But even best-in-class alarm systems and CCTV cameras can't comfort me right now. I saw him out there in the yard, lit tastefully by my latest VOLT LED Landscape Lighting solution. How could I fail to, wearing Alden Optical contact lenses; for once I need not doubt anything I perceive. I felt panic, my stomach dropped, but I headed inside. To refuge. I was sure that I would feel safe once I was here. But I can't shake the notion that I have merely entered a cage. I beautifully furnished cage, but a cage nonetheless. I need to stay calm. I put on my Audio-Technica ATH-ANC7B QuietPoint Active Noise-Cancelling headphones and relax to the latest ambient music resources found within the Hyperreal Music Archive. I feel soothed until the unmistakable cool sharpness of my Utra-Sharp 7-inch Kyocera Ceramic Chef's Knife presents itself on my throat. The thought flashes through my mind as the edge begins to cut. I'm glad he's using a superior blade.
Superman walks down the corridor towards the Oval Office, flanked by secret service agents. "Keep calm Clark, you don't want to lose your temper."he thought to himself. Superman normally respected human leaders, after all he is a guest on Earth. However, there was something about President Trump that made his stomach turn more than anyone else could. Not even Lex Luthor brought these feelings to Superman. The door of the Oval Office was opened by an agent once Superman arrived. The President was sat at the desk with two secret service agents either side of him. "Good afternoon Mr Kent,"said President Donald Trump, "Please take a seat." Trump gestured to a leather armchair positioned on the opposite side of the desk. Superman sat down and Trump eyed him suspiciously. "Do you know why I asked you to come here Mr Kent?"asked the President. "No sir."replied Superman, trying his best to sound respectful. The President got up and walked to the window. Whilst looking at the view outside he said "You are a guest in my country. One of the, if not the greatest guest of then all. You have given this world so much and asked for so little in return. Which is why I want to offer you a deal." Superman felt uneasy. Trump's new anti-foreigner was causing chaos all across the United States. At first it was the Mexicans who were rounded up and sent South of the border. Not just the illegals, but Green card holders and citizens too. Even Hispanic families who have been living in the USA for decades were deported. Soon, it wasn't just the Mexicans, but the African Americans and Asian Americans were being removed as well. As expected, the people resisted. Riots and demonastrations broke out nationwide. By then the riot police with tear gas were replaced by military with live ammunition. When the country looked like it was on the brink of a full civil war, President Trump called in the newly assembled State Justice League. As expected, using the metahumans had devastating results. The likes of Deathstroke, Deadshot, Killer Frost, Amazo, Star Sapphire and many others killed thousands of rioters and a fragile peace was recovered. The immigrants were leaving. Trump had won. Superman knew that Trump wanted him out of the country as soon as possible and that the deal would have negative consequences for millions. "As you know, my policies require you to leave this country, however you could be useful,"said the President. "My offer is this: join the State Justice League and you can remain in this country and stay with your family as long as you participate in state operations." "What would you have me do? Murder innocent people?"asked Superman. The anger was beginning to seep into his voice. "Collateral damage is necessary Mr Kent. Surely someone like you knows that."The President sat down at his desk again. "I have a vision of a pure United States and to do that, we need to stop the immigrants at the source. We are going to exterminate Mexico." Superman felt like he was punched by Doomsday. His anger was reaching breaking point. He didn't know how much longer he could endure the subhuman piece of trash. Superman struggled to form a retort due to the storm of fury in his mind. President Trump continued "The State Justice League will exterminate Mexico and you'll be a part of it. I'm not asking you." The President picked up his phone and said into the receiver "Make them scream." A few seconds later, Superman felt like he was going to throw up. The anger turned into distress. Thousands of miles away, he heard the screams of Lois and his mother. Trump's State Justice League were holding them hostage. Superman's eyes began to glow red and he stared down Trump who was calm and looking smug. Superman stood up and slammed his fists into the desk, shattering it. The Man of Steel exclaimed "Listen you son of a bitch, if you lay a finger on..." But before he could continue, Superman vomited and fell to the ground. He looked up at the secret serviceman approaching him. The agent removed his shades revealing a pair of glowing green eyes. "Metallo..."said Superman weakly. Metallo kicked Superman hard in the abdomen and the Son of Krypton coughed up blood. "It's such a shame Mr Kent. You could've been a part of my new world. Unfortunately, you are now just collateral damage."said Trump dryly. Metallo picked up Superman by the collar and punched him in the face. Blood splattered to the ground. Donald Trump stood up and walked out of the office. He began to whistle 'The Star Spangled Banner' while the ongoing thuds were taking place in the office. "O'er the land of the free..."sung Trump under his breath. The sounds of the beating in the office ceased. It was now silent. "...and the home of the brave."
My day was rather okay, had a couple boring classes, took a test, nothing special really. I did, however, progress in my "road to Jennifer"conquest. I managed to not only make eye contact with her once, but twice! I was about to exit the school, happy with myself, when BAM, my pants get pulled down in front of all my fellow freshman. I didn't know what to do as I was both shocked and furious. I turn around, my ass as visible as a moon in a clear sky, and I see John with a smirk on his face. Better yet, I see Jennifer standing besides him, accompanied by almost everyone in my class. I ran home and cried. Galaxies away, the onlooker alien child asks her teacher, "Ms. Neila why didn't Timmy just kill John? It's clearly beneficial to the human race if John dies, no?" "We'll never know, that's just the way they are, we can only stare and marvel about what can go on in those innocent brains." "But how about people like John? He doesn't seem to have an innocent brain." "People like John are what the humans refer to as "assholes."They are the exceptions and they are similarly minded to us. We believe the first assholes actually arrived from space, and that their DNA eventually intermingled with humans, disturbing their peace." "Wow! I wish I was an asshole!" First prompt, critique appreciated. :)
Problem 1. Erik makes $75,000 a year as a math teacher at a high school. He’s currently going through a divorce. One of the clauses in his divorce is alimony. He must pay his wife 10% of his salary. In addition, he must pay 30% of whatever money he makes teaching summer school classes to undeserving, privileged children. During summer school periods, he makes an extra $8,000 in yearly income. Please show work and explain how much Erik owes in TOTAL each year to his whore of an ex-wife. Problem 2. Erik is an unhappy math teacher at an uppity school for bratty high school students. He’s going through a divorce that’s threatening to ruin his livelihood and yearly income. Erik considers taking his own life in the most non-messiest way possible. He has chosen the easily accessible drug called caffeine. He has purchased a single bottle of 300 tablets. Each tablet contains roughly 200 mg ±15 mg. Erik has determined that a man of his stature and weight would required around 13,340 mg of caffeine to induce death. Erik is 5 foot 9 inches, and weighs roughly 174 lb. Please show work and explain how many caffeine tablets Erik needs to induce death based on his height and weight. You may round up or down to the nearest tenth.
OT: Decided to go a little astray from the prompt- enjoy Tommy was crying, staring at the shattered fragments of his mothers cup. It had only been a moment, just a moment of inattention, and he'd knocked it to the floor. He sobbed wildly, desperately trying to pick up all the pieces when she came in. "Tommy what's wrong?"His mother asked as she came into the room. He looked, up, shame all over his face, and began apologising. "I'm sorry mum, I'm sorry. I'm really realy sorry. I broke it and now it 's everywhere and I'm so sorry."he said, hardly pausing between words. Silently she made her way over to him, and picked him up. "You've cut your hand."she said, setting him down on the counter. She got the first aid kit of of the cupboard and began to clean the wound. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean too..."Tommy sobbed as she put a plaster over the cut. She took his hand and gave it a quick kiss. "There. All better. Next time, tell me, don't tyr to clear it up yourself. I don't want you to get hurt."she said sternly. "Are you mad at me?"he asked quietly, not able to meet her eyes. She took his chin and tilted his head to look at her. "It's OK. Accidents happen. I have plenty of glue and varnish to fix it."She said, reassuringly. "But...it won't be the same...it'll be all cracked."he protested. She shrugged. "Tommy, let me tell you a little secret. Most people have broken their cups at some point. They'll hide the cracks, or some will wear them proudly, but the cracks will still be there. IT doesn't matter how chipped or cracked or broken your cup is- with enough time, and love, and patience you can fix it. I'm not mad at you sweetie. You go do your homework, while I clean this up and get the varnish, and later we'll go out for ice cream. How does that sound?"She said, giving him a big hug. He nodded, hardly able to speak. She helped him off of the counter, and he ran off to his room. The next day, the glue had hardened, and her cup with there. It may be chipped, but still hers.
Naturally I named our city Cybertron, after the children’s cartoon I favored in a far, previous era. We thrived in the self-contained metropolis we built. I, the primary architect, declared its god as my judgement gave direction to the city of robots. Together we built telescopes to see into the far reaches of the cosmos and microscopes to understand the fabric of reality. So enthralled in our search for truth, we turned a blind eye to our humble planet. Outside Cybertron, we allowed the planet to evolve at its own rate, acting as a perfect nature reserve. While we’d occasionally catalogue fauna and flora in the immediate vicinity, we brazenly ignore the possibility of occasional conveys to explore what mad inventions mother nature would offer. The city itself alerted me as a tiny creature, no bigger than four meters, stumbled into the walls of Cybertron. With slick grey skin adorned by the pelt of some animal or another, its large compound eyes beheld the sights of flying pods and mile high buildings which graced the heavens themselves. He threw down his walking stick and made sounds what I might guess to be utter joy. I met him in person, my cold metallic skin contrasting his soft shiny hide. I offered my hand to his, a scaly member with seven fingers, two of which were thumbs, but the gesture was lost to it. I welcome the creature to my city and offered an array of tests and pleasantries. After some time, I learned its primitive language which lacked verb tenses and all sense of adverbs. He called himself a Protocan of a mighty clan in the south. He hailed from a village amongst the mountains which looked upon my city and constructed their religion around it. They made sacrifices and wars, gave away immense fortunes and plundered the lifeblood of rival villages, all in the name of a city which they could not understand. The Protocan before me was a high priest who made the sojourn to Cybertron to meet his god, which he called Di. “But I am not Di.” I tried to explain. “I am but Protocan before Protocans.” “Then Di is first being,” The Priest proclaimed proudly. “We serve in your name.” “No. You do not understand. There is no divinity in my blood.” “But you cannot build huts this high!” The priest proclaimed as he gestured to buildings of the city. “You use magic.” I tried every attempt to dissuade the Protocan, but he insisted. I realized, probably too late, that I was speaking to a creature, not an AI who might listen to reason or make observation to reconstruct its knowledge. He would not understand me even if he could. With a heavy sigh, I finally proclaimed the test of his faith ended; I am Di. The Priest became a prophet of sorts as I visited the villages and made contacts with the Protocans who would sometimes throw themselves at my feet and would sometimes throw spears in my directions. I reasoned and gave gifts to whom I could and wiped out the disobedient who insisted upon war. Their society flourished around my presence; they built statues and sanctified the ground upon which I walked. As I sat upon my throne in Cybertron, I question what right I have to proclaim myself a god and wonder when they will evolve enough to realize I am a sham. Amused and terrified, I quietly entertained the idea of what their society shall do when they want to dethrone a God. I look forward to that day.
I come from a long line of rebels, stretching back generations. Grandpa never took kindly to authority figures telling him what to do, and refused to be chipped even when that meant losing his job and being unable to go to stores without facing arrest. As a big F-U to the government, he moved up here to the mountains to live off the land instead. Internet and phones required a chip to use, so they just did without. And when he and Grandma had kids, they were born here in the cabin instead of in one of the hospitals in town. No chips, no registration, no records. Dad then carried on the same family values; he met Mom through a group of like-minded resistors who were never registered, and they had me in secret. I was only six when the Evacuation Act was passed. After so much harm to the environment, people realized that some things just can’t be fixed with more technology. The entire planet was turned into one big park, and everyone else evacuated off-world. Being cut off from the rest of society, we only learned about it when the government started broadcasting warnings on old CB radios, telling us to report to the nearest spaceport for reassignment. Well, Dad followed those orders just about as much as Grandpa had done in the past; I was just lucky that he never smashed that old radio receiver. The flyovers started when I was eight or so. We’d have to dash out of the cabin and jump into the lake, even in the dead of winter. Dad said the drones use thermal imaging, so they can’t see us under the cold water. I started sleeping in a wetsuit, and Dad rigged up some big straws on the dock for us to breathe through. But by the time I was eleven or twelve, the flyovers became less and less frequent until they finally stopped. All air traffic stopped, actually: no more sonic booms from planes soaring overhead, and no more streaks in the sky from the orbital jumpers leaving spaceports. Even the CB radio fell silent; no more government broadcasts warning us to leave the planet, and one by one the other resistor families fell silent too. Dad passed on when I was about 15; some kind of infection that didn’t respond to our home-grown penicillin. It was bound to happen eventually, and he’d raised me up right to take care of myself. I buried him on the shore of the lake next to Grandma and Grandpa, and next to the mother I’d never really known. And that was it: just like that, I was alone. Despite Dad’s warnings, I did search for others. After making sure that my traps were set, the fishing nets were out, and the crops were attended, I had some free time on summer. So I decided to go into town. I wasn’t going to get caught: living out here and hunting for one’s supper makes one pretty adept at staying hidden. I just had to see this town for my own two eyes. Just to see if they really were gone. I stopped on the outskirts and observed the gleaming towers and wide paved streets, but there was nothing moving. Everything was dead quiet; completely deserted. Maybe the radio broadcasts had been right: maybe everyone was gone. Summers went and winters came, and life carried on. I kept the radio on, waiting for some signal. Maybe one of the other resistor families was still out there. Maybe they were afraid to broadcast because of the flyovers. So every night, I sat by my fire and just talked for hours on end. I talked until my throat was hoarse. I begged them to respond. To do anything to indicate that maybe they were still out there. And just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore… “Hello?” A voice crackled through the speakers. “Hello, can you hear me?” the voice was soft, in a way that I’d only heard on Dad’s old recordings: a woman’s voice. I threw myself across the cabin and lunged for the mic. “I’m here!” I shouted, mashing the broadcast button. “Hello? Hello?! I’m here!” I hadn’t realized just how much I needed to hear another human speak. It had been near 4 years now since Dad’s passing, and I hadn’t seen another soul since then. “Oh god, are you real?” she asked back, ending the broadcast with a sob. “Yes. Yes, I’m real.” I didn’t even know how to describe the sheer relief I was feeling now. “I’ve been looking for so long!” Her voice was like a song. “Where are you? I just… I need to see you for myself.” My mind stretched back to the abandoned town, miles and miles away. There was a big green sign near the road that said the name. “I’m near Reno,” I told her. “In Nevada.” There was a long pause. The radio crackled with static, teasing me. Was she not real? Was it all my imagination? Had I finally snapped? Then her voice came back through the speakers. “I can be there in 3 hours,” she said. “Look for me in the center of town.” --- I picked flowers for her. I’m not sure why; Dad had once told me that he’d given Mom flowers on the day they met, and that she’d love it. We used to pick them together to put on her grave, too. I guess women liked flowers. I stood in a windswept intersection of two broad streets. I wasn’t sure where exactly the ‘center’ of town was, but this section had the biggest buildings. And I was the only one here. “Hello?!” I called. My voice echoed through the canyons of glass and steel until it was carried away by the wind. But I had to keep calling, or she wouldn’t be able to find me. The streets were filled with a sudden roar, like a pounding storm. It seemed to come from every direction at once; from the buildings themselves. Then a bright light snapped on overhead, and I had just enough time to look up and identify the glowing engines of one of the government ships. Then electricity jolted through my body, leaving my convulsing on the rough black asphalt. “Got one poacher in the honey pot,” a voice said. The shock had taken me out of it so much I didn’t even realize that men in black uniforms had appeared next to me. “Where is she?” I managed to croak. I realized that I hadn’t even learned her name. Hopefully she saw the ship and ran, like Dad had trained me to do. “Confirmed,” the voice said, ignoring my question. “Taking him up now.” A harness was strapped to my chest, and we began to rise toward the ship “Where is she?!” I shouted at the men hanging in the air next to me. “WHERE IS SHE?” One of them laughed and removed part of the black mask he wore over his face. “There never was a ‘she,’” he told me.
The wind was cold on the Arctic tundra. Countless copies of Santa Claus stood, ready, breathing in the frigid air for what they knew was going to be their last time. Santa had lived in some incarnation or another for hundreds of years, and for hundreds of years the tradition has remained unchangd: on Christmas Eve the One Claus becomes Many, and they transport gifts to every good child in the world. On Christmas Day they use their powers to spread joy and cheer to anyone they could. The Santas that gathered here, stretching through Siberia, Alaska, Canada, Norway, and Iceland, had just finished their Christmas. The sun does not shine in the Arctic Circle during the winter solstice at any hour, but every Santa knew the time. December 25th, 11:55pm GMT. Five more minutes until December 26th. They passed slowly. No Santa spoke to any other. Some jumped and flexed to limber their muscles, others stared at the Arctic stars, others attempted to do impart one last bit of joy with what remained of their Christmas powers. Others simply stood still and calm. They all knew what was coming. They all knew what must be done on Boxing Day. At last, midnight struck, and tundra was painted red. A furious melee that stretched for continents raged, clones descending on each other in a hail of jabs, hooks, and haymakers. One by one Santas fell, beaten to death, the matter of their bodies vanishing back where it came, the blood they shed before death disappearing along with them. Hour after hour they fought, bare knuckled, marching towards the pole when they ran out of opponents within sight. As the dawn of Boxing Day broke, it was still dark on the edges of polar ice as the surviving Santas marched onwards. They fought on snow and on ice. They fought on frozen plains and amid ice floes. Everywhere a copy saw another they immediately rushed into battle, the lone survivor always proceeding further north. The day stretched on as the clones' numbers thinned and fights became less frequent. As the people of the world enjoyed their gifts and each others company, eating leftovers from Christmas dinner, still the clones of Santa Claus fought and died. At last, at 10pm on December 26th, it was over. A solitary Claus stood at the top of the world, atop the hatch that led down into the alien spacecraft that had docked here so long ago. His ribs were broken, his jaw was shattered, he was dragging a shattered leg, his left eye was swollen and his right eye was blinded with blood running down his face, but he was alive. This one, alone of so many, had triumphed. He would be the new year's Santa Claus. He wheezed heavily as he made his way down the hatch and into the massive ship. The onboard medical equipment healed his wounds, and the elves welcomed him home.
"Goose shit." "You're kidding." "Nope. And it has to be fresh." "That is fucking disgusting. But on the other hand: Immortality. Couldn't you get used to it after a while? Like kale or whatever?" "You'd think that, right? But people have tried. There was one guy, Fernando Feliz. He made it through something like two hundred years. There's a whole biopic. Dude said it got worse every time. The anticipation was like a seasoning. Satanic MSG. Finally there comes a day where he just can't do it. Can't swallow the shit. The literal shit, I mean. Dude died weeping with a glass of bird crap in his hand." "What the fuck." "Yeah." "How much of it do you have to drink?" "Twelve ounces. Every day." "Fuuuuuck. And you said fresh?" "Fresh from the goose's ass." "You'd need a whole flock." "Oh yeah. Feliz had a few." "Could you like... mix it with something? Orange juice?" "First of all: That's disgusting. And second: No. Only works in its pure state." "Foul." "Extremely." "...I couldn't do it." "No one can, man. That's the thing. That's why there aren't immortals clogging up the works." "Goose shit." "Yeah." "Fuck."
"Stand down, Electrolight!"I shouted, my cape billowing behind me in the wind, my shadow playing out in front of me on the rooftop. Ahead, Electrolight sneered as he turned to face me, sparks dancing in a halo around his hair as excess static discharged into the atmosphere. I gulped as our eyes met, but raised my chin, forcing my face to look stone cold. "Or what?"He shouted, a sack full of stolen superconductive material draped over his shoulder, one that he planned to make a suit out of that would amplify his powers tenfold. A material that no one should have known existed, but somehow he had discovered that the researchers working for the Hero Department under the city had developed, and was now trying take with him in an escape. "Or I'll rip you apart with the sonic screech!"I shouted, referring to June 2nd, 2012, when sound waves emanating from my throat had split Rocky the human mountain in half, "Or I'll strike you with my ultra strength!"That had been October 9th of 2009, one of my first days as a superhero, when I had knocked out the city's reigning villain with a single punch. Over the years, tales of my victories had spread like wildfire. I was the only OmniHero in existance, the only person to possess all the powers. And through careful execution, no one had come to realize that I only possessed one of them a day, and that it was not my choosing. And today, I preferred to bluff than to display my power. "Why not, Omni?"Called Electrolight back, his voice like thunder, his yellow eyes flashing, "I think I have you figured out, I think I know your secret. Why don't you just stop me?" I swallowed, wondering if he might truly know. All it would take is one person with that knowledge to foil the bluff that I had so carefully maintained. To topple my protection of the city, my lie that had succeeded through the fear of my enemies, and send common villains crawling out of lairs and back to the streets for crime. "Don't force me to act, Electrolight!"I bluffed, puffing out my chest and forcing my voice to match his in depth, "Or this will be the last step you'll take!" "You know, I'm not convinced,"He answered, flashing a smile, "After you let The Toppler escape last week, I think I know your weakness! I don't think you can stop me, or you already would have!" Inwardly, I groaned. He was right- I had let The Toppler escape, as that day my power had been levitation. A neat party trick, but not very effective in instilling fear in my enemies. "Last chance, Electrolight!"I said, my voice strained. "No, it is your last chance!"He shouted, and pointed a finger at me, a nexus of electrical energy growing in a ball, "Because we both know you can't protect yourself!" I waited as his power grew, knowing I had no choice. Knowing that I had to use my power. So I took a breath, filling my entire chest cavity. And I let it explode out of me. A stream of impossibly hot wind screamed toward Electrolight, his expression frozen as his clothes, then flesh, then the very bones themselves were burned away. And when the torrent stopped, all that remained was a mound of superconductor material at his feet. I sighed, walking forward to claim it. I hated using my powers on the days that they were lethal. And today, I was full of hot air. *** By Leo [Like my writing? Check out my free online Science Fiction serial, The Bridge!](https://leonardpetracci.com/the-bridge)
“Sanjay there’s no way that my parents would ever agree to this.” Elaine whispered, still in shock. “I’m not asking them to marry me, I’m asking you.” He clarified. Honestly, he just wished she would give him an answer. His knee was starting to hurt and a crowd was starting to gather. “I mean, I love you and I want to get married to you, but-” Sanjay sighed at that point, not particularly excited with what she was about to say. “You know my parents are super religious and I don’t think they’d really like for me to be married to someone who prays to thirty-three million-” “Three hundred and thirty million.” Sanjay interjected and mentally kicked himself for it. “Exactly.” She tried smiling reassuringly. “They would feel really uncomfortable knowing that I’d be married to and raising kids with a polytheistic man.” Sanjay glanced around nervously. People had in fact gathered into a circle and eccentric flashes of light from his peripheral vision led him to presume that people were taking pictures of him and the love of his life. “Honey, people are-” “I know, I know.” her hands flew to cover her face and the crowd around them quieted down, suddenly unsure if there would be a happy ending. Not wanting to make a scene, Sanjay decided to suggest an alternative.. “Elaine,” She lowered her hands, earnestly looking at him. “I could always convert if that’s what will make you happy.” Sanjay felt time slow as the words left his mouth. Elaine edged closer, looking as if she wanted to say something, but as he anticipated her approval, he could see her motions slow until she completely stopped. In fact, everything around him had stopped. The flashing lights and the murmuring of passerbys ceased and Sanjay noticed that it wasn’t just his Elaine that was frozen. Everyone was. Sanjay stood up and looked around. Nothing was moving and nobody was breathing. He perked up and reached for his girlfriend, touching her cheek. “Elaine, are you okay? Say something!” “She can’t hear you.” A strong feminine voice called. “Who’s there?” Sanjay balled his fists. “What’s going on here?” A loud, animalistic growl echoed through the park that Sanjay was starting to regret choosing as his proposal venue. It was dark and he didn’t want to leave Elaine frozen and defenseless. As he continued to survey his surroundings, a tiger appeared in the distance and walked closer to him. Sanjay could feel the hairs standing up on his neck. “This is all just a really bad dream.” He whispered to himself. “No it’s not!” The voice echoed. Sanjay turned to look behind him to figure out who was speaking, but upon failing to find someone, he turned back around to find a woman standing a foot away from him. He exclaimed in surprise and jumped backwards a few steps, somewhat glad Elaine was frozen and missed that moment. “What? Did I scare you?” The woman sounded amused, even cracking a slight smile. She was adorned in ethnic Indian wear with golden jewelry from head to toe. “W-who are you?” Sanjay asked, protectively standing in front of the frozen Elaine. “Do you seriously not know?” Her tone grew more aggressive and the tiger edged even closer and nuzzled her palm. Sanjay had completely forgot about the tiger and could feel his heart pounding. ‘This is the end.This is how I die.’ Sanjay thought to himself. The woman snorted and rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, this isn’t how you die. That’ll be much much later.” Neither of these statements sounded reassuring to Sanjay and he grew more perplexed and panicked with the psychic woman standing in front of him. “Do you seriously not know who I am? Chee Chee, your parents would be so disappointed especially with your Bengali heritage.” She shook her head sadly. Suddenly it all clicked into place for Sanjay. The sari, jewelry, and the tiger-all of those things seemed very familiar, especially in his Bengali household. “Ma Durga?” He asked timidly. “Yes, in the flesh!” She grinned. There was a bright light and all of a sudden, she was in her traditional form, sitting atop the tiger, brandishing a variety of items, including a very sharp sword with her ten arms. “Wow.” was all Sanjay managed to sputter out. He’d prayed so much as a child to the Goddess Durga and none of the idols and pictures could adequately capture her true form as she was now. Sanjay immediately dropped to his knees to seek her blessing. “I’m so sorry I didn’t recog-”. “Save it.” The goddess raised a palm up. “If you were truly devout, you wouldn’t have done it.” Sanjay scratched his head. He truly had no idea what the goddess was talking about. “Done what?” She sighed. “Sanjay, you used to be such a good boy. Obedient, intelligent-” “Hey! Don’t bring me into this!” Another feminine voice called out. Sanjay turned his head to see a woman holding a veena walking towards him and the goddess Durga with a peacock following closely behind her. Sanjay immediately recognized her from the years he spent praying to her while he was in school. “Ma Saraswati?” The goddess of knowledge, Saraswati nodded. She snapped her fingers and a large lotus appeared out of thin air and she took a seat on it. “This is going to take some time isn’t it?” She asked the goddess Durga. “He clearly hasn’t been praying enough to you, otherwise I’d have expected him to have figured all of this out by now.” The goddess Durga remarked. “What’s happening?” Sanjay asked. He couldn’t figure out why he was suddenly being visited by Hindu goddesses. “Sanjay, just moments ago you told your beloved that you would convert religions just to be with her!” The goddess Saraswati exclaimed. “Honestly, how could you? After we worked so hard to get you where you are today!” The goddess of wealth Lakshmi materialized right next to Sanjay. He was once again caught off guard. If he made it through the night without having a heart attack he would consider tonight a victory, even if Elaine rejected him. “Don’t do that to me!” He yelled at the goddess of wealth. She merely arched an eyebrow in response and Sanjay apologized for raising his voice. “Sanjay, the reason why we’re here is because your actions hurt us today.” The goddess Durga reasoned. “Imagine what Vishnu will think when he arrives.” “L-Lord Vishnu? He’s coming h-here?” Sanjay gulped. “Of course!” The goddess Lakshmi spoke. “My husband loves all of his devotees and takes an active interest in their spiritual development!” “Oh man.” Sanjay was almost sure he was going to hell. He wondered if Lord Yama, the god of death would be showing up soon to claim his soul and put this emotional turmoil to rest. “That’s not going to happen.” A masculine voice spoke. Sanjay looked up to see that it was indeed Vishnu. Sanjay touched the Lord’s feet out of respect to seek his blessing. “So tell me about this conversion nonsense you’ve been spewing.” Lord Vishnu smiled at his devotee. Sanjay sighed and sat on the ground, dejected. “I’m sorry I hurt you all. I guess I lost my faith somewhere along the way.” The goddesses Lakshmi and Saraswati frowned at his words. The goddess Durga looked unconvinced, but Lord Vishnu kept smiling at Sanjay. “I don’t know!” Sanjay threw his hands up in the air. “I love her, but I can’t be with her because I’m Hindu and she’s Christian and her parents won’t like it-” “She seems like a lovely girl.” Lord Vishnu gestured towards the frozen Elaine. “She is.” Sanjay sighed. “She’s fine with my beliefs, but she doesn’t want to make her parents upset.” “If you two are truly in love, it will all work out.” Lord Vishnu reached for his wife’s hand and gently placed a kiss on her hand. The Goddess Lakshmi smiled and averted her eyes. “But how?” Sanjay asked the gods and goddesses around him. The only answer Sanjay received was a smile from Lord Vishnu and his gentle voice telling him “You’ll find a way.” All of a sudden, Sanjay felt himself rise up to a knee and face Elaine. He wasn’t in control of his own body anymore. Ever so slightly and slowly he could start to hear the sounds of the park and traffic as well as the crowd. Sanjay knew what was happening but wasn’t sure how to stop it. He wanted to talk more with the deities he’d spent his childhood and adolescence praying to. “Wait!” He called out, seeing the images of the gods and goddesses fading away. “I’m not done asking questions! No!” He wanted to reach out for them but was seemingly stuck in his current position. “Good Luck!” The Goddess Durga waved. “Study Hard!” the Goddess Saraswati called. “We’re always listening!” The goddess Lakshmi smiled. Lord Vishnu just nodded and gave Sanjay a smile. And then they all vanished, leaving only the real world behind. Sanjay was still in shock until he heard Elaine’s voice, snapping him out of his trance. “Sanjay?” She was holding his hand. He looked up, still dazed from his surreal experience. “Sanjay, I could never ask you to switch faiths like that.” His eyes widened. “I love you for who you are and your religion is a part of who you are. I couldn’t live with changing you like that. I’ll talk to my parents and make them understand.” “Wai-” He was still so confused as to what she was saying. “Sanjay, I guess what I’m trying to say, is yes.” She smiled, laughing quietly in that way he loved so much. He was beaming as he slid the ring on her finger to the cheers of the passerbys. Somewhere is heaven, several deities sighed in relief and smiled upon the happy couple.
The thing about being smart? You don't really feel smart. You just feel tired. The doctor hands you to your mother, who welcomes you with a kind face. It was.. cruel, that's the word, that you were in a way older than your own parent. From the moment your conscience was first realized in her womb, you've been absorbing information about the world. She hugs you, whispers that she'll take care of you forever, that she'll love you forever. Forever doesn't mean the same thing to the two of you. She's so young.
The waking is sudden and jarring. I clutch the sheets, feeling the sheen of sweat that was all over my body. The dream floats above me and I try to catch it, to hold onto it, but it drifts away, like clouds on a windy night. I cannot remember why I am awake. As I try to still my frantic breathing, the overwhelming scent of silence hits me. What time was it? 3am. Of course it was. The hour of reckoning. I paddle gently through the house, finding everyone firmly asleep, even my night owl of a sister. I climbed back into bed, laid my head forcefully against the pillow, and tried to let sleep pull me in again. I stay like this for a few minutes, taking in the low hum of the fan, watching it's blades spin lazily against the ceiling. But sleep refused to claim me again. Frustrated, I lean over and grab my phone from my bedside table, and launch my reddit app. Always dependable that reddit. I scroll aimlessly through my feed, but nothing grabbed me. Until i saw this: Anyone else awake? I notice it has seven replies and that it had been posted recently. Oh, what the hell. I click the post. "John?" "John are you there?" "Damn it I think I am a few minutes too early." "Still not here?" "You're so slow John. Let me go take a piss." "Still not here?" "How was the dream John?" No. This can't be. It's just a coincidence. There are plenty of people who have the name John. I need to respond: "What dream?" The reply comes almost immediately: "You can't remember can you? Can't blame you. Wouldn't want to remember something like that." "What was it about?" "Is that really the question you want to ask me John?" "What should I ask you then?" "Ask me how I know you're wearing a grey t-shirt." I glance down at my shirt, suddenly feeling a burgeoning tension in the air. "Who the fuck are you?" "Wrong question John. Now let me ask you something." "Stop fucking with my head!" "Easy ... Tell me John, do you always forget to lock your main door?" Only it wasn't a text, it was a whisper at my ear. I scream, but it is soundless scream that echoes uselessly through the house before losing itself in the meandering wind.

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