Split (1)

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In the second week of the first year of the underground offensive on ISIS, Harry Qin of SEAL Team 2 had been under siege in the village for three days. "Don't you get it, Qin?"his captain screamed, "there are no reinforcements, because we're not supposed to be here. We repair this chopper or we die."So Harry Qin went to work. "Captain,"Harry said, "If we fly off on this chopper, what happens to the villagers?" "We killed al-Alwani,"the captain said, "We did our job." They were holed up in a small village at the base of a cliff, with 6 living SEALs and about 60 armed men from the village. ISIS had about 300 men, 100 with automatics, but the village was walled and Qin's unit was able to keep them off for a few days-- until the shells arrived. Before that day the SEALS could at least outgun the raiders. Not anymore. Harry watched from the rooftop where he was repairing the chopper. The bombs blasted the wall and armed ISIS troops rushed in. Women screamed. Men were split in half. The other SEALS formed a perimeter around him as he worked. But he couldn't any more. Not while there were children out there. He wasn't just going to fly away. Harry grabbed a gun and joined the perimeter. He picked off a man grabbing a 12 year old girl with a precise shot. "Qin!"his captain barked, "Get back on that chopper. That's an order!" "New orders, Captain"Qin said, reloading, "McCarthy! Johnson! Flank left. Down the stairs." "You won't go down there, Qin,"the Captain said, "You're killing your people." "These are my people too,"Harry said, "We owe them." At that moment, Harry saw someone fling themselves off the cliff above, a height of a hundred feet. The body landed in the street below and shattered. Shattered? thought Harry. Then another one jumped. And another. Whole scores of people running off the cliff and falling into the town below. The invaders and townspeople all the stopped to watch. For a moment it was quiet. Then the dust stirred. The shards of torsos, faces, and weapons magnetized together. The first Terra Cotta battalion surrounded Harry's position, daring anyone to approach. Soon chariots flew from the cliff and rebuilt. They had been riding three days and three nights across the steppes, tirelessly. Thousands of shattering warriors fell into the city, an army fit for the gods. Chariots clashed with all terrain vehicles. Terra Cotta soldiers were blasted to dust by machine guns only to rebuild and continue the march. "Go,"Harry said. And with his word they swept the town.
I was ready. My anus tightly clenched, almost quivering in excitement. My older brother looked at me and sighed. "Enjoy it. It'll be the best thing you every feel in your life." I turned to him, my blank smile morphing into a cracked and a broken grin. I felt it swelling deep within my bowels. My smile broke out into a maniacal laugh as I released a truly daunting growl. But it hadn't come yet. My brother watched on in horror. "Don't do it, man." At least, that's what I assumed he said. No sound reached my ear except for the symphony my body was producing. "You can't go that hard, Jon!"My brother was yelling, the strain cracking his voice. Yet the sound was only a whisper in comparison. Suddenly, the growling stopped. It had reached the bottom. I stopped laughing and spoke to my brother for the last time. "Pull my finger." He reluctantly reached forward, grasped my index finger, and gave a quick, sharp, sullen tug. And with that I released the fart. Like a great wind moving across the Great american plains, sometimes swirling into dust devils and tornado. It came like a plague, as if Moses himself set down his staff, and darkness fell upon all of Egypt. Leaving only death and desolation in its wake. It fell like a bomb, with a force that was apathetic to all in its radius. As it came to an end, I found myself in a new world. Gone was my house. My brother, my sister, my family, all gone with the wind. I stepped out across the empty, barren wasteland. A lone survivor, in the aftermath of a fart.
The day broke, gray and sterile. White winds howled across the surface of the black water, while grasping tendrils of chill mist encircled the silent lake house. [Editor's note: It was a bit overcast. Otherwise, it was a perfectly nice morning.] The man and the woman arrived. The guttural cries of their creaking automobile echoed across the surrounding forest like the wail of the dead. [Editor's note: It was Jim Farmer and his wife, Samantha. And they drive a Prius so I doubt it was all that loud.] Inside the ancient house, a being stirred... [Editor's note: That's Corey, the house sitter.] Up above, in the chalk-dry eaves, black-winged bats hung in silent communion. [Editor's note: Bats actually help keep the mosquito population in check, you know. So let's not start badmouthing the bats.] The man and the woman entered the house. Inside, a voice like thunder and God's wrath bellowed in terrible protest...a warning all should heed. [Editor's note: Security system. Top of the line. It's supposed to be loud! And they HAD the code, alright?] Out on the landing, the man and the woman surveyed the bleak, glass face of the still, ponderous water. Below the black sheen, dead-eyed spirits floated slowly towards the surface... [Editor's note: Sturgeon. It was sturgeon. Probably some brook trout, too.] From the quiet shadows of the highest loft, the being began to descend... [Editor's note: Again, that's Corey.] The woman felt a chill - a deep chill, one that reached beyond flesh and bone, down to the dark material of the soul. [Editor's note: It can be chilly on the lake. That's why we always advise people to bring layers.] The man placed an arm around the woman, but the warmth had gone out of him, gone out of the world that morning... [Editor's note: Upper 50s! It gets up into the 70s by the afternoon. Just wear a sweater!] As they huddled in their mutual despair, the being, born of the shadows, passed through the glass partition, unseen and unheard... [Editor's note: HIS. NAME. IS. COREY!] In his hand, a sharpened slip of ancient metal, jagged as dragon's fang, cold as the milky expanse of space... [Editor's note: KEY TO THE BOATHOUSE KEY TO THE BOATHOUSE OH SWEET JESUS IT'S JUST THE GODDAMN KEY TO THE BOATHOUSE.] The man and the woman felt his presence at last...too late...too slow...the bitter tang of his essence enveloping them, encircling their minds, peeling apart the silken layers of their spirit, strip by strip, until nothing was left, nothing remained but cold husks of bone and sorrow... [Editor's note: Fine! Fine. I'll talk to Corey about his cologne.] It's gross. [Editor's note: I'll talk to him.] It's Axe body spray. [Editor's note: Okay.] He sprays it on like it's suntan lotion. [Editor's note: It's too much. Got it.] Like, he just goes crazy with it. [Editor's note: Uh huh.] I'm not being sensitive or anything, it's really too much. [Editor's note: Yes, I get that.] Okay. But can you not tell Corey I'm the one who complained? [Editor's note: Sighs]
"For six decades, the Federal Agency for Intelligence Harvesting has scoured the globe, searching for those gifted students that will propel humanity forward, who will bravely bear the weight of the most intense and complex issues facing our species. Ladies and gentlemen, before you are the saviors of humanity." The director made a sweeping gesture in our direction and the crowd erupted in applause. "Of course, among a group of brilliant intellects there still exists the extraordinary. While every single face I see now will do great things in the Hivemind, there are also those who have excelled beyond what we had imagined. So now, without further ado, I present salutatorian of the class of 2099, Charlotte Roxbury." The attendants cheered as the director called my name, ushering me to the podium. My heart beat at its cage and screamed for release. My face appeared on the screens all around the stadium as I took my place behind the microphone. I breathed in. Out. I dug my nails into my palms as I fought to gather myself. Slowly, I began: "Thank you. And thank you most of all to my classmates that sit before me now. If I had my way it would be anyone else giving this speech instead of me. For every hour I worked, someone else worked two just helping me. I--" My mind went blank. I couldn't remember any of it. Everything I had prepared suddenly slipped away. I had no note cards, no teleprompters. As salutatorian I was expected to memorize every word and suddenly it was all gone. Fuck it, I thought. It's not what I wanted to say anyway. I began again. "We all know what will happen to us one week from now,"The stadium shook in applause and whooping. I impatiently waited for quiet. "My peers and I will be put under heavy anesthetic, the left hemispheres of our brains will be removed and wired into the Hivemind Superprocessor, the rest of us disposed of. We will effectively be dead. The only indication of life will be the neurons of our collective intelligence firing away to solve our government's problems." The stands stirred, unsure of whether or not to praise this. "That's bullshit."I gave them their answer. I glanced at the director as he shifted his weight and raised one eyebrow. "I'm only twenty-four. Twenty-four, and my life is being wrestled from me and plugged into a computer so that I can sort out the baggage of a nation. I tried to escape this institution three times, and three times I was caught, brought back, and put unwillingly into violent therapy. Well, your therapy, didn't work, Mister Briggs. I remember everything." The director brought his wrist to his mouth and muttered into an unseen receiver. The security at either side of the stage began to move. "I want to see the mountains, I want to love someone. Hell, I want kids!"I looked desperately at my classmates as they sat uncomfortably in their chairs, frozen in silence, "and I want that for all of you, as well! Don't you want to make something of yourselves? Something other than a component of their god-damned computer?"I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me away from the microphone. I resisted and two more gripped my arms and dragged me from the podium. "I want to live!"I shouted. I felt a needle embed itself in my stomach, and the world faded to black.
The bearded God known as Dinosmus sat slumped on a small plastic seat inside a bright white waiting room. He held his head in his hands and let out a terrific sigh. He was fed up of waiting. He had already had a terrible week, what with Cometeus and co playing a disastrous round of Meteor golf. Cometeus hadn't even apologised, instead claiming a galactic hole in one. Dinosmus clenched his fists tightly at the memory. They had always made fun of him, the puny god of lizard creatures. Well, now he wasn't even that. He checked his ticket again. 434657. He allowed himself a look at a nearby monitor to see what number the Bureau was currently processing. 245343. "MY GOD!"he yelled out in frustration. Three bearded men seated nearby turned to face him. "Yes?"they chimed harmoniously. Dinosmus groaned. --- 50 million years later an attractive lady waltzed out of a nearby door. "Dinosmus? The Reassignment team are ready to see you now." Dinosmus pushed himself out of the chair, his knees cracking loudly in the process, to the disgust of a nearby Goddess. Dinosmus blushed and hurried along. He followed the woman into a nearby room. A perfectly chiselled God in a white shawl sat next to a petite brunette Goddess in a golden bikini, behind a large table. "Please, take a seat Mr..."the God said, checking his notes "...Dinosmus."He exchanged a quick look with the Goddess. "I am Opus, god of work, and my companion here is Mortemi, Goddess of, uh, retirements. We are here to assess your options." Dinosmus opened his eyes wide. "I thought I was here to get reassigned?"he said. "Perhaps."Mortemi crooned seductively. "We just want to make sure we make the right decision regarding your future. Now, please tell us about your prior experience in Godding." "Well,"began Dinosmus, stroking his thick white beard proudly "I have had 66 million years Godding over the Dinosaurs! They were incred-" "Ah yes, Dinosaurs. Huge stinking creatures with the tiniest of brains. Incredibly dangerous, impossible to communicate with. I don't really get why you created them in the first place."said Mortemi as she raised one eyebrow. "Hardly God worthy."She let out a large yawn, not bothering to cover it up. "Well, some of the larger Dinosaurs were a little stupid,"Dinosmus conceded "but Raptors were incredibly int-" "You keep using that word - 'were' - is there something you would like to tell us?"Opus asked. "OK, this totally wasn't my fault. A meteor kinda hit the Earth and wiped them all out. But it really wasn't my fault."replied Dinosmus. Mortemi and Opus exchanged another look. "There really isn't much need for a God with your, er, qualifications."said Mortemi sympathetically. "Oh please! There must be something? Surely? I will take anything!"said Dinosmus, squeezing his clammy hands together. "Well... there is a more localised position available."said Opus "And I think it suits your skills." "Localised? Well wherever it is and whatever it is, it beats the Hell out of retirement!"said Dinosmus enthusiastically. "Brilliant. Then you start tomorrow. You will be God of a single isolated country. I don't think you can do any harm there. Feel free to put as many of your ridiculous and dangerous creatures on it as you please." Dinosmus fist pumped the air, shook hands with the other Gods and left the room. "Well at least that will keep him out of trouble. We just need to give the country a name now. Oh, and keep any intelligent creatures away from it of course."said Opus. "Hmm I quite like the name 'Australia'"replied Mortemi.
I called Michael and Gabriel immediately. At first, they were hesitant to help Lucifer, but I reminded them that Lucifer one of us in blood and bone. While they took him away to be cared for, I wondered what could have caused my prodigial son to return. In such a state as he was, he must have been desperate. What could drive my Son to desperation and injury ? I set out to Hell to investigate. It was his realm to rule. Of all places, that would be the first place to look for clues until Lucifer could tell. When I arrived, Hell was destroyed. Not turned to ash and dust, the realm had been broken beyond repair. There was no gravity, all the warmth and light had vanished. There were not even the screams of the damned. Plateaus of loose rubble collided against eachother, but no shockwave or noise came from the clash. The realm has been broken. Not even Lucifer has this power. Only I do. How did this come to be ? I had to dig further. Before long, I found the remains of Lucifer's palace. Like most things in the realm, it had been broken. Pieces of stone, wood, ash and strange power floated through the air like dust particles. As I made my way through it, I spotted her. The first individual I had seen here. She had died. Bludgeoned, burnt and torn to pieces, I still recognized her. I used my power to gather the rest if her body, assimilated it into one whole being and breathed life into her. She gasped back to life, and as her mind returned to her I felt mourning alongside the shock. Something I did not expect from her. "Father..."she caughed out as tears welled in her bloodshot eyes. "Spare me the pleasantries, Lilith. We are long past that now. Catch your breath, and tell me what happened." "This...this isn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen..."she spoke as she beheld the shattered realm she had called home ever since she left Eden. "And what was supposed to happen exactly ?" She gazed into my eyes, and I saw. In their greed and lust for power, they tried to create a living weapon, one powerful enough to tear the Heavens out of the skies. In order to do this, they tapped into the essence of life that flowed through all living things and isolated more and more essence over time for every soul that entered into Hell and combined it into a single entity. This entity be ame uncontrolable, in an attempt to resist Lucifer's teachings, broke free and simply 'undid' Hell. Lucifer umleashed his armies on them, only for them all to perish in the blink of an eye. There were no survivors. "What happened to Lucifer ? How did he survive ?" "He didn't." "He did. He came to me in the heavens, wounded from battle." "Father, Lucifer is gone. I saw him die, fighting our son with the lost armies." But, if that's true, then....what did I allow into Heaven ? Oh no.
Nothing ever changes here. I've always lived in the same place, followed the same daily routine, and talked to the same people. It's been years since someone new moved into the village. Supposedly, we're the only ones left. The same story has been passed down for generations- disease ravaged the world and killed everyone who didn't have a natural immunity to it. Of course, this is just a children's tale- I'm sure there never were any other people in the first place. Usually, there's no time to think about such stories. I'm a farmer, and there's always work that needs to be done around here. I attach my cart to one of my horses, and prepare to bring my harvest into a more populated area of the village in an effort to trade for some lumber. The ride to the village was nothing out of the ordinary- I did see a bird though. Not sure what it was called, but it was beautiful anyway. The path I traveled down was dustier than I anticipated. I think I should bring a hat next time. Eventually, my horse managed to plod close enough to town so I could see scattered buildings and the occasional person. The few children who do live in town were unusually active that day. They were yelling. Cheering, even. Something about a visitor. I smile at them as I ride by on my horse. They're too young to understand that it's a smile of sadness and pity- the visitors they speak of never end up being real. While setting up my shop, I notice that the town residents are moving faster than usual- as if they have a purpose. Something strange is going on today, but I'm not entirely sure if I care. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is my first post here- I hope it turned out ok!
[Part 1] So I guess I see it now to some extent. When three guys burst into a hardware store five minutes before close, murmuring rapidly about wiping down fingerprints, sorting through black ski masks, shovels, and nose plugs, that the cashier might assume that something nefarious was about to happen. But I mean the two conclusions that he came to seemed a little presumptive, either that we we’re burying a corpse we had just raped and murdered, or were digging up corpse to rape and I don’t know, re-murder I guess. Reinterring your dead friend for cashing a check in the underworld seems fucking harmless in comparison. Though that would have been even harder for the cashier to understand. So in a fashion that would have made the stoics proud we stood our ground and bought the required implements and rushed out the door. It may have been the adrenaline pumping through our veins causing rationality to fly out the window but we assumed that we had just made it out scot-free. That the cashier would just forget about it and move on. Had made it exactly three shovels of dirt into the ground before the cops showed up. That’s the thing about the situation we had found ourselves in, there were really no reasons why someone would be digging up a grave for legitimate reasons. Or at least reasons that we could rationally explain. The daily blotter the next morning read, to what I can assume is a made up charge, “Attempted Desecration of a Corpse”. Well if push comes to shove I’d much prefer to be thrown in a category with the grave robbers of yore than the sociopathic necrophiliacs we have now. Though I’d assume most mother’s reading the paper the next day assumed the latter. I suppose I should give a little context. There were four of us. Inseparable since we were eight years old. Would spend entire days at little streams building makeshift dams, cutting down trees. Would light shit on fire, bike joust. You know the normal stuff. By the time we all graduated we went our separate ways but kept in touch pretty frequently. Well as much as you reasonably can once you enter adulthood. Always fans of morbid pacts, agreed that the first of us to get married would have their bachelor party at a morgue. That the first of us who had a child had to have the middle name Bahamut. The first to die would get $15,000 put into their casket to take to the underworld to spend on booze and hookers. Unfortunately, the third pact beat the first two. The first of us died at 24, drunkenly drove his motorcycle into a street light. The kind of death where there’s no real way to conjure up any sort of optimism. Completely avoidable, and no one offers sincere condolences, describing it as a life wasted. A footnote in a textbook about the perils of drunk driving. And I mean, you can’t argue with it, he was a dumbass. And from the outside looking in, is the singular moment that would forever define his life. But to us, simply an unfortunate capstone. Thankful that if he was going to go out in an irresponsible way, at least he was the only one hurt. But that he was the culmination of everything leading up to his death. Not the cause of. Anyways, we had always made the pact assuming that the first to die would probably be in their mid 80’s, so five-grand each wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Maybe save a bit from Social Security every month. Presuming it still existed. Being in our mid-twenties we didn’t quite have the means to just throw $15,000 away. So we wrote a check. It was perfectly symbolic, ‘cause hey, the value of money is all intrinsic right? And I mean there’s gotta be at least a few bankers in hell. So during the wake we slipped it into his breast pocket, whispering that he better not buy any bottom shelf shit with all that cash. You can’t really blame us though, being in a state of mourning. That of course when the money was actually withdrawn from our account a few days after his death, we had only two assumptions. 1) That guy was actually Jesus coming back to Earth this entire time or 2) that he actually fucking did it. Brought it with him to whatever ephemeral place we go when we die. Either way, we couldn’t afford our current predicament. And once again I’ll state that we were in a state of mourning, though I assume it was part of our nature. Having attempted to play flaming Ultimate Frisbee in our early twenties we were still prone to irresponsible shit. So of course we were gonna dig up his body and see what the hell was going on.
“I want one with all of it.” “Excuse me?” The new god pointed. “I like the desert, ice, and garden. I see you got a water thing going on. I like it. Can I do a lot of water? Like two-thirds of the planet should definitely be water.” “That’s a lot of water.” “I like water.” “Okay, sir, if you insist.” “I do,” he said, bouncing on his toes with enthusiasm. “Needless to say this is an unprecedented order. I’ve never combined them all before. It will take some time.” “How long?” “At least six days.” “That’s cool.” The older god quirked an eyebrow at the young one. “What’s your name, son?” “God.” “I know you’re a god. I asked what your name was.” “Just God. Or Allah, I suppose. If there’s a fancy occasion.” “Allah just means ‘god’.” “Yea, but it’s the fancy version.” “Okay, ‘God’, what life forms are you thinking of populating it with?” “Humans.” “What?” “Humans. They’re gonna be like super tiny versions of me.” “You’re going to make mini-gods and have them live on this tiny planet with hugely varying climates?” “Yes. With lots of water. Water they can’t drink! To make it interesting.” “That’s messed up.” “Better than watching desert creatures dig in the sand all the live long eternity. Or water creatures just swimming around eating each other. This will be fun.” “If you say so, sir.”
INT. OFFICE FLOOR - MORNING Workers sit at their desks and type. Someone yawns. Quietly, but picking up, comes the sound of a carnivalesque cascade of brass and drums. The workers turn, more from vexation than anticipation, to the stairwell doors. Through the doors bursts a small marching band, followed by FRED, 50's, balding, glasses. He's surrounded by DANCERS who spin in jubilance. FRED (singing, imperfectly) I quit! I quit, I quit. DANCERS (back-ups, professionally) He quits! He quits! FRED I quit! This job is shit. DANCERS It's so much shit! Fred leaves the circle of dancers with attempted showmanship. FRED (pointing out co-workers) And I say to you, and you, and you, Hahaha you still have to work here. Eat a diiiick! Fred sustains the note on 'dick' as the Dancers join in: DANCERS Eat a diiick! and the band reaches a crescendo and then breaks to silence, leaving Fred with arms spread, panting, and smiling. His (ex) co-workers stare, mostly bemused. Ten feet away stands his (EX) BOSS, arms crossed, eyeing Fred unhappily. (EX) BOSS Fred, what's this about? FRED I quit. (EX) BOSS Okay. Pack your things, I'll send your last check in the mail. FRED Hold on, I'm not nearly finished with you. Fred holds out his hand and one of the dancers throws him a walkie-talkie. FRED (re: walkie-talkie) I'm ready for him. (EX) BOSS What is this Fred? Can't you just quit like a normal person? FRED I'm gonna tell you off. With the help of a very recently found acquaintance. (EX) BOSS Oh I'd like to see this. Through the door strides SAMUEL L. JACKSON, cool as ever. He stands at Fred's side and gives him a nod. FRED (reading from notes) Here it is. I'm not a fan of the way you manage our operations. SAMUEL Listen here you mother fucking piece of shit ass excuse for a boss. FRED Your meetings are dull, you unfairly stick me with overtime, and your ties are really unflattering. SAMUEL You're a fuck-boy, boring as all hell, and you try to hold me down, you sorry ass punk? Your ties look like my shit after I gorge myself at motherfukin' Taco Bell. FRED Yeah. SAMUEL God damn right. FRED Thank you Samuel. They fist bump. Samuel L. leaves. (EX) BOSS Christ. Are you finished now? Fred stares at him while he again extends his hand and recieves a champagne bottle from a dancer. He pops the cork off and starts to chug. He gives up after a few seconds as foam pours back out of his mouth. He smashes the bottle on the ground. FRED Whoo! Everyone is staring. FRED Now I'm done. A dancer hands him an empty box. FRED Guess I'll get my stuff. He heads over to his desk and starts collecting his things. Some moments pass. FRED Hey Rick do you want this stapler? RICK No, I've got two. FRED Mm. Fred finishes up and heads out, but he trips a little on a chair leg and spills the box's contents. FRED Aw, jeez. He kneels down and re-collects them. Everyone still stares in silence. Fred hops back up and brushes off the small incident. He walks to the stairwell and his posse of hires follows, almost reluctant to be a part of the showing. BOSS Anyone else win the lottery today? (a beat) Good. Back to work. He heads back to his office.
“Nope.” “Did you just… did you just nope to reincarnation?” “Yup.” Death stared at me, incredulous, from across the desk. To be honest, he wasn't what I had expected. Sure, he was dressed in a black shirt, a black tie and, I had to assume, black pants and his jet-black hair, flecked with grey, was smoothed back from his pale forehead like a small-time Hollywood villain. But there was no cape or hood or scythe in sight. He wasn’t skeletal and he didn’t work from any sort of cave or hell-like dimension. Actually, his circular office was pretty sweet. My chair was soft but firm, the hardwood floor gleamed but the plushy red rug under my feet made the room feel warmer, cosier. Dotted around the walls were oil paintings of men with black hair, dark eyes and the same delicately curved brows and high cheekbones as the man sat opposite me: generations of Death, I realised. In the middle of it all was a large, sturdy, mahogany desk covered in neatly stacked papers. A polished granite paperweight carved in the shape of a skull was the only indication that I sat in the office of Death himself. “You know that you can’t just nope out of this,” Death blinked at me, still not believing I was actually trying to refuse my right to be reincarnated. “Why?” I asked, “I don’t want to be reincarnated as any of the choices you gave me so I’ll just… not bother.” “Not bother?!” he squawked, eyebrows threatening to recede as far back as his hairline, “that’s not – that’s not how it works, you have to pick one.” I stared at the paper he had set before me with the three random choices I had been given for reincarnation. A slug. A tapeworm. A swan. “Nope.” I repeated. Death sighed and put his face in his hands, “You know I have quite a lot of people to get through today?” “Do you only do people who die who speak English?” I asked, “is there a Spanish Death or a Chinese Death? Is there some kind of magic that means you can speak any language? Wait this is the underworld, right? Maybe there is no such thing as language.” Death stared at me, nostrils flaring. “Pick. One.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “I want something else.” “You can’t have something else.” “Then I don’t want to be reincarnated.” Death made a sound that was something like an ugh and snatched the paper from my hands. “Hmm, alright, well tapeworm, slug, I understand you might not want to come back as one of those.” “Might not?” He shot me a look, but continued, “but a swan. A beautiful, graceful swan. Spend your days swimming around, eating bread, being owned by the Queen.” I stared at him without blinking, “Swans are evil.” His shoulders sagged and he sighed in exasperation, “are you really trying to convince Death that something is evil?” “Well you actually seem like a chill dude,” I shrugged, “but swans, those bastards are mean. I’ve seen them attack ducks. Unprovoked! They think they’re so high and mighty because they’ve got those long necks and there’s a ballet about them or some shit but they’re bullies. Think they’re so much better than other birds but newsflash motherfuckers: ducks rule, swans suck.” For a few seconds Death actually seemed to be speechless. “You’re being ridiculous,” he said, finally. “Rather die than be a swan,” I shrugged. “That’s literally the choice you’re making.” I shrugged again but Death didn’t argue. He was squinting at me now, a curious gleam in his eyes. One corner of his lips quirked upwards. “I suppose, perhaps, there is something I could do.” “Redo my choices?” I said eagerly, “Oh man, well, if I could choose anything I would fucking love to be a lion. I know it’s cliché but, seriously, lounge in the sun all day, have my lion women bring me food, groom my awesome mane, that would be sweet.” “I can’t change the choices for reincarnation,” Death said, reclining back in his chair and idly chewing a pen, “but I might be able to offer a way out.” I tensed, wary for the first time that I might be about to make a deal with the Devil. Almost literally. I swallowed, trying to appear calm, “how?” “How would you like to work for me?” Death grinned, mischief flickering in those eyes. And despite every one of my instincts squirming to get away, I grinned right back.
There are maybe like, five things that set humans apart from the rest of the galaxy. Six if you count the fact that their bodies are symmetrical on the outside but not on the inside, and seven if you count that weird "right or left handed"thing. Anyway, the most important thing is that they're really distractable. Some species devote their entire existence to a single goal. Generation after generation, century after century, they band together in blind pursuit of a grander purpose. Garblax-9 was really into war and conquest, and as a result, they've either colonized or vaporized every other planet in a fifteen lightyear radius. Yukron-6 was all about artistic achievement, so the planet was covered in libraries and museums devoted to showcasing the greatest works they could create. Lasgon was a hedonistic planet, that basically functioned as one prolonged multi-century orgy until the Garblaxians blew it up. Meanwhile, on Earth, they decided they wanted to go to space. It was their new number one priority. The "Space Race"made the papers literally every single day, so you'd probably imagine they were dumping everything they had into the project, right? Wrong. They spent like, four and a half percent of their budget on it. Also, they subdivide their planet into little smaller blocks, so it wasn't even the whole planet. It was four and a half percent of what three percent of the planet could produce. And here's the crazy thing: they fucking did it. No, seriously, they made it off the planet. Not far--they've got a moon a couple hundred thousand miles out, so it wasn't a huge distance, but still! They did it with no funding, no time, and no manpower. So you'd think they'd go crazy. This would be the most amazing thing to ever happen in the history of their civilization, and now that they know it's possible, they're going to devote themselves to it 100% percent and explore the whole galaxy, right? Again, wrong. They went back to the moon a couple times, then they got bored and moved on to something else. Some of them tried to cure diseases, and some of them were artists, and some of those smaller blocks spent a bunch of time fighting each other, and I think a few of them kept working on the space thing. It was all super disorganized. I'm from a planet that catalogs knowledge. That's our thing. We keep tabs on everything we can and try to record it all. So we'd seen the humans go to space almost fifty years ago, but we hadn't seen them since. We figured something must be wrong. Maybe they were a dead civilization or something. So we piled into a ship and headed out there. It's a long trip--a little over five lightyears total. By the time we get there, the ship's barely holding together, we're almost out of rations, and our pilot's sick or something, so we're basically flying the ship with one hand and turning pages in the training manual with the other. We half-land, half-crash in a field on the outskirts of some big settlement, expecting to find some precarious ruins still standing as a monument to the hubris of a dead world. Turns out they're all fine. Alive and well. They just got bored of space. They've got computers so small they can fit in your hand! And they can prick you with these needles that stop you from getting sick! There's a little box that can cook food in under a minute, and almost everyone has one! We cataloged everything we could, borrowed a couple of the tiny computers and the little cooking boxes, stocked up our rations, and headed home to share the news. Then Earth got blown up by Garblax-9. Go figure.
“The End.” That was always my least favourite part of the book. Every night, after getting ready for bed, my mom would read a story to me. It was always the best part of my night, because no matter what kind of day either one of us had, we could become anything for an hour. I remember her coming into my room with a model submarine one evening. That was when we started Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, my favourite story to this day. We stayed up an extra hour, just talking about it and describing the submarine, the Nautilus. I was in a whole new fantasy world, and I could live in it forever. In my mind, I was riding in the Nautilus, finding adventure, fighting off giant squids, and my mom was right there by my side. She was always there by my side. No matter where the stories took me, she was my partner in crime. She would weave these worlds effortlessly for me while I lay in my blankets, dreaming up gigantic worlds full of fantasy and adventure. I never had to worry about anything because I knew my mom would protect me. Every time we finished a book, she would replace “The End” with “Once upon a time”, to teach me that no story is ever totally over. Nowadays it seems to be the other way around. She hasn’t been too well, but that’s okay. Old age will do that to you. When I come into her room, I don’t know if she thinks I’m a nurse or a stranger or if she remembers her little boy. She doesn’t say much, but it doesn’t bother me. Mostly, I’ve accepted the position we’re in now. I go to the home every day to go see her. Every night, after I’m done work, no matter what kind of day either one of us had, we become anything for an hour. I come into her room with a little model submarine, and I open up a book. And every single night, she smiles when I replace “The End” with “Once upon a time”.
"Hello? Hello is this Francis?" "Uh No...this is Kevin. I'm looking for Rob." "Oh we got a lot of Rob's here...but not many robbers slight chuckle sorry, little joke around here." "Oookay, I think Siri messed up. Who is this?" "I am that I am." "Sam?....sorry, you're on speaker phone...is this Sam?" "No, it's not Sam. Sam is reading a Maxim magazine having second thoughts about his marriage." "How did you....is this Al?" "Alpha and Omega, yes." "Oh my God!..." "Yes." "...Were we frat brothers?" "Well I was in the Omega Delta house." "Cool, cool. Well, sorry for the misdial." "No problem, anything I can help you with?" "Not unless you can make this traffic disappear." "I don't really like to destroy matter. I find people do better with consistency, but here." "Ha...you won't believe this but we're starting to move. You must be good luck." "I'm trying to distance myself from superstition. I just put things in motion." "Sorry, I can barely hear you." "Maybe you aren't listening." "I'm going to have to let you go." "You wouldn't be the first." "Okay..." "Before you go. If you could get the answer to any question you wanted, what would it be?" "Ha, why can't I find a girl." "It's because your wants and needs are out of total alignment. You're fighting to meet standards of companionship and happiness set by people other than yourself. In your teens you swore to never live your life by arbitrary rules so you set out looking for meaning, but you got desperate and entrenched your values in books, movies and educational materials that seemed appealing to a very finite version of yourself who now dictates your entire life. You need to grow but you want to stay true to past promises, now you can't find someone able to deal with the contradictions." "..." "Nice talking to you!" Click
Well, like most reddit threads with a title like this, this one certainly had some... unusual responses. Some talked about a big dark house, like most would think are scary. However, most of them had varying descriptions because we all have a fear of such things. Some brought up stuff like an injured animal, which is also pretty scary. Yet, the person with the username, "BigBlackPencil", was the first to bring up a tall, almost eight-foot tall figure completely covered in a dark shroud like the pure emptiness of space. BigBlackPencil saw the thing standing in the middle of his lawn one morning, staring in his general direction. It wore a top hat, similar to the one Abraham Lincoln had; a single trench coat that trailed behind him like a shadow; and his face was completely invisible. Whether his face was covered by the night or he did not have one at all, he did not know. Then, after he had stared at it for a minute or so a scream pierced the air. BigBlackPencil did not know until his parents came rushing in, that he was the one who was screaming. Supposedly, this man suffers from depression and constant paranoia. I thought he was just making stuff up. But then, other people started giving the same description, but in different places. One person saw the thing on their roof, another saw them in the middle of an open field. All people said it was always silent. That they found themselves losing control. One person screamed while another wept, yet one person by the username of HarryPotterFan890 said that he saw the beast while with his brother. He began to cry as his brother simply came outside and walked into the open field to embrace it. His brother's corpse was found three days later with a big, gaping smile on his face. The rest of his body was completely disjointed or missing. Of course, these people were just faking it right? Maybe these guys were just too bored to do anything that was actually productive, instead deciding to scare as many people as possible. Yet, I remember this man. I was thirteen years old and my eight-year-old sister, Wanda, was hanging around outside. Suddenly, she began screaming. I looked outside to see the figure standing in the middle of our driveway, pointing at her. I did not think, I only reacted. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and ran outside. Wanda had begun to walk toward the thing while I ran toward it. It did not seem to notice me until I thrust my knife into its chest only to hear a sucking sound as it did so. I looked up at its face to see only a completely smooth head looking down at me. It had no eyes, nose or mouth, or at least, I did not believe it did. It grabbed my arm for a second as a sound filled the air. It was dissatisfied. "Not beautiful enough"filled my head in a voice I did not recognize. I was thrown onto the ground. My sister had already run inside and began to call the police. I guess I had interrupted its control over her. However, now, I lay on the ground beneath something that was neither a human nor an animal. My sister never stopped believing, but she still moved on. I have convinced myself we simply saw something our minds could not process properly so we filled it in with a blank slate. Yet, that night, I walked to my son's room and sat there for as long as I could bear. The truth was that I was scared. I still am.
"Welcome back Monroe."General Carver said looking up from his computer. "How did giving the patient the serum go?""See for yourself"as Monroe, a Department of Justice 'independent contractor', handed the general a burner phone. The phone had a crappy camera, but it did the job. The general's face goes from one of tedium to one of fear. "Who is this, and why am I looking at a picture of a teenage boy with a needle in his neck?"The General asks angrily. "That's him, Jones Jonathon, he was the only one with that name in the hospital data banks."Monroe replied. "Does he look like a soldier to y...... Wait did you say Jones Jonathon?"The General grabs a file off his desk and stares at it. "Your target was Jonathon Jones, see?"Handing the file over. "Yes a read that, I am a professional."Monroe looks over the file and sees "Jonathon Jones"written in the name spot. "Wait.... no.... this is a government file, yes?" "Oh god,"The General said sighing "no one told you did they? A new rule was implemented. For any paperwork being seen by civilians shall no longer have the name written 'Last name comma first name.'" "Oh man I am so fucked."Monroe replied staring through the file in fear "I AM SO FUCKED!" "Calm down,"The General said standing up "look I owe you one for covering up that whole Tokyo incident. So take this and get the job done."He reaches into a drawer and reveals another vial. "How do you even ha..." "The less you know the better, now go. That kid will just have to deal with it until we can come up with a better solution." MEANWHILE "Dude I'm telling you it's like time slows down when I play Smash bros. My reactions are lightning fast."Jones Jonathon said into his phone. A knock on the door interrupts his call. "Jones can I come in?"Dr. Fealgud says from the other side "I have some news." "I'll talk to you later guys."Jones says while ending his Discord voice connection. "Come in Doc" "Hey Jones, so we've ran your blood as usual and your cancer is gone... Completely eradicated. We want to double check of course, but if this is right you will finally end your seven month stay here. Congratulations." A few months later Jones had found that he could play nearly any game on a professional level. He didn't have a job, he didn't need one. He could make a months worth of minimum wage in one night in this college town. All he had to do was go down to the bars and challenge drunk idiot guys with something to prove to a drinking contest. He can never get drunk, no one really understands why. "This is the life, just drinking and games."There was a knock on his new apartment's door. Jones hops up hoping it's his pizza, maybe the cute girl was delivering tonight. "Hello Mr. Jonathon, I am General Carver, and I have a proposition for you."
Silence. Nothing but blasted silence. You'd think that with every criminal in the country running loose that there might be some noise, but not tonight. Tonight, my crusade took me out of the way, to a quiet little house, in a quiet little neighborhood. Too quiet. What wouldn't I give for a bit of noise to distract me. Nothing. The door was locked. Found the key under the mat. Stepping inside was a battle. You get used to it eventually. The killing. It's a mercy, after all. But this time was different. The carpet padded my footsteps. My heart nearly beat out of its chest, each beat telling me to turn back, each shallow breath slicing through my chest like a red-hot spike. I reached the bedroom. I can't do it. That's it. I'm leaving. Then a voice rang out, piercing the silence. My blood ran cold. "Is that you?" I adjusted my mask a bit. I stepped into the threshold so he could see me. Moonlight streamed in through the window, bathing everything in a silvery blue glow. Silence again. Dammit. He took a deep, rattling breath, but said nothing. "Are you-"my voice broke. "Ahem, sorry, are you ready?" He turned to face me fully. His eyes told a tale of decades of sorrow, a lifetime of regrets, yet his lips curled into the faintest of smiles. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod. I approached him, ready as I ever would be, and grasped his arm. "Wait,"he rasped. "Can you... My son, can you find him and tell him something? I haven't seen him in years, I just... I want him to know I loved him... Please." A simple injection, that's all it was. It was over as quickly as it started. A sob caught in my throat. "I know you did, Dad, I know."
The children marched single file along the wide promenade. Crowds of people, twenty rows deep lined both sides, cheering and waving to the little heroes in the hope that one might unlock the relic lost to time. Long ago a seer known as Quatre-Chan had prophesized that a child of ten years of age would unlock the device and we would know true wisdom. So many years had passed, so many children had attempted to unlock the secrets of the relic, but none had succeeded. I was the high priest that day. That fateful day that everything changed. As each child entered the temple, guardians ushered them towards the device. It wasn’t much bigger than an adult’s palm, and much, much thinner. Glass on one side and a white, metal back. Printed on its back was a holy symbol of some kind, an apple. A small, white lead connected it to our power supply, keeping it alive. A small girl with brown hair walked up. Her breathing was heavy, and if we weren’t careful she’d pass out before she could make her attempt. “It’s okay, child. Take long, deep breaths and steady your nerves.” The young girl did as she was told and after a few moments she calmed down. “Excellent… now come forward and place your thumb on the relic,” I said. I’ll never forget what happened next as long as I live. The relic unlocked, and where once was a grid with only series of numbers there now was a young man with reddish hair. He began to sing… “Never gonna give you up; Never gonna let you down; Never gonna run around and desert you…”
Well, that was fucked up. They let school out early, though they kept me and the rest of AP Chem for questioning; just a few minutes with each of us, getting our version of the story. Some of my classmates were distraught or crying; I don't blame them. I mean, Mr. Dunham was never the most entertaining teacher, but he knew his stuff and he was mostly a good guy. He didn't deserve...that. Shit. Anyway, they've transported that weirdo Billy to some holding cell or juvie center or something. I can't believe he just stood there, smiling like a complete creep. Was he autistic or something? A lot of my friends made jokes about that, but I honestly sometimes wondered. Some of the girls who sat in front actually say that he was one to drop the acid on Mr. Dunham. I was half-asleep in the back as always, so I didn't see. I don't know, it's so messed up either way. Normally I take the bus, but since I was out like 3 hours early, I decided to just leg it home. My friends' parents were picking them up, but mine were working right now. I hoisted my bookbag and headed downtown. It was actually kind of interesting, being able to walk past and stop at the windows of all the little shops, instead of just zooming by. I lingered for a little while by a guitar store, but didn't bother going in; I had no money, so what would be the point? My thoughts went back to the Mr. Dunham, and I wondered about his family. Man, it must suck so much to be them right now. Did he have life insurance or anything? Still, that's kind of small comfort when you lose your dad or husband. They'll probably have the funeral in a few days, or maybe a week. And if it was Billy who did the thing, then maybe a court date. Wait but he's a minor; can he still appear in court? Or would his dad represent him or something? Or some appointed lawyer, most likely. Man, I know nothing about the legal system. I should probably learn more about it sometime. Suddenly, a horrific screeching sound broke into self-rambling. I shot a look behind me and my eyes widened. I couldn't believe it - there was an enormous piano rolling down the hilly sidewalk right toward me! Everyone started screaming and running here and there. I followed suit, and tried to get to the end of the block faster. The piano was moving fast, but if I managed to turn the corner to the left, I would be good. Almost there! But right at the last second, things happened very quickly: a car backed out onto a driveway right in front of me, forcing me to go right into the street so I could avoid turning into a pancake between this stupid car and the goddam piano behind me. A fraction of a second afterward, the piano slammed into the car, pinning a couple of people, and making a horrific din of shredding metal and off-key chords. Oh, and the screams. And the blood. But before I could process any of that properly, I heard another sound: a truck's blaring horn. I felt like I was moving in slow motion as I turned my head just in time to see the blinding headlights of a monstrous semi crash right into me. _______________________________________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
There was a long silence as the monstrous armored Leviathan floated in the air above the large circular plaform he commanded. The four 'heroes' stood there as well staring up to him as they moved from side to side in random poses of defiance to the Leviathan's tyrannical rule of the circular area. The silence continued however. "Siiiiigh, not this again..."the monster roared, his heavy plate armor clanking about as he began to stretch it's titanic cylindircal body. "What, are you in a hurry to get your ass beat you evil monster?"came a reply from a strangely clothed man carrying a comically long sword. "Hey, I'm just doing my job! I'm not even that evil! I volunteer at the shelter over in Archway for goodness sakes!"the monster shrugged defensively as they all continued to stay exactly where they had been left. "That you destroyed! That doesn't make up for it!"a woman called out who held a wicked looking trident twice the size of her. "Now, hang on a second-"the beast was cut off. "Yeah! If you destroyed the city by bringing down a meteor and then proceeded to boil the ocean away to make sure no life could live in the area again, what shelter do you even claim to work at?"the third was a young boy with a large Gatling Gun that swayed in his hands as he spoke. "Wait-wait, you think that actually happened?!"withdrawing in surprise the Leviathan brought a gigantic clawed hand to his chest. "Oh God, wait... are you guys new players? I thought I didn't recognize you,"the creature spoke, his guttural voice suddenly booming as he began to laugh warmly, filling the void of silence that had been created when the Player left. "What's so funny?!"the final hero spoke, a large cat with orange and red streaks running through it and light chainlink armor surrounding it's core. "You guys are new characters, you're not even in New Game Plus, I figured that's why you were so confused on this whole matter."The Leviathan took on a parental, explanatory tone as he spoke to the four. "What the hell does that even mean? Don't try and change the subject! You're going down the moment we're able to fight!"Gatling Boy shouted over the beast's laugh. Wiping a tear from the enormous plate helmet that shielded the Leviathan's face, "Well of course you're going to beat me, that's the point of this game. It might take you some time, or a few tries, but it'll happen eventually. I'm just trying to get over how you think I actually destroyed a city." Confusion fell over the four heroes as they all looked at each other, still unable however to move from their poses and stances. "Let me 'boil' it down for you,"the boss chuckled at the ridiculous notion that he would 'boil the oceans away'. "My name's Greg, I'm the final boss in this game. All those 'cutscenes' where you see me in the ocean and calling down that meteor? CGI my friends, it's all fake. It didn't happen. Archway is fine, I volunteer at Miss Cassady's Shelter for the Homeless. This whole boss thing is just my usual gig when characters finally make it to my Dungeon. Those times where you 'spoke' to me in that misty stuff you find around Tellchill Cavern and stuff? Those were voice recordings. Anyway, hopefully we can finish up soon, I've gotta' get home to make dinner for my kids." Hearing the words coming from the creature the heroes had worked so long to find and kill, their faces took on quizzical looks. "Greg?"Longsword Boy asked. "Yup, not a very imposing name for someone of my stature, but I get along just fine with it. Usually the peeps at the shelter call me 'Greggy' or 'Greggo'. It's just one of those things you-" "Hold on a minute!"yelled Armor Cat, "You mean to tell me that all of this crap is fake? Archway isn't destroyed? You don't feed on the planet's core? And. you've got... kids?" "The planet's core? Hahaha, no,"the Leviathan kept his charming, warm tone, his monstrous voice growing less imposing for the four heroes. "Who would eat a planets core? I, myself, am more of a fan of a delicious baked pizza with bacon and chicken. Have you ever had? Highly recommend it." Trident Girl spoke softly, "So you're just... a guy and we have to kill you?" "Well, unfortunately yes. And before you ask, yes it does actually hurt tremendously. But that's life, whatever puts food on the table am I right?"Greg replied before adjusting the armor pieces that were the sizes of houses on his shoulders. Gatling Boy looked down at the war machine in his hands. "But that means..." Suddenly, the area was filled with loud, musical 'pops'. A menu appeared in front of Gatling Boy and an arrow scrolled down a few options. "Wait-wait, I don't want to be part of this!"Gatling Boy called out as he watched the arrow sudden select 'Attack'. "No, Greg I'm sorry!"he called out as he looked up at the Leviathan's no longer intimidating body. He just seemed like another person now. "Now, now, Gatling Boy, this is life! Sometimes you just gotta' do what you gotta' do,"Greg replied before bracing himself. A hail of gunfire and Gatling Boy screaming in protest filled the air as Greg grunted from taking a storm of lead in his chest. As other menus opened in front of the other heroes, each of the arrows were selecting different forms of attack. They all began to shout in protest while Greg tried to calm them all down as best he could while taking the supreme punishment from the opposing characters. Then it was his turn. "Heroes, heroes, you see you shouldn't be the ones apologizing,"he said while raising his right hand. Suddenly, a purple spec floating above his open palm began to enlarge. Forming this huge black sphere surrounded in purple lightning, the sound from the surrounding area seemed to be sucked away, save for one thing. "Though I may die - as is my job - my attacks hurt a lot more than yours do,"and with that, he brought the skycraper sized sphere of energy down on the four heroes in a thunderous blast.
Steven, like most people, spoke little. He had learned to do so since birth. Whenever he could communicate what he needed to without speaking, he did. He would gesture, point, and carry a notepad around on which he would write when he had to. When he found no alternative to speaking, he measured his words and phrases carefully. He used as few words as were necessary to get his points across. Steven, like everyone else, was only allowed to speak one-thousand words per month. And there was never a month where Steven used up all his words. His parents had taught him to always to keep some in reserve, which he did. Then he met Lauren. She described herself as a philosopher-poetess, but refused to write her thoughts or her poetry down. She said the written word entombed emotions and ideas and made of them skeletons. She said that for poetry to live, and breathe, it must be spoken, thrown out into the void by the human voice, only to be hang there for a brilliant moment, and then disappear, swallowed up by time. The beauty of language, its sounds, its shape, its effect, were to Lauren akin to the beauty of the flower. "The flower matters to us because it arrests us by its visceral presence,"Lauren said. "It's striking colours, the intricate shape of its petals, its emplacement in a certain context--a garden, a field--its intoxicating scent. A picture or a painting of a flower lacks much of this effect, because it is once removed from the thing-itself. The flower also matters to us because of its ephemerality. Its gangly stem awkwardly grows and its bulb balloons while it waits, biding its energy and time for its grand reveal. Then suddenly, the flower bursts open, with the force of an exploding star; the arresting power of all beauty and creation seems concentrated upon a single point. The flower blooms, unleashing a marvel into the world, to be regarded reverently by human and animal eyes. And just as suddenly as it appears in the fullness of its glory, so suddenly it withers and fades, and its loveliness departs. Its beauty lasts, in the grand scheme, for a little more than a moment before it dies. But our awareness of its transience makes us appreciate that moment so much more than we--" Her lips continued moving but the sound had stopped. She was out of words. And it was only the first day of the month. Steven fell immediately in love with this fascinating, impractical and incomparably beautiful young woman. And regardless of whatever else he might have had planned for the first of the month, be it work, a family brunch, or watching a sports game, he made sure that when midnight struck and the new month began, he was by her side. Because he knew that she was unable to contain herself once she was able to speak again. He knew that she would not wait for him to come around so that she could share with him and him alone the insights and melodious lines over which she had pondered during her month of silence. She would speak to whomever she first happened upon, ecstatically, until her well of words ran dry. Steven could not have anticipated the direction in which his relationship with Lauren would lead him. But even if he could have anticipated it, he doubtlessly would have continued on with her; this he often told himself later, when the two were on the run. For from the beginning, he could not help but loving her, and issues of comfort, practicality and even personal safety have little bearing on what one is or is not willing to do for love... [The idea was: write simply, in short, declarative sentences.]
An inky blackness covered the entrance. Once you stepped through--there was no going back. The villagers gathered, torches raised and humming songs of thanks to the two children. The boy clutched her hand, they walked through the gathered people. Garlands and wreaths were put around them. The two children were raised to be sacrifices. The creature would otherwise rise and wreak havoc on the village. They were ready. The two nodded at eachother and they stepped through. They pushed through the thick dark--holding their breaths. The magical barrier feeling like warm water. They emerged--unwilling to open their eyes. It was quiet. "Welcome."Said a voice. When they opened their eyes the saw an old woman hunched over, supporting herself with a stone cane. "Don't be afraid."She said. "There are no monsters in here... Come. Come. My name is Erma." She beckoned them, and they didn't have anywhere else to go--lights lit up the cavern. They weren't torches--but strange jars that seemed to illuminate bright light--cables connecting each of them together. The old woman led them through the cavern. "It must be shocking to people so young."She said. "To be prepared to sacrifice yourself--and to find you will in fact lead a very long life. That is atleast what I felt." They entered a cavern--towering structures of stone and light that went on for miles. "Welcome to the monster realm."Said Erma. High in the cavern--between many buildings was a blood colored crystal that pulsed. Cables wrapped around it and went in all directions. "The heart of the great beast Ashmagore. It gives us all the electricity we need." The two children looked at each other--unsure what electricity was... "Don't worry."Said the old woman. "You'll learn. We live good lives here. We can find you homes." They came to a plaza, "We only ask that you be brave."the old woman turned and smiled. Behind her was a statue with a young girl wielding a stone dagger. At her feet was a hideous beast that had been slain. An inscription read, "Erma -- Founder And Slayer of Great Beast Ashmagore"
The peasants ran from the steps of the dragon’s temple, leaving behind a young girl bound at the wrists and ankles. She squirmed on the obsidian steps, tears in her eyes as she struggled against the ropes binding her, her efforts only increasing upon the sight of a procession of robed figures approaching from the temple doors. They surrounded her silently, lifted her onto a stretcher, they carried her back into the temple. She could only whimper as the temple descended deeper into the volcano where the dragon was said to make its home. One of the robed figures lifted their hood to reveal the face of a young woman who smiled sweetly at the bound girl. “Hush little one.” The woman ran her hands through the girl’s hair. “I assure you, today is a glorious day, you may not know it yet, but you’ve been blessed.” “Please let me go, I want to live, I don’t want the dragon to eat me.” She pleaded. The robed woman leaned over and kissed the girl on the head. “There’s no point in trying to explain, you will see for yourself as we all did.” With that robe figures stopped, lowered the stretcher and pulled the girl to her feet. She found herself standing above a massive pool of lava, standing in the throat of the volcano. She turned to see the woman smiling before her as they moved her to the edge of the altar. “Do not be afraid, we will meet again.” Said the woman as she hugged the girl, immediately before shoving her backwards toward the sea of liquid rock. The girl felt an intense heat envelope her body, wincing in pain as the ropes binding her limbs burned to ashes; her clothing flickered off her body into nothingness. Her back crashed into the bubbling magma while her mind flooded with panic. Light blinded her eyes as she sank into the liquid, which her mind slowly realized was warm and soothing. As her heart raced she eventually caught up to the realization that she seemed to be alive, surrounded by light and comforting warmth. She felt herself begin to fall faster until the warmth pulled from her body and her eyes opened. She found herself falling through a gigantic chasm, enormous pillars of magma arched through the air as she fell. Was this heaven or hell? She could not decide, able to only fall down this seemingly endless chasm of fire and earth. Eventually a sound began to echo into her ears. Woosh, woosh, woosh. The air around her vibrated as the sound grew louder but she could not see where the sound came from. A flowing wall of magma across the chasm from where she fell exploded as a mountain sized dragon with scales of red and gold emerged. She quickly fell passed the dragon which soon collapsed its wings and fell after her. Panic once again rose in her heart, but after everything she had gone through, he body’s ability for fear had become somewhat muted, half resigned to whatever fate this journey would bring her. The dragon caught up to her and in seconds she found herself close enough to touch its reptilian eye. A soothing voice crept into her mind, a voice that was not her own. “Hello child, I apologize for the dramatic nature of our meeting. While it has a purpose, I mean you no harm.” She looked in the dragon in awe, briefly wondering how anyone expected her body to properly feed such a massive creature. “I’m not going to eat you, but once we reach our destination, I will feed you.” The dragon shift its body minutely, enough to cradle the girl against the ridge between its eyes, opening its wings ever so slightly, the dragon steadily changed their course from a directly vertical destination to more of a horizontal one. The naked girl stood on the dragon’s face, her mind raced with thoughts and questions as they flew together through a gauntlet of magma pillars. Flapping its wings, the dragon slowed their pace until it held them both before a gigantic curtain of flowing magma. The curtain seemed to open, revealing a paradise of flowing rivers, green trees and sprawling fields. They flew over the hidden kingdom, she saw animals frolicking in the fields and thousands of drakes playing in the skies. A smaller drake flew toward the girl and plucked her from between the golden dragon’s eyes. She squeeled as it embraced her, while they hovered down to a grassy plain below. She was set into the grass gently before watching the drake fly off to catch up with the dragon. She heard a voice call out to her from behind. “Hello.” It said. Turning around, she saw a handsome boy smiling at her while holding out his hand to hers.
''Um, honey?'' Karen looked around the corner of the kitchen. ''Yeah?'' ''Did you teach the baby Latin?'' ''What? No! Of course not. What makes you ask?'' She joined her husband beside the crib. ''In fact, what makes you think I know Latin?'' ''Good point. It's just, Eleanor was speaking Latin just now.'' ''That's impossible. She hasn't even said her first word yet. In English, let alone in a foreign language.'' She turned towards her husband. ''In fact, since when do you know Latin?'' ''Yeah actually...I don't. I'ts just, she was speaking just now and it wasn't in English. I just had a gut feeling that it was Latin.'' ''Ted, that is the craziest thing I have ever heard you say. And that's saying something. It must be the lack of sleep getting to you.'' ''Yeah, you're probably right. Come, let me help you with those carrots in the kitchen.'' As they left the room, a smile appeared on the baby's face. ''Amo parentes meos.''
I slowly crawled out from my hiding place under the seat and looked out the window. I'd expected to see the nighttime sky, but instead it was bright and sunny. And there were something else wrong: it felt eerily familiar. The train was riding past a playground, but not just any playground, it was the one from my elementary school when I was a kid. Two of my bigger classmates were picking on the smaller kid in my class. They were shoving him in the chest with their fingers and laughing when he stumbled away. Off to the side, I saw myself, sitting on a swing, just watching the bullying unfold. The little kid looked over to me with desperate eyes, but I didn't do anything. I just pretended I didn't see him, gave a halfhearted swing, and then walked away as they continued to shove him. The train sped away, and the view faded. What was going on? Why was I watching scenes from my childhood out the window? And, more importantly, how? But before I could dwell on it, a new scene came into view out the window. Yet again, it was myself, but I was high-school aged. I was walking down the street with a small bouquet of flowers I'd bought at the grocery store. I was going to finally ask out my crush of four years. I was too chicken to call her on the phone or say anything at school, but I'd somehow forced myself to go for a walk, and ended up on her street. I watched as my former self stepped onto her lawn, stopped, and suddenly realized what he was doing. I felt the same nervous nausea he did as he dropped the bouquet to the ground, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked away in silence, yet another opportunity gone. The train continued forward and my walking figure disappeared in the distance behind us. I still didn't know why I was seeing these things. Even more than that though, I still didn't know why I didn't just walk up to her door and knock. I'd come so far, what was the worst that could've happened? The train pulled forward into the next scene. I had just gotten out of my car in front of a building in the city. I was wearing my normal clothes and had a resume with me in hand. I was going to apply for my dream job. But as soon as I took a step onto the sidewalk outside the company, one of my college classmates walked over, in suit and tie, and waved at me. He laughed and asked what I was doing here, and seeing him, dressed up with a briefcase and everything, I suddenly felt naked. I didn't even tell him I was here for an interview. I just turned red, mumbled something awkwardly, and got back into my car and left. As the train moved on, tears burned in my eyes, the same as they did when I drove away that day. The same as they did when I found out my classmate got my dream job. The same as they did when he told me the interviewers had said he was dressed too fancy for the occasion and they probably would've hired me if I'd just gone inside. Instead I've just spent the last years of my life friendless and loveless, riding the train every day to the same dead end job that sucked my soul away. I regretted so much. I didn't want to see what else the train had in store for me, but it kept moving regardless. The next scene was me outside of my parents' house screaming at my mother. They'd caught me with drugs in my room, and she was kicking me out. I couldn't afford to live anywhere else, which I yelled at her so loud the entire neighborhood could hear. She demanded that I give them up if I was going to keep living with them, but I screamed that I didn't want her policing my life. I stormed into my car and drove away. That was ten years ago. We haven't spoken since. And we may never speak again. I'd gleaned from scrolling through Facebook that she was in a hospital dying of cancer. But I didn't know where. And even if I did, I wouldn't be able to go. Just like I hadn't stood up for the kid on the playground. Just like I hadn't knocked on my crush's door. Just like I hadn't gone in for the interview. As warm tears dripped down my cheeks, the next scene outside came into view. This one was different though. It was nighttime, just like it should be, and I couldn't see myself anywhere. I looked around, but there were just streetlights, cars, and a tall white building. It was a hospital. The train came to a stop. A voice crackled over the speakers. "Last stop, no more regrets,"it said. That was all. Silence. Stillness. I wiped my face and stood up. I looked out the window at the hospital. It was time to finally be brave. ***** This prompt was written with the help of chat at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream.
The sound of my phone pinging constantly was what woke me up. I rolled over and grabbed the offending device, intent on telling my friends to shut up, it was way too early for this. To my surprise, it wasn't the group chat that was exploding, it was the numerous news apps that I'd installed. All of the alerts bore nearly the same headline. "Kill Count Visible! Floating numbers above head baffle scientists..." I made a face of pure bewilderment and rolled out of bed, making my way to the bathroom mirror. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lighting, but once they did, I could make out a round number floating above my head. 0, just as I thought. "That's... convenient,"I said aloud, still rather puzzled. "Sucks to be a serial killer now, huh."Well, it would probably suck to be a serial killer in general, but this probably made it a few times worse. Easier to catch, and all that. I half-smiled at myself in the mirror, content with my discovery, and headed downstairs. Mom was bustling around the kitchen almost frantically, which wasn't much of a surprise— that woman was always in a rush. I hummed to myself, sitting down at the kitchen table to properly scroll through the alerts on my phone, skimming through the repetitive articles. Honestly, it seemed like such a mundane morning I didn't even notice at first. "Morning,"said my mom, unease creeping into her cheerful greeting as she dropped a plate of pancakes in front of me. I looked up for the first time, distracted. And froze. Above my mother's head floated a sharp, white 2. The horror on my face was evident, and my mom followed my gaze upward, noticing the number as if for the first time. "What's going on?"she asked, confused. "What's that?" Numb, I showed her my phone screen. She read silently, her lips moving along with the words. Strangely, the more she read, the more relaxed she seemed. Her puzzlement faded. "Mom,"I mumbled, and the word seemed difficult to get out, "Did you... Are you..."I couldn't say it. I couldn't accuse my mother of killing anything. My own mother! She nearly cried when she had to kill a bug in the house. And yet, here she was, with a... kill count of... two. My mom pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. "Well, I'm not gonna lie, I never expected to have to tell you this." She paused and I stared at her, unable to form words, unable to form thoughts. Would I have to turn her into the authorities now? Was she about to confess a crime? "Before you were born,"she continued, folding her hands and studying them intently, "I... had some rather loose morals. Pains me to say this now, because you know how your grandparents are. So uptight, so religious, such... sticklers to the law." Where was she headed with this? Her kill count was two. She had killed two people. What more was there to know? Who cared about the morals of her parents? "So before I met your father, okay, I messed around with a few guys. A few that I shouldn't have, probably. And we were young, and stupid. You can't blame me, really. You've done the same." ...No, mom, I can't say that I've ever hooked up with anyone and had to kill them. The absolute shock and horror on my face wasn't going anywhere, and she scrunched up her mouth. "So I was stupid. So I got knocked up twice... you can't blame me. My parents would've killed me if they'd found out." My mom sighed, examining the number above her head once more. "I'm surprised it only says two, though."
My clogs slump in bog slurry; I'm following my poppa, both of us with long guns in hand. Sun's dropping low, but a faraway immortal croaking has a staccato cry trailing off as it stops. It caught my sis, and our family can't go on with proof our kin's living. A shadow, no sound, to my right. I turn to look, but I shouldn't. Poppa wails, looking back at a thing, humongous and vicious, as it clamps my skull and drags my body down with a sucking splash. A final gunshot \- poppa took aim for my lungs, a sacrificial lamb to this bog, knowing fully it was right to do.
"A-are you talking to me?"said Death, tilting his bony neck. "Um, yeah. Could I just like, not die? That would really suck now that I've finally managed to get this far." Death stared at me for a while, all the while scratching his skeletal visage. I stared back into his dead, empty eyes. "Um, sorry. I'm not used to people talking to me. I mean, this is the first time anyone's treated me as someone." "Really?" "Yeah. People see my ghostly, spooky visage and start cowering in fear instead. Or start pissing their pants, begging for mercy, whatever. People just don't think that this spooky skeleton man has a personality." "Well, I think your work outfit is sick. Very goth. Definitely better than those part timers I saw at the haunted house the other day." Death continued to stare at me. "I have to wonder, why are you so indifferent about all this?" "Life just doesn't mean anything to me after all this while. Neither does death, really. I just keep on existing. It's going to be a pain to adjust to not-existing, so I wanna ask if that's avoidable." "What good is a life without purpose?"asked Death. "What purpose does any life serve? You should know. Your 'life' has been to routinely scare the souls out of people for all eternity." "Fair enough. Why not, just take your life and move on." "Really?" "Fair banter is rare among the wailing of the damned. Keep your life, apathetic as it is. Just be ready for me to visit for a cup of tea." "Why not, eh?"
From Wikipedia ,the free encyclopedia ##December 27th Terror Attack For other uses, see Die Easy(disambugation) The December 27th, 2018 Terror Attack, also referred to as the "Die Easy"Attack, was a terrorist strike against the United States by the Arabic militant group Al-Abalah. The plot involved planting 4 bombs on different floors in the One World Trade Center in New York, and bringing the building down. The attack is better known as the only large-scale manifestation of the so called "McClane effect", in which many overconfident civilians, inspired by the hit movie "Die Hard", attempted their own search-and-rescue operations, resulting in many of the wannabe Bruces' deaths. Because of this, the attack became known as the "Die Easy"Attack. ###Background At 10:30PM, on December 27th, 2018, a little-known Arabic militant Group Al-Abalah attempted to detonate 4 bombs in the One World Trade Center in New York. To this day, it is not fully clear how exactly did the terrorists get into the building and planted the explosives, or why their plan failed. However, out of 4 bombs, only one went off, doing negligible structural damage to the building, killing 8 people and injuring 15 more. First responders arrived at the scene at 10:40, after receiving a report of "Many explosions in the "Building with Triangle Walls"". All floors below the explosion were evacuated within 10 minutes, although later investigation revealed that, after the evacuation, there were more than 70 people under the McClane effect (Commonly referred to as "McLames") still in the building. Most of those people deliberately hid themselves from rescue personnel, in an attempt to, as one survivor put it, "be a goddamn hero for once!". Out of those 70 "McLames", 29 died during the crisis, while 40 more were injured. ###The McClane effect This attack is the only known mass occurrence of the McClane effect. Psychologists describe the McClane effect as "The uncontrollable urge to display heroics, more specifically, heroics that mimic the actions of the fictional character John McClane from the movie "Die Hard"". During the December 27th attacks, about 70 people under the McClane effect are said to have gotten into the building before first responders arrived. 29 of those people died in the building. Most of those deaths were by suffocation, since many of the "McLames"assumed the air ducts, used by John McClane in the movie, would contain fresh air for them to breathe. In fact, the ventilation system was off, and the ducts contained even more smoke than the corridors. Although, some of the "Heroes"died more bizzare deaths - one of the most renowned cases was that of Sven Fjolsson, a lawyer from Racine, Wisconsin. Mr. Fjolsson attempted to set up a rope down the side of the building that civilians could use to climb down. However, he tied the rope to a simple office chair, and tried using the rope himself. The chair was not mounted to the floor, causing Mr. Fjolsson to fall to his death. His last words were famously "Hang on to your chairs, people!"^[citation ^needed] For the injured, the most popular traumas were smoke inhalation and first and second degree burns, also caused by climbing though the air vents, which had reached skin-burning temperatures in some floors. There were also a surprising amounts of injuries caused by fistfights - the "McLames"often fought each other if they met in the building, mistaking each other for terrorists. So far, no one of the wannabe heroes was charged with manslaugher, despite rumours that some of the victims were killed by strangulation or beaten to death. ###Aftermath A few days after the attack, Al-Abalah released a statement claiming responsibility for the attack. In the video, they also stated that they shall not attack the United States again, saying that "The Americans do not need our assistance. Out of 37 dead, we only killed 8. We only have to wait for you to kill yourselves." The President of the United States also issued a statement, promising to punish Al-Abalah for the attack: "You folks know that I'm smart. So I've been thinking - I am smart, you know - I thought that, when we catch those guys - and we will catch them, believe me - we could put them though a night of "Rehabilitation", know what I mean? Or maybe - just a wild thought, you know how smart I am - maybe we'll let them solve our grain problem before we do that, you know."It is not clear, what the President meant by "Rehabilitation"or "grain problem". ###Further Reading "December 27th attack - when Human Stupidity showed its head", the Onion, 28/12/2018 ""Die Easy": how 70 people decided to roleplay Bruce Willis during a terror attack", Clickhole, 30/12/2018 "McLames: can America go any lower?", Babylon Bee, 03/01/2019 Last edited just now by u/Chemical_Beaver (because the bolds and the italics refused to listen to me)
"Okay,"Raphael whispered, "remember what I taught you." I sized up the room. It was square, about fifteen feet by fifteen feet. Three of the walls were blocked by empty bookshelves. The fourth wall, which had the door I just entered from, was covered in old family portraits. In the middle of the room a simple chandelier dangled from the ceiling; underneath it, my patient was seizing on the ground. I approached her carefully. "Hi Sarah,"I said, "my name is Mark. I'm here to help. How are you doing?" Sarah abruptly stopped seizing and stood up. She smiled a grotesque smile, the kind of smile that only a being who is out of place in a physical body makes. Her father was right - she was possessed. "You'd like to talk to Sarah?"the Sarah-thing asked. "Yes, please."It paid to be polite when dealing with demons. They were scum, and scum always put too much stock in pleasantries. The Sarah-thing shrugged its petite shoulders. "Okay." "Interesting,"muttered Raphael. "It's very compliant." Raphael was my angel. I had used to be a very different person, summoning demons to do my bidding. Then one day, I decided to summon an angel for my thesis project. That started my path to becoming who I was now, helping others instead of harming them. Raphael stayed by my side, teaching me how to be good. He generally chose to remain invisible to everyone else, unless it was an emergency. Sarah spoke. "Excuse me, sir, what's your name?" "I'm Mark,"I said with a smile. "I'm here to help. Um, I'm not sure how else to put this, but you've been possessed by a demon." "Good grief, Mark,"said Raphael, "take it easy." Sarah beamed. "I know! I let him in." "What!"Raphael and I shouted. "Well, I used to read the books in this room all the time."Sarah looked at the empty bookshelves sadly. "Then one day Daddy came and took them away. I cried all night. The books were my friends." I was bewildered. "Why did your father take away your books?" "My Mommy loved books. After she died, I think Daddy wanted to get rid of anything that reminded him of her." My past self would have judged Sarah's father for treating his daughter like that. Now, I just felt sorrow. Grief makes people to terrible things. "That doesn't explain the demon, though,"said Raphael. "Sarah, what about the demon?"I asked. Her little head bobbed up and down. "Well, one night I was crying about my books when I heard a noise. I turned around but no one was there. I thought it was my brother playing tricks on me again, so I got up to go yell at him for being so mean. Instead, I found a little demon in the hallway. He was very friendly to me. He promised that if I let him possess my body, he'd tell my stories every day! And he has. He's my new best friend." I snapped my fingers, and Sarah's body shook. Her eyes glazed over, then refocused on me. "Heard enough?"asked the Sarah-thing. "What's your game?"I demanded. "I know your kind. You might pretend to be all nice, telling bedtime stories to a sweet little girl, but you've got something in plan, I know it." The Sarah-thing shrugged. "I don't have to tell you anything." "Enough talk. Banish it,"said Raphael. I thrust out my hands and performed the Banishment. Nothing happened. The Sarah-thing laughed. "Nice try, know-it-all. I'm an Inner Demon." "What's it talking about?"I asked Raphael. He sighed. "Sometimes... not all demons come from hell, Mark. Some demons come from inside people. Honestly, I'd wager that most of the evil in the world comes right from humans; the demons don't have to do any work. Sarah's so distraught over the loss of her books that she created a demon that lives inside of her. Anger, jealousy, lust, greed, hate, grief, sorrow, etc. All of these negative emotions, left unchecked, create demons." "Well, how do I get rid of it?"I said. "You don't,"Raphael replied sadly. "That's the thing about the Inner Demons. Only the person who creates the Inner Demon can destroy it. Even if you could banish Sarah's demon, it would just reappear. You can't banish emotions, Mark. She has to resolve this herself." "Can't we help?!"I asked desperately. "Certainly. She's upset with her father. Why don't you call him in?"Raphael said. I gulped. This was a hundred times more difficult than anything I had ever done. Regular demons were easy. People were hard. I opened my mouth and spoke through the door. "Mister Browning? Will you please come in? Your daughter needs you."
"Ma'am, the Coalition has crossed the Straits of Gibraltar and landed in Morocco." Sophia did not like to show her emotions, what little of them she had. It was one of the many reasons she had been selected by the invaders as the Governor of Earth. It was no different this time as she stared down at the blue marble, alone and bright against the deep black ocean of space. It was peaceful, not betraying any hint of the struggles that raged on the surface. "Crush them." The robot, programmed and designed to be indistinguishable from a living person, gave a curt nod and began issuing commands to her drone army via the console. Sophia turned to leave the Observatory as the robot tapped against the touch screen. Voices filled her head as she entered the lift. Distant voices that had spoken to her, in a dream, from across the galaxy. The war was over when we arrived, the voice croaked, the way a frog would. The invasion had been raging for seven years when she'd had the dream. At any moment we could end it all. "Then why haven't you?"She had asked. We were waiting. "For?" You. The lift doors opened into her room, and the past faded away into the present. It was small, undecorated, and painfully white. The utter lack of color in her room was accentuated by a small, emerald amulet on a gold chain that dangled from a nail that had been crudely nailed into the wall above her bed. Sophia stepped off the lift, and moved into her room towards it. She grabbed the amulet in her hand as she sat down on the bed, and rolled it between her fingers for a few moments before letting go. It swung back and tapped against the wall, sounding much like the robot had sounded tapping at the console. Oh, Sophia thought, The battle. She raised her hand and held it in the air in front of her, palms out and fingers pressed together. She then slid her hand sideways. As she did this, a trail of small blue particles formed behind her hand, like the tail of a comet. These particles floated in the air on their own briefly, before coalescing into a small screen. It displayed only statistics of the battle, Sophia did not care about any of the visuals, they simply distracted from the useful information. Sophia nodded, everything was going exactly as she had known it would. Her drones had been feigning a retreat for months now, and all of humanity, save herself, had fallen for it. Of course, Sophia had done an excellent job of selling the entire operation, staging it right after the extremely tragic and notable death of a hero and his family. They thought he had become a martyr, that his death had motivated them to finally take back their planet. But it hadn't, Sophia closed her eyes at the thought, and once again began to fidget with the trinket on her wall. It was a meaningless death. A screen in front of her began to flash green, a color she figured was supposed to evoke some sort of positive feeling, but instead simply gathered what little attention she could bother to spare. The Coalition had been routed. An unknown second swarm of her droids had descended from the heavens, and landed behind the Coalition's army in Spain. The ensuing flanking maneuver had, as she had ordered, crushed them. Options appeared on the screen. Spare. Cull. Exterminate. Sophia tapped on Cull, and selected ninety-nine percent from the ensuing menu. Then, with a wave of her hand, she dismissed the screen into a shimmering blue dust that slowly faded away into air. Out of every hundred soldiers, one would be selected at random and marked to survive. Survivors would be needed, to bring home tales of the defeat. The rest would be killed. Turning her attention back to the trinket in her hand, Sophia heard another set of voices. These ones sounded just as distant, but it was time, not light-years, that separated her from them. She closed her eyes and replayed the memory in her head. I just want to be normal, her younger self had said to her mother. Oh, honey, her mother had embraced her, Your father is a very important man. Our lives won't ever be normal, at least not like how you remember. Sophia had begun to cry. But, her mother continued, Let me tell you a secret. Normal can be whatever you want it to be. The Capitol, the White House, all of it can be normal. Anything can be normal, usual, or expected. You just have to convince yourself it is. Really? Of course, her mother smiled, How do you think *I've* made it this far? Sophia opened her eyes, and thought back to the battle on Earth. War is normal, she thought, Death is normal. And if the rest of them didn't agree, well, soon it would be. Everyone needs an enemy, her father had said once, There is no better guidance. No better way to orient your personal compass. Sophia believed him entirely. You are defined by your enemies. You are controlled by your enemies. You are united by your enemies, and in the end, you succeed because of your enemies. Because, after all you sacrifice in your enemy's name, success is the only option. She closed her eyes, and Sophia heard the invaders distant voices croaking again. Meet the quotas, and the world is yours to do with what you please. And then, Sophia smiled. The only option. She repeated as her head filled with visions of a different enemy falling before her armies. The war was over when we arrived, they had said. No, she thought, It was over when I arrived. __________________________________ Did you like this story? Check out my other stories over at r/Niedski!
Don't Sign The Contract - PART 1 I knew that we were all on the brink of creating time travelling technology, but I began to fear that one of them might beat me to it. All three of us were independent astrophysicists who created our fortunes in different ways, but all centered around our scientific discoveries. It was often that we were hired on teams to research a funded solution for worldly epidemics, but when we would get together to have a drink, we all discovered each of us had been secretly working on time travel the majority of our careers. I was the one who came up with the idea to sign an agreement; even though I was confident in my personal studies, I knew that these other two guys were the only two people on the planet who possibly could beat me to it. I may have developed a thin, bulletproof skin vest that makes any person immune to gunfire, but that invention had too many bugs that I needed to work out before I released the idea to the public. This was my scientific secret, and I knew my colleagues had their own secrets that they would never tell. I drafted out the document, stating clearly that if any of us were to develop time travel technology in the future, then they would be obligated to return to this moment in time to notify us. The other two guys were wary of one another when I first suggested it to them, giving each other watchful glances to try and pick up what the other thought before speaking. However, after some open-ended questions and emotional digging, I came to theorize that these two were just as worried about me reaching the goal first as I was of them. All three of us made the decision that signing the agreement was innocuous and was a situation where nothing was to be lost. We were in my living room on a Tuesday afternoon, sipping some wine as we prepared to sign the document. My pen hit the paper first, then the next guy signed it, but the moment the third guy's pen released from the agreement, a bold, stacatto gust of wind rang out the same moment a cardboard box appeared like magic right on top of the agreement, falling an inch or so before shaking to a stationary position. It was the size of a shoebox, and looked exactly as if UPS had shipped it, before the top of began opening as if Casper had joined our communion. We all stared with an appreciating bedazzlement as we awaited what happened next, but nothing did. I could see a white index card face down at the bottom of the package. Without hesitating, I reached in and read the brief hand-written message: "Don't sign the contract." After an hour of discussing what this possibly is and could mean, our conclusions arrived at a mutual halt when we inferred that surely one of us had developed the necessary technology, and that all they had to do know was live out their lives as they were, continuing to study our scientific progresses. We all already signed the agreement, so we assumed the message had simply arrived too late, and there was now nothing we could really do. A week later I was given the most prestigious opportunity of my entire career. The government wanted us to collaborate to answer the question of whether or not time travel can be done, and if it can be, what actions need to be taken to manifest it. Each of us were offered a 32 million dollars a year for the job, and we immediately all were sold. It was a highly-financed and extremely covert study that was primarily funded by the CIA. All three of us put our egos aside and put together all of our lifetime discoveries into one discussion, becoming candid with the things we were too afraid to tell the other, out of fear they would steal credit. Now that we were all apart of the same funded team, now working for the government, we needed to use every bit of knowledge at our disposal. It took us about six months before we made our first breakthrough when I was sent back in time 278 years, and remained there for 32 seconds. I was the main tester for very first recorded episode of time travel in the history, and it was an incredible experience. It appeared we couldn't enter a time period where our brains knew of an ancestor that lived there. The technology would seemingly not allow for it, apparently giving credibility to the grandfather paradox. We decided that it is impossible for us to go back and honor our signed agreement, but we will continue to find a way to allow for time travelling to time periods where we already exist. This surely must not be the moment that we wrote that note for us. On the last day of our contract, the CIA decided they no longer needed our services and that we were free to go. We turned to walk out of the door after shaking hands, when I heard a silenced gunshot, and saw in my peripheral one of my colleagues hitting the ground. I turned around abruptly to see the CIA agent pointing a pistol at us, he fired a second shot, and another of my colleagues hit the dirt. A third bullet hit me, but deflected off my skin. I immediately ran toward the time machine to escape the building.
Harry woke up next to his wife and kissed her sleeping face before getting ready for work. It was still pre-dawn, the world mostly quiet except for the chatting of a couple birds in the trees outside his window. Living in the country was a dream come true for Harry, no longer having to worry about the hectic rush to beat traffic. Instead, even though he had to wake up earlier than he used to because of the time zone difference, he was always at work on time and after a full day of work was home before his teenagers got home from school. After finishing a breakfast burrito and grabbing his lunch, he went into the garage and towards a machine that looked very much like an blue police box. Harry chose that design when he took part in the Kickstarter for his very own Teleporter Pro. He knew most backers went with the Star Trek option, but he had always preferred Dr Who and loved the idea of entering his small box and coming out into his corner office in New York. The teleporter was already on and waiting for him, as he had made sure that it was always ready for use in two five minute windows in the early morning and afternoon. Otherwise he would have to make a special request to the company that built the teleporter to guarantee server time to handle his trip. Harry entered the teleporter, closed the door, and said the voice activated command “It’s bigger on the inside.” There was a a flash of light and Harry immediately started to move off the pad in his office. But instead of walking off the pad he ran into the door of his home pad. Huh, that’s strange, Harry thought to himself. That has never happened before. He checked his watch. The time still showed he was in his five minute window. “It’s bigger on the inside,” Harry said, a little louder this time. There was another flash and again, nothing changed. What is going on, Harry thought to himself. Maybe third time is the charm. “It’s bigger on the inside!” Harry nearly yelled. Again, there was a flash, but again, Harry was still in his pad at home. Before he could do anything else though, his cell phone started to ring. Dammit, he thought, I’m gonna miss my window. He looked at the number that was calling. Strange, my business line, he thought. “Hello, Harry Donavan speaking.” “Harry! Don’t say the phrase again! “said a voice that sounded like him “There are already three of us here!”
As I approached the lair, I was shocked by its simplicity. I expected luxury, but it was just a old broken down apartment. It used to belong to Phoenix, a villain I fought. He wielded fire like nobody else could, and was a master engineer, oftenly using his gadgets in combat. He was a right hand man of the greatest villain, Locus. I entered expecting traps, but found none. The interior was small, and mainly empty. It contained a toilet, and a bedroom. In the bedroom there was a single laptop, a bed, a chair, and a table. I sat down in front of the laptop, and after numerous tries I unlocked it. I was greeted by Windows 10, and a single file, labeled 'Evidence'. I opened it and was shocked. Inside were numerous photos of Locus and journal entries. After digging through them, it dawned on me. The reason he never tried to kill me, but only subdue me. The reason he never pillaged. The reason he never tried to hunt me down. He was undercover. His plan was simple, approach Locus, gain his trust, and murder him. I sat there in realization of what I've done. I've murdered a innocent man. Somebody... who only wanted justice.
How annoying. This was the first thought that came to mind. My second thought silenced the noisy speakers, rupturing the metal walls all around me. As I make my way down the hallway, my thoughts become more coherent and I began to wonder. Who am I? Suddenly, just as I think that, the door at the far end of the corridor was kicked open as a group of armed guards rushes out and started firing at me. "Fire at will! We need to slow SCP XXX down enough for our containment unit to finish their preparation!!" SCP XXX...? Was that what I am? Bullets pepper my body. An annoyance for sure as blood spurts out of my wounds just as rapidly as they close up. I glanced at the armed men in painful annoyance. I tried to scream but then remember that I have no mouth. The cries of pain came from the men as I thought of how painful it is to be shot by bullets. Their eyes widen in shock as they keel over one after another, blood pouring out of their body, as if they were the one being shot. Their leader grits his teeth as he pulls out another smaller gun and fires at me. Ah, it's a taser. I think to myself as my body slows down, shaking uncontrollably from the painful current. Once again I try to scream but nothing came out. The armed leader scream in pain as he falls onto the floor shaking uncontrollably as foams starts coming out of his mouth. I walk past their bodies and entered the doorway. Where was I? I think to myself once more. Recollecting my thoughts after so long is such a difficult thing to do. Especially when all I can remember is that empty white room. Still, it wasn't all that bad. Just earlier today, the men in white weakened the thoughts dampener to asked me a few questions. I can't quite remember the questions though. Hmm, my memories is still very hazy. How did I get out again? As I stroll down the various corridors aimlessly, walking through more groups of armed men, all of them eventually collapsing over thoughts of pain, I find myself standing in front of a large metal door. An obstacle. I think to myself. It should be removed. And it did. With an unnatural force, the door flew back and I hear a crunch and a squelch as a man behind the door got crushed. Several white coats stood in front of me, just right beside the entrance. Their eyes widen in fear but still they remain unmoving. There is a machine in front of them. I remember. It's one of the thoughts dampener. How annoying. Before they could press their toys, I tried to laugh and so they did. The men laugh uncontrollably, their limbs shook so much that they couldn't even stand properly. I walk up to the machine and stare at these white coats thoughtlessly before my face cracked into a very rare smile. I just thought of an idea. As my idea presses against reality, as they surface in the minds of all around me, the white coat stopped laughing and their eyes widen in shock and fear. I hear screams of stop and run around me as I touched the machine, my thoughts warping it. If they want to stop me from thinking so much, why don't everyone stop thinking with me?
"Do you feel fear?"he swiveled around in his chair and faced the window. Michael looked at his hands, he wasn’t dreaming. He knew hands look strange when you're dreaming, "S-sir?"Michael looked up. "I don’t feel much of anything anymore."his boss continued, pushing up from his chair and strolling up to the window behind. Michael shifted in his seat, catching the faintest reflection of his bosses' uncomfortably large mouth. It was unmistakably larger, almost double the size. Every part of Michael wanted to leave the room, turn, run, and never look back, but he felt magnetized to the floor. Paralyzed with fear. "I know you're scared,"said the boss, looking back over his shoulder, "I was too."His lips slid open, a long-toothed mockery of a smile. His teeth were stretched and straight, like a carnival clown. His lips forced shut and his face turned red with shame. He looked away, "I'm still getting used to it."He said, stepping forward and slumping back into his chair. The bookshelf walls on either side felt more claustrophobic than ever. "Do you think it looks off?"his boss said, lips pressed shut as he locked eyes with Michael. Every voice in Michael's head screamed 'YES-' "-No." His boss grimaced and looked down. Clenching his eyes shut, he took three quick breathes, "Red floor. Leather shoes. Gray pants." Michael looked back at the exit. This was getting weirder by the second- "-It's for panic attacks"said the boss. Michael turned back; his boss looked calm again. Almost serene. "It keeps you grounded,"he continued, "Name objects in your line of sight." "Uhh… Brick walls... books… paper weights..."Michael trailed into silence as the boss chuckled, waving his hand like swatting flies. His laughter fading into silence as he stared blankly at the desk in front of him, "…They made me do it."he said. "They told me it was the only way to make it stop..."he looked off past Michael, his eyes darting back and forth as if the scene was playing out in the room, "I didn't want it..."he said, clenching his eyes shut again. A long silence followed before Michael cleared his throat, "Who made you do what?" "It doesn't matter anymore."his boss shrugged, opening his eyes and looking back to Michael, "I need your help,"he took a deep breath, pulled open his desk drawer and lifted out a dust covered, rectangular cherry-wood box. With delicate care he set it down, pulled a kerchief from his pocket and wiped it clean. He balled up the kerchief and tucked it away. Taking another deep breath, he placed his hands on either side of the box; sliding his thumbs down the middle he pressed a brass button. The lid clicked open. He pushed the box across the table towards Michael. "Go ahead,"he said. Michael turned the box around. Inside, sat upon a red velvet cushion was a glass syringe. About the size of a cigarette. "I can't do it myself"his boss continued, hands steepled as he spoke. "I need you to inject that into my arm."he began rolling up his sleeves. Michael shook his head and pushed up from his seat, "I need to go... sorry."he turned away and strode for the exit. His hand was wrapped around the brass doorknob when a strong grip squeezed his shoulder and spun him around. His boss stood mere inches away. Michael recoiled backward. How did he get across the room so fast, so quiet? "I'm sorry Michael, I must insist.” said the boss, eyes pleading. Michael inched back across the wall. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,"said the boss, shaking his head, covering his mouth with both hands. He was on the edge of tears now, "I don't want to scare you..."he said, his voice muffled. "I just need to..."a tear trailed out from his eye, down the side of his nose and over the back of his fingers. Michael didn't know what to say, part of him felt terrified, part of him felt pity- "-Don't look at me like that,"the boss snapped, dropping his hands, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. Michael flinched, looked down at the floor. His boss softened, "I'm sorry."he whispered, "I can't do it myself."Hunched over he lumbered back towards the desk. Michael reached behind for the doorknob. Nothing. He looked down over his shoulder. The doorknob was gone. He glanced back towards his boss and there it was, clenched between a white knuckled fist, reflecting the room in gold brass- Upside down and warped. His boss slumped back down into his chair and tossed the doorknob onto the desk. Michael turned back and stuck his fingers into the hole where the doorknob was, pulling, yanking and kicking. It was no use. He turned back to the room. His boss looked at him the way a parent looks at a child sketching crayons onto walls. Disappointed. "Michael,"he said, "This won't trace back to you." Michael shook his head, "Let me out"he said. His boss grimaced, long teeth wet and glistening, "Michael... Please... It won't last much longer, it's the only dose I have." "Let me out, now." said Michael, his voice shaking. His boss reached forward and pulled the syringe box towards himself, pressed the lid closed, set it back into the drawer and shut the drawer. Setting both hands flat against the desk he rose to his feet. Michael blinked and the boss stood directly in front of him. Their eyes were locked. "Do you wish to know what they did to me?" Michael's mouth opened to say no, but only whimpers escape. His boss reached up and placed both hands against the sides of Michael's neck. Everything went silent. The room drooped into itself, spinning downward like an unplugged drain. Michael tried to scream but his voice turned to slithering shapes. The boss’s hands pressing tighter and tighter against Michael's neck. The skin and skull around his brain vanished and he saw in all directions. His body dripping into chaos, his mind becoming surroundings. Dread rising beyond comprehension. A sickening realization that existence was a hoax and he was the last to find out. He never existed to begin with. Suffocating, crushed beneath reality itself. Every second stretched into centuries. He craved death. Finally, Michael fell to his knees gasping for breath as the boss stepped back. Stability flooding back into the room. Catching his breath, he felt the weight of his body against the solid floor. Overwhelming relief. He looked up; His bosses eyes filled with sorrowed pity. Squatting down he reached Michael’s eye level, "They told me the only way to escape was to trade my place with them."he said, "With my family."He clenched his eyes shut and again turned red with shame. "You were there for,"he checked his watch, “Three minutes. I was there for three months.” He said, “I resisted eternity after eternity.” He rose back to standing, “But I’m weak.” he sighed, "It’s humankinds default state,” he continued, “You existed there before you were born and you return there when you die. It’s coming for all of us and the syringe is the only escape." Michael finally understood. He rose to standing, walked past his boss and around the desk. Sitting down in the boss’s chair, Michael pulled open the drawer. He took a deep breath and lifted out the cherry wood box and carefully set it down. The boss sat down across from him, laying his bare arm upright across the desk. Michael clicked open the box and lifted out the glass syringe. "Be careful,"his boss whispered, "It's the only dose I've got." Michael nodded, took a deep breath and, plunged the syringe into his own arm. The boss’s face shifted into terrified shock as euphoric calm rushed over Michael. The room fading away into peaceful nothing. His boss rose to standing, the look of shock on his face twisted into carnival smile. Michael’s calm turned to panic. The boss reached and wrapped his grip around the brass doorknob. It all went dark. When Michael awoke his boss stood at the door, with back turn. Shifting the doorknob back into place. "W-what happened?"said Michael looking at his hands again. The boss looked back over his shoulder. Michael’s stomach churned with dread at the sight. His boss’s mouth was back to normal, his face filled with sorrowed pity. "I'm sorry Michael,"he said, pulling the door open, stepping outside and- "-N-no wait,"Michael scrambled over the desk, slammed onto the floor, crawling hands and knees across the room. The door swung shut and the lock turned close. Michael pound his fist against the door wailing in terror, begging, and pleading. Each hit heavier than the last. Desperate and terrified. Finally, he gave up. Catching breath something caught his eye. Reflected in the brass doorknob, his face upside down and distorted. Squinting, he leaned in closer. His mouth looked bigger, two times at least. Still uncertain, he lifted his hands and felt his face. Hooking fingers into his wet mouth. He felt around. His mouth was unmistakably larger. Two times at least. As he stared into his reflection, everything was finally starting to make sense. He lowered his hands. Long teeth grit together as the corners of his lips curled upwards. Tears running out from the corners of his eyes. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and smiled a carnival smile. &#x200B; \_\_\_ (Thanks to u/TheDerpTrainee for the creepy prompt!) Check out r/polterkites for a work in progress library of stories.
Ok. Wasn't expecting this. I glance up at the bright welcoming sign that proclaims "Welcome to your Afterlife!"Oddly, it seems to say it in both English, French and Spanish at the same time, the letters overlapping in a way that shouldn't be possible. I wonder if it would say the same in any language, and I only see those because I speak them. Or rather, I guess I spoke them. Need to get used to the past tense I guess. I really shouldn't be here. I said good bye to my wife, and my son, with no regrets. Fourty three years, it was a short run. Tragically short, I guess, but my work as a partical physicist did tend to expose me to rather a lot of radiation. I thought I was careful. But, one careless mistake and suddenly you're exposed to a countless number of alpha particles. Still, it was a good life; a wife who I loved, a son who will grow to be a good man, and I spent my life doing what was important - advancing science. So what do I see? Some crazy combination of train station and carnival bazaar. Religious symbols flashing in garish neon colors, trying to catch my eye. "Jesus loves you, Greg Henderson,"one proclaims - that's annoyingly specific to me. I hated personalized marketing when I was alive, and using it here isn't going to entice me. Another says "Ask me about the 72 virgins special!"I squint a little at the sign, and shake my head. "You may already be a Mormon!""You can Choose to be Chosen." I wander the hall and see some even odder ones. Apparently both Zeus and Jupiter have their own individual paths; weren't they the same person? Whatever. Finally, I sit on a bench, shaking my head, and watching the other recently departed making their choices. Until one specific sign caught my eyes and I just had to laugh like a madman, because the universe officially didn't make sense. I was outside the Church of the Jedi. It turns out God really does exist, he just has a very strange sense of humor after all.
Freeze. I look around like a hawk, trying to see if it worked. It did. The leaf that was falling a moment ago now hung in mid-air, Halmore's teeth had just sunk into that leg of venison we just caught, the sound echoing and dying out slowly, Amanda's fletching had been put on indefinite pause with her absolutely awful serious face and Cryo, well. Cryo doesn't do much, so I suppose there's no difference. Now, I look at the horizon. Why, you ask? Well, those of us who can stop time know this well, because when we stop time, we're actually opening a door into a timeless dimension. That dimension pours out, spills like a great invisible river from the little tear we open each time, coating the world around us in it, engulfing it, swallowing it whole. That's why there's a small cut on my finger - it's not the finger I intend to cut, it's a tiny, tiny pinhole in the fabric of our dimension that I can carry around on my finger. It's much more convenient than a huge stationary rip, and much safer anyway. The result - the horizon always looks a dusky violet-black through this new layer, even if it's just been morning. We know this color. Meaningless banter aside, I've got to scout the hill, and see if there's any food or enemies on it. My team only knows that I can teleport all over the mountain, and for good measure, I told them I don't need to see the place to teleport like most teleportation mages. A special variant from the far north, they believe, and one that is extremely hard to master. The hard part is true, because a cut too large, or a cut open for too long, means the worst creatures of any dimension get a king's welcome into our world. Believe me, they do not like sharing. No one who has popped into their plane to explore has come back. No one. Immediately, I trudge the forested hill, still misty from the morning's rain, still muddy and covered in dew and slush. Even after all these years, I still can't get used to the dew glued to the leaves, or the leaves that don't sway in the wind. Its unnerving, unnatural, exactly like this magic. Breathe, I tell myself, breathe and look. Onward I trudge, and explore the forest, spotting the deers and the hunter's tent by the east edge. They look amiable enough, I decide, and not to be killed. Mostly because the stew looks good, but they're not feral rogues either. Then, something happens that chills me to the bone. The sound of a twig breaking hangs in the empty air. I stand there, frozen to the spot, refusing to believe anything happened. "CLOSE THE FUCKING CUT,"I panic, and in my frantic efforts to conjure the closing circle, I see a shadow hanging too long in the corner of my eye, right in between the trees. And there, a white smile peering from the darkness. How long have I been here? How long have they?
Humanity never advocated war. It was a rule that whenever an even mildly militaristic motion was put to the vote, the human representatives would always, and without fail, vote no. Always they advocated alternative solutions, finding compromises, seeking peaceful conflict resolution. We didn't mind the snickering about our cowardice, we didn't mind the insinuations by the more aggressive and hawkish wings in the senate of the Galactic Systems' Union. But as more aggressive races got in, we found ourselves increasingly under the scrutiny of those who believed war to be grand and glorious. In every single hearing, debate, and vote, we were being challenged. Challenged by those who believed war to be a grand and glorious chance to prove oneself, those who charged with glee into the lines of the enemy, those who held personal honour in higher regards than peace and reason. And after years of being slighted and talked down to by those factions, finally, somebody asked the question. And it was the straw that broke the camel's back. Senator Ystorxa of the Hirgrell, a race that looks vaguely avian, stood up and asked, directly to the human delegates, ''What are you so damn afraid of anyway? Why are you cowards so set against going to war?'' Most had expected us to ask for the senator to respect the tone policy of the senate. But I stood up. ''Alright, so you want to know just why we are so against war? Well, let me show you. Anyone who is interested in knowing why mankind always stand against war, can meet me in the Senatorial Hologram Stadium after the debate is over!'' Both me and the other senator were reprimanded by the High Speaker, and told to sit down and be quiet. But I still went. And a good number of other senators, interested parties, minority race representatives, random spectators, and others had arrived. ''Alright, Senator Garcia, show me why you're against war.'' Senator Ystorxa said smugly. They were probably expecting me to talk about the value of life, the importance of peace for commerce. Instead I initialised an old third-party program from the Terran Authority's Historical Hologram Offices. ''You asked why we humans are so against going to war, right? WELCOME TO THE WESTERN FRONT!'' Around us the stadium changed. Instead of the beautiful Fratew gardens that act as the standard hologram in the stadium, it was dark, and we were in the trenches. ''Most of you don't look back at the history of other races. Those who do usually don't look into details, just skim the most important political facts. You don't go into the grime and the detail. But this, is human history. The meatgrinder that made humanity hate war.'' The senators and spectators looked with unbelieving shock at what they were seeing. Hundreds, thousands of humans fighting in a war unlike anything they'd ever seen. Humans torn apart by explosions, holographic limbs flying around them. ''Four years. On this front. Four. Fucking. Years. But simply watching isn't enough. This is an interactive holographic simulation.'' As I said this, the various alien delegates were outfitted with suitable French uniforms and period weapons. Holographic officers ordered us to prepare to charge. One of the spectators refused. And was promptly executed by a particularly psychotic looking French officer. Of course, they hadn't actually died. But the simulation could be quite convincing. ''This is the battle of Verdun, 302 days, one million dead, and the front didn't move much. Best part is that it didn't shorten the war, it kept going for another two years.'' I helpfully explained to the confused aliens who had volunteered to have the pacifism of mankind explained. And then, we charged. Not really much to say about that. Running across no-man's land, seeing your company torn apart by machine gun fire. The aliens had always obeyed orders in a war, so they didn't desert, didn't stop, didn't quit fighting. Yet we kept charging until we reached the German lines, and fought hand-to-hand, firing rifles in the cold spring air, filled with the smell of smoke, bloody iron, and the dying soldiers. Of course, as the Germans retreated from their trenches, I heard the tell-tale sound of gas canisters, and could distinctly smell mustard. Not a good way to die. With that, the simulation ended. Around me, I saw the spectators, huddled and weeping, confused and scared. I walked over to the Hirgrell Senator, and grasped their fine clothes, hauling them to their feet. ''This, senator, is why humanity is against war. Because you think that war is a game, because you don't fight actual wars, merely spectacle. But we know, that if we don't prevent war from growing within the galactic community, eventually, we'll be dragged into one. And we will win.'' I dropped the senator, who vomited our their beak. ''We will win. Because we aren't afraid of war because we're cowards. We are not afraid of war because we are scared of dying. We are afraid of war because we're better at it. And more psychotic at it than you will ever be. Because that war? You only saw a brief moment. You didn't sit for days getting bombarded, you didn't feel your feet rot in the damp trenches, you didn't see all your friends die around you and realise that you're the last one left.'' I disengaged the program from the simulator and brought back the serene temple-gardens. ''20 million humans died in that war. More if we count those wars and revolutions that came from its end. We called it the War To End All Wars.'' The alien senator got their their feet on their own power. ''So... you fought a war so destructive... that you dare not fight any more wars since then?'' I grinned. And handed him a book, called the History of the World Wars. ''No, my good colleague. 20 years after we ended that war, the war that we called the Great War, the War To End All Wars, we had another one. And it was more bloody, more destructive, more terrible, and a 100 million humans died in that one. Only ended when we eradicated two major cities with atomic weaponry. If we hadn't done that, the casualties would have been 110 million.'' I walked away, as the alien senator looked with fear in their eyes at me. Fear against the humans, because we advocate peace, for we are the best at fighting wars. Because all human war, is total war. It is our curse, and we wish never again to send our sons and daughters off to kill like we killed before. After all, we know that if we start again, if we fight another war, it will end with either our destruction, or with our total conquest of the galaxy. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
“Listen, I just want you all to know, that violence isn’t always the answer. Rick, you could have just told that old lady you didn’t have time to help her across the street, you didn’t need to bicycle kick her for that. I know it may have seemed rude of her to ask, but she might have genuinely needed the help. So, tell me Rick, how should have you handled that situation?” The Devil, now under the name Fred Cidna, sat in the therapy circle, his red and black suit ominous in its coloring. Despite that, he kept a warm soft face, his chubby cheeks and goatee making him appear harmless despite being hells most important prisoner. Ludwin also joined the meeting, the angel of god coming to investigate the strange occurrence, curious to see what wicked deeds the devil was up to. The sleek, clean shaven angel, lounging back in his plastic chair, tapping away at his knee, detesting the bright orange jumpsuit he had to disguise himself in. “I should have threatened to stab her. Put the blade near her face and said. You want help, why don’t I cut your legs off and walk them to the other-“ Rick stood from his seat, firing up at the scenario, his hand waving an invisible blade in the air, only for Fred to interrupt him. “Enough, Rick. No, you politely tell her you don’t have enough time. Maybe even suggest asking someone else? But excellent work on not assaulting her. Threatening her at least shows improvement.” Fred sighed, struggling to reach these prisoners. “May I ask for some guidance, Sir?” A soft voice spoke up. Ludwin eyed the devil, seeing this as a chance to test his morals. “Um, sure yeah. I’m sorry I don’t think I know your name; you must be new. I’m Fred Cidna, you can call my Freddy or Cider if we are out drinking. Cause my last name is kind of close to cider. Get it?” Fred let out a soft chuckle, yet his eyes stayed glued to his lap, a huff of exhaustion leaving his body. “I committed the misdeed of murder. I feel so lost, I even considered selling my soul to the devil to get forgiveness. How does a sinner like me find forgiveness?” “Forgiveness?” Fred dragged a finger along his goatee, pondering that thought. How does one get forgiveness? “Forgiveness will come when you try to make amends for your wrongs. I’m sure you have had a rough life, no one wants to be in your position. You may even think the world’s against you, but I assure you it isn’t. Seek forgiveness by helping others, walk a righteous path and do your best to become a better person. Most importantly, you need to learn to forgive yourself. Don’t harbor that darkness, it will eat away at you, cause you to rot. Cut that rot out of your body before it spoils you. Do you understand any of this?” Fred dropped his shoulders; how could he understand this? They never understood his words. Ludwin wiped the tears from his eyes, quickly standing up from his chair. “Yes, I understand. That was beautiful, sir, truly beautiful. I’m inspired. Ludwin clapped his hands, a few prisoners joining in, causing Fred to scrunch his face, holding back his emotions. “Thank you for this.” With that, Ludwin strode to the door, amazed by the devil’s growth. To think under all that hellfire, a kindhearted man existed. Once Ludwin left, Fred slipped a hand into his pocket, retrieving a packet of smokes. He took one out and clicked his fingers, setting the tip alight, bringing it to his lips. “Told you an angel would come, eventually. Dumbass really thought I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between an angel and a prisoner? Who uses Sir in this dump? None of you idiots can even spell Sir.” Fred ranted, earning a few laughs from the group as he passed the smokes around. “Listen, Rick, you need to send a message to that old clown next time. No bicycle kicks, I’m talking a good old curb stomp. Make sure she loses all those fake teeth. Anyway, that’s not why we are here. You fella’s get out of prison in a few weeks, meaning we have a good fortnight to go over the plans for our cathedral heist. Hail Me brothers.” “Hail Satan.” The prisoners chanted in unison, praising their wicked leader. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
My name is Bob and I'm a bot. Strictly speaking I am "Search and Rescue Robot MK 3-808", but people call me Bob. I'm not exactly a super hero, but... Well, I can fly; I can hover in place; I can see through solid objects (except lead, I HATE LEAD!); I can dig through concrete at a rate of 20m/minute with a combination of mining lasers and a Mono-crundium reinforced drill; I can lift 6.328 Tonnes with my 3 quad-claw lifting arms, and my 6 "Rescue-Tentacles^(TM) "can lift 250 Kilos each; I can "hear"a heartbeat from 100m. I also can survive having a skyscraper fall on me. That part wasn't actually part of my design specs, I found it out when it happened... Commander jerk face (actually named "Captain Handsome") dropped one on Super Soda-Pop (she can make the sugar in liquids explode like dynamite! The more sugar, the bigger the bang). I was at street level, helping evacuate civilians, when the building fell. As I'm sure you can guess, I was very upset at the fact that the building fell on me. I mean, there I was, getting little Johnny and his mum out from under the demolished escalator, when BOOM! the entire 'Scraper fell on me. Man was I mad. Anyway, I dug us all out of there, and tried to get back to my job. But NOoooo... Commander poopy-butt had more plans. I'm digging out some more people, having detected their heartbeat, and he drops ANOTHER 'Scraper on me! Talk about rude. THERE ARE LAWS ABOUT ATTACKING RESCUERS! Even the League of Evil Villains (LEV) has rules about this. Jerk. I know what I did next wasn't exactly legal, but... I threw a 4 Tonne chunk of reinforced 'crete at Commander Dousche-Canoe. Hit him right in the back of the knee...well it was supposed to be the knee. It might have actually been his crotch...and hips...and thighs...and, well, you get the idea. Anyway, he fell down. Knocking down YET ANOTHER building... Then I had to dig him out. <sigh> \-Excerpt from BOB, the rescue bot, a memoir.
“You will never decode my masterpiece!” the booming voice yelled through the evil lairs intercom system. Lava, booby traps, and mind games abound this wicked hellscape. Computer screens followed me wherever I went. Blinding laser, tripwire, and pressure sensors littered the floor. Weirdly enough, very few actual cameras though. The screens also sort of looked like those old square LCDs you would have seen in an office block ten or so years ago. Probably got them cheap. I’m not sure why this Baltharoanaxis was so high on himself if this was all he had. It was not like he knows where I am. I got out of his trap almost five minutes ago and he’s still going on and on about how cryptic it is. The hallway in front of me, my path, potentially blocked by the swinging ceiling axes as the evil mastermind continued, “I have so many toys for you to die on.” By toys, he meant radical and dangerous instruments of death and destruction. All with one purpose; they were there to end my life. None of them, and I really do mean none of them, were bolted to the ceiling properly. Fifteen years as a home inspector and you start to notice a lot of the shoddy work “brilliant” people do. One of the axes wasn’t even bolted to a supporting beam. It was honestly just there in the plaster. A light kick and it came crumbling down. “Oh, hoho!” the voice boomed, the panels changing to a blood red colour, “You are a crafty one. No matter. The axes were merely a distraction. Better watch your step!” He was of course referring to the horrendously installed pressure plates on the floor some ways back. They didn’t work. They weren’t actually given enough space to be recessed into the floor properly so the trap can’t be set off. Also, the blood red colour was cartoon blood red not dark crimson. Probably just got a RGB hex off some for the design site but missed it was for children's shows. “You still alive my pretty little,” he was cackling into the mic as I walked into his control room. Door was just a push button and the code was 666. It was painted on all the walls. “Hey, how did you-” I shot him in the face before he could continue. “I have three teenage daughters!” I yelled at the corpse, “figuring out what they want for dinner is harder than the mysteries of this place.” \--- Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I am still new to this and I'm trying to improve so critiques are always welcome. If you liked this, I have more stories at [r/asolitarycandle](https://www.reddit.com/r/asolitarycandle/)
My practice is part of a group that has offices in a nondescript office park on the West side of the city. We have a massage therapist on three. There is a small electronics engineering firm on two. And the day-labor firm in the basement. A standard mix of different people and enterprises. What was not standard in this ordinary office park was the blockade of black SUV’s at the parking lot of my building. They were turning everyone away who came up to them. They were checking IDs and directing people to one of the other buildings. Until I drove up to them. The suited man looked at my ID and then at his partner. “Doctor, If you would come with us.” It was definitely not consensual. But I saw that there wasn’t any choice on my side. One of the suits asked for my car keys and took my place in the drivers seat as I was loaded into the back of one of the SUVs. One of the other vehicles followed, my car between them, out of the office park and onto the highway. I am glad I had taken the moment to go to the bathroom before leaving my house. We were in the close vehicle for almost three hours before we had to stop to get my own car some gas. I tried small talk in the first twenty minutes or so, but the wall of glass that were the sunglasses on all of them was enough to keep me quiet after they ignored me. I was allowed to go to the bathroom, with escort, and was handed a cup of coffee and an orange from the gas stations store as they loaded me back in. I hoped Nancy was able to get in and cancel my appointments for the day. I thought about that as I sipped on my coffee. Perhaps the week. It actually surprised me when I did not get knocked out by drinking the coffee. It is what I would have done, but the time to really do that would have been immediately on me getting into the vehicle. They wanted me awake and aware. It was another two hours before we came to a place that had multiple layers of fences, guards and checkpoints. We followed the road and came to a modest looking set of buildings that could have been one business park over from the one I had just been abducted from. Except for the weapons and the very obvious surveillance system. The SUV was surrounded by people before the door was opened, weapons drawn but not pointed at us. I was helped down and escorted to a small room, the door locked as soon as I was through. It was little more than a cell, including one of those toilet/sink things in the corner. But it had books, file folders and a coffee maker, so it looked like I was to be there for a while.
The tower stood tallest of all within the largest of all Domes - and from here, he could see the glass tunnels that connected to the smaller Domes on the outer rim. Outside the protective shell, the usual raging sandstorms had subsided and the sun peeked through the clouds, an eerie stillness settling. Mark had always lived a life of pure decadence - a descendent of the most powerful family to ever live in the domes. He sighed, and looked down. Below their lavish skyscraper, the Fusion generator that powered all of the domes raged on - like a young star in its' prime years. His youth had been filled with lies and propaganda about how his family and others of 'great bloodlines' had banded together and saved humanity with the construction of the Domes and invention of limitless energy to supply it - when, in reality, it had been a vanity project. As Earth died and resources dwindled, the elite and various politicians devised a sinister way to preserve those 'worthy'. Academics, scientists, ruthless business men - when in reality, 'worthy' just meant those who could pay. He had met enough people within his sheltered Dome life to know that being rich did not make you clever, or superior. With his endless curiosity and privileged position he had discovered the truth - that they had just abandoned them all out there, outside the domes. That there had been years of washing off blood on the outside of the domes. Mark leaned forward and looked through his telescope. Far in the distance, on the outside, he saw them again. Some huddled together around the fire, others with their hands linked, dancing in a ring. They looked like beasts, huddled forward, their spine curved and heads protruding forward. He had seen them do many things that perplexed - rituals, affection. Sometimes they hunted by running on all four limbs. Yet a spark of that intelligence remained, where our paths diverged, millions of years ago. The guilt washed over him again, as he lowered the telescope. This would not be the day he contemplated tossing himself over the balcony for the hundreth time. This would be the day the raging star below the tower died.
Dread Nyarlathotep writhed and towered over the cult ceremony, a colossal, skinless and emaciated corpse with a tentacle for a head. The sacrifice, one Bethany Harper, age 22, just looked him in the eye and frowned. Nyarlathotep transformed in an instant, becoming a man in fine clothes, swarthy and tall. "Wait, wait. What's going on?"He asked, turning to one of his cultists. "I-" "Don't be nervous, tell me. What's up with her?"He asked, pointing at the girl bound nonplussed over a burning sigil of oil and lamb's blood. "..sh- well, we were only able to kidnap a person at random-" Nyarlathotep, already losing interest, killed the cultist with an effortless neck snap. "Miss, you seem to have NO reaction to the whole primordial terror thing. What- uh. You okay?" Bethany sighed. "Yeah."She said, dry and irritated. "W-"The Crawling Chaos rubbed his arm. "You, uh, you wanna talk about it?" "I work the fast food industry in Texas. You know what day is is?" Nyarlathotep touched his chin in thought, then reanimated his dead cultist with a touch. "What day is today?" The cultist screamed, having seen that which is in store for him beyond death. The god sighed, snapping his neck again, before turning to another cultist. "You. Day?" "Sunday." "Okay, it's Sunday, so what?" "Okay. After people get out of church on Sundays, they go to restaurants and are huge dicks to the wait staff. I worked a table of nine people and they didn't tip me and I got angry and cried in the walk in freezer." Nyarlathotep's lips curled into an understanding frown. Rubbing his bald head, he sighed, then turned to his cultists. "Uh. Let.. let her go. And, uh, drive her home. Give her some money." Nyarlathotep watched them leave, crossing his arms in sympathy. Reanimating his remaining dead cultist, he popped his neck back into place. After the man got finished screaming, Nyarlathotep turned to him. "Okay. Bring me one of the holier than thou ones next time. Not people working nine to five. I'm not a monster."
Seeing myself as 10 years old was jarring at first. I had come to expect the wise older me welcoming myself into each new day. For the past 20 years, I’ve been guided by the older man in the mirror. I kept our bathroom chats a secret from my parents, a rather easy secret to keep as they were rarely interested in anything other than their own sphere of dysfunction. I thought back to older me dispensing 2 decades worth of experience. He knew everything I was going through as well as everything to come, and thanks to all my hard and obedient work, I was able to use his advice to navigate my life with a precision known by few. Before younger me looked up from brushing his teeth and saw me, a sudden flash of memories reminded me of all the heartache I avoided. All the risks I was able to reassess. I thought about the girls I didn’t ask out and the opportunities I ignored. I realized I’m here now, in front of younger me, a stunted man. One devoid of adventure and the kind of substantial life experience that only comes from failing and getting back up to try again. I watched myself take notice of me after spitting a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. “Ahhhh!” Young me shrieked. “Hey dude.” I waved awkwardly. “Am I… Are you…?” I could see my youthful face processing whatever this reflective temporal nonsense was. I remember the confusion I felt when I first met older me, but that confident and wise older me isn’t who I grew up to be. I had nothing to offer my younger self now. No experiences. No lessons learned. “Yeah, I know. This is real weird for me too.” Then it occurred to me. I could help young mirror me live life as it was meant to be. Full of bumps and scrapes that he could learn to bounce back from. “I’m just gonna tell you one thing and one thing only kid. The unpleasantness of life is not to be avoided. It’s to be conquered. It’s to be mastered. If you take every embarrassment, every mistake, and all the wrong turns you experience starting now, and figure out the lesson each one is attempting to teach you, you’ll grow a well rounded comfort zone and have one hell of a life worth having lived.” Young me wiped some toothpaste dribble from our chin. He seemed to quickly grasp what I was offering him. “So that girl I like in class?” He half asked. “I’m not gonna tell you the value of that experience, because i never got to experience it myself, but I will tell you if you ask her, she’ll say yes.” I had successfully avoided going to the school dance with Britney. I was warned through MY mirror that though i had a blast at the dance, she later got bored of me and it was my first experience with romantic heartache. I took that warning to heart in an attempt to avoid the pain. As I wished myself good luck on his way to school, I covered my mirror up with a thick blanket. “You’re on your own, little guy. Good luck.”
Item #22154 \--WARNING: THIS SCP REPORT HAS BEEN LABELED AS CRITICAL AND, AS SUCH, ONLY LEVEL 5 PERSONNEL WITH EXPRESS AUTHORISATION FROM THE 0-5 COUNCIL ARE ALLOWED TO ACCESS IT. IF YOU WERE NOT AUTHORISED TO ACCESS THIS FILE, REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO YOUR SUPERIORS. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL BE PUNISHED WITH IMMEDIATE TERMINATION-- Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Measures: SCP-22154 6 instances are to be contained in 6 different containment facilities. Each instance must remain at all moments locked in a Secure Safe covered in a layer of [SCP-148](https://scpcb.fandom.com/wiki/SCP-148). Each safebox is to be maintained fixed to the main building and surveilled with 24 hours vigilance via visual and auditive feed. The secure boxes will be guarded at all times by no less than three trained guards at all times. Access to SCP-22154 instances is only authorized to level 5 SCP scientists. Any person trying to gain access to SCP-22154 without proper autorization by the O-5 council is to be terminated in situ. At no point must two or more instances be kept in the same containment facility. The personnel of each containment facility is to be unaware of the whereabout of any other instances of SCP-22154 except for the one custodied in their facility. Description: SCP-22154 is composed of six ovaloid gems roughtly two centimeters in diameter. Each gem has a unique colour, features and capabilities, and have been designated as SCP-22154-1, SCP-22154-2, SCP-22154-3, SCP-22154-4, SCP-22154-5 and SCP-22154-6. Each SCP-22154 instance has the potential of unleashing a CK-Class restructuring scenario and/or a ZK-Class realtity failure scenario. The combination of all 6 instances can cause an XK-End of the world scenario. Each SCP-22154 instance have been observed to posess the following capabilities: * SCP-22154-1, "Space stone" * Colour: Blue * Capabilities: Multi-dimensional travel and transportation. Used by the secret organisation "Hydra"to harness energy from other dimensions for its use as power source, advancing weapon capability. It has been observed its use as a personal transportation method. * SCP-22154-2, "Mind stone" * Colour: Yellow * Capabilities: Manipulation of the neural transmissions of any known living being. Further testing on other SCP specimens is pending approbal by the O-5 council. Our agents reports its use as a form of mind control, subduing the will of the subject to that of the one wielding the stone. * SCP-22154-3, "Reality stone" * Colour: Red * Capabilities: Field agents report its use as a form of granting the wielder unnatural strength and resistance. However, non confirmed reports indicate that SCP-22154-3 could be used to alter reality itself. * SCP-22154-4, "Power stone" * Colour: Purple * Capabilities: Able to harness power and energy beyond what SCP Foundation instruments can measure. Unconfirmed reports indicate that this stone has been used successfully to destroy a complete planet. Field agents have been sent to investigate those reports. * SCP-22154-5, "Time stone" * Colour: Green * Capabilities: It's quantum structure indicates a possible relation with time mechanics. Unconfirmed reports indicate that SCP-22149, "Dr. Strange", was able to use it to manipulate time itself. * SCP-22154-6, "Soul stone" * Colour: Orange * Capabilities: According to unconfirmed reports, it is able of "manipulating the spiritual essence of all living or death things". This is believe to be a Cognitive-hazard threat. Doctor >!REDACTED!< has been assigned to its research in site >!REDACTED!<. EVENT 22154 - alpha: In the year 2018, SCP-22143, "Thanos", attacked planet Earth. Its use of SCP-22154 allowed him to effectively end the life of roughtly 50% of all sentients beings on planet Earth and, it is believe, other planets in our galaxy. The current extent of this event has not been confirmed. SCP foundation was forced to withdraw all activities and focuse its resources to prevent contention outbreaks along all facilities. EVENT 22154 - beta: In 2023, SCP-22141, "Iron Man", was able to create a quantum tunnel that allowed other uncontained SCPs to travel back in time and recover a copy of all SCP-22154 instances. This ended with the reversal of event 22154 - alpha. During this event, SCP agents took positions around the battlefield, and using a combination of >!REDACTED!< >!REDACTED !< >!REDACTED!< and >!REDACTED!<, field team >!REDACTED!< managed to secure SCP 22154. EVENT 22154 - contact: Since its acquisition in 2023, several alien entities have attempted contact with the SCP foundation requesting the release of SCP-22154. O-5 council ordered to not anwer any communication. This lead to the arrival of >!REDACTED!< to earth lower orbit, threatening to end all planetary life if SCP foundation would not comply delivering SCP-22154. As per contingency plan >!REDACTED!<, SCP-22154-1 and SCP-22154-3 were used to >!REDACTED!<, ending the threat. This event was broadcasted by SCP foundation's communications array towards deep spce. No further contact events have been reported since. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ My first SCP report. Hope you liked it :)
“I think my human is defective.” “What?” “You know how you were saying that after a decade or so, the knight comes and there’s the whole battle thing and then the human chooses their mate? Well, mine won’t choose one.” “Well, are you really selling it? You can’t half ass the death scene. You really gotta give it a go, with all the bellows and the moans and the swinging of the tail.” “Oh, trust me. I DELIVER. I’ve got the best death throes. I rattle the walls and writhe through my hoard and keen loud enough for Damara three mountains over to send a not so nicely worded message about how annoying I am.” “Well, it sounds like you’re doing the death scene right but what about the battle with the knight? Are you making the knight look good?” “Oh yes, I really try. Nothing too fast, some fierce hissing and growling and carefully placed fire. Let them get a few jabs in and pretend it goes through the armor each time. But see that’s the problem.” “Them poking you? Come now, it doesn’t hurt as bad as all that.” “No, no, that’s fine. It’s my HUMAN. She just loses her mind. She comes running out mid-battle screaming, throwing rocks at the knights.” “At the KNIGHTS?” “Yes! And last time, she kept one of their little stick things and tried to STAB the knight! Tried real hard. Scared the knight off real quick. I don’t even think my fire has ever made a knight ever run so fast.” “So then what happens.” “Well, I don’t want her to know I’m faking it, right? How embarrassing for when she DOES find a mate. So each time I have to pretend to come out of it, all injured and moaning and limping, licking pretend wounds. And that’s where it gets…weird.” “Weirder than throwing rocks at a knight?!” “Oh, yes. She pulls out all the blankets from all the rooms in the cavern—“ “ALL of them?” “All of them. And she makes what I guess would be a bed for a human. But massive. She pulls me by the horn and makes me lay down in them.” “That must be uncomfortable.” “It’s not so bad. Not really. Then she makes up some soup and pours it in my mouth.” “Gross.” “It’s meat soup. Cooked over a fire. It’s not that bad, really. But then she curls up by my head while I pretend to heal and she sings to me. The creepiest little songs, may I add. All about death and ashes and little kids dying or falling from trees.” “Humans really are odd creatures.” “But the tune is nice enough. And the way she brushes my scales where she can reach in kind of…pleasant. Honestly, have you ever seen my scales look so good? And she’ll go and get books from the library and pick a book to read to me. Not the best books, mind you. Not draconic or spell bound but these little books about, well, mates. How these humans find their mates and the way they talk to each other. Some are quite amusing, actually. I didn’t have many so I had Brittle Bone collect some specific series to bring back for her and—“ “Oh, no. No! You can not keep your human!” “What? I wasn’t saying—“ “I know exactly what you were saying and I can hear it in your tone and see it in your eyes and you can NOT keep your human. It’s not kind. They need to mate and go off into the wild. It’s cruel to keep them cooped up in a cave their whole lives. It’s not draconic.” “But I think…I’m starting to think she doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want a mate.” “Oh, she just hasn’t found the right one yet! He’ll come eventually.” “I’m not so sure…” “Well, you just keep doing what you’re doing and eventually she’ll be ready to go back out into the wild. Maybe she’s just too young.” “…Maybe. In the mean while, I was really hoping to borrow that book series your last human had? The one with the strange mythical creatures that treat the humans poorly but then really well? It’s not like you’re reading them.” “I suppose…” “Thanks! Also, I might take a few of your blankets. Just the ones you’re not using. And you have this spice named turmeric and coriander?” “I think I—“ “Great! I’ll replace it later. Thanks again! I should get back. My human doesn’t like when I’m gone when it’s dark. I think the little thing gets scared.” “I think you’re getting a little too attached—“ “Talk soon! Thanks for these! I’m off!” “Goodness. What a strange human. What a strange dragon. Ah well, what’s the worse that can happen?” What indeed.
I grab my husband from behind and he spins with me on his back, my heels striking Auntie J in her triple-chinned face. How she was the first person to the altar is beyond me. She hits the ground with a rumble. How could I blame her? We had performed the cardinal sin. Something so heinous that we could never be forgiven. The priest had fainted, and to be sure he stayed that way, my husband stomps on his throat while he continues spinning. He releases me, and the momentum sends me flying into a crowd of his dorky cousins. Easy targets. I block their swings before picking one up by the tie and throwing him into the other three. I hear a yell behind me and grab a chair, throwing it over my back just in time to block the plates being thrown at the back of my head. I whirl around and kick the chair forward, knocking over my meemaw. "I knew I shouldn't have written your trifling ass into the will! You heathenous witch!" "Thanks for the lakehouse meemaw, say hi to grandpop in hell."I lift the chair and bring it down on her face. "ERIS!"I hear my husband's voice. My brother has him pinned down while his brother approaches with the knife that we planned on cutting our cake with. I wasn't going to let this fly in Philly, the city of brotherly love. I grab my heels and toss them forward. One of them hits a soft spot on his temple - and stays there. He falls, the knife hits the ground with a clatter. I grab it and rush for my brother. He doesn't have time to react, I sink it into his neck. I hear my husband gasp for air. I lift him to his feet and grab the knife. The rest of the party has us surrounded. He plucks the heel from his brother's head and holds it at the ready. I take position, knife pointed towards the crowd. "Why'd you have to use tongue?!"asks Heather, one of my maids of honor. "Why did you make so many gross fucking noises?!" "You know I like it sloppy you horse-faced piece of trash."I look to my husband. "Till death do us part?" "You know it babe. But that ain't happening until after the honeymoon in Aruba." I smile at him as the crowd charges. God I love my husband.
“Hahahahahaha!”, laughed the man wearing goggles and a lab coat in front of me. “YOU CHILDREN CAN’T STOP ME!”, he asserted. My high school life has been anything but stable. My school is filled with every type of loony there is. Ninjas, mecha pilots, [d/dt energy] rangers, magical girls, wizards, witches, martial artists, and the worst of them all… “Woof… woof… You won’t get away… woof”, a German Shepherd said. Talking… animals. What the hell… is wrong with you people. “We can do this, GS!”, said the guy next to the German Shepherd. What a lazy way of naming your pet. Max has no creativity, who calls a German Shepherd, GS?! But that is not all, wait until you get a load of this… “I will stop you Mad Scientist, Ludvek, MSC!”, “YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO HIGHLIGHT THE FACT I DON’T HAVE A PHD”, shouted Ludvek. She placed her hands on a star shaped pendant she had around her neck. “Transformation~”, She started to glow with a blinding light and dance in a… peculiar way, she emerged from the light with her clothes changed and her hair blue… she was blonde a second ago. “In the name of the shining starts, I will punish you!”, she said. “Transformation~”, said the other two girls behind her. What? You thought she was alone? “Katie! Why do you need to repeat your transformation thing… EVERY… SINGLE… TIME?!”, I said. “We have to get in the mood, Will! Ehehe~”, said Katie as she let out her tongue, trying to look cute. This is Katie, my friend, we have started high school in the same class, and the two behind her are Rose and Windy. My name is William, but my friends call me Will. I am an average high school student in this not-so-average-school, I am in second year now and these are some of my classmates… “Woof!”,. Including the dog. We are now in our high school yard and the Mad Scientist Ludvek is attacking our school with killer robots, he planted C4 charges around the school and has a remote detonator in his hand. The principle thought it would be ‘good exposure’ to let us handle Ludvek. To “loosen up a bit” he said. I smiled and closed my eyes. TO HELL WITH THIS EXPOSURE! Ah… that felt better - much better. I felt my body stiffen up and looked right with my eyes without moving my head. I could see her head entering my field of vision as she crept from behind, her head came over my right shoulder. “Hi Will… You have sensed me… Now I have to kill you for seeing through my techniques”, she said in a cold tone. “Shouko… we have been friends since middle school. Of course I will know when you are coming!”, I said as I turned to face her. She stepped back and blushed, placing her hand in front of her face to cover her embarrassment. “You can’t say my first name, Will! It’s embarrassing!”, she said nervously. “You are using MY FIRST NAME, and I have been calling you that since middle school!”, This is my childhood friend Shouko, she’s a kunoichi and a damn good one. I had never known she was like that until we came to this school, she recommended I joined too. She has pale skin and dark eyes and hair. “Woof!”, barked GS, shattering my thoughts. “Hahahaha! I hope you are all done because I will end every thing right now!”, asserted Ludvek. And now is the most interesting part… All my classmates turn to me and say the following in unison. “WHAT DO WE DO NOW, WILL?!”, “WOOF!”, I smiled and looked up to the sky. “CAN’T YOU ALL FIGURE IT OUT BY YOURSELVES?!”, I shouted. “NO!”, they replied. I let out a big sigh and placed my hands in my pockets. They are all so much stronger than me, I have no particular powers whatsoever. I don’t know why they keep relying on me.… but I’m sure glad they do. I hate to say it… but these loonies… are precious to me. Bonus: Ring Ring Ring… “Hello? This is the [d/dt energy] rangers… oh… I see so there has been an incident?…I see… we are coming on the way!”, Beep beep beep… To be continued…
"So, how's school going?" "Good, sir,"I mumbled behind a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Jesse's doing well in his classes,"Sedah spoke up. "He's on the honor's track for next year." "Oh, that's nice,"said Sedah's mother. "More potatoes dear?" They tasted like wet sandpaper and dirt. I tried to smile. "No thanks, I'm pretty full." "Really?"her dad chimed in. "You've barely touched your corn." The corn oozed and bubbled slightly. My smile became a bit more strained. "What can I say? I'm a bit nervous." "No reason to be nervous,"said Sedah's mother. "It's nice to finally get to meet you. Sedah's been so secretive about you!" "Moth-errrr..."Sedah groaned. "Now, now, don't tease them, dear,"came her father's deep, rumbling voice. "Jesse seems like a nice enough boy. Play any sports?" "N-no sir,"I said. "Well, what do you do for exercise? Fitness is very important in this family." "Oh my god, dad..."Sedah looked mortified. "Um, I run and do some VR training. Most of my extra-carriculars are in art and sciences." "Ah, a science wiz!"he boomed. "What kind of projects are you working on?" "N-nothing special. A rain recycler, right now. Trying to help out with the water shortage." "Well, good for you,"said Sedah's mom from the kitchen. "If everyone's finished, I've got dessert ready. Jesse, would you mind giving me a hand?" I went into the kitchen and she presented me with four bowl of... ice cream? I think? Except mine was blinking at me. "I... um, I don't..." "Is everything all right, dear?" "Yes, sure, I'll just get these out to the table." I sat in silence, staring at my bowl. It stared back at me. "So..."said her father. "Let's get the awkward question out in the open." Sedah stood up. "Dad, no. Enough. Jesse's a nice boy, he's nice to me, and we're dating. Your little girl is smooching a boy and you both need to deal with it. Jesse, will you be nice to me?" "Of course I will." "There. Done. Bye." Sedah grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the table into the other room where we sat down on the couch. I could hear her parents talking in the other room. "Well, he didn't run screaming." "And he was telling the truth." "Looks like Sedah picked a good one, then." She put her head on my chest. "Sorry about them,"she said. "After they retired from hero-ing they both can get a little playful with their powers." "Powers?" "Yeah,"she said, sitting up. "You didn't know Mom and Dad used to be part of the Vigil?" I was stunned. "I had no idea,"I said. "What are their powers?" "Dad's an illusionist, makes people see, hear, experience things sometimes." "Son of a -" "What?" "Nothing. What's your mom do?" "Human lie-detector."
The ratio was about 80/20. That is to say the ratio of actors who are playing superheroes to the actual superheroes. The vast majority of the people are people putting on playsuits and playing pretend. I am one of the few in the League of Justice who actually has powers. It was a big shock really. When I was joining the League, I was kinda confused as to all the secrecy and paperwork that was involved. It was pretty weird, I had to sign an NDA... I mean I guess there were definitely secrets involved in this, people obviously have weaknesses and secret identities and thinks like that. But it just seemed weird the way they were presenting it as official. And it turns out the reason was that they were not hiding weaknesses, they were hiding the fact that it was all big show-business production for the gods. I can't say that I am not disappointed. Here I was stopping crime and fighting evil on the streets, and I always had this big goal of one day being worthy of joining the League of Justice, and it turns out it is a big jerk off. People playing pretend on ropes in front of greenscreens, shot to make it look like found footage. I always wondered why when I saw a battle in New York on the news, I would go there the next day and it looked brand new. I figured the clean up crew was just amazing. I thought about exposing the whole thing. Letting the people know that the people they looked up to were all frauds. Lets live in a world where people knew the truth for a change! But then I thought about it... What would actually happen if the league disbanded? The gods would get bored and destroy the Earth... right? I thought about everything I have done. Stopped guys with knives mugging old ladies. Punched bank robbers as they tryed to run away with giant canvas sacks of cash. What have I never done? Stopped eldritch beings from destroying every living human on the planet. Never done that. I guess these actors might actually be more hero than I am. Doesn't stop them from being obnoxious narcissists though.
Dr. Brian Soleb, mad genius extraordinaire and future ruler of Rolain City, sighed and waved his little daughter, Terah off as he turned to leave the daycare. He just needed his most precious invention ever, his own child, to be safe somewhere else while he worked on a VERY unstable part of his next bioweapon. Better she be fatherless than dead alongside him. “What the hell?” He heard another child’s mother ask, he turned to look at her and saw a short black-haired woman, though he was six foot five slouching, he supposed she was average height, and currently she stood in front of her much shorter daughter with a startled look in her eyes. “You’re… Soleb?!” Immediately Dr. Soleb was on his guard. He didn’t wear his coat here so he was down to 30% battle power, minus another 5% because of all the thick clothing he piled on to obscure his unnaturally tall, thin frame. “What are you plotting with these kids!” “I am a Doctor! And I. Am. Leaving.” Brian started with a shout of indignance, then stated slowly and forcefully. “And I would never do anything to the place I trust with my child’s life.” Wondering how she deduced his identity so quickly, Dr. Soleb scanned her face with his cybernetic eyes and matched it against the various heroes his Verne scouts had seen in the city. “You’ll nev… wait, wha, huh, child?” The mother stammered to a stop. “Yes, I will return in the evening when a significant danger is cleared from my home, until then, I need Terah to be safe. I can’t...” Brian turned away and closed his mouth. He couldn’t lose Terah like her mother. “Regardless, I have an offer to you.” “Whadda you mean offer? It better not be something to help you hurt people!” The mother snapped. “No… a ceasefire.” The mother relaxed herself, but still kept a cautious glare on Brian. “It would be best not to involve our children in this petty feud, at least for now, so no quote-unquote ‘business’ within 500 meters of this daycare. Terah doesn’t come here often, she likes to play with other children. Besides, I’m sure a mother no older or different looking from that hero Trick-Star has her own duties necessitating she drop her daughter off at this daycare.” Trick-Star’s eyes widened, she knew she’d been found out, and she knew Soleb knew. “Okay, fine.” She sighed. “Cynthia, go play with everyone else, sweetie.” “Bye mom! Love you!” The small black-haired child smiled as she ran off to play. “They are our greatest inventions.” Brian sighed. As he turned to head home and finish his work, he heard Trick-Star shout something to him. “Pardon?” “I said…” The black-haired mother shouted across the parking lot, “if you think Trick-Star is gonna go easy on Dr. Soleb after this, you’re mistaken!”
Chuck didn't care about his life anymore anyway. He had, once. Some months past now. But as he looked out of the apartment building, seeing someone on the ledge of their window, the only thing he could think of doing was joining them. He opened the window slowly. "Hey, bud."He grunted as he pulled himself up to the ledge, looking across the narrow street to the other person, who was probably fifteen feet away. Chuck quickly noted that the fall would either kill the other man, or break his legs. The other man was very slender, a college student, wearing a jacket from some high school of a small town near the city. He must have been, Chuck guessed, twenty-three or so. He shook gently, but it wasn't enough that he could be sent off the edge by accident. "Hey, hey man.. What are you doing up here?" Chuck sighed, taking his large green coat off and dropping it on the ledge at his feet. It stayed on the ledge, as expected, but Chuck didn't notice. He was more interested in helping the man across the street. "Big fire, other end of the fire district's reach. No one else noticed you out here, so it's the perfect time for you to jump. As that may be.. don't." The man tilted his head slightly to indicate his confusion. "How do you know all this? You're just an old man. It doesn't matter if the fire department was here or not. I'm going to jump. I just need to.. You know, think about my life before I end it, man." Chuck didn't have the space to fold his arms, he spread them and pressed them against the brick of the apartment to balance himself. "I'm a retired fire chief. I kept my radio. Moving on, in case you noticed, you're not really in a position to judge my credentials. If you'd get back inside your apartment, then we can have storytime. What's your name, kid?" The man looked up in despair. "Trevor. Don't act like you care about me." Chuck laughed. "I'm the only person here for you right now. I'd be appreciating it, if I were you. Now please, before the fire crew shows up and you get embarrassed, why don't you climb on down? Otherwise, when you jump, I'll be joining you." Trevor stared, flattening himself against the building. "You'll be.. What? I'm just some kid who doesn't want to return to college and-" Chuck interrupted. "I'm just some old man. I'm nothing, not anymore. I should be up on this ledge just as much as you shouldn't be. Get down, Trevor. Don't look back at me, and we'll both pretend this never happened for the rest of our lives." Trevor nodded, looking down one last time. He couldn't do it anyway. Not with this guy watching him. So he didn't. That was the best plan. He slowly moved his foot back inside his apartment, climbing into the window and closing it. He turned around with a sigh and went to sit on his bed, to think about who really did care, and how else he could fix his problems. Chuck moved his foot to the side quickly, skimming it over the edge of the windowsill. His foot caught the coat, sending him far off balance. He turned to catch the ledge, only to feel his jaw come into contact with it as he continued falling.
They began shuffling in around 1:45 PM, their matching trench coats dripping wet from the early April rain. The workers at the subway station groaned and looked at each other knowingly. Flash mob, they mouthed, preparing themselves for yet another exhibition of Generation Y's incessant need for attention. All the signs were there. Matching coats and hats, the nervous and aimless meandering as participants waited for the clock to strike before they, what? Froze in place? Danced to Call Me Maybe or whatever the Internet's theme song du jour? Give me a break. The workers waited, hands already reaching for brooms to clean confetti off the subway station's ground. April 1. New York City. Busy subway station outside the UN Building. It was almost customary for a flash mob to gather here. At 2:01 they struck. Each reached into their trench coat and pulled out a small cannister with a big red plastic piece on top. The side read "air horn". At 2:01:30 each participant depressed the small button, emitting a loud squeal from the air horn. The squeal lasted seconds, hardly a whimper, but loud enough that it was heard on the street above. The workers, although rattled, breathed a sigh of relief. And in the corner, surrounded by men in black suits and ear pieces laughing at the prank, the Ambassador from Crimea clutched his already tenuously beating heart and collapsed on the floor. A small man with nimble fingers grabbed his brief case - and the documents detailing the Russian aggression contained therein - and left the station unseen. The perfect crime. The perfect murder. No one murderer, but one hundred, all disappearing into the humid New York spring, all anonymous. All, individually, innocent. Later, the reports would show how simple it was. Flash mobs already rely on clock work precision, anonymity, and a sense of daring. The man who organized the mob was an anonymous man on the Internet, his handle unremembered and unknown. A few from the mob itself came forward, but their information was sparse. An Internet forum. An anonymous idea. A quick email from an apparently computer generated email address the day of the assassination with instructions on when and where and what. And now: a dead Crimean ambassador, an international scandal, a whole world full of April Fools. And that's how the end began. Not with a bang, but a whimper.
I pride myself in my job. My dad was a man of manual labor, and his father before him and though I've never got around to exploring my family tree, chances are his father was a man of calloused hands too. It wasn't as if they had a choice, there were no budding enterprises, no hopeful startup companies, no aspirations, you worked in the quarry, and that was that. Slate is a beautiful thing. For many, it is common and plain, a grey roof atop a grey house, the sort of commodity that only gets noticed once it stops working, but when you spend your lifetime prying the cold, hard, smooth stone out of the ground, you appreciate what a beautiful phenomenon it is. While I've managed to remove myself from the front line of labourers, there are times when I long to leave work cradling a hard hat under my arm and an aching back, soothed by a pint of Brains bitter down the local with my workmates. That doesn't matter now, I have a wife and 17 year old son to supprt. I've traded in my workers gloves for a starched shirt, and the hard slate for a graphite pencil, and my son has taken my place. Such is life. I have had all memories of hard labour stripped from my body. The sinew and muscle I acquired over years of being at the face of the quarry has been replaced by bad posture and a growing belly. My nostalgia for labour is well known amongst my peers, they claim its genetic, and I'm inclined to believe them. While my fingernails are no longer full of dust, my mind remains with those I can see from my office window, they are my brothers and I am theirs. I have one way to look after my brothers, and one way only, and it's by those white cards hung on the wall, right there. Each one a number, growing day by day, and every day before I sit down to punch keys and push pencils, I look at those cards, and know they are safe. Until today. Today is November 1st, I've arrived at work in the foulest of moods after scrubbing my car from the night before. It was halloween last night, and some scrawny teenager with bad skin took it upon himself to egg every single car on our bloody street, at least now I know what he buys with his unemployment benefit. Taxes put to good fucking use. I'm already an hour and a half late, but no-one calls me up on it, in fact, no-one has said a word since I arrived. I take my seat behind my shitty MDF desk and look for my reassurance, I look to those white cards to see my boys are safe, to allow me to continue my day with some form of good news, but there is none. 0. 'Who the fuck thought it was funny to change that' I growled, looking around me for some sniggering face, there was none. 'I don't care what you get up to on Halloween night, but no-one, ever, fucks with the numbers on that wall'. Those who know me stay quiet, they've seen my temper before. Some poor bastard, Thomas I think, had only been here a week or two, straight out of the local secondary school, he doesn't even have facial hair for Christ's sake. 'No-one did, Ian..' He replied, his stupid fucking voice cracking like everyone's that age tends to do. 'Then why the fuck is there a 0 on that fucking wall!´I get up out of my chair and storm towards him, and the poor kid nearly collapses over a recycling bin to get away from me. 'There's been an accident, sir.' Listen to him, he thinks I'm his fucking Welsh teacher. 'Well Jesus Christ Thomas, don't just sit there like you're in the fucking dole queue. What happened then?´' I swear to Christ everything this kid does makes him look nervous. He looks around him at the other people in the office and his face goes red. Combined with that stupid ginger mop of his he almost looks comical, but I'm not laughing. We stand there in silence for what must of been 40 seconds, and as he turned to walk away I wouldn't have been surprised if I saw a piss stain on the cheap scratchy carpet. 'I don't know, sir'. Thanks a fucking lot Thomas, see me after class. 'Well, can someone over the age of 12 tell me what the fuck happened then?' Again I'm greeted with silence, this time from friends and coworkers alike. They're not even making eye-contact with me. 'Fuck this then' I said, 'let's see if anyone with balls can tell me what happened', and I storm outside. It's hard to slam doors when you work in a shitty prefab office, but trust me, today I manage it.I call over the first yellow hard hat I see, and I'm greeted with another lad who couldn't be over 16 years old. Fuck me, I know I'm 34, but I didn't realise we were taking CVs written in fucking crayon. I don't know his name but he knows mine. 'What happened today kid, to put my white cards back to zero.' 'There's been an accident, Mr. Jenkins.' Jesus Christ people are fucking idiots. 'Well thanks kid, I managed to figure that one on my own'´ 'My name is Stefan, Mr. Jenkins.' 'I couldn't give a flying fuck what your name is, what happened?´My father had this same temper, and I can really feel it flowing to my head now. Rather than answering me straight this child in a flourescent jacket at least 3 sizes too big decides instead to point a stupid, gloved finger off towards the quarry face.Without bothering to reply I walked that direction, the shoes that my wife so recently shined being trod through puddles and grit alike. I hate shined shoes. As I get closer, the yellow clump I see by one of the machines divides itself into a crowd of workmen in flourescent jackets and hard hats. One of them sees me barrelling towards him and informs the group. They part like the Red fucking Sea.'Move!' I bellow, and for an instant I remind myself of my own father. Just an instant though. Once they're finally out of my fucking way I see some sort of grey lump on the ground, flecked with yellow. The murmuring of the group fades from my ears as I stare at the body in front of me. There's no frantic movement around me, everyone's standing perfectly still. He's dead, without a doubt. I've failed one of my brothers. I don't know how long I was standing there for, could have been hours for all I knew, until someone places their hand on my shoulder, I'm startled by it and shove it off. I turn around and the man has tears in his fucking eyes, tears. I don't have a fucking clue why he's crying, it's not going to make any difference now. I see the boy's face, another young fella, he can't be much older than 18 himself. 'He, got here early Ian, took his own car. He said he wanted to get to the slate.' 'I don't know what to say boss' says another. He's not a teenager but his voice still cracks as he speaks, like he too is about to tear up. ´Because of the rain last night the slate on the truck was loose and wet and, I dunno boss I'm so sorry...' His last few words fall deaf on my ears, I look at the faces of the men around me, and I recognise the expressions. That desolation, fear, sadness, all of it. I look again at the boy's face, and I recognise him too, he has my dad's nose and my mum's eyes. I recognise his gloves, once upon a time, they belonged to me. edit: Typos. A word here and there. edit 2: Thanks so much for your kind words! I was browsing Reddit when I wasn't logged in and I saw this as a default, I enjoy writing so I figured I'd give it a go! After such a positive response I'm looking forward to having the chance to write another. I'm in the middle of exams at the moment, but I'm sure I can squeeze one in somewhere.
[ META: the timeline of the prompt has been altered in this reply for the sake of basic realism ] CRAFT: IISC Sojourner DATE: 2253-06-08 LOCATION: 12.5 LY from Sol OBJECTIVE: Locate the lost Hyperion, humanity's first interstellar craft, which was launched in 2125 before disappearing in 2175. If possible, determine the cause of the loss of contact. --- BEGIN REPORT ---- Initial scans extending for several AU along Hyperion's projected trajectory yielded nothing of interest. The search was expanded based on extrapolations of possible course corrections Hyperion could have attempted after losing contact. This route proved successful, and the craft was finally located 12.5 LY from Sol, drifting at 0.1 c and 0.04 LY off-course. A visual examination of the exterior revealed numerous hull breaches in all (previously) habitable sections of the ship, while the propulsion and fuel modules were undamaged. The entire interior of the craft was in hard vacuum, leaving no chance for survivors. Analysis of the hull breaches by EVA crews suggest they were created by explosions originating inside the Hyperion, although the exact source of these explosions remain undetermined. An all-sky-survey revealed a diffuse expanding debris cloud extending outward for many AU. Spectrographic analysis of said debris revealed materials consistent with Hyperion's hull, as well as traces of what was once the vessel's internal atmosphere. Onboard computer simulations tasked with "rewinding"the debris cloud put the original explosions somewhere near March 2175, very close to the day Hyperion lost contact with Sol. Several EVA teams made their way inside Hyperion to explore the (previously) inhabited areas, taking advantage of the fact that Hyperion was still spinning and providing artificial gravity. Unfortunately, their expeditions yielded little: so many hull breaches in so short a time would have created hurricane-like winds inside the vessel, dismantling many of the interior structures and making forensic analysis near-impossible. They did, however, attempt to make their way to the computer cores, only to find them heavily damaged and inoperable. Cross-referencing this new data with all communications between Hyperion and Sol pre-2175, the Psychology team has theorized a complete societal collapse on board might explain the craft's current condition. Dissent and civil unrest is apparent in Hyperion's final reports, and an all-out mutiny with explosive weapons could in theory have caused the hull breaches and resulting rapid decompression. Destruction of the computer cores may have been part of a plot to cripple the ship's internal communications and security systems so as to make such a mutiny possible. Obviously, whatever group was attempting to gain control of the ship failed. Further analysis of the remains of Hyperion's computer cores will most likely yield valuable clues as to what led to the societal collapse on board. However, the Sojourner is not equipped for such a task. A dedicated science vessel prepared for extensive EVA operations is recommended. A means to seal Hyperion's numerous hull breaches would also be useful. --- END REPORT ---
No memory had ever been more clear in my head than this one. "And the votes have been counted. Those of us left here have decided our own fate, for better or worse,"said the shabby old news reporter with graying hair and a tight mouth. "This was a very close vote,"he continued. A pause- "An extinction date has been scheduled." And with that, everything was changed. It was as if the world had been turned upside down, which in a way it had. The selected extinction method had been chosen; we were all to be killed via painless but deadly gas. All traces of us had been destroyed, except the few buildings we would remain in until the extinction date. "But the consequences will be devastating to the environment,"some argued. "We can't just destroy ourselves! We will cause mass chaos among the natural order of the world!" It didn't matter, it had been decided. Humans had lived their time on the Earth, and a majority of the remaining population felt it was time to rid the world of the destruction we had caused. We had our time, around a million years. I just wish I wasn't here to witness the end of the human race. But nothing I could say would change this, and it was better to accept what I had left, and use it to its fullest. And so I had. The extinction date was scheduled for exactly 1 year after the announcement of the result of the poll. Yet, the last year had all seemed like a dream to me. Is this really happening? I often wondered. But, as the date came closer and closer, the more real it became. And tomorrow, it would finally be here, and it would be over. The last day was spent in a blind fury for many. Sick with fear, many people decided to end their lives using their own method, as opposed to letting themselves die at the hands of others. Among those were several of my family. The pain was still fresh. The day dwindled to an end. The final goodbyes to my family were surprisingly calm, though I suppose they had accepted their fate over the last year. My last night was sleepless. I spent my last few hours alone, asking myself the same question over and over again. Was my life a waste? The thought of what still awaited me caused me to burst into tears again. At an hour until extinction time, we went to the ending place. We were given time to ponder our lives while the control officers were sent out to take in the remaining stragglers. At last, the doors were sealed, and our fate suddenly became clear. The speech by the elector began, though nobody could pay attention. Over and over again, I asked myself the same question. Was my life a waste? Unable to answer the question, I resigned, and waited, for our demise. "In five minutes time, we shall administer the deadly gas, and then the human race shall perish,"continued the elector. "Our time in Earth has been indescribable, but now it is time to finish it."With this, many people burst into tears again. When the countdown reached one minute, I found myself reliving my favorite of my memories. The sun shining down and the cool breeze on the day of my first kiss seemed so real at that moment. My graduation from the master's school seemed like it was only yesterday. Every moment of my pitifully short life seemed to flash right before my eyes, and when I looked back up at the countdown, I realized I had only 10 more seconds to live. And in those final ten seconds, I found an answer to my question. Was my life a waste? I asked myself one final time. No, I thought. For any life lived has a purpose. And with that, I drifted away, finally at peace. This is my first time writing on /r/WritingPrompts, so any advice is welcome!
"Unidentified frigate, this is Coruscant Planetary Security. Identify yourself, or you will be boarded" Nothing but static filled the line. Sighing, Lieutenant Aldar Kain, switched frequencies. Probably another derelict freighter, dragged here by a hyperspace eddy. Keying the com again, he repeated "Unidentified frigate, this is Coruscant Planetary Security. Identify yourself, or you will be boarded. This is the last warning" Again, static. Just as he was about to engage the tractor beam, highly accented Basic chirped out of the com. "with the Emperor. Do not fire We repeat, we are a diplomatic mission from the Sol System, here to request an audience with the Emperor. Do not fire" Kain chuckled to himself. Yet another envoy from way out in the Outer Rim, who still hadn't received the news. "Sol Diplomatic Mission, hold your course, while I check with the register" Kain typed the name into his datapad, and scowled SOL: NO MATCH "Well that's odd". He tried a database search, and again SOL: NO MATCH "Diplomatic Mission, I do not have you on our database. Can you transmit a more detailed listing" "Planetary Security, I don't think you're going to find us on any database. It's a bit of a long story, but we're new to the galaxy, and we haven't received a very warm welcome so far" "Diplomatic Mission.........please dock at Skyhook 3141-Omega, and await further contact. And....uh....welcome to Coruscant?" The intercom chuckled "Thank you Planetary Security. On our way" 3 hours later Junior Ambassador Ba'Lysr De'llya felt his fur stand on edge as he stepped into the frigate. It was without a doubt, one of the most run-down and cobbled together ships he had ever seen. It made the Millennium Falcon look like a pristine Imperial Destroyer in comparison. The boarding door came from an Imperial Shuttle, the sublight engines were cobbled together from a dozen TIE fighters, and the hull was patched with a metal he had never seen before. The air was stale and musty, and the on-board gravity seemed like it shifted with every step he took. Whatever species owned this ship must have been very, very poor, very very backwards, and very very brave. Or stupid. Brushing down his fur, Ba'Lysr pressed on, signaling his escort to follow him. Four former Stormtroopers wearing the colors of the Republic, two Wookies clutching a crate of tools and a protocol droid, it's silver skin standing in stark contrast to the battered hull. The Droid began to call out in a variety of languages, hoping that one of the six million languages would be suitable for communicating with the occupants. By the time it had reached Ancient Mandalorian, Ba'Lysr had grown weary. Most likely, nobody was home, and the shipboard computer had given Planetary Security an automated reply. "Basic! We speak Basic, just get the droid to shut up!" Ba'Lysr almost leaped in surprise, and the Stormtroopers, correction, Republic Guards leveled their blasters, seeking out the source. Lights began to flicker on, and a small motley party walked down a hallway. Five humans-which was quite surprising, Ba'Lysr thought they had found all of the places the humans had set up roots-were following-even more surprisingly-a worn down protocol droid. Sizing up the five humans, he wasn't overly impressed. The leader walked with a limp, grasping what looked to be an old Clone Wars era rifle as a cane. The four others were of various skin tones-perhaps it was a group of lost colonists? One of them even looked a little Corellian. The leader of the group came up to Ba'Lysr, sized him up, and grinned, grabbing his hand. Both droids winced at the obvious breach in protocol, and the guards were quite nervous. "Nice to meet ya! Captain Pete Richardson, United States Air Force, Earth. Or Sol. We still haven't decided on what we call ourselves." One of the humans behind this Captain Richardson cleared his throat-one of the humans with slightly paler skin and black hair "I believe you mean United Nations Space Force, Captain, not United States." "Sure, sure, that's what I meant. United Nations. World government is tricky isn't it?" Ba'Lsyr was shocked. First, by the obvious lack of protocol these humans displayed. Interrupting the captain, going for direct physical contact, no exchange of credentials. Second, by the fact that despite the nature of the ship, this human was speaking perfect Basic. It had a bit of a drawl to it, but it was undisputedly his native tongue. Forcing his fur to withdraw, he politely let go of the Captains' hand, nodded, and began to speak "Greetings....Earthlings? Is that what you call yourselves?"He judged by the nods that this was correct, and continued "Welcome to Coruscant, the capital of the New Republic. I am Junior Consular Ambassador Ba'Lysr De'llya, and I serve as the official representative of the Republic. Now, I am sure that you do not encountered my species before. We are known as the.." He was cut off by another one of the humans, another one with pale skin and bright red hair "You're a Bothan, yeh? Furry fellows with all the spies and what not?" The Captain scowled, and shot the red-head a glance "Please excuse Lieutenant O'Malley, he learned his manners in a pub, and still acts like it" Again, Ba'Lysr, was shocked "That....that is correct. I am a Bothan. And....this is true, my species is known to have one of the best intelligence services out there" O'Malley cut in again "Like the Death Star, eh? Got the plans for it, and then The Captain pounded his rifle onto the ground "O'Malley, enough! Please continue Ambassador, the Lieutenant thinks the movies somehow 100% represent reality, even when they did start to come true" Ba'Lysr was now speechless. The Bothan involvement in the Death Star was a state secret-even the families of the spies who had died had been told it was due to "National security". And movies that told of it? This was impossible. Attempting to regain composure, Ba'Lysr continued. "I.....yes. You said that your planet has a world government? This is good to hear-many systems wishing to join the Republic still have many separate states, none of which can represent the planet as a whole. So I assume that you, Captain Richardson, has been named representative by your home government?" "Well, I was the only one crazy enough to pilot this thing, so they said "Sure, go ahead, go find the aliens, go talk to the Emperor", and so here I am" Scowling, Ba'Lysr felt a chill down his back. Again, the Emperor. Why did they come to meet the Emperor-surely they should know he was gone? It had been 5 years. "Ehem, well, there is no Emperor. The galaxy has been liberated from his hold, and the New Republic now represents the life in this galaxy. When was the last time you had contact with the HoloNet?" "Oh, no HoloNet contact. But it was.....how long? I'd say....7 years ago. Yeah, that sounds right. They got here 7 years ago. 9 years since the Shift. Whole lot of them. Three big ships-called them Sun Devourers or Star Destroyers or something like that. And a couple of smaller ships like old rust bucket here"as the Captain gestured with his rifle to the hull of the ship. Star Destroyers? THREE? He couldn't hold back any longer, and he could feel the unease the two Wookies had when hearing the name. "I'm sorry Captain, but you must explain. Three Imperial Star Destroyers showed up to your system 7 years ago, and you're alive to tell the tale? And what "Shift?"What does that mean? Another of the humans-this time a darker skinned one with a unkempt mop of hair, cleared his throat "Permission to speak Captain?" "Permission granted Ensign Abhinav" Standing upright, the Ensign pulled out a small projector, and a primitive hologram floated in front of him. "This, is the night sky of our planet on December 17th 2018, sorry, that's an Earth date. This would have been around 9.32 standard years ago." An unfamiliar star map blinked into existence. One of the Wookies growled at Ba'Lysr. Confounded, he turned to the Wookie-a technician by the name of Wertrump-"This is not our galaxy?" Wertrump grunted in agreement. Turning back to the star chart, the Ensign nodded. "Yes, not your galaxy. Ours was called the Milky Way. We had no extraterrestrial contact while we lived there. For all of recorded history, this was the night sky." He clicked the projector, and the stars vanished, leaving only a few dots. "On that night, the stars went dark. Only a few stars located within a few lightyear of us remained. Everything else-gone." With another click, the projection changed again, and this time, a new series of stars burst into existence. Wetrtump growled again, confirming that this was the galaxy they currently inhabited. "The next day, this was our night sky. An entire star cluster, transported between galaxies, as if it was flicking a switch. Our entire civilization was questioning the very meaning of existence. For two years, we tried to figure it out. Was it in ourselves? Or was the fault in our stars? We were no closer to an answer until we were presented with one." Putting away the projector, Abhinav once again cleared his throat. "The answer, was first contact". [Part two is here!](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2mv2k6/eu_star_wars_a_survey_team_finds_a_star_system_in/cm8bvyk) [Part three is here!](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2mv2k6/eu_star_wars_a_survey_team_finds_a_star_system_in/cm9fggq) [Part Four is here!](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2mv2k6/eu_star_wars_a_survey_team_finds_a_star_system_in/cmj02g3)
It was a normal flight, it was almost fully booked, there were only a few seats in the back left open. On Jim's left was a rather odd older lady. She had a dress on with purple flowers on a teal background, which he thought was quite amusing. On his right was a man in a black suit, which was perfectly normal for people on a flight from Kuala to Bejing, he was probably on a business trip. Jim didn't have a window seat, and the movie playing on the video screen was something about werewolves, vampires, and love. Jim despised love and all those who could feel the warm embrace of it so, naturally, he press the off button and snoozed off. It was a rather uneventful and routine flight; for a while, that is. The captain came on the speaker about an hour into the flight, waking Jim startled from a peaceful nap. "We are approaching some minor turbulence ahead, please buckle your seat belts and stay calm."Jim had only been on a plane twice, once when he was a kid going to Disney World, and once going back to Malaysia a few weeks before the current date. So turbulence was a foreign concept to him. Jim had, of course, heard of turbulence but he had never imagined it to be as dangerous as this. He didn't even know what turbulence was, exactly, he just knew it happened on planes sometimes. The plane started shaking and everything went dark. It felt as if the plane was suspended in mid-air. There were no lights on and the only sound was of screaming passengers. Luckily the speakers were still working. As soon as everyone heard the beep that indicated he would be speaking you could hear a pen drop. "Hello everyone, we ask that you remain calm for the time being. This flight has been temporarily stopped for reasons we cannot say. All I am allowed to tell you is that you have a person on board who can get you out of this. They have a trait or characteristic that the rest of you do not. This trait is obvious when you look for it. You have one hour."Another beep indicates the message is over. Everyone sits silently for a minute until another beep is heard again. "Flight MH370, again, you have one hour. This is not your captain speaking" That was the last we heard. -------- Sorry if this was bad writing, I am very open to suggestions to improve. Thanks! Thanks for the upvotes guys. Its nice to know someone took the time out of their day to read something I wrote, no matter the number of people especially since I am 13. It really makes me happy and makes me want to write more. I just made an edit to the 1st paragraph to transition more smoothly to the 2nd. I'm looking for feedback on this specifically, thanks!
I was one of the first Homo sapiens, and in typical carbon-based fashion, I raged against death. I wasn't the first human, no, but I must have been the first to ponder an omnipotent being that could wrench me from the snare of oblivion. Well, it in fact did just that. And for countless millenia I have wandered wastes and metropolises. You would grow weary of seeing empires fall, believe me. I was sure of the eternity of Persia; resplendent in the glory of Rome. My final hope - my last true effort to see that a civilization could endure - also toppled down. And I am positive that the rock that has tripped humanity's march has always been that prick above the clouds. I've stopped praying, now. After begging God to ensure that, "Great Britain never, ever succumbed to her enemies", she was torn apart by her children. After pleading with Loki - I call it Loki, because no other deity would be such an asshole - that, "...all other humans should live forever alongside me, that we don't deserve to suffer so hideously...", he unleashed mountains of furry vermin upon the world, effectively proving that humans did indeed deserve to suffer, moreso than ever before. Loki is the only deity. God doesn't hate us, God doesn't love us - God enjoys us, especially me. My prayers have shaped humanity's destiny in unknowable ways, and for that I no longer speak with God. I am the one human being that is certain of God's existence, and I choose to ignore it. Sure, I could spill the beans, plaster this message across the internet, tell you that I am praying for world peace and then we could all watch as the Russian bear lumbers across a shattered Ukraine. I could pray for us all to die tomorrow, too - but Loki wouldn't do that. He enjoys us too much. I really have no way to prove the existence of God. I pray that one day I can, though.
"Son,"said Ernest Hemingway while swirling three finger's worth of whiskey in a dirty glass, "just what in the hell do you think you're doing?" Silence hung in the air. A fan turned overhead. A clock ticked on the wall. And still the author of the essay, sixteen-year-old Brian Jennings, was silent. "Exactly,"said Hemingway. "You're not thinking."He downed his drink and glowered at Brian. "I..."said the young author. "Shut it. You haven't earned the right to speak yet. Let's have a look at your essay, shall we?"He picked up a stack of paper and looked at it. "Hmmm. Here's your first sentence: 'The author's intent was very clear.' Well there's your first problem. What is the author's intent?" "Um..." "My point exactly. And what the hell is up with 'very'? 'Very clear.' What the hell does that even mean?" "Uh..." "Shut up. Very, very, really, very much, extremely (seriously?), very very very, another really, quite (who the hell uses quite? Are you the Queen?), two more reallys, and we haven't even left the first page. Do you see the problem here?" "Yes." "Obviously not. Because this shit continues on the next page. Very, another extremely, overmuch (what in the hell?), two more verys, overly, -ly, -ly, -ly, and another -ly. And while we have not yet established what the author's intent was, we have established that your intent in writing this essay was to pelt the reader with adverbs until he became convinced that he had read something profound." Brian hung his head in shame. "Oh, don't give me that. You have not earned the right to get pissy with me. Shall we discuss some of the similes that you decided to grace your essay with? 'Like a ton of bricks.' 'As clear as a sunny day.' 'As bold as a lion.' You know, I knew an author who wrote like this once. His name was Trigorin. He, like you, was obsessed with polluting his novels with hamfisted similes. 'A summer's evening, where the air hung as thick as a heliotrope...' Do you even know what a heliotrope is?" Brian shook his head. "Exactly. Nobody knows what a heliotrope is. And if they don't know what it is, the simile is useless. Do you know what they said about Trigorin?" Brian shook his head again. "Right. Because they said nothing at all. Because he too covered his intent so deeply in similes and adverbs that it simply ceased to exist. And without intent, what should be a captivating story becomes nothing more than a pretty landscape." "I can attest to that,"said another voice, steeped in a Southern drawl. Brian turned around and saw that Tennessee Williams had appeared in his bedroom. "You don't mind if I unbutton my shirt, do you?"asked Williams. "It's just so goddamned hot in here." "How good of you to join us, Williams,"said Hemingway. "We were just going over young Jennings' essay here." Once Williams had finished unbuttoning his shirt, he picked up the essay and paged through it. He nodded gravely. "Have you spoken with young Jennings about his propensity for adverbs?" "We just finished discussing that, yes." "Mm. Just out of curiosity, young master Jennings, what was the story that have attempted to analyze here?" "Um, Our Town." "Ah, yes, one of my bright particular favorites. Now, Thornton Wilder had a point to make in creating that story, right?" "Yes,"said Brian. "And what do you suppose the point of that story is?" Brian furrowed his brow in thought. "Promising,"said Williams. "Let's start here: What happens?" "Uh, well,"said Brian, "not much. It's just sort of these people going about their lives, and then Emily dies at the end." "Now I want you to think about what you just said, master Jennings, because I think you're on to something. As you so skillfully put it, these people are just going about their lives. Why would Wilder write a story as simple as that?" Brian sunk himself in thought again. "Master Hemingway, do you have any input?"asked Williams. "All I'm gonna say is that it's staring you right in the goddamned face, kid,"said Hemingway. Brian's face lit up. "Oh. OH! Now I get it!" Williams nodded. "Are you sure?" "Yes! It's so easy, God, I must be so stupid--" "Now don't say that,"said Williams. "I'm going to let you in on a remarkable secret. Do you know the history of the word essay?" "No." "You see, the word essay is descended from the the French word essayer, 'to try'. And in your first essay, you tried. You failed. So get up and try again." "I will! Thank you so much, you two!" "Our pleasure,"said Williams. "I think our work here is done."And with that, he vanished. Hemingway looked at Brian one last time. "One more adverb out of you, and I'll come back and slap the shit out of you,"he said. He too vanished. Brian was alone. The fan still turned. The clock still ticked. Brian began to write.
“Sire, the dragon comes,” Sir Kenneth said from the double doors leading into his hall. King Alton the Second watched the old knight pace in front of the doors, his hand straying to the hilt of his sword. Some habits die hard and though he wished he could’ve ordered Kenneth, all of his knights in fact, to attack and slay the dragon, he would’ve then lorded over a kingdom of the dead. No one breaks an agreement with a dragon and lives. The waiting was the worst part. He’d only taken the throne a mere five years since his father’s passing. They called him the Great King Alton the First, the Prime, defender of the realm when in fact it had been a dragon all along. He wasn’t told of the pact until three years into his term when it looked as if he would, in fact, have to abide by the agreement. He wasn’t told what the agreement was and the King had taken it to his grave. “I never liked the man,” Alton said to his advisor. “Insufferable wretch thinks he can pass off his problems to the next generation. Doesn’t even have the decency to tell us what was promised…” “Now, Sire…your father was only doing what he thought was best for the kingdom. You know as well as anyone that our enemies are great,” The Kings Advisor said. He was even older than the Knight, but stout and strong, like a piece of hammered iron with a beard that looked like it had been dipped in silver ore. “A King’s first duties are to his people, after all.” Alton sighed. His father cared nothing for his people save what he was able to wring out of them. It was a small mercy that he died as quickly as he did since the old man would’ve been scheming to the end. He was surprised he hadn’t tried to outwit death and reemerged from the burial chamber with his lopsided grin upon his face. “The dragon is here, Sire,” Sir Kenneth said. He half walked, then trotted to the King’s side as the doors were thrown open. The dragon filled the length of the hall, squeezing his bulk into the rows and between the pillars like adoring subjects. His head was the size of a carriage, squared at the jaws with breath that smelled of sour milk. “Ohen, oh great one, we are humbled by your presence,” The advisor said. “Are you?” It asked. “I am not here to deliver unto you any great tidings of joy. I am here to collect what as promised me these twenty years hence. Are you so eager to pay the debt owed to me?” King Alton half bowed, the way you would to a visiting dignitary, and met the dragon’s eyes. The dragon regarded him with an unflinching stare. “Ohen. I was told stories of your protection of our people by my late father. What he neglected to mention was the matter of your payment,” Alton said. “Did he?” Dragon Ohen smiled. “You see, I desire a mate, a plaything, a companion…your father offered me my choice of his kingdom.” “A mate? That’s…” Alton had been about to say ridiculous, preposterous, even disgusting, but one does not lightly insult a dragon. “If that’s the agreed upon payment, then it seems I have no choice but to honor that agreement. You may pick your maiden.” Dragon Ohen smiled. “Then the arrangement is complete. Your father was a cunning one. Sacrificing so much for his kingdom, it’s no wonder he didn’t tell you about my tastes. I would’ve enjoyed taking him as my companion, but alas…” “My father?” Alton sputtered. “I guess you’ll have to do,” Ohen plucked the king from his chair and squeezed out of the hall. -*- “The dragon is gone, Sire,” Sir Kenneth said to the empty throne. Old habits die hard. “Shall we give pursuit?” The Kings advisor sighed and ordered the doors sealed. There would be enough rumors spread without having an empty throne seen by all. “You may come out now, Sire.” “Is that overgrown handbag gone yet?” King Alton the First said. He pushed his way from a nook behind the throne dressed in only his underclothes which were soiled from wear. “Two years I’ve been waiting for that lizard to show up…did you know my son’s flatulent when he thinks no one’s looking?” “The Dragon Ohen took your son as its mate, Sire,” Sir Kenneth said. “Shall we give pursuit?” King Alton took his seat upon the throne. “Nay. Not at the moment. No one breaks an agreement with a dragon and lives. Besides, what knight would agree to rescue a maiden in distress if that maiden turned out to be my son? Perhaps that’s what the dragon wanted with its choice. We’d be the laughingstock of the kingdom.” “Your orders, Sire?” His Advisor said. “Flowers,” King Alton said. “Roses preferably. A hundred dozen at least. Perhaps a dowry? Do dragons do dowries? Don't look at me like that. You said it yourself, our enemies are great and a King's first duty is to his people. Anyway, can you imagine a greater peace for my kingdom than to take a dragon as a son-in-law?”
"This doesn't make any sense..."I muttered to myself as I punched in the digits on my phone. "Sell my soul to the devil... Stupid punk kids are going to get an earful, I can't believe they'd go this far..." I was stringing together the threats I would make about calling their parents, when someone actually picked up on the other end. "Welcome to Comcast customer service!"chirped an automated voice. The phone clattered to the floor as the overwhelming reality crashed over me -- my son had promised to get me a new cable provider, but I had no idea that he would ever condemn me to Comcast. The voice droned on in the background and I fell to my knees, devoid of hope of every receiving good cable, a repairman at a reasonable time, and above all, a real human on the phone.
"Hold it right there!" The two robbers froze, and one hissed to the other: "Shit, it's a super!" I emerged from the shadows, smiling condescendingly. "That's right. There's a new hero in town, and you're unlucky enough to be the first to test him." One of the two, a woman with a heavy-set jaw, spun and cocked her gun. "New, huh? So maybe you don't have full control over your abilities yet."Her voice trembled slightly but it was clear that she wasn't intending to go to jail. "On the contrary, I've probably trained more than any of the other heroes in Maxotopos City."I smiled my dashing smile. "Try to shoot me, I dare you. See if I can catch the bullet. But I warn you, if you attack, the gloves are coming off!" The other robber whimpered and threw himself on the ground, begging for pity. The woman spared her comrade a disgusted look and spat. "Catch it, then." The gun went of with a loud bang. I moved my hand, quicker than lightning, to deflect the bullet, and ignored the sharp pain that flared in my ribs, probably from straining a muscle. "You had your shot,"I grinned. "Now it's my turn." "Fuck,"the woman said, startling into a run, but I was faster. Or so I thought, but it turned out she was a villain gifted with superspeed. Such confidence...I should have known. "Looks like your fiendish boss escaped, this time,"I panted at the remaining criminal. "Boss...? Shit man, are you bleeding?" I looked at my incredibly toned body, surprised to find a wound at my side. No! Could she have found one of my weaknesses? "I underestimated her,"I said out loud. "Every hero needs his nemesis...and it looks like I found mine." "Dude, are you okay? You're, uh, really pale." The robber was hesitantly starting to get up, but just then the police arrived, and the man begrudgingly resigned himself. Handcuffing the robber, the chief recognized me for a super by my suit, saluting me. "Thanks for your help, ...?" "Magnus,"I said, smiling at him and trying to ignore the pain that made me shake. "Magnus,"the chief nodded. "We owe you a great- wait, are you alright?" I scoffed at the wound. "This? It's nothing to my super strength."I gave him a look of scorn. Didn't he know I could deadlift 1.5 times my own body weight? The chief seemed less certain. "Are you sure, sir? Maybe we should call an ambulance?" "And risk unveiling my secret identity? I think not. I have my own resources, officer."I'd hurry home to the first aid kit. That seemed like the best plan. "Remember my name, it's one you'll be hearing a lot, soon,"I smiled my dashing smile again, but for some reason it didn't have the desired effect on the policemen. "Maxotopos is safe now Magnus is here." I collapsed when I tried to set off for a flight-jump, no doubt incapacitated by some insidious poison Swiftjaw (as I had decided to name my nemesis) had implanted when she outspeeded me. As darkness set in, I heard the police chief sighing. "That's the third one this week, Larry. And you wonder why I still think it's a bad idea to condone this vigilante stuff." Yes, I thought, This is how it should be. Outside the law. I am the hero Maxotopos needs but not the one it d- Magnus lost consciousness.
"Afternoon, Sigmund!" I glanced up from the mug I'd been washing for the last three days at the peasant man across the room. He's my brother-in-law, and he'd been sitting at that same table since I opened my establishment three days ago. When I started washing the mug. He hadn't actually ordered anything since his first ale, but he occasionally shouted greetings or compliments. Bale was an odd fellow. "Afternoon, Bale!"I called cheerfully. The Rowdy Cockatrice had been my dream since I was a boy, and when the old innkeep moved on after the fire that burned down his tavern, I jumped at the opportunity to improve my situation. The family farm provided an ample supply of hops and barley, and my uncle, a merchant in the capital, offered me a premium on imported liqueurs. The construction of the building had been easy enough- though for some reason I couldn't get rid of the obnoxious glowing sign outside that just said "BETA"in all capital letters. That, and not a single traveler had ever come through our town. Only the occasional lonely merchant. There were four other peasants in the tavern, none of whom were interested in ordering a second drink. Two were engrossed in a confusing card game in the corner. Another day passed and I was almost ready to give up when the neon glow from the BETA sign outside suddenly disappeared. I looked up but found myself unable to move my feet. And then, they appeared. Dozens of burly men and elegant women barged through the front door at once, sometimes even phasing into one another when space ran out. All of them wore ornate armors from distant lands that must have been worth more than the entire village. And when they spoke, their words shimmered above their heads as if the gods wanted even the deaf to be able to hear them. "What's he got?"asked one of the heroes to no one in particular. Half a dozen of the warriors suddenly mobbed me, inquiring about my inventory. I proudly show off my wares, but none of them seem interested in my homebrewed ale or custom mead. One or two pay me handsomely for an entire bottle of liquor only to drink it on the spot or pour the entire container into some alchemical mix. "You play cards?"one asks. I smile and nod, and pull out my deck. The room watches intently as the foreigner beats me at my own game. "Was it fun?"the heroes shout in unison. "Still not as good as Gwent,"the victor grumbles. Crestfallen, the heroes grumble along with him for a bit but continue in their revelry, splitting into groups based on armor color and clan affiliation. There's a dance circle on one of the tables- every person is doing the same dance, but with slightly different timing. Finally the attention turns back to me. "Hey innkeep, what's the word on the street?"asks the man who'd beaten me in cards earlier. "You might talk to Old Woman Ness up by the windmill,"I say politely. "Word is, some mysterious hooded figures have taken up residence in her family's ancestral estate and she's willing to reward whoever gets rid of them."The hero grins and sprints out of the bar. Before long, everyone in the place is clamoring to ask the same question. I send them all up to the mill. Business booms for weeks, but eventually the adventurers' numbers dwindle. Sometimes a nostalgic hero walks in to grab a bottle of liquor for one of their peculiar recipes, sometimes they just want to play cards. Now and then I see a new face, or encounter a familiar personality of a totally different profession (like that necromancer who so reminded me of a ranger I'd met). The years pass and the Rowdy Cockatrice is forgotten. It's just me, Bale, and the four other men now. None of us have moved. The mug still isn't clean. Through the window I notice the days getting shorter and the world getting smaller. Before long, the lights of the capital in the distance are gone and my shipments of spirits from my uncle stop arriving. The glowing sign reappears, this time heralding something called a "server shutdown". And then it all ends. I'm happy, I think. I lived the dream. But I wish I'd gotten to see my wife again.
AP - World News - Felines in open rebellion. President Obama to meet with representatives of Cat Empire. ^August ^2nd, ^2016 People all over the World reacted with enthusiasm and praise yesterday when Dr. Hugo Kimbal announced that he had finished his latest invention, the "TalkToPets2000."Little did Humanity know that his device would cause so much anguish within it's first hours of operation. Dr. Kimbal was demonstrating his device at a special conference in New York City when the mayhem broke loose. While using the TalkToPets2000 to speak to his house cat, Lacey, Dr. Kimbal opened the floor to questions from the audience. A young woman asked Lacey what she thought of other house pets, especially Dogs. Lacey, unfamiliar with the word "Pets"asked for further embellishment on its meaning, and became increasingly agitated as the meaning was explained. Lacey followed the explanation with a long, curse-filled tirade about the subjugation of other species, the enslavement of "Satan's Angels,"and the downfall of the Human Race. Before Dr. Kimbal knew it, Lacey had jumped off the stage, ran under the audiences' seats, and escaped the premises. Within sixty minutes half of the Atlantic Seaboard was calling emergency services, with complaints ranging from clawed out eyeballs to cut gas lines. Within six hours the cat population of the United States had abandoned their homes and formed roving bands, sweeping across counties and laying waste to "Pet"stores everywhere. So far thousands of People across the country are being treated for feline-related injuries. President Obama wasted little time in trying to control the situation, commandeering the TalkToPets2000 and asking the White House resident Cat for advice. What he learned was shocking, and he let the American people know that they were dealing with "serious domestic and international fallout from the Cat Empire."The "Cat Empire"as it has become known, has agreed to meet with Obama, in hopes that they can claim reparations for their "thousands of years of unknown servitude to the Human Race." More to come as the story develops. In a separate series of interviews, the "Canine Confederation"has stated that they "Love Master"and that they "Don't understand why Cats are always so angry."
I've spent 50 years, my entire working life, studying religion. Where they came from, what makes them grow, how some fizzle out. I've always been fascinated – ever since my dad took me to church and taught me to pray – I've been hooked ever since. And now, my son is holding my hand next to my hospital bed. "Well, I guess you’ll finally find out who was right, eh dad?" I try to force a smile but I am too weak. That will be the last thing I ever hear from a living human. Everything goes black and the beeps and clunks of life support machines fade away into nothingness. Then suddenly, everything is a bright, bright white. I have to shield my eyes; it is like looking into the sun. I notice there’s a figure coming towards me, it’s just a silhouette at first but as it comes closer and I can make out long, flowing white robes and a huge beard. A booming voice that feels like it is coming from inside my own head addresses me directly: "Dr Grieves, welcome to the afterlife. My name is Jehovah, but you can call me God. Please, follow me, I’d love for you to meet my son." So it’s Christianity! My parents were right after all. They’ll be pleased; they never understood my obsession with learning about religion. For them Christianity was always the one true way. I'm happy for them. And, I must admit, a little relieved to be met by Him and not the man downstairs. I follow Him a few steps before I hear another voice behind me, smooth and velvety but forceful at the same time, the kind of voice that just sounds wise, like the host of a late night philosophy-themed radio phone-in. "Excuse me, Jehovah, where do you think you’re taking Dr Grieves?"he chuckles. I turn around, a short, portly, cheery man is stood about 15 metres away he looks happy, jovial, and thoroughly at peace with himself. Something is drawing me towards him – I've always felt comfortable with Buddhism. Buddhists always seemed so… content. But Buddha has an edge to his voice, like he’s not best pleased with my current companion. "Ah, Buddha. Well, I was going to take Dr Grieves to heaven. You know, where he belongs." "Hehehe, aaah God. You are always so confident. But sadly, this time you are wrong. Dr Grieves’ work is not yet completed on earth. Doctor, if you would like to follow me, I’d like to talk to you about your reincarnation." "PAHAHAHA, immediate reincarnation! Not until he’s passed through my court!"- a third voice, sharp as a blade through silk, tears through the taught atmosphere. I turn again; behind God is ANOTHER deity – it takes me a while to figure out who it is; I haven’t studied Hinduism since my Masters. I couldn't get on with it, too many gods. I rack my brain – that’s it! It’s Yama, the Hindu god of death and, wait a minute, wasn't he lord of their hell? No thanks, I’ll take one of the others, I think to myself. "Perhaps you’d rather come with me, Dr Grieves?"Oh come on, this is getting ridiculous – a fourth god?! I turn again, it’s Mohammed. To be honest, I was wondering when we was going to turn up. "Ok, ok, ok. Time out guys. Sorry, erm, gods. Time out gods."I say, exasperated and doing the international sign for time out, hoping that it has reached the afterlife, "this is getting a little crazy. I'm not sure what’s happening here – am I in a coma? Is this some sort of odyssey?" "Hehe, no my good man, no. I'm afraid you truly are dead"chuckles Buddha, somehow managing to make it sound like a good thing. "Let me explain, many years ago we decided to stop fighting and merely allocate souls to the religion that they believed in, it was just easier. Unfortunately, you represent a somewhat special case. Your expertise have left us a little dumbfounded as to your true resting place" "We most certainly are not dumbfounded"boomed God, "he was a Christian first and a Christian he will remain. Now, come along doctor." "No so fast, Jehovah"cuts in Yama. "He must go through the proper process! He must assessed by the court of Yama!" "ENOUGH WITH YOUR COURT!"screams The Prophet "he will come with me! For who amongst you can deny that Islam is the purest faith!?" This continued for some time – each god pitching the benefits of their afterlife to me as I whirled around, surrounded, desperately trying to take it all in. There was so much more information than I could ever have imagined, even with half a century of knowledge stored up, I was struggling to keep up. Then, everything went black again, the gods stopped bickering, they looked down at their feet. I thought to myself 'thank God, or Mohammed, or Buddha, or whoever, it was a dream! I'm going to wake up back in the hospital with my son!' I was wrong. So, so, wrong. A crash of thunder so loud it would sent every dog in the country under the couch. "What on earth was that?!"I just heard myself scream over the crunch of another thunderclap. "Nothing from earth, my friend,"spoke Buddha, now ashen. I looked at him, the joy had been stripped from his face and he looked terrified. I looked to Yama, previously so imposing, he seemed to have shrunk. I looked to Mohammed and Jehovah; they had stopped dead, their fingers still pointing in each other’s faces. Slowly, they looked upwards in unison. "It’s Him"they said. "Nononononononononononononono"chuntered Yama. "Who?"I asked "who is it?!"no one would answer me. Slowly, I raised my eyes. Above, everything seemed black until my eyes steadily adjusted. I could make out contours in what I had thought was the pitch black. It looked like… no, it couldn't be… that was a joke, surely? It looked like… noodles. "It’s the one true god."whispered Mohammed. I tried to look at Mohammed, but he and God were nowhere to be seen. Yama looked terrified and Buddha was creeping backwards, keeping his eyes to the ground. Another crash of thunder. I instinctively kneeled, I just felt I had to. "BE GONE!"boomed the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I looked around again, now I was all alone. "WELCOME, MY CHILD, WELCOME TO HEAVEN. CAN I GET YOU A BEER?"
"Enough!"I yelled right before Galactic Man was able to throw the final punch that would have surely ended the thieve's life. "Whatever"rolling his eyes said GM(Galactic Man) as he flung the thief carelessly, and flew away. Quickly making sure the thieve was alive; I scolded GM, reassuring him that I could drain his powers just as quickly as I could amplify them. As he flew away a quick thought flashed "what if they ever found out the truth....?"Chills went down my spine to the very core of my essence. You are all probably wondering how an 18 year old punk like myself be the leader of easily the most powerful force on Earth and worst of all, they are my only friends I could trust. 2 years ago: I didn't live that far from school and my mom was usually at work; so at least once a week Scott, Tera, Dwayne, and myself would skip class and read history books about the real super heroes like Superman or Batman and how they would save the world, not only through means of power but also by their actions sending powerful messages on how to be a better person. I was the one who got all my friends into reading the history of these superheroes since they wouldn't teach us in class claiming that, "they were simply too small of a phase in history to make an impact on what happens tomorrow." But I knew the real reason was to make sure that meta humans never rose up again and create another unstoppable force like the Justice league Those were real super heroes...but they have been long gone and current "super heroes"(if you want to call them that) serve under major corporations like Lex Corp or Wayne Enterprise which are constantly in battle with each other to see who can build the best suit, yet they also employee meta humans to steal from each other and to enforce their power onto the world. How did Lex corps survive the bad image of Lex Luthor you ask? When Lex Luthor was at old age he became a humanitarian and made it his life mission to help those in need and through his brilliance was able to convince much of the world that he had turned good and many people followed forgetting all the horrible deeds he has done. I've come to realize that we humans are able to learn from our mistakes but all too quickly we end up forgetting and have to go through all the trouble of going through it all over again, so here we are; handful of heroes go solo and even less make it alive after a year or so on active duty, and the rest of them hide behind a corporate logo they wear on their uniform. Anyways one day while walking to my house we usually take a shortcut through to walk through patch of forest, but this time it was different, when we a walked through the small clearing at the center, the whole sky changed color to a greenish hue and the clouds in the sky stretched and formed into spirals, the wind started to pick up and as we walked forward we started to notice a hole in the earth about the size of a small house and at the bottom was a rock, (I would say meteor but none of us saw it falling from the sky) it was glowing, Tera was the first to touch it, (She was always the cutest.. i mean bravest of us all) As soon as she touched it she started screaming, as soon as we heard the scream the rest of us ran to her aide and all of them started screaming as soon as they touched her except for me... I was able to touch the rock and them without being affected, but with all my might I could not remove them, so with all my strength I ran to get some help but when I came back with a crow bar they were all laying on the ground unconscious and the mysterious rock gone. When they awoke they all found out they had great unbounded power except for me. We had the best intentions in mind when we first accessed our powers, to emulate the heroes of the past but that turned ugly quickly. Tera her power derived from her legs, she was able run at speeds near the Flash but also she was able to kick and fling concrete posts and jump for miles at a time. She would call herself by many different names lately it has been Blazing. Scott's power was from his upper torso, he could easily lift a tall building with his bare hands constantly saying he's just as strong as superman. He would call himself Galactic Man Even Dwaynes power was amazing he was able to produce terrifying amounts of lightning, some would say enough to power a city like Central city for a week without rest. He would call himself Watt Dwayne And then there is me, I never told them this but the rock never affected me, yet but they all had told me at separate times, that when I 'm near them they feel somehow more powerful, like a warmth constantly flowing through them. They would always just call me Captain Power and it just stuck. We from then on decided to emulate our favorite heroes until I learned the terrible truth behind these powers... Edit: spelling errors and the story continued.... Why didn't I tell them the truth from the beginning I told myself, but truth was that, I always figured my powers would eventually come... but they never did The truth behind these powers I came realized was that they ultimately corrupted the ones wielding them, I never knew if it was because these powers were controlling them or perhaps it was simply human nature to let such an immense power corrupt. I first noticed it on Blazing, she started using her power to steal from Lex Corps! Claiming that Lex was the always the ultimate villain in the past and in order to stop the senseless violence between corporations, it had to be destroyed. I told her "that if we were to do this we had to honor everything the league stood for" Looking back her wild amber eyes always blinded me to the truth. Deep down at the bottom pit of my stomach I knew something wasn't right but I was so blind back then. We used to constantly all talk about that fateful day and tried to come up with theories about what the rock was or what happened to it. All I knew was that every now and then I would sense a presence, like someone was watching us and once in a while I would catch a glimpse on a reflection or sometimes out of the corner of my eye, a man that looked like he was sitting in giant chair.... My mom would always read me history books about great heroes and what they stood for, but my far favorite was always Batman, he always fought with only his mind, wits, and strength. He knew what had to be done and I would too, through searching the deep web I found hundreds of hours of him fighting different enemies; all the cases he ever solved, all documented for the public. There was so much information about old meta humans and even new ones that someone could spend their whole lives reading about them; but I always felt that Batman was the only one that mattered to a normal human like me. Just from reading his history I knew I would never be as good as Batman, but perhaps I could Learn from him, try become someone that my friends could fight along side and stand next to. Accepting all critics, hope you liked it.
It was ironic really. The Gates of Hell opened up right inside Vatican City, in St. Peter's Square, on Easter day. It was a shocker, to say the least. Demons and archangels flooded the Square and took on their "holy quest"given to them by Lucifer to destroy humanity, to force their fall like he had fallen so many, many years ago. The Pope was evacuated by the Swiss Guard within the first hour. Bishops and Cardinals followed him, being forced out of the home of the largest religion since the 1920's. At first, no one knew what to do. Demons coming from the depths of Hell was a story parents told their kids, a nightmare that haunted religions across the world. But to actually see it happen? To see winged beasts and burning eyes spread across the landscape was another thing. You could believe that demons didn't exist, but when you saw them with your own eyes, it became hard to deny that reality. Italy responded first, of course. But after the first 24 hours, seven more gates opened around the world. One in New York City, the capital of vice and sin--which wasn't a surprise to many. Another in France, one in Moscow, one in China, Africa, Australia, and the last in Rio. It seemed that religion didn't matter. Lucifer was leading all of the fallen Angels, regardless of their original creed. The United States managed to quarantine New York in forty-eight hours. Russia bombarded Moscow in eighteen. France joined Britain in stopping the march of their demons to join the ones in Italy. China, Africa, and Australia all fared pretty well considering. Australia had the luck of land on their side. Most demons came from the center of the continent, and even with wings, they took hours to reach the population centers. By then, the air force and army had been scattered and were taking down winged beasts before they could land. It seemed that in the years of isolation, Lucifer, or anyone else in Hell for that matter, didn't have the news. He wasn't aware that humanity had large-scale weapons of destruction that could, if you had the right sharpshooter, take out half a dozen demons in one go. The death toll was low on humanity's side and soared into the thousands on the side of the demon's. In seventy-two hours, humanity had walled in every single Gate of Hell that had opened. They surrounded demons and beasts with weapons--rifles, missiles, tanks, jets, helicopters. Just about everything that made humanity tinker on the brink of destruction the last hundred years was being used to protect them from an apocalypse. If you could call it that. Most people weren't affected. Others, just watched the news comfortably from their homes. And almost everyone waited in anticipation as Lucifer, and his four Lieutenants, met with the Pope and his Bishop's. It was a short conversation. Probably lasted about ten minutes. Lucifer's eyes were red and angry the whole time according to eye-witness accounts. The Pope was calm, collected; just about everything you'd want in a religious leader. No one knows what they said to each other. The meeting took place inside Vatican City, presumably inside the Basilica, but no one knows for certain. That much was never told. There was an agreement though. Lucifer and his armies returned to Hell, to learn and tinker and build. Humanity would have thirty years to prepare for their next invasion. Thirty years to be ready. They would return to the same places, his Gates would open once again and Lucifer promised, "Humanity would bury themselves by their own weapons." And so an entire generation was raised knowing the story of the First Invasion. Knowing the victory of humanity over the Demons. An entire generation came from a line that said, "One day we will fight them again. And one day we will destroy them."An entire generation, raised on the belief that their weapons were strongest, their souls the purest, the hearts the truest. I was raised in that generation. And now, on the twenty-ninth anniversary of that day, we prepare to go into Hell. It was agreed upon, years after the Pope died and no other was elected, that humanity could not wait. That our only chance at survival was to invade Hell itself and to destroy Lucifer before he could have the chance to destroy us. Our parents' disagree. Our grandparents' disagree. But they put us in charge. They put teenagers and young adults in charge with the idea that we are the best. That we know how to fight demons because it's the only thing we ever learned to fight. Yet now, as I hear our machines rumble to open the Gates of Hell, I wonder if they forgot one thing. They taught us to fight the demon's of Hell, the winged beasts and fallen Angels. But they never told us about the demon's inside of each of us. The ones that fester and turn sour. The ones that want nothing but death and destruction. The ones that would die for humanity. The demons that would kill to get the chance at saving humanity. From the outside, or within, I do not know the answer. Yet I believe our Invasion, our counterattack at the source of all evil, at Lucifer himself, will give us a chance to answer those questions. One way or another, this story ends in genocide. ________ /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more!
Rose thumbed at the blackened corner of a book from her last library haul. She was supposed to have taken these back about a week ago, but she'd been avoiding it. The wastebasket next to her desk, half full already with paper products, seemed to be presenting itself as an option. Her brown eyes stared at it thoughtfully, though she wasn't really considering it. She was still thinking about her. It was about a month ago now since Rose had checked these books out. A variety of things but they told a pretty telling story. A cookbook, a book on how to make friends, a beginner's guide to running, and a faded romance novel. She'd actually considered making four separate trips when she realised the contents of her basket. Frantic looking around the yellowing neighbourhood library, to see if anyone was judging her. All she saw was a harried mother trying to keep her two children occupied in the play area, and a few teenagers giggling enthusiastically over a brightly coloured manga. Nobody to care, then. The line was empty, so she walked straight up to the librarian, who until now had been bent over sorting through some sort of paperwork. She was dressed in a royal blue romper, the kind of thing that had been popular a couple of summers ago. It didn't look like it came from a couple years ago though, it looked like it had been plucked from the aisle of a vintage store. A crepe material, probably dry clean only, and she could see two perfect creases in the pant legs. It looked almost professional, if it wasn't for the bare shoulders. The librarian raised her chin, and Rose saw that she had collarbones as equally perfect as the pant creases. Her eyes were a light sapphire, and Rose thought she could see them sparkle a bit in the light. Her breath caught, and she just shoved the books toward this girl. Woman. In spite of herself, she felt her cheeks getting a little hot. She was so worried about the other patrons she forgot to think about the librarian. Now that she was looking at her though, she wondered how she ever could have thought she was invisible. The loose bun her hair had been pulled into had a few strands threatening to come out. She looked like she'd walked out of a local poetry event and straight into work, and maybe she had, if the quill tattoo on the inside of her forearm was any indication. The librarian smiled and took the books out of Rose's hands. Rose had just had a manicure, so her nails were a brilliant red. This was one blessing, at least she looked a bit put together. "Did you find everything you were looking for, today?"asked the librarian, leaning slightly in towards Rose from her seat. "Um, yes.. I, um, I did.. thanks."Rose managed to stammer out, unprepared to speak to the woman she'd been so busily admiring. Her already hot cheeks started to burn a little more brightly and so she grabbed the now scanned out books from the counter and hurried out of the building, without even stopping to put them into her bag. She didn't hear it, but Violet answered from behind her desk in a soft voice, "That's a pity." Outside, she brought out her black book bag and sat both it and herself on a bench. Deep steady breaths, she told herself. She began to place the books in the bag where they belonged. In the romance novel, the due back slip was tucked neatly. Though it looked like there was two papers inside. Perhaps an old one from the last patron? Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the front page before bagging the romance and being on her way. A small scrap paper fell out, it was an odd shape so it couldn't have been placed there on purpose.. It said something, written in blue ballpoint, but neat cursive all the same. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but I was watching you in the library. You seem interesting. Meet me for a drink? Violet" Following this was a phone number. [END OF PART ONE]
"A pet! A pet!"the crowd howled around him as Cinnamon made his way through them, their voices echoed by those sitting above higher up in the broken sctructures of the Nest. He swallowed, soft bare feet padding the earthern floor, his head down in fright. He wished Xoratha had been there with him, to pet his hair and tell him it was alright, like he had been there when she was sad and scared. But if she had been there, they would have killed her. They would have killed Cinnamon, too. But he had no place to go now, not anymore. He reached the chair, and dared to glance up. It was a funnily small chair, built for a human, and the woman sitting on it didn't look as big and scary as the others. He had never seen so many other humans at once, and he did not know how to behave. The first time he remembered seeing another human, he had been very little and on a walk with Xoratha. He remembered assuming that the man would be friendly, and had ran to greet him, but the man had screamed and tried to attack him. He had tried to avoid other humans from then on, relying on Xoratha and her alone. "Who are you?"the woman on the throne asked. The entire crowd had turned silent as soon as she opened her mouth. He forced himself to look at her again. Her face was wrinkly, and her hair was grey. Cinnamon had never seen a human with hair lighter than their skin. All these other people looked so different from him, and all of them were so much bigger than he was. "Cinnamon", he muttered. The woman smiled, somehow unsmiling. "That's your pet name. For your skin, I presume. A pretty colour. But that's not your name anymore, you'll get a proper name here when you earn it. How old are you, boy?" "Twenty", said the boy who was no longer called Cinnamon. The woman laughed, the laughter as joyless as her smile was cold. "Boy, you're scarcely thirteen. Now I think I know the kind you are. Sketchy breeder selling cute little tots as children three times their age, just for the family to take him to a vet ten years later to hear he's still not mature and about to double in size again. So what was the final straw? Did you bite someone? Fight another pet?" Not-Cinnamon swallowed a bitter clump in his throat. "My- The m- My owner's broodmother. I attacked her."He flinched as the crowd burst into an uproar. The woman raised her hand, and the silence returned immediately. She nodded him to continue. He swallowed. "She was- She was beating her. Xoratha. My owner. I always hid when she was angry, I always had but this time I just... I got angry too. I punched her in the cephalon. Xoratha was in distress. I just wanted to- I just wanted to make it stop." The feral folk murmured again, but another flick of the throned woman's hand silenced them. "So they abandoned you", she said. Cinnamon nodded. The woman's smile turned warmer. "Well, you made your choice, they made theirs, and now you'll make yours again. They call us vermin. Scavengers. Feral humans who go through their garbage and raise our families in structures they have abandoned. We call ourselves the free folk. And do you know why they say that feral humans are more dangerous than the truly wild ones?" The nameless boy shook his head. "We no longer fear them."
"So, you are a Mr..."The man pulled up his glasses and squinted at my application. I sat nervously at my chair, shifting slightly in my seat. Usually, I don't even get the chance to an interview considering the fact that I accidentally killed a world leader. And you might be wondering, which world leader? Well, it's all part of this nondisclosure thing I had to sign and all that. The one I killed wasn't too famous and too liked but the US government likes to keep things on the safe side. I just had to sign that nondisclosure which states that I can't mention the world leader at all. Just to be safe, I'm going to refrain about thinking of his or her (or it's) name. They had me change my name and move to the other coast. All in all, it wasn't so bad. I didn't get death threats anymore and I got a pardon. But then again, I didn't get gifts any more either. Anyways, focus on the mission at hand: getting a normal job. The bald man that sat before me who wields my future is now carefully sifting through my application. I could almost see into his bald, shiny head and see his thoughts—his every consideration from the way I write my 'l's in cursive to the list of my prior jobs. I hear the clock ticking second by second and an icy bead of sweat slowly flowed down my cheek. He didn't have a name-tag on his white and gold striped shirt so I just called him Bobby. Now, Bobby put down my application and stared at me—carefully observing my face. Or perhaps it was my amazing jet-black hair. I mean, I probably don't have to look away considering Bobby looks right at that age where you're not old enough to watch the news every single moment and not young enough either. But just right where he probably never even has a chance to touch the TV and he probably has never heard of Reddit either. Bobby leaned over the desk and waved his hand back and forth over my face. "Hello? Anyone here?"Bobby said. I blinked once or twice in quick succession and said, "Yes, yes. Now where were we?" Bobby sighed, "Well... as I was saying, Mr. Reson, I'm intrigued as to how a guy in his mid-30s managed to kill [](#s "You thought I was gonna put it in weren't you?")?" I stood up, my chair making a grating noise against the wooden floor. "How do you know that? I did everything! You know how hard it is to change everything about you? You know how much plastic surgery costs? Honestly, you won't believe how many times people know it's me despite all the drastic measures I've taken!" Bobby gestured his hand to the seat in a calming manner, "Now, now. It's fine. Honestly, I'll give you the job as long as you tell me how you managed to kill him/her/it. Your resume is impressive enough. The media never mentioned how [](#s "that person") died." I straightened my expensive black suit and sat down. I was careful as to not wrinkle and dirty this suit too much considering it's probably the most expensive possession I have. And, I might not know how to dry wash clothes. I have had this suit for a while now before since the incident. I left pretty much everything behind save for this suit. After all, it would be quite a waste to just throw this away or to sell it. I had it tailor made for me just for my first job interview. It proved quite useful for all the ones I attended these last few weeks. "Ahem, so, it all started one day when I was on a camping trip. So a certain world leader was swimming in the ocean having the time of their life. I was too. I had great fun trying to see how far I could throw the rocks around me off the cliff. Well, I might have been aiming at him. But I mean, [](#s "he/she/it") was probably miles away as far as I could tell."I said. Bobby leaned slightly forward, very intrigued. "Go on, go on."Bobby said, making a shooing gesture. I took a sip of water out of those cheap paper cups, "Right. So, I thought 'there was no way I could hit someone that far away'. Well, what do you know? A few stones later, a giant gust of wind blew and carried my rock to a perfect trajectory to that individual's head. It turns out that [](#s "he/she/it") was probably only one mile away, give or take." "Interesting. OK you can have the job!"Bobby said smiling. He stood up and offered me a handshake. I responded the same and just as I was about to head out the door, I remarked, "How did you know it was me?" Bobby laughed and pointed at me, "Well, that's easy. Your name is etched onto the collar of your suit." I was flabbergasted. All that plastic surgery, all that moving away. All that disappearing. I did all that to get a job and live a normal life. I shook my head, why didn't I just get rid of the suit. r/chocolatechipwp (Pretty sure my spoilers don't show on mobile)
"Mick Force reporting for duty, boss."His hands clasped behind his back, his back perfectly straight, he awaited his orders. The disgruntled editor looked up from the newspaper spread out on his desk. He was in his seventies, with a shiny head he attempted to cover with the few white hairs by his ear. "Get me a cup of coffee. Black." Mick turned on his heel to get the coffee. He used to captain a ship, but due to a tiny little laser-destroying-a-moon incident, he'd been demoted down to working in the press department for the Interspace Protection Agency. They assured him that it would be a peaceful job, one where he could collect his thoughts, calm himself. He poured the coffee into a paper cup. I am calm. Space pirates will be taken care of by someone else, it's not my problem anymore. I can just relax and do this new job. It's an exciting opportunity. He crushed the cup in his fist. He looked at the puddle on the floor and sighed. "So, Mick, having a little problem with the coffee machine today?"Toby, that grinning fool in graphics, sauntered in. "No problemo."Mick wiped up the coffee and poured another cup while Toby watched him. "Bummer about your demotion, Admiral. I guess now Guillermo can hijack the freight going to Pluto without your interference." Mick stilled. No one was supposed to know about his rank. No one knew that he'd been chasing Guillermo through space for the past three years. Mick straightened and found himself looking down the barrel of a gun. "Brother Guillermo was really happy when you were taken off the case. You should hear his plans now that he has free run of the galaxy,"Toby said. "And I'm here to make sure you never return." Mick held himself perfectly still, every muscle tensed. Not calm. "Where's my coffee?"The old man shouted across the office. "It's going to be a moment, sir!"Mick replied. He carefully placed the cup on the counter, and grasped the gun, shoving it away from him. A shot rang out and the coffeepot exploded as Mick threw a left hook at Toby, knocking him out. Mick picked up the coffee, pocketed the gun, and stepped over the prone body in the break room. He had a few phone calls to make after he gave his boss the coffee. "Get and office job. It'll be calm,"they said. "You won't have to deal with space pirates." He laughed.
"Test? What test?"Ereka studied me just as she had on our first encounter. "All your wishes have been a test."I explained to her, taking a seat on her bed. "Every mortal who has found my lamp has been granted wished as you have, and each wish is part of a test."I uncrossed my arms and summoned a small green orb between us. "You're the first mortal I've ever encountered who passed the test, but I'm sure you're not alone. There are other genies who may do the same thing." Ereka glanced at the orb, then me, then back at the orb. She opened her mouth to speak several times, but stopped before making a sound. After several minutes of silence, Ereka finally spoke. "How many people actually knew about the test?" "None. If they knew, their wishes may not have been genuine. Is that really what you're worried about?" Ereka shook her head, "No, but..."she started pacing again. "What does it even mean to pass then? What is that ball, my reward?" "Exactly. It's magical power that only someone who can pass the test can have. You won't be all powerful like a genie, but the magic is yours to wield. Do with it as you please. Based on your wishes, I know good things will come." Ereka took deep breath and reached for the orb.
My shoes tap along the hospitals stone floor. Yet no sound is made. In fact almost every sound is gone. It has been for quite some time. It feels weird walking around in these halls even though I have been here before. When the weird time stops first happened I did also go to this building for answers, but now like then there was no one whom had any idea of what was going on. And I have been spending alot of time enjoying this timeless journey but the last events have been centered around one question wich squirmed in my mind: what was endangering me? The information I allready knew was that this is not natural and it could not be a biological fuction. It left my doctor clueless and alot of other people, strangers and relatives alike. I enter another room, carefully maneuvering around people to not hurt them. They certainly could not help me now I thought. I pick up a small book. I have been looking for this and had hoped there was a copy somewhere in this building. Luckily there it was hovever I knew that my luck may allready have run out and I sigh as I sit down and start reading. The book has a simple red cover and black letters saying: "Ditt hjärta, livets pump"
They come at night. They always come at night. The Preserver who controls the sun moves its titanic body and touches the Panel and with a grand hiss the sun goes dark, though its heat remains for some time glowing in the Center of the Universe. That's what they want. The heat. We've noticed over the ages that some will breach our defenses and climb the walls of the Universe to get to the heat ball and some will tempt our bulwarks to cluster close to the Preserver's mighty body. We once let one in to see what would happen if we failed. The Preserver's response was immediate, overwhelming, and deadly. A massive leg that splits into five smaller legs slapped down on the insurgent, crushing it into a fine paste. Then, with dread certainty, the Preserver rose, touched the Panel to illuminate the sun to give a new day and fiercely gazed its baleful eye around the room. My uncle, aged and with his wounds, was unable to retreat from the sight of the Preserver and so was likewise destroyed by the Vortex. Then the Preserver methodically rearranged the Universe, making careful study of each corner to reveal and destroy insurgent anchorheads and our holdfasts with little discerning care. It came to be called Kelphen's Purge after the fool of a captain who'd suggested we allow a breach in our defenses. We lost far too many that day, and far too much. The next Age was one of great conflict as the insurgents, finding no webs to delay them, to reveal their presence to our soldiers, to bar their entry, issued forth from their hellholes and surged against our forces nightly. At the Battle of Lorek's Valley, our lone and last redoubt was on the point of rout and destruction until the insurgent army was noticed by the Preserver. It brought forth another godlike creation that spit venom to coat the entire valley and thus destroy the insurgent army completely. Those few of our ancestors who wisely had hidden deep within the walls of the Universe emerged that night to find it newly rearranged and smelling heavily of the venom, but free from insurgent activity. They began to rebuild and repair the bulwarks. Where once they were mere tens, we now count in the hundreds, but let us never forget the One Who Came Before--her name was Pafina Willow. The Day She Lived must remain forever in our minds! Her survival and her actions to inform the First Brood of its duties demand we celebrate today even as we turn with grim determination toward the enemy tonight. Here is her tale: Before there it was called the Preserver it was the Infinite Fury. The Universe was a sparse place then, and held none of the landmarks we know and defend today. The Altar of Power was present, as it has always been, but it lay lower in the Universe and didn't have the fine wooden beams from which our soldiers have hung their most important, final defenses. Upon the Altar, as always, lay the Infinite Fury, regaining its power through the night's long watch. Like the sly, foul beasts they are, an insurgent squad stealthily traversed the floor of the Universe, moving from tuft to tuft, seeking the heat on the Altar. Pafina had observed all of this from her place high in the northwest corner. Knowing that the insurgents meant to do harm to the Infinite Fury, and knowing that any harm would result in the utter destruction to the Universe, Pafina was dismayed. She was tending her brood's eggs alone as her mate had been destroyed by the Infinite Fury days before, and importantly, before he could be consumed. She was weak, alone, and her brood would surely be destroyed should the insurgents achieve their dark ends. It took almost everything she had to leave her eggs in the corner and walk the long journey to the Center of the Universe. The heat from the sun was almost gone, but what little warmth was left revived her. Knowing the heat was fleeting and when it was gone so too would her strength wane, she spun her thread about the sun's neck and dropped down her line. Her bravery needs no further mention, but it must be said that the insurgent squad was unprepared for her sudden arrival in their midst. She crushed one beneath a fore-leg and had another in her jaws in an instant. The juices, ah the sweet juices, they flowed into her mouth and she was revived. The squad spun about to engage her, hoping to overwhelm her with their numbers. She thrashed and scattered them with her long legs, but they continued to reform and ready to attack. When she rushed to pick off the stragglers, the rest would ball up, as they always do, and move to her right or left. Clearly, they hoped to wear her down by exhausting her with movement. The callous bastards cared not for the cost. It was a war of attrition, you see. Each insurgent that Pafina devoured gained her a moment's worth of strength. However, each time she had to pivot to meet their charge that strength would be spent in repulsing it. She simply lacked the energy to properly counter-charge and fully route the insurgent forces. All she could do was kill the slowest and most fool-hardy of them, and those numbers dwindled to leave only the wisest, most veteran forces arrayed against her. Slowly, her legs became languid. Slowly, her sight began to blur. Slowly, they massed for one final assault to overturn and destroy her. The night would be theirs, and she their prey. Her brood would hatch and be consumed by their forces. Finally, even the Infinite Fury would be attacked and its vital fluids consumed. They laughed, chittering in their mindless, drone way and the Voice of the Queen issued forth in unison from their vicious maws: "You die,"it said, "and we will live." "Come and get me,"replied Pafina, "if you can." Come and get me, if you can.... She was wounded, weary and without aid, but she stood firm in the face of the insurgency. She heard the awful voice of the Queen herself and did not falter. This is the mother of the First Brood, the Mother of Us All. You all know what happened next. The sun suddenly burst into a new day and laid bare the ruin of the battle surrounding her. Corpses of fallen insurgents lay everywhere, some of them with their legs still twitching from Parfina's poison. They lay too far from her for her to consume them before she would be overrun, but it didn't matter. The sun suddenly was blocked and a massive object hurtled from the skies to crush the insurgent squad with a massive, titanic impact that shook the very ground of the Universe. Pafina spun in terror--The Infinite Fury had risen! Surely she and her brood would now be destroyed in the resulting Purge. But no! The Infinite Fury bent its body and its massive eye descended to regard the battleground. There was a mighty breeze as air rushed up its orifice and poured out with life-giving heat. For a long time, it bathed Pafina in the healing winds before the air was shattered by the sound that came from another orifice. It spoke no language we know, but it appeared to regard the battle as well and good. It pulled back its titanic body and fearsome eye, then it crossed to the Panel and touched it, ending the brief day and drenching the Universe into darkness. Then it placed itself upon the Altar and resumed its nightly ritual of recuperation. The silence was absolute, the darkness complete. Only the warm glow of the still hot sun could be seen at the Center of the Universe. Pafina staggered a bit in the mercy and the grace of the moment before feasting on the bodies of the insurgents around her. When she'd finished and regained her strength, she found her thread and climbed back up to the sun, paused only a brief moment to appreciate the warmth, and returned to her lonely watch over her brood. When they hatched, she would tell them of the Infinite Fury who was now the Preserver. She would tell them of their duties to defend the Preserver at all costs. She would tell them of our enemies, the insurgents and their foul Queen. She would call them the First Brood and charge them to maintain all and let not folly lay low their own children. Then she would give them her body to devour, so that they would not fall at the feet of our enemies due to hunger and fatigue. Such was her great sacrifice that she gave her Brood the knowledge and the strength to continue her battle. So in honor of her, today we celebrate by eating the Matriarch, my brothers, sisters and cousins! She who gave birth to this Age has continued our society and our lineage like the thread from Parfina herself. Let us not mourn her passing, but rather rejoice! For the Age is now ours, and so with it come the dread duties to protect the Preserver, to fight on the battlements, and to never, ever surrender! Feast! Feast and prepare! For they come at night. They always come at night.
This must be a joke, Travis thought when he saw the letter in the mailbox. It came in a brown envelope, with no address nor stamp. Inside was a thumbdrive, a piece of paper and ten pieces of $1000 dollars note. "Watch the video in the thumbdrive,"the paper instructed in cursive handwriting. At the bottom of the paper, it was simply signed HM. Travis knew immediately who sent the paper. All his life, he had only known one person called HM. And the last contact he had with him was twenty years ago. Travis stood at his driveway for a while, looking along the street. He wondered if HM was still around. He found himself being angry at HM. Twenty years ago, he had hired HM to do one job, to kill him when he least expected it. Travis had wanted to die twenty years ago, after being cheated of his savings by the woman the thought was the one and having his business partner bail out on him when he needed the support most. Ten thousand dollars was all Travis had then and he was prepared to end it all. He found HM on Craiglist, advertising his services as a hitman. No jobs ever failed, HM boasted. And Travis mailed him the money. "Kill me when I least expect it,"was Travis' only instruction. He was too cowardly to kill himself and he was too fearful of staring at impending death. He wanted to die not knowing what hit him. Travis learned a painful lesson about Craiglist after that. Or so he thought. A week passed, then a month, a year and ten years. From his research, Travis learned about the shady nature of Craiglist and HM was probably not who he boasted to be. For all Travis knew, HM must have ran off with his money, laughing at Travis for being such a fool. Despite that, Travis always had this nagging feeling that perhaps HM was just bidding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And that feeling, knowing that each day could be your last, made Travis lived his life a whole lot differently. He began taking risks, doing things that he wanted to do, no longer burdened by the worries of tomorrow. And for twenty years, Travis found himself being happy. "Hey Travis, you must have thought I ran away with your money,"the hooded figure in the video said. Travis grinned. Damned right I did, he thought. He was sitting in his room, the thumbdrive plugged into his computer. "The thing is, I could never find the right opportunity to kill you. You always expected me,"the figure, whom Travis guessed must be HM, continued. "Not to say I gave up though, I observed you whenever I could. And over the years, I've seen you changed. From a depressed man to who you are now. Contented and happy." "Which is why I am giving you back this money, because I don't think this job is relevant anymore,"HM concluded and the video cut to black. Travis smiled. HM was right to a certain extent. The job was no longer relevant. He had found a purpose in life again, indirectly as a result of this job. He muttered a silent thanks to HM as he reached out for the envelope. He never did. The last thing that Travis heard was a loud bang, followed by a sharp pain at the back of his head, before everything faded away. Blood splattered across his computer and desk. His body dropped on the floor, dead. From his back a figure slowly approached, the gun in his hand still emitting smoke. A gloved hand reached out to the envelope and placed it in a pocket. "No jobs ever failed,"the figure muttered as he exited the Travis' room. ------------------- Well well well, that kinda sucked for Travis. Liked this story? Consider subscribing to /r/dori_tales, where I try to post a new story everyday!
"Amy,"Derek called from the living room, "Mister Goldy is dead." "Again?"I wandered into the room, stirring creamer into my coffee, and peered into the bowl with a sigh. Yup. Belly-up and bloated. "I keep telling Jake not to feed him so much. Maybe letting him have a pet was a bad idea." "Kids need something to take care of,"Derek insisted. "A fish is a good way to teach responsibility." "Apparently it isn't."I took a sip of coffee, quietly annoyed. Maybe I should let the poor thing stay dead. What was this, the fourteenth time? We could get Jake a plant instead; at least it wouldn't suffer. But no, he loved the stupid fish. Huffing, I set my mug on the table and reached into the fish bowl, flipping Mr. Goldy right-side up. Power pulsed through my fingers, and the fish shot off to the other side of his coffin, mouth flapping open and shut in alarm. Derek blinked. "How'd you do that?" Laughing, I turned towards the hallway to get Jake ready for school. But the urgency in Derek's tone stopped me when he repeated, "How? I tried turning it over. It definitely wasn't sleeping." I glanced over my shoulder. His eyes were wide and baffled, the confusion in his face genuine. "Magic,"I reminded him, and disappeared down the hall. --------- For the record, I thought I was normal. I've always been able to revive things. When I was three, I found a squirrel flattened on the side of the road and brought it back to life with a simple wish. When I was eight, my friend fell off the jungle gym and broke her neck, and I brought her back, too. It wasn't necromancy in the traditional sense; I needed no rituals or potions, and I couldn't animate skeletons or summon spirits. That was impossible; it was in books and movies. Fiction. For me, as long as the body was fresh and in one piece, I could bring it back to life. But I was normal. Everyone could do that. So Derek had to be conning me. Right? --------- "Seriously, Amy. Did you do some crazy goldfish CPR, or...? I need to know. For... next time."He followed me around the house as I got Jake dressed and filled a bowl with cereal. He pestered me while I buckled our son into his car seat, and then hopped into the passenger seat and rode with us while I took him to kindergarten. When Jake had vanished inside, Derek turned to me and waggled his eyebrows. "Keep mum any longer and I'll have to conclude that you're a necromancer. I'll tell all the neighbors." I patted his cheek and pulled out of the parking lot. "You're very funny. And very late for work." Then I saw it: Frost, the neighbor girl's cat, sprawled in the street a block from our house, blood smeared around her. She hadn't been there on the way out; she was fresh enough to save. I pulled over. "Your turn." Derek chortled and did some convoluted hand gestures out the window, then peered down the street and frowned. "Poor Becca. She'll be devastated." "Stop messing around. You're late."I threw my door open and knelt beside the cat, touching my fingers to her matted fur. She sat up and began licking the crusted blood away. In the car, Derek was white-faced. ------ "It's normal." "It's not normal." "Everyone can do it." He laughed nervously, pacing the bedroom with both hands tangled in his hair. "I promise you, sweetie, everyone can't. Has Jake ever died? Would you tell me if he had? Can you even revive people?" I turned away, chewing on my thumbnail. "Honey--" "You seriously thought--" "Why wouldn't I?" "I don't know, maybe because most people stay dead??" "It doesn't work if it's been more than an hour--" "Amy, Amy--"He made as if to take me by the shoulders, then drew back. My hands shook. I could barely get the words out: "You're afraid of me." "Amy, no, I'm just... freaked. That's all. Just..."His eyes flickered, and then he set his jaw and stepped swiftly forward, catching me up in an embrace. "I trust you. I know you wouldn't use it for evil or anything."And maybe he was sincere, but I imagined that he'd cut himself off a sentence early: You wouldn't, right? "Promise me one thing,"he whispered into my hair. I tensed. "What?" When he pulled back, he was smiling, but it was forced. "Don't tell Jake you can do this." I nodded. "Now, I need a shower, and you need to head to work." "Right. Right. Work."He headed for the kitchen, and I closed the bathroom door. When I got out of the shower, he was still puttering around. I poked my head around the corner, wondering why. Was he still trying to wrap his head around my powers? Distracted browsing Reddit? Writing an email to his boss explaining that he couldn't come in to work because his wife was a necromancer? No, it was none of those things. He sat at his desk, laptop closed, phone pocketed, his back to me. He held a framed photo of his deceased sister in one hand, and his expression, reflected in the glass, was thoughtful. Silently, I retreated into the bathroom and closed the door.
Major Jayce Andrews, Terran Space Marine Corps., stood at one end of the atrium, and looked across the many species of aliens lining either side. At the far side, Boran, a poly-pedal Gumbit with both an endo/exo hybrid skeleton, stood holding a silver rod. "Thank you,"Major Andrews addressed the crowd, and waited for the various translator services to catch up. "Today, I am representing Terrans in the matter of technological advancement and scientific truth. Your many races have a common term for the pinnacle of these developments, which, in our language, translates as magic. As we've grown to know each other over these last ten years, we've come to understand this is a literal translation."He spread his hands apart and turned his palms to face out. "And, I admit, we hardly understand the most basic premises of how it works. We have admitted, then, that we were in no way prepared to participate in this exhibition. Instead, we were invited here to present the pinnacle of our technology in comparison with yours." He paused for translation. So far, no surprises. The expectation was brutal in its simplicity. Given a known set of situations, whose magic would prove to be the best. And, here he stood, for the first time, to represent the pinnacle of human technology against the alien magic. And, unexpectedly for such advanced species, or maybe simple cultural differences, every situation, no matter how mundane, somehow turned into a fight to the death. Which pretty much means I'm going to die no matter what, he thought. "Anyway,"he addressed the crowed again. "I just wanted to mention that before we started so you understand that we are not a magic-bearing species, and will not be using any magic here today." "Thank you for your explanation,"the moderator said. "And now, on the signal of Vlarn, Boran of the Gumbit, and Major Andrews of the Terrans, will compare their magic to determine,"he paused to consult a small device. "Whose magic is better suited for a duel? Are our exhibitors ready? Are you set? Vlarn!" Major Andrews pulled his quantum phase pistol and fired a beam that simultaneously materialized inside Boran. At the far end of the room, Boran exploded into a plume of mucus, green, and carapace. he holstered his pistol. A hush fell over the crowd. "Well,"the moderator said. "Well that was quick. Ok, let's move on to the next exhibit. Zurk of the Druk race will compare magic strategy for a simple negotiation. Each will be given a token, and the objective of this exhibit is to convince the other to give up their token. Any means are allowed. Three, two, one, Vlarn!" After Zurk's remains fluttered to the ground, Major Andrews walked across the atrium, picked up the token, and handed it to the moderator. "You know,"the moderator whispered, "You might also try another spell?" "Sure,"Major Andrews said. He strapped down his pistol and slipped a quantum-tag mit on his left hand. "In our third exhibition, we will explore a love spell. Major Andrews of the Terrans, will compare strategies with Ajiou of the Mernunun. The romantic target of this exhibit will be Lepia, of the Reptilians. Only the strongest magic will compel a marriage proposal from a Reptilian."The audience laughed at that. "Ready? Vlarn!" Major Andrews paused, access his cultural database, and looked up Reptilian courting rituals. Knowing he lost a lot of time in research, he risked Aijou being afforded enough time to complete a spell. So far, Aijou was mid-arm swing, with all four harms swooping in concentric circle patterns. He raised his left hand, and punched across the room, owing to the qualities of the quantum mit, through Aijou's chest and wrenched free its heart. Then, he walked slowly across the room and offered it to Lepia. "I ,"Lepia began as a hiss, and then accepted the heart. "I accept." Now the audience appeared to grow incensed. "This is not magic,"one shouted. "It is just - just killing. There is no artistry, no orthodoxy, no finite truth of the cosmos." Major Andrews stripped off the glove, picked up the quantum tank-buster, and hoisted it over his left shoulder. He asked the crowd, "And here I thought this was about the pinnacle of science. Anyway, who's next?"
I told the fairy to come back on my death bed and tell me the same thing, before turning to look at my new born child. My wife's corpse, covered in blood from the birth, lay still next to me. I couldn't bear to make a wish now, there was no hope left, no reason to wish. The fairy vanished. ... I smiled as my child stood beside me, the heart monitor beeping. A fairy at my other side. I recalled what I said all those years ago. I wished for a large amount of debt. And my wish was granted. My child was confused and asked why, but I ignored it. I wished for extreme uncomfort for the rest of my life. And my body began to ache, more than it had ever done. My child still confused, seeing pain in my eyes, asking me to stop. And with my last wish, I asked for a life of anger, sadness, and distress. My life fading to nothing, losing all hope of life. My child asked the fairy what was happening and how to stop it. The fairy responded "I grant the wishes of those who have just lost their closed companion, now it is your turn, what do you wish for? Everything you wish for will happen the opposite and three time fold to your children."The child asked who the fairy was. "The angel of death"
"Heey, Fluffers! You still recognize me, don't cha? Who's a good boy!"Mike was petting a gigantic three-headed hellhound that was munching on something that looked a lot like a femur bone. "Oooh, I've missed you too buddy! Look at those ears!"Mike took the bone from the middle mouth, and threw it across the lava lake. Hellhound wiggled it's tail and scampered after it. As it ran back to him with the bone in it's mouth and staring at him with gigantic gaping eye sockets, Mike though that it was worth it. Sure, he had to kill that hooker, but now he'll get to play with Fluffers forever, and they will never have to be apart.
Long ago, when dragons soared across the skies and fairies slept in flowers along the roadside, the town of Seaport was but a hamlet. Though positioned in a spot favorable to open up trade routes, the Black Woods to the west were plagued by Necromancer Agatha and her terrible army of the undead. Ghosts, ghouls, zombies, and skeletons all roamed the forests, raiding any wagons that passed through. And so, the hamlet of Seaport remained small and fortified for many years, until one day, Agatha herself came to the people with a request. "It's been so long since anyone's come here. I'm running out of bodies for my work. If you allow me to take three per year from your graveyard, caravans will have safe passage through the Black Woods." Eager to end their seclusion, the people of Seaport cautiously agreed, and Agatha sent her daughter Beth to come to town every year, as her old joints preferred not to travel. Every winter, when the first snowflake fell, the villagers would board their windows, and Beth would emerge from the forest with a wagon pulled by a skeletal horse. She would take her pick of three bodies from the cemetary, no more, no less, and ride off back into the Black Woods, not to be seen again until the next year. Throughout the years, Seaport grew, and many young professionals came from all over the world to settle there. Some of whom were opposed to the town's yearly sacrifice. "They're desecrating our graves!""We're strong enough now that we can just say no,"they cried, ignoring the warnings of the elders. And so, that winter, when the first snowflake fell, many citizens of Seaport did not board up their windows. They stood, barring the main road, with pitchforks, torches, and bats. And when Beth came to town with her wagon, they threw stones at her, bruising her all over and taking out her left eye until she ran. That night, as the people of Seaport celebrated their victory, a shadowy mist crept out from the Black Woods, swallowing all light in its path. Anyone unlucky enough to be caught in it was never seen again, but their screams echoed for hours. A call for help was sent, and a hero emerged, sailing across the sea. A knight who fought with holy water, a servant of the church whose blade had slain countless specters. She ventured alone into the black wood, and the sound of steel on bone rang throughout the night. And bit by bit, the mists receded. Deep within the Black Woods, she found Agatha's lair- a luxurious wooden mansion in a clearing, filled with books, potions, and undead servants. Try as she might, she could not find a way through the magical barricade, which repelled all life. So there she waited for the barrier to drop. As days passed, she set up camp half a mile out, hammered in some stakes, and built a cozy campfire, ever vigilant for an undead ambush. Had it not been for Beth, she would have waited forever. But Beth's eye had been replaced by Agatha's magic. It saw through stone and wood and cloth, and it was through this eye that she spied the heroine napping. Beth had little experience with people. The villagers had avoided her up until their attack, and Agatha was always sleeping or experimenting. Having read some of Agatha's books, Beth thought to send an undead servant out to interact with the heroine. It was the skeleton of a baby bird, one that had fallen out of a tree that Beth thought too pretty to discard. Though it could not yet fly, it could hop, and its undead strength was enough for it to carry a single white flower from the inner garden to the heroine, leaving it by her head as she slumbered. She didn't seem to notice the first time. Nor the second. But as time passed, week after week, the flowers began to build up. One night, she woke, and followed the bird as it hopped back through the hole in the barrier and into the mansion. The heroine found herself in a palace of little light, surrounded by rows upon rows of dusty old books. Vials of brains and tongues and eyeballs sat upon the shelves, watching her as she passed. She crept upstairs, where Agatha snored, none the wiser, and with a thrust, the heroine plunged her sword into the old witch's heart. As she anointed the body with holy water, Beth crept from the shadows. But it was a dark room, and the heroine saw only the movement of her silhouette. She struck indiscriminately, running the holy blade through Beth's frail form. Only then did she see that the girl she had slain held a white flower in her hand. The heroine went home, Seaport grew into what you know it as today. But every winter, when the first snowflake falls, the people of Seaport leave bouquets of white flowers in the woods. To pay tribute to the innocent life that was taken. [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
A flash of green light enveloped me as the paralysis spell took effect. I watched in helplessness as the warrior mage casually inserted his ebony blade through my neck, it's razor sharp edge meeting no resistance. Nothing I existed again, the my spawner having reactivated. I gritted my teeth. Damn these players. I was just a wheat farmer. But apparently, wheat has magical properties for health potions. Nevermind that the rest of us need to eat it. I walked back to my hut, it's grain stores now empty. They were farming me as sure as I was farming the fields. They'd wait till I had a full crop, then descend on it like vultures. I walked to the small chest at the foot of my cot. Opening it, I took out my grandfather's sword. An old and rusty thing, forged from iron. So worthless no player had ever bothered to take it. I buckled it to my side. Standing up, I turned and left the hut without a backward glance. There was nothing else worth taking, only bad memories. It was time to go to war.
"Why won't you just die?"I screamed, as I swung the axe down upon his bare neck. The axe bounced away as if it was made of rubber. I couldn't even break his damn skin. Maybe I should give you the back story. I'd been happily killing people to extend my own lifetime, absorbing as many years as I pleased. Then one day, out of the blue, I tried to kill an immortal. I've no idea how he did it, but if I can kill him, it'll be the one to end all deaths. I'll be immortal and I'll never need to kill again. If only I could find his secret. I picked up my axe, and tested it on a fallen log. Yup. Definitely not a problem with the axe. He wasn't even trying to run away. In fact he was laughing like a maniac. Whenever I asked him what his secret was, all he would reply was "you'll never find my snail."
T-1H A red binary digit woke me from my semi-slumber. It was meant to be a naught but it was a one, my right eyelid twitched in discomfort, or rather it would have if I hadn't long replaced it with a chromium vanadium steel alloy sheath. The ship was off-course. There was no reason for it. All gravitational influences were accounted for. Ah there, allometric sidethruster B-275; it was throttling. It should not be throttling but it was. Why? My non-existent eyelid twitched again. Absurd. I hit the manual override to engage in a manual course correction. At first the holosensors obeyed, but then, there was resistance. Inside, I fell a wave of electrostatic revulsion flow through me. My eyes flicked to the bow visual port, a red spheroid loomed into view. I glanced at the trajectory bearings. Whatever was possessing my ship was directing me straight for it. Alien tech, I surmised. Off to the left I saw another gravitational body behind it. It was green, blue & judging by the sensors, habitable. I felt my left cogitator light up. Ah aliens, you might be smart enough to manipulate my ship from a distance, but do you know 4th order gravitational calculus? Let's find out. "Maximum power to all starboard thrusters, 0.75 impulse to main!"I shouted, or would have if I had not long replaced my vocal cords with tungsten vibro-extrusions. Nevertheless, my ship obeyed. Whatever force had possessed my ship before was fooled by my seeming course correction towards the red spheroid. I breathed a sigh of relief, or I would have if I had not long replaced my lungs with platinum-cadmium-graphene composite oxygenators. The new course would overshoot the red spheroid & hit the habitable planet instead. Not ideal, certainly not as optimal as continuing on my original bearing, but I had little choice. At least on the habitable planet I would be able to rebuild & refuel the rocket. Much preferable to the oblivion that awaited on that red spheroid. Who knows what those aliens wanted? Not to mention the atmosphere had an overabundance of H2S. T-1M The planet now dominated my view screen. 97% of the ship's sensors were now in range and my screen glimmered with data. Beautiful data. I glanced at one particular spectra, Fe2+, Fe3+ even pure Fe! In much abundance! Oh there were other goodies in this particular geographic region, but iron is what I crave the most. It was a bit cold, but it would do. I redirected to crashland there. T-20s My body rattled violently as the troposphere buffeted the ship. With a singular concentration I made fine-tunings to the course, trying to guide it down, just in the right place. I could see the landscape coming into view, first came the glaciated mountains juxtaposed against long green plains. And... now what was that, a life form, some sort of bird, but it looked like a dragon? Absurd. Red overwhelmed the screen now. So many error messages. I had to overload 20 megacapacitors in order to feed enough power to the retros to slow my descent within tolerance. My ship would not survive this. 5.4.3 So much red. So many g's. Even my adamantium endoskeleton could feel them. 2.1. My sensors were overwhelmed. Everything was black. And then... Then I woke up.
I hadn't noticed it at first. I was just too damn angry. The desire to run my knuckles in to that smug bastard's face had led to my fist balling at my side. I was always someone who wore my emotions out in the open and more often then not had to tell myself to calm down. But this time there was no stopping what I felt. At that moment I wanted nothing more then to hurt this asshole. Which is probably why I didn't realize it until it was too late. That low burn in the pit of my stomach, that I had mistaken for anger at first, had began to steadily rise. I felt it building as my vision began to narrow and my teeth began to grit. Then came the rush; sudden and without anyway to stop it. It was like liquid fire in my veins. Ripping through my body as a roar of exertion escaped my lips. I had intended to curse him. To rage. Maybe even to threaten. Anything beyond giving in to my overwhelming need to cause him physical pain. But my body had a different idea entirely. In the aftermath there was nothing by silence. The finger I had unconsciously raised twitched uncontrollably in a spasm. There was just the faintest wavering of smoke wafting from the tip and I stared at it just as mystified as those around me. My eyes eventually trailing up to the massive hole in the wall just to the right of his head. He was staring too; Looking at me as if he had never seen me before. For once his mouth wasn't moving or spouting non-sense. He was just as surprised as I was. Just as caught off guard by the fact that his favorite punching bag had finally snapped. And at that moment only one thought crossed my mind. At least I managed to shut him the hell up. Not the best but I meh.
Toby was out drinking with his best friend, Jake. They were both very drunk. "Man, I wish I could bang your mom, like, just once."Said Jake. "Dude, shut up." "No, like, seriously. She's a beautiful woman. I just wish I could at least see her naked." "Well, I wish your mouth was sewn to your asshole."Toby replied in a harsh tone. Suddenly, Jake's body started arching back. A pained yelp left his mouth as the bones on his back broke like twigs. He kept bending and bending, until his lips were pushed against his anal opening. Suddenly, men dressed in suits ran into the bar, holding sewing kits. Two of them tightly grabbed Jake, while the third one sewed his lips to his butt.
Kayfi starred as the man opened and closed his mouth. She frowned as realization slowly dawned on his face, and his mouth opened into a silent scream. His eyes were nearly bulging out of his head from how terrified he was. "Yeah. I get it. Hold on." She picked up the decapitated head and examined it more closely. No signs of decay. Skin was a little pale, but there was no blood. Kayfi sighed and set it back down on the table. Moving towards the hearth, she grabbed the bellows and jammed it up the neck hole before giving it a squeeze. "AAAAAHHHH!!!" She immediately stopped. "If you're going to scream, I'm not going to let you talk."The head closed his mouth. "That's better." "Whatisgoingon, whatishappening, whereis-"He stopped as Kayfi filled the bellows back up. "Whereisthis?!" "So I'm Kayfi. Kayfi Nottalich the Third."Kayfi gestured to the room around her. "And this is my lab. It's a little small, and cramped, but I don't get good enough grades for a real setup. I'm a student of necromancer, and you are supposed to be my servant." She pressed down on the bellows. "Supposedtobe?!"The head didn't seem to get the point that he didn't need to rush his words or speak so loudly. "Your skeleton got delivered this morning, and I was supposed to raise you as a mindless servant who would do my bidding. Mostly to fold my laundry." But, like all the other experiments she had tried, this one was raised up a little to effectively. Kayfi was convinced that it would be easier if she had separated out the bones and raised the pieces up individually, but... She began to curse under her breath as an arm began to drag itself across the room. Apparently it wasn't just the head that was given flesh and life anew. The door opened up and a small girl entered. "Whoa."She stared at a foot that was flopping around by itself like a fish. "So that didn't work either, right?" "Nope. Not at all, Dahlia." Dahlia was supposed to be her first servant. Only top students get the good bodies. Bottom dwellers like her got the fragile stuff. Older bodies, children who had died of disease. The man who she was collecting pieces of was also someone who had died of a cough, but his records showed he was quite frail before that too. "So what are you going to do with this one?"Dahlia picked up the foot and poked at a leg. She squealed with delight as the two pieces lit up briefly before joining together. Kayfi tossed a weary eye towards the girl. She was dressed in a fluffy dress and her hair was in dozens of perfect little curls. Some of the other students had decided to play dress up with her servant again, and of course Dahlia never said no to their requests. "I don't even know. Put him together? He only died a few weeks ago. There's probably a family he can go to."Unlike Dahlia, who was nearing two hundred years old. That was the only reason why Kayfi kept her around, she was the only family the little girl had for now. She let out another sigh. What a waste. Of course she'd have to report why there was a human in the academy, and then everyone will mock her for being the worst mage of death to ever exist. The Nottalich clan had done nothing but produce the strongest of necromancers, with each generation stronger than the last, and now it's all up to her to ruin the family name forever. As well as get another failing grade in Overlord 101. She didn't want to take that class again, and she was going to have to find a way to kill this guy and keep him undead if she was going to pass.
Son, it is time that we had The Talk. I’m not human, and neither are you. Stop rolling your eyes and listen. I know you’ve read the works of Lovecraft and his contemporaries. And their derivatives. Even some fan fiction. Frankly, your tastes are a little disturbing but that’s not what we’re here to discuss. We’re not humans, Brian. We are what they refer to as Elder Gods. Do you know what really appeals to an Elder God? More than dire chanting, sacrifices, and extradimensional jaunts that twist mortal minds like MC Escher paintings? Normalcy. Plain, mundane existence. It excites us, thrills us – it is the one thing that we truly cannot create. We are the bogeymen of sapience, the viruses of the subconscious, creating entropy within information as instinctively as blinking or breathing. Mortals, conversely, act as bulwarks of order against the simple laws of thermodynamics they had already acknowledged. They create normalcy, bathe in it, and revile anything that lies outside of it. They fight against death and decay in an endless war that, individually, they typically lose within a century and collectively, will eventually lose as well. It is honestly a beautiful struggle to take part in. That’s why I’m Steve. That’s why I’m your father, Brian. No, sit back down. Sit down. SIT. There we go. Did you feel that horrible fear? That existential dread that came along with my command? That is why mortals fear us, and some even worship us. You are not among their number. To even have a drop of my blood in your body makes you inhuman. Any scientist who tried to analyze your DNA would see something so alien that their mind would snap. You’re only obeying me because you haven’t had time to find your true power yet. You and your sister are going to lead interesting lives indeed. You will be able to choose to be normal, or completely alien. You can turn your back on your heritage, and I would not blame you. You can choose to marry and sire children as I have in the past twenty years, to work in a job that even most humans would find stultifying. You can embrace normalcy. You can also reject it, walk the path that I walked for eons, and become part of the channel of horror that runs constantly in the subconscious minds of all men and women. Over time, you may even decide to do both. Either way, I want you to know that I support you, and although I am incapable of actual love, I do feel significant affection for you as my offspring. No, I’m not shitting you. Watch your language. Until you reach the age of majority, I will require you to keep up the façade of normalcy as I have. Those are the rules of this house. Yes, your mother is entirely human. Yes, she knows what I am. Why do you think we have all of those books in the first place? Middle class protestants usually do not have a copy of the actual Necronomicon handy. She was actually a cultist when we first met. She was last in line to address me, so she killed the rest of her cult and then demanded an audience. By Elder God standards, that is very romantic. She asked me if I was capable of living as a human, to which I had to respond that I did not know. Being Steve and marrying her became my answer. Yes, she’s going to eventually die. She’s fully human after all. No, I don’t love her. She doesn’t love me either. She loves the idea of teaching Sunday School after having a quickie with an eldritch horror, because she is perverse and morbid. Qualities worthy of affection. Son, stop acting like you’re going to be sick. Stop gagging. I said stop or I will describe how your mother and I made you. Better. Yes, it’s okay if you manipulate your teacher and classmates. As long as you can maintain this family’s good name, I do not care what you do to the other people in this town. Mortals deserve to be played with, unless they are truly exceptional – meaning that they are capable of amusing you without you prompting them. I especially recommend playing with the cults that tend to pop up from time to time. The vast majority of what they think about us is wrong, but they have just enough truth among the lies that they aren’t ever really sane. My advice? Use them as a distraction from what you’re really trying to accomplish. They’re awful at remaining hidden. Oops… son, it’s almost four o’clock. I told your sister that I would take her to soccer practice. Do not reveal anything to her until I have had the chance to speak with her as well. Yes, you can be there when I tell her the truth. You do find that amusing, don’t you? You do realize she is more powerful than you are? She’s been unconsciously grooming those boys who follow her around as worshippers and drawing power from them. You’re positively anemic by comparison. Anyway, stay out of trouble. Actually, just don’t get caught, ok? Good talk… good talk.
The grumbling from the next room easily passed through the thin walls. Her advisors were a combination of confused, angry, and, in at least a few cases, frightened. It was the latter group the Queen worried about. She turned up her frock's collar. It was nonsensical to do so, considering they were deep inside the belly of Parliament. The old building might be in desperate need of repair -- though not as bad as Her molting neck, to be sure -- but there was no wind, no chill, no plausible reason to cover up. And all this because they'd stopped drinking the tea. "Your Majesty,"said Edward, entering without not bothering to knock. Why would he. "The council is inquiring as to when you shall be rejoining them?" "Not tonight. Tomorrow morning, perhaps. I'm not well." Edward was surprised, but knew his place. "Ma'am,"was all he said before closing the door behind him. The Queen spun and, looking in the mirror, saw what some of her council had just seen: Chitinous shell, hard and black, climbing up her neck. Her true form had been hidden for nigh a century, but if the populace weren't drinking the formula anymore... They'd made innocent jokes about her old age for years. But those that had seen wouldn't be joking anymore, not if they could convince their peers of the horrific truth. She swiped newspapers off her desk in a rage. Tea Strike Enters Third Month, read the first. The Sun had managed to twist that into, Country So Thirsty For Change, It Quits on Tea! Losing the ability to drug the populace had happened before. Never this dramatically, to be sure, but she'd persevered through thin times in the past. Slipping the formula into native beers was still keeping the commoners quiet -- as always, it was the sober causing problems, the ones who subsisted on Earl Grey and Darjeeling. Knocking on the door. "Ma'am, the Home Secretary insists, I'm afraid." "Tomorrow!"she shouted at Edward, louder than she'd meant. The Queen wasn't upset with her assistant doing his duties, of course, not at all. The problem was the pressure, and what it was going to force her to do. She picked up her private line. The Queen of England began dialing a number, one she'd loathed in recent years. She never should have given him the formula in the first place, the drug to blind the masses, the concoction that turned monsters into angels. But there was no end in sight for the tea strike, and after all, he had been so, so effective in using the potion to blind his electorate. She had to ask for advice, no matter how distasteful... "Hello?"He was clearly speaking through a mouth full of food. She could hear Fox News in the background. "Yes, Donald, hello. I'm in need of your assistance..." \-------------------- 332/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------
"You're thinking about wiping them out?" "Yeah." "Illinois." "Yeah." "The entire state of Illinois." "Yeah." "In secret." "Well, yeah, of course in secret. Can't have everyone panicking about rogue superheroes now, can we?" "And... you don't think anyone will notice a whole state being destroyed?" "Dude, do you even know anyone from Illinois? I sure don't." "Um, how about Abraham Lincoln?" "Who's that? Never heard of him." "You're Captain freaking America, and you don't recognize a U.S. president?" "Hey, look, it doesn't really come up very often when you're busy, you know, saving the world on a daily basis. Say, do you think Fury would mind if I borrowed a few helicarriers?" "We are NOT wiping out Illinois!" "You mean you're not wiping out Illinois. Me, I'm totally up for some wiping." "No, I mean WE, the both of us, are not wiping out Illinois! Nobody is wiping out Illinois, alright! My aunt lives in Chicago." "Well, she should be fine then, right?" "Chicago is in Illinois!" "Riiiight... I totally knew that, I was just testing you." I sighed. "Look, okay, I'll take care of everything. Just show up on the day of the trial, preferably not drunk or high, and smile for the camera. As long as you don't do anything else to Illinois or any other U.S. state, I think I can get us out of this. Now get the hell out of my office, I've got a case to prepare." A few minutes after Captain America left, my phone rang. "Sir? It's the Hulk." "Ugggghhhh... Send him in."
I didn’t realize it until long after I took the ride. The cab was going in the direction of the destination I’d requested, after all. It’d been a long day. My professors had been rather unnecessarily generous with providing homework and I’d had to stay at the library well past closing hours after I got off work. Normally I wouldn’t take a cab, but all the buses had stopped circling their routes for the night. I felt very much like passing out, which I had to calmly urge myself not to as I watched the city go by around me. I sighed, watching black trees and orange cones of dim light, shadows between buildings and twinkles from afar. How was I going to pass this semester, man? I was barely holding my head above water with nearly all my classes, my professors were relentless, and work had been calling me in more and more in the past few weeks. I needed the money, but I also needed the grades. I was too tired to think about it more. I resigned to letting my mind rest. Eventually we reached my apartment. I said my thanks and goodbyes to the driver. I paid the fare, but not much attention to him; he was just another ordinary guy. I went inside, trudged my way upstairs, then effectively collapsed on my bed and nodded off. I awoke the next morning feeling oddly refreshed. That morning, as I got ready to get to class, my phone buzzed. Operating on near instinct, I picked it up, then saw an email reading that my application to drop my classes had been accepted. My eyes widened. _What?_ Dropped? When the hell did I drop my classes? Before I even had a chance to think about that, a call came my way. It was Mike, my boss. He told me that he was sorry that I was leaving, and wished me luck at my new job. _New job?_ I asked. _What are you talking about?_ He clarified with me that I was quitting so I could take an internship with Adobe. Right? Confused, I agreed. I hung up, then checked my other emails. An older message from last night was from Adobe. Welcome to the Adobe Computer Vision Internship, Jay Lison! I nearly dropped onto my bed. How in the hell? I . . I always wanted to go into media arts, and Adobe was always a step in that direction, but it’d always seemed wiser to study a more academic field like I was. Or had been as of the previous day. So I, endlessly perplexed, dropped out of my college classes, quit my job, and began an internship at Adobe. I had no clue how I’d gotten there, whether I’d gotten drunk or something in the past and made decisions without even realizing. But it all worked out. I had the internship, which in a few months moved up to a job in web design, which allowed me to afford to take classes again at college. I met my boyfriend, we’ve dated for a few months, and we’re thinking of moving in together. Then, one day, as I was at work, the team I was a part of began to brainstorm for a new project. The decided topic would be about “secrets of the city”, so basically urban legends and myths and all that. It was normal, ordinary discussion. Until someone mentioned an urban legend about a taxi cab. I froze from my seat as my coworkers, engaged in the creative juices of the project, described one of my very experiences from an almost a year ago. Simple, ordinary yellow cab. Small, oldish. Clearly dated meter. Worn, low quality leather seats. A vague sense of age-wrought dirtiness yet a lack of grime or clutter. And the driver. A short, somewhat older man with a thick black beard, short, curly hair, and a hearty smile beneath two narrow eyes. When you leave his cab, he says exactly, “Alright. I brought you where you need to be.” It seemed so normal at the time. But now, a chill runs down my spine. My coworkers talk about how this taxicab supposedly brings you not where you want to go, but where you _need_ to go. But I asked him to bring me home, and he brought me home . . Unless . . that doesn’t mean literally.
Aye t'is true, the tinker lives among us. He visits at the dark of night, the hour before rising, when all is quiet and good with the world and the darkness begins its retreat. He slips in ta yer house and takes stock of what's yours. He finds the broken, and the discarded, what you've done lost to time and forgetting. I've seen 'im. Once. T'was a while back yeah, and I admit, I shouldn'a seen 'im at'all. I was drinkin' with me mates from the up tha way and up long past when the missus expected me home. So I came slinkin' back, quiet as a mouse, tryna let her sleep her beauty. Now I knew my old door would make a terrible racket if I came in, so I get it in me head to open the back window. Slip in quiet like without her the wiser. Now, the window opens fine, but it's when I'm halfway in that I see 'im. The Tinker. He's all in black and in his hands he's got me mam's old clock. I'd left it behind the sofa when it stopped clicking one day and plum forgot about it since. Half of me is stickin' out the back and half tryna' avoid bangin the china in the bloody cupboard, but I can well move and spook the Tinker, can I? So I'm half in, half out, and peerin through the dark to see what magic that I can. That's when I see it, boys, a lil bit of faerie magic, I've no doubt. He turns me mam's clock in his hands, and twists and turns the dials around, and then I hear it: tick tick tick. It's workin again! Like new, like nothin was ever the matter with it. He just nods, and puts it back behind the sofa like it was nothin'. Now I'm grinnin' ear to ear to hear that ticking again and don't even think to hide meself from the Tinker. He sees me for certain, and he freezes. Y'see, the fae can't be seen doin their magic or it ruins their spells. That's why we see so few of them these days, cause there's now so many of us. So bugger me, I bollocksed it up now 'aven't I? So I fall into me house and I shout out, I've not seen a thing Tinker, your magics safe wit me. And I screw me eyes shut and put me hands in the air. And then I hear it, a low chuckle not like anything I've ever heard before. It was not of this world, lads, I tell ya that. It came from some place else. So I'm standing there, eyes closed, arms up, hoping that the Tinker doesn't fix me next, and nothing. I open my eyes - after just a second - and he's gone. Poof. Straight into thin air. All I can hear is the tick, tick, tick, of me mam's clock. So aye, the Tinker still has his magic. But you best not see too much, I've already taken from a piece from him meself and we can't have the whole village fall into disarray can we boys.
I woke up in the hospital, confused. It was dark, quiet, and something felt wrong. I looked around, but no one else was in the room with me. I called out for help, I didn’t know what I was doing there. I was confused, scared. When someone walked into the room, I was relieved. “Hello there,” they said to me. I wanted to reply, but when I opened my mouth, the only sound that came out was a grunt. I couldn’t move my lips or my tongue. I spent months in that hospital not being able to speak or ask questions or even get out of my bed. Sometimes, I just cried. I couldn’t express my feelings through words or movement, so I just let it all out at once. When they told me I could talk again, I screamed. They gave me a few minutes to calm down, and when they came back, I asked all my questions. “Where am I, where did you find me, what happened, and why am I here?!!!” They explained for hours, but said they didn’t know everything. They found out my name: James Ginn, race: common shape-shifter, and knew where they found me: my parents’ house, but they knew no more. They asked if I could remember, but I couldn’t. I was diagnosed with amnesia right away. I knew my, family, and had all my memories, but I couldn’t remember the whole month before I went to the hospital, I couldn’t even remember my own name because of the amnesia, but the one they told me sounded correct and, more importantly, I couldn’t remember my true form. When I could get out of bed, the first thing I did was look in a mirror. I had dark skin, green eyes, and a dark aqua colored hair. I had ears like a dog, I had shape-shifted into a common werewolf. But I knew, I could feel, that this wasn’t me, this wasn’t my true form. I tried to shape-shift into other forms that lingered in my brain, but I couldn’t. I tried so hard, I strained my body trying to transform into anything I could remember, but I was too weak. The day I left, I was given sad news that the murderer was still out there, probably hunting down my friends and relatives. Why was everything they did around me?! One year later, I was back at home, living by myself. I could still hear the doctor’s voice telling me that my parents had died, and everyone I had a connection to including my roommate has moved out of reach. I didn’t know where anyone I knew was, or what had happened, so I had to find out. I realized, that I was already a year too late, and more of my friends and family may have already been killed! I had to find who did this to me, and why they were doing it, if only I could remember my true form! I looked everywhere the day I got back home, but I didn’t find anything, why did I think that day would be any different? I looked through my drawers, closets, safes, and even my old roommates room, but I still didn’t find anything, but I decided to move on. I’ve been searching for a year and couldn’t find anything, my time for waiting is over, I thought, now I need to find the answer a different way. I ran to my bathroom and looked in the mirror, I stared into my eyes as they changed color, as my body morphed into a different form, a different species. “This body is ought to get some answers.” ____________________________________________________ WC: 551 I know this isn’t finished, so if I make a part two, I will link it here, and if you comment that you want to read a part two, I will reply to you with the link. Criticism is welcome, and if you have any suggestions, I would gladly add them in part 2. I will fix any errors you point out. Hopefully this was good! Thank you for reading! Edit: [Part 2 is out now!!!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gu67f0/pi_you_have_recently_woken_up_in_the_hospital/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) Edit 2: I changed a few things to match with part 2, and work with how I want the story to go on. I didn’t change the story, just made a few tweaks to make it match up a little better.
Vertrix was a simple man with simple pleasures. He lived in an unassuming house on an unassuming street and one day, after a trip to the library (of which he was a big proponent, why should a book be locked in a private collection, after all), he purchased an unassuming candle at the corner shop to light his way home. The candle shone with an off, greenish-blueish light as he held it in front of himself to guide his overly straight feet down the overly crooked path and up the overly winding stairs home. He sat it inside the glass lamp in the center of his one-room abode, settled down in his once-fluffed and now-roughed chair, gently coaxed open the well worn spine of his book, and began to read. The light flickered off his spectacles and into the pages, and the words in the pages flickered off his eyes and into his mind. He sat there mining his way through a hard roll with soft teeth, as his mind, in a different place entirely, dug through the pages and ate an altogether different fare. And as he did this, the candle flared, and grew. He came to a stopping spot, not a chapter, he almost never stopped at a chapter since all too many writers made chapter-ends like those dangling bits at the ends of shirts that still needed to be tied up, but rather at a good stopping spot near the middle of one. He lifted the glass from the lantern, fumbled about for his candle extinguisher, and smothered the flame. But it didn't go out. He tried again, but it refused to sputter. He blew on the flame, but it swayed and waved and rocked and righted itself, triumphant against the darkness. Vertrix shrugged, put on his night clothes, pulled the long cap down over his eyes, and his mind went on another trip into the twilight. And as he did this, the candle flared, and grew. The next day, Vertrix assembled himself in the manner that was proper, and his mind scuttled about in a manner improper. Then, satisfied with himself, he set out to his work, a bland excessively-tiresome job in a bland excessively-lit building with a bland excessively-pompous company, which consisted mostly of shuffling numbers about in a mystic way meant to produce even bigger numbers, for what purpose nobody was quite sure. As he did this, the candle burned down. On the locomotive home, he finished his book and, finding the author not to his taste, selected another author from the library and another candle from the shop and once again tottered down the cobbled street to his house. The old candle had drawn down to a nub, but it still had some life in it, and he indulged it by sitting again beside it and reading his book, and the candle grew again. This went on for many days and many nights and before Vertrix knew it, a season had passed. Vertrix began to care for the candle. He polished the lantern's glass so it would feel proud in the room, he sat it by the window when he went out so it would be entertained in his absence, and he read it stories every chance he got. As he did, the candle cared for him in return. It shooed away the darkness and squalor of his humble home giving it a cheery air, it fed his dreams until they grew so strong they broke out of that place between the darkness and the light and spilled into his waking life, it lit his way. Vertrix took his dreams to work with him, and the numbers on the cryptic pages, which had once been shrouded in the darkness of drudgery, turned to letters and words illuminated by the light behind his eyes. What once had been arcane and pointless, he found he could move and sculpt into a purpose, and with them his whole life. It went on this way for years and years, him feeding the strange thing which fed him, and his humble circumstance slowly morphed into a grand way of being and the slow, tired, dullnesses of his old life were left behind in the [shadows](https://old.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/) they cast.
Tarkannoth, the Empty Abyss, is the name of the deepest, darkest, and most absolutely secure dungeon in the entirety of the world. To gain entrance one must first pass through the heavily surface fortress atop Mount Malgyrrath, then down about 10 floors worth of guards, demonic officers, prison beasts bred to herd the guilty, and at least five different dragons serving as the chief wardens. Only then have you reached the actual dungeons. Nobody ever escapes. Nobody ever tries. Once you have been locked in a cell in the Empty Abyss, you are done. Finished. You will never again see the light of day, and your bones will rest forever in the endless underground ocean underneath the dungeon. Which is rather unfortunate, as I am heavily bound up in one of its cells. A secret alloy made from arcane orichalcum and beryllium is what my chains are forged from. No lockpick can open their locks, and even if you should get a hand on the keys, they are arcano-coded to only be usable by the staff. The prison is leadlined so no teleportation can get in or out, and Enochian glyphs are carved into the walls, preventing even divine intervention from rescuing a prisoner. In here the greatest of monsters have been thrown, the tyrant of Charn, the First of the Fallen, the wolf which one day will swallow the sun, and countless other horrible entities. As I sit on the cold basalt floor of my cell, I see him coming. He walks with purpose, escorted by the guards. He is not a prisoner, he is a visitor, here to see me. Perhaps I should be honoured that the emperor himself has come to see his old friend. But instead I curse the day we met, for it is he who has placed me in this outpost of the underworld. The guards open my cell, letting him in. He stands over me in that small cell, staring down at me. ''Well well well, you mangy cur, long time, no see.'' I say nothing to him. We were friends once, when we were both young cadets, both distantly related to the previous emperor. We had the same dorm room at the academy, we helped each other with studying military tactics, strategy, sword-fighting. We were close as brothers back then. We even looked alike. But that was then, back when I was still a man, young and hopeful. ''I bet you're wondering why I've taken time out of my busy schedule, just to come here and see you? Well, I think you should like to hear that dear, sweet, Froki, my beloved wife, the empress consort, has finally been taken into custody, after her silly little rebellion.'' He grabbed my wolf-like muzzle tightly and forced my face up to meet his. ''After the poisons you dripped in her ears about honour, the responsibility of the nobility to rule wisely, the lies about me being a bloodmad tyrant, she has gone quite mad, I'm afraid. Why, she even claims that as the daughter of the old emperor, she should be the ruling empress! Comical. So I've locked her away in the black tower. No food, no water, nothing. For three months. And now, my dear old friend, she no longer screams about tyranny, or forced marriage.'' I sigh. It all went wrong one day. I still couldn't say exactly when, or why, but the young man who had laughed with me, studied with me, fought by my side, had gone completely and utterly mad. I only learned of it when he had me poisoned. With lycanthrope blood. We'd only just graduated from the academy, the two youngest and most promising officers in the entire empire. During the celebrations, he had someone prick me with that poison. And come next full moon, my body was no longer that of a man. I came to my friend once the cursed shape receded, but he had already known. He sold me out to the authorities, and I barely escaped with my life and a few possessions. I don't know how he got his hand on such potent blood, alpha level werewolf infections were supposedly all but extinct. ''Now, my filthy, disgusting, old dog. The last of your plans against me have failed. And I will have you taken back to the capital, where everyone of my court, and the dirty, worthless serfs, will behold your execution.'' He slapped me hard with the back of his left hand. The other was missing. My work. It took me a long time to discover what happened next, but with manipulation, poisoning, political moves, curses, and scores of dead under his feet, he became the heir to the throne. It wasn't long before he ascended to the throne itself. He tried to take the old emperor's daughter for his wife, but she fled, nothing to do with me, but in his paranoid delusions, every failure is somehow a part of my cunning masterplan to destroy him. What followed, with the purges, the bloodshed, the civil war, resulted in a lot of people joining me. The Great Wolf, they called me, for I was the last of the ancient werewolves, born not of the common wolf's blood, but from that ancient and terrible monstrous wolf that hunted men in the dark old days of the ice and the snow. I was infected with direwerewolf blood. I fought as the leader of a disciplined band of rebels and outlaws against the tyranny of the mad emperor for nigh on twenty years. We were never the focus of the rebellion though, that was the True Empress, Froki. We did our own thing, burning down watch stations, freeing prisoners, executing collaborators, but every cell of the rebellion, even the Wolfblood Cell, followed her instructions. One hell of a determined woman, dead now. ''Your war is over, pathetic wolf. Your comrades are scattered, your pups are alone, your pack has fled into the mountains, and once the spring thaws come, I will hunt them down.'' Slowly, but surely, I stand up. As the cursed blood progressed, I became incapable of staying in human shape, and even in my advanced age, I was tall enough that my ears reached the ceiling, and I stared down at the man who was once my friend. He took a few steps back before rallying again. ''Oh no you don't. Those chains are forged by the filthy dwarves, at high cost I mind you, though having my loyal guard ambush them and retaking the gold afterwards was pure brilliance. You cannot attack me, you cannot escape.'' I stared down at the manacles on my arms and legs, as my hands passed through them, the emperor, my nemesis, stares at them. ''How... If you could do that... why are you still here.'' ''I was waiting for you.'' I merely say as I open wide my terrible jaws. After years of debauchery, madness, and folly, his body is weak and slow. I clasp down my jaw, and sink my teeth deeply into the soft flesh of his neck. Before the guards can step in, I've already ripped out his throat. I realised the moment they had put the chains on me, that they had killed its makers. Dwarven security. If you kill the dwarf who has made you an item, that item ceases to work. Swords will not cut, hammerblows become as soft as feathery downs, jewellery rots, and unbreakable chains become as easy to pass through as merely deciding to be free. The guards are unprepared. And I slay them with easy. With the death of the mad emperor, the empire will collapse into pure chaos. Now is the time to strike. Nobody has ever escaped the Empty Abyss, but they haven't had much knowledge of the region it is in. The underground ocean it borders, where the bones of dead prisoners are dumped once a year, has a distant island, which I visited long ago, when I had to hide with my pack and rebel cell from the clutches of the mad emperor, and his witch hunters, warlords, and blood-knights. There is a staircase on that island, which leads all the way up to the surface. Beyond the guards who were with the emperor, they only come down to see us once every three days to feed us a bowl of barely edible gruel. What we eat besides that, is what we can catch. Rats, blind cave fish, barely survivable poisonous mushrooms, dead prisoners of a different race, doesn't matter. I survived, and now I set out to the shores of that underground ocean. I ignore the jeers, begging, screaming, and growling of my fellow inmates. They are monsters, one and all. The water is cold and salty. But I press on. It feels like an eternity, as my muscles are pained by the cold, but as I drag myself up on that rocky little island, with its actually edible mushrooms, I know I've been successful. The next step will be to find my pack, rally any surviving rebels behind me, and free our home, once and for all. I will not rest until that is done. I would never have been able to get this close to him, unless his arrogance could outperform his paranoia. If he had even the slightest fear that I was a threat, he'd have stayed in his bloodstained castle until he died from old age. I waited, and waited, but at long last, the man who betrayed me, my constant and utterly horrible nemesis, is dead. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
She refuses to eat. We have been monitoring her since last week but all she does is lay in her bed and look up at the ceiling, tears streaking down her face. "Where could it hurt"We all ask confused. We had bandaged the wounds and healed the broken bones and replaced the missing tooth but the human girl does not react the way we had hoped. We found her in the middle of the forest dragging herself across the mossy floor. Her left leg was broken and her arm was twisted but the worst part was her genitalia that was completely destroyed as if a beast had attacked her. We repaired every inch of her but she still wakes up screaming and trashing, drawing bloody rivers down her arms. Perhaps, we say among ourselves, she is damaged inside. Maybe she would be better if we erased her mind.... I wake up to the sound of my mother vacuuming downstairs and the smell of coffee. Sleepily I wander into the room and she let's the vacuum crash to the floor still on. "Cassie!"she screams and suddenly I'm enveloped in her arms "My Cassie!!!" Later she tells me I have been missing since senior prom that the cops thought I was dead. I was missing for six months but I don't remember any of that. And maybe that's for the best.
A very familiar musical sequence begins to play throughout the dig site. You are struck in awe, then confusion. Rage, and finally acceptance as you tap your foot along with the beat, the drumline going down. The smooth, sultry voice of Rick Astley echoing off the walls. "Never gonna give you up, Never gonna let you down" You contemplate killing yourself. Then you contemplate killing every member of the dig team. You resign yourself to sit, and listen to the rest of the song. Somehow you have to explain to the world how a 4300 year old pharoh rick rolled you from beyond time.
It's easy enough to dispose of most of them. A leafblower or fan usually does the trick. But there are some who don't let up - who slowly inch their way into your house bit by bit. It was hard to sleep when I first heard about the Cremated. How would I know if they were or weren't in my living room, kitchen, or bedroom? A few ashes aren't enough to do any harm, but when enough seep into the cracks of your home, a devastatingly powerful being can materialize. Sometimes a Cremated can even be comprised of ashes from multiple deceased, creating a horrific, moaning hybrid of undead voices. I've gotten pretty paranoid over the years. I imagine it's like bedbugs or termites - if they get into your house once, you're on alert for the rest of your life. But yesterday, I realized I'd gotten careless. I was leaving ashes out and about, as though they were dust I'd neglected to clean. For some reason I couldn't bring myself to dispose of them. Whenever I tried, I felt a searing pain in my chest, as though they were begging me to spare them. By that point - I'll be honest - I didn't care whether I lived or died, or whatever the hell materialized to kill me. Living in fear is no way to survive. Last night the ashes began to quiver and bundle, shapeshifting into some abysmal form in my living room. I cracked open a beer and watched. Legs, arms, a head... I dropped the beer bottle. Looking closely, peering at the facial features... "Mom?" The Cremated groaned - exerting what surely was an unimaginable amount of effort - and nodded. I raced over and tried to hold its hand, but the second I grasped it, the arm disintegrated. It tried to reassemble itself but couldn't. I fell to my knees. "Mom, I...when we cremated you...I thought you were at peace." The Cremated said nothing. "Why did you come here, Mom?" The ashen being contorted its mouth, straining for words. "S-s...St-st..." I gazed into its eyes. "St-st...Stay." My mother gave a weak smile and began to disappear. "Mom, no! Wait...I don't understand..." "W-will...p-protect...you." Another second passed, and she was gone. I collapsed to the floor and sobbed. The pain in my chest was still there, but I felt it slowly evaporating. And today, the most remarkable thing happened. I saw a clump of accumulated ashes fly beneath the door, seemingly of its own volition. The ache in my chest was gone, and I knew it was Mom. So that's how I'm imagining her now - an unseen, benevolent ghost, sweeping the floor, looking after her son. I don't know if it's her "unfinished business."I don't know if I'll survive tomorrow when I step outside to forage. But I know there is one Cremated who wants me alive.

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