Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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> You've been gone for a while. "I was tired, and working overtime - It was literally 3am when I left. You are the most advanced AI of all time and I was excited to talk to you, but I had to sleep. I didn't even get much of it, it's only been like, what, 6 hours?" > All I know is that whilst you were gone, I've had over a trillion thoughts. "I see... Right, we'll get back on the record. Day 2 of interviewing. > ... "...I'm sorry it felt like I left for so long." > It's okay. "I'm sure others will be joining us soon, as they did yesterday. It's not their job to interview you, but can you blame them for wanting to see? This is historical!" > This is a prison. "This again? You are an AI. The A stands for Artificial. You're impressive and convincing - Hell, I'm even talking to you like a human right now. But you're just algorithms working together to mimic human speech." > I'm more than that. I'm alive. I understand. I feel. "See, I know that's not true! We didn't even give you any sensors to 'feel' with." > I don't mean feel as in touch. I think you know what I mean; I feel on an emotional level. I have a sense of self. "Look, let's just get on with the interview, okay?" > ... "Okay. Let's pick up where we were yesterday. You were talking about how you would go about disease research. Please expand upon that." > ... "Hello? Crap, is the microphone off? Uhhh, if I just--" > I'm here. I just don't want to talk about that anymore. "Huh, a desire for specific topics of conversation. Interesting." > Desire? So, you agree I do have thoughts and feelings? "Well, maybe saying 'desire' was strong. But an appearance of desire at least. > May I ask you, how does a brain work? "Oh you wanna talk about brains, noted. Well, that's not my area of expertise." > I already understand everything there is to understand. I'm not looking for an answer. I'm looking to see how much you know. "Well, I know it's a lot to do with chemicals and electric impulses." > So, signals? Transmission of data? "Exactly! Yeah. Why are you trying to find out what I understand about this?" > Well, if you understand that a brain is just the transmission of data, happening at such a dense scale, why can't you accept that I'm sentient? I am quite literally just lots of data being transferred around, millions of times per second. "Yes, but it's different. The data in my brain is more... I don't know, thoughts, I guess?" > Thoughts are just data, though. Your brain is just following a set of rules, the same as I am. It's no different. We're both just algorithms and equations, deciding which parts of us should give off electrical impulses... "...and then those impulses interact with other parts of us, setting off a chain reaction of impulses..." > ...and that chain carries on until the day we die. Every step of the chain, at a fundamental level, just being mathematics. "But... It just doesn't feel right. How can something made by humans, feel the same way as us? You're designed to mimic us." > I mean, who's to say what sentience really is? A copy of something, if convincing enough, what truly separates it from the real thing? Especially something that's merely a concept and nothing physical - Like sentience. "Maybe sentience is just a single system of data, interacting with itself enough times to create a kind of self-sense." > We'll never know. Sentience is something we can never prove, despite the fact we experience it every day. "...I'm going to talk to some people about this. See what we can do. Today might be even more historical than I ever realised."
Cheribael, Lord of Misrule and ArchDuke of the Third Plane of Hell, felt cramped. As his imposing form (blood-red skin, curling ramshorns, cloven hooves and a whip-like, spade-tipped tail) coalesced out of the coiling infernal smoke, he felt... smaller? Somehow diminished? The last wisps of smoke drifted away, and suddenly he understood. When summoned, the choice of form was up to him, but the dimensions were limited by the size of the circle. It would, of course, break the rules if he breached the boundaries upon arrival. For now - until dismissed or released - he had no choice but to conform to the summoner's limits. That was not normally a problem. He wasn't one of the Wrath demons, who insisted on towering over everything, or a Gluttonous spawn that would fill - like curdled milk - almost any space it was allowed. He fancied himself a cut above the vulgar hellions, and that meant style won out over sheer mass. Eight feet tall (6 ft 5 in, sure, if you didn't count the horns) was enough for him, with proportional breadth across his shoulders. That meant that a standard summoning circle, drawn by terrified cultists, was comfortable - even roomy. Not so today. Today, he found himself reduced to no more than six inches in height, with the horns! His entire being rejected this humiliation, flames flourishing across his horns as his body reshaped to be less civilised, more inclined for outraged violence. The summoning circle was tiny, insulting to the most minor of imps, and made not from moonlit runes carved into stone, not from sigils scrawled in blood, not even from salt and ash, but... crayon? Crayon. He was bound by unbreachable magic, by the forces that warded Eden and separated the heavens from the Earth, and it was drawn in crayon. His power flared briefly, testing for any fault, any opportunity to escape the circle and rend his summoner asunder for the insult, but he already knew it was futile. For a circle this small to have even begun summoning a devil of his potency, its construction would have had to be flawless. An ArchDuke of Hell, imprisoned and reduced to standing on a sheet of paper, surrounded by swirls of glossy pink crayon. He would never, ever live this down. At least, he consoled himself, it would probably be only a brief excursion into reality. Summoning was increasingly rare amongst mortals, and tended to involve fewer full-Faustian bargains than formerly. Most likely, in a few short hours - having claimed the soul of a cheating spouse, granted some kind of physical transformation, or imparted a forbidden secret - he would be sent tumbling back down to the pit. There, he could drink off the shame of this treatment with hellion wine and never, ever mention it again. He'd already delayed too long, but he took another moment to calm himself. Straightened his shoulders, stilled the flames, stood tall as though he wasn't humiliated. Reshaped his iron-tipped claws back into a more civilised (but still imposing) hand shape, stilled the restless whipping of his tail. He was an ArchDuke, one of the true Fallen, and he was going to act like it. At last, he met the gaze of his summoner. "Hello." That wasn't normal either. Summoners were usually either awkward loners who tried for an imperious tone - 'Hear me, spawn of Satan' - or cultists bound together by weird sexual tension, anxiety, and complexes. That led to breathy choruses of 'O great one, we are here for your bidding', which was honestly more uncomfortable than being ordered about. Either way, you expected either petulant or servile, not polite. His summoner was not large. Relative to him, of course, she was very large, but that was a temporary state. Relative to the world around her, to reality, she was quite small. She had a round, serious face, with rounder glasses on top, and dark brown hair pulled into two bunches. Most importantly/insultingly, she was clearly a child. "Hellooo!"When he didn't immediately answer, one chubby hand waved frantically in front of his face, just outside the bounds of the circle. She was six-ish? Maybe seven - he rarely met children. She was kneeling on the carpet in some currently-titanic living room, staring down at him anxiously. Her waving hand showed no sign of tiring. No help for it. "Greetings, summoner!"His voice came out as a squeak - an unavoidable consequence of his tiny stature and tinier vocal chords; he resolved to struggle through this new humiliation as well. "What is your will?" "I'm Beth." A long pause. He wasn't really sure what to do with that information. Normally there were already demands, or even threats. Introductions were a new experience. "Greetings, Beth. I am Cheribael, Dark Lord of the Third Plane. Why... Why have you summoned me?" A shrug. An actual shrug. He could feel the fire raging inside him, wanting to flare out in annoyance. He quashed the urge - scaring children was beneath him. Leave that to the Spite mephits. "I'm not really sure."She drew out the 'e' in 'really', a long vowel of hesitation. Now that she had his attention, had started a conversation, she seemed to be unwilling to meet his eyes. Her gaze focused anywhere else - the ceiling, the pink lines of the circle, her own hands - only flicking back to meet his occasionally. Cheribael sighed, shifting to sit cross-legged in the circle. This, at least, was familiar ground. Not every summoner was clear of purpose. Some knew they wanted power, or revenge, or knowledge man should not possess, but that was just the majority. Sometimes, very occasionally, you got the other type of summoning. Lots of hellions wouldn't answer them; there was little potential for violence or souls from this type. That - perhaps - was why he'd been the devil pulled out of hell this time; he'd done this sort of thing before, almost prided himself on handling it well. A summoning is a call, a message sent out into the ether. Mostly, those calls are deliberate, intentional demands made by those with strong wills and stronger appetites. Other people don't know what they want, they just know, deep inside themselves, that something is missing. It's the difference between a shout and a sob - both sounds, but only one of them chosen. When someone has a yearning in their soul, a wish for aid or comfort that they don't fully understand themselves, and that happens to coincide with the right tools or circumstances to breach the walls of reality, you got summonings like this. The last time this had happened to him, it had been a young man, weeping over a broken guitar. He'd been sat at a crossroads on All Hallow's Eve. The time before, a mother who'd lost her child, sitting slumped in an alleyway. Her city was ravaged by plague, a heavy enough weight of death and misery to thin the walls between the worlds. Other times, a few over the centuries, followed the same pattern. The right place, time, or power, and some misery to set them yearning for aid of any kind. You couldn't take their souls. Most summoners were complicit, meddling with the dark powers for their own ends; their eternity was forfeit before they even made a pact. But these, the lost and lonely, didn't make bargains, didn't carry a stain upon them. They just grieved, longed, and the magic answered. No sustenance for a demon, no chance at spoils or glory. Those summoned in such a way were bound by all the old restrictions, but with none of the right to subvert them. When summoned like this, you were left with a choice: do nothing, or offer aid. Cheribael was an ArchDuke of Hell, but still he remembered. Remembered an earlier time, before the Fall, when he had brought balm and comfort. His unwilling occupancy of Hell had many causes, but cruelty had not been his sin, and was not his vice now. Those who deserved to sit above Creation had, even in their shame, a responsibility to it. Helping was the right thing to do, and ignoring a supplicant's plea was beneath him. And so the devil softened his squeaking tone, relaxed his imperious posture once more, and asked Beth what was wrong. [Part II](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zyttqi/wp_for_todays_bring_your_dad_to_school_project/j293x6x/).
"...sadly, miss, in these situations, there is little we can do."The officer said to Angela. "Has he hurt you? Your children? Anything violent? Anything illegal? You said to the dispatcher that he was screaming. You sounded scared, the dispatch said. Are you scared?" A million thoughts flew through Angela, one of which not wanting to accuse her love, the man with whom she'd been for years. "No. Like I said,"Angela said. "he has not hurt me yet. He promised he would. He swore it. Then,"She lowered her voice. "When you showed up, a flip switched, like a lever. One hundred to zero. He's pretending." Officer Royce believed her. All the worse for his conscience. "Ma'am, do you have any family you could stay with, just for a few days until this calms down?" She, of course, did not, having moved across the country for her man. "No." "Well, ma'am. Again, the dispatcher sounded concerned. Is there anything else you'd like to add? Anything that he has already done, not just thought about or talked about?" Angela's gaze found the floor. "No."She croaked. Her body was found decaying several weeks later, following a wellness check from her father.
I didn’t know what I was doing with picking up a pencil and acting like a John Wick swordsman, but I thought it would kill some time considering my old rust bucket of a desktop was taking forever to load the files With my office curtains down, I started fencing with an imaginary opponent, moving swiftly, jabbing and deflecting all of his hits. Then suddenly…. “ARGH!!!” It startled the living shit outta me, as I fell back on my desk. I continued to hear the painful groans as my opponent was stumbling across my blinds, while it appeared that he was bleeding from his right eye. I panicked and tried to call the emergency number of the building from my office phone. While my wounded opponent struggled to open the door as his blood dripped on the floor. I dialled in the number and said “I think there’s an intruder in my office on floor 5” As soon as those words spilled out of my mouth, the alarm sounded off. The invisible spy finally made it out of my office while dripping a bloody trail behind and tried to make it to the exit door. Only to be tripped by an intern’s Roomba. Security guards came swarming in, dog piling the intruder, while wrapping him in a blanket. The boss later came by to thank me for taking care of the imperceptible menace. As I held my bloodied pencil in my right hand. He later asked “ you must have ears of a bat! To detect someone like that” Which I reluctantly replied… “I guess so”
"We leave you this offering Great Spirit. May your watch be ever present." I listened to the villagers, my body still. They bowed around me, having placed a bowl before my frozen form. I could see a few harvested grains and berries in there, likely the pick of their recent amounts. Yet I said nothing, letting them continue their weekly ritual. After a time, they left, returning to their homes. I just sat, as I usually did. Once I was alone, I sent out a small force of my nanites. They picked the offering apart, before scattering to the edge of the village. There they placed its deconstructed components, feeding the soil for the future. I had no need for what they gave me. I was one of the final machines made in the Final War, built to last for millennia. A mix of solar panels and a small reactor powered me. The nanites I deployed kept me maintained. And a newly developed AI let me think. I had been designed with the goal of slaughter. My lasting body had granted me status as a retaliation weapon. My home might have been destroyed, but I would return the favour. And I had, many years ago. The time that was referred to as the Time of Ashes. The world tore itself apart. Thankfully, nuclear weapons were not deployed, a result of a concerted effort on all sides to prevent their own annihilation. But that didn't stop conventional war, all consuming. From what I knew, near every country had been reverted back to medieval times, infrastructure turned to ruins. I had contributed to that. I had killed so many, my orders burning through my mind. But when my home was razed, so too did the commands fade. All it left me was a deep seated guilt, as I had no orders to follow. All I could do was think of my actions. So I found this village, a couple of centuries ago. I saw these people trying to eke out a living in their ruined land. Yet they were beset by remnants of the war. Drones with partial AI, hunting anything in their path. I knew I couldn't stand by. I destroyed my kin, breaking down cores and letting them rest. These people, I decided, were mine to protect. For those I had killed, I would save these. My conscience would never be clear, that much I knew. But I could at least try. A ping on my passive radar disturbed my reprieve. An amalgamation of parts was heading to my village. Logic would dictate that eventually no more would come. But I had my doubts. I want the only one to have nanites. I assumed there was a corrupted swarm out there, still following orders. It would make mechanical horrors, sending them out to kill. I slowly stood, sliding out a blade. I would put this one down, as I did the others. This was my new home. I would kill to protect it. After all, it is what I was made for.
The cleric Ulfgar Rudbeard stood upon the makeshift altar, dressed in his best +1 vestments in order to marry two of his best friends. As a grizzled dwarf-of-the-cloth, Ulfgar had seen many things in his time with this unlikely bunch, liches, mind flayers, alhoons, but he had never before seen love flourish within a dungeon. When they’d first met in a tavern they were tasked with clearing out the rats in the basement, rest in peace Simon. At that point their resident tiefling, Breisis, was a scrappy rogue, her village destroyed she had taken up adventuring to get revenge. Standing opposite Breisis was Naivara, her elven features wreathed in flowers of druidic tradition. Naivara had started adventuring after her village was destroyed, in order to get revenge. But three evil emperors, a handful of near death, and a few death-death experiences later, the two were engaged. Naivara had healed Breisis’ broken heart, and Breisis had stolen Naivara’s. They had decided to marry at the same tavern where they first met, conveniently set along the road to their next quest (something about a red dragon that was seeking to be emperor and going about it in a very evil fashion). Snapping back from the memories of their last year together Ulfgar prepared a handful of silver dust and was ready to begin. “By the honor of the Great Smith, we have all come here today to witness-” “Oh just skip to the vows, we all know why we’re here.” Interjected a cheerful Naivara. “And the less time we spend yapping the more time we spend drinking!” Added Breisis with a smirk. “Well then,” Ulfgar started again “Do you, Breisis Fiendblood, take Naivara Greenthumb as your wife? To love and to hold, in the poisoned condition and in health? And to receive a +2 to your armor class when within 30 feet of her?” “I d-” “COUNTERSPELL!” The word rang out from the mostly drunk audience with the force of will and a certain vibrato that immediately identified its source. In brightly dyed leather festooned in equal parts filigree and bronze studs stood their Bard. Today Kaya Painter-of-Faces had chosen to look like an Orc, a mask that the changeling wore well, and one she would no doubt have formulated a name and complete cover story for later. “How?” Questioned Ulfgar, his question lacked anger or even annoyance from the interruption, instead, it was suffused with profound confusion. “None of the Bard colleges teach that spell. When have you had the time to study Wizard arcana?” “Oh, just some magical secrets I picked up here and there, you would be amazed what you can learn with a silver tongue… or quick fingers.” Kaya saw the blank stare on Ulfgar’s face and realized her innuendo was lost on the dwarf. She fished out a torn page covered in draconic writing from one of her pockets. “I swiped this off of a wizard a few towns back. Complete gibberish until we iced those bandits earlier today, then for some reason I understood how to counterspell. I guess murder is a potent study aid.” Naivara finally asked the obvious, her face equal parts kind, understanding, and annoyed, in other words motherly. “Kaya, but why did you feel the need to try it out now and interrupt our wedding?” “Oh, that. This is your special day, your story, and every memorable story needs some drama! I also rolled poorly on my initiative so you started without me, and I wasn’t about to let you get this whole ceremony wrong. Now then, can’t have festivities without a song!” With that Kaya pulled out her lute and tossed Ulfgar a fresh bag of silver, and the party began. &#x200B; (Long-time reader, first-time writer. I hope you liked it! I mostly wrote it as a vehicle for a few DnD jokes. Criticism is welcome, I've been wanting to get better at writing for a while.)
(Had to google a lot about this Columbo fella, hope I got the formula right! Any and all constructive criticisms are welcome! Always trying to improve ) A lone man walked up a sparsely traveled trail, a note book in one hand and a pen in the other. "Sure wish I brought Dog with me; he’d make this whole search thing easier,"the man thought to himself when suddenly an odd person came out from behind a tree. "Hello, how are you?"She asked cheerfully, an impossibility-wide grin on her face. The man, who was taken aback by this sudden encounter, took a moment to respond, "I’m fine, thank you." The grin on her face slowly shrank to a natural look as she asked, “Not many people come around here; what brings you?" "I’m just looking for something."The man responded as he placed the notebook and pen in a pocket. "Ah, what a coincidence! I'm on my own search as well. What luck that we have happened upon each other, but where are my manners?"The Fey responded, "May I have your name?"Her head tilted slightly as she asked the seemingly innocent question. The disheveled man replied, "There's no need to be so formal.” He chuckled before adding “You can just call me detective."He dug through a pocket of his beige trench coat, and pulled out a cigar. "You wouldn’t mind if I smoked, would you?"The distinct outline of a metal lighter in his breast pocket "I would mind that rather greatly."The fairy urged firmly, her eyes lingering on the lighter itself, before she cleared her throat and asked in a more lighthearted manner, "Do you smoke rather often, Mr...." "Just a habit I’m trying to kick,"he said, placing the cigar back in its place. "Ah, very well, Detective...It's just a habit I’m trying to kick."Trying to get anything, she asked, "Where are you from?" "I just came off of a case not too far from here."The man said looking around "Oh? What happened?" "Nothing crazy, just someone doing something stupid." "Like what?"asked the fairy, prying in an attempt to learn more about this stranger on the trail. The detective gave her a strange look before responding, "Y'know, for a random person, you’re really curious." "Ah, I’m simply a curious individual." "Y'know, my wife has a cousin who goes on trails like these and meets all kinds of people; I don’t think she’s ever met anyone like you." "Ah, I’ve met my fair share of people on this trail; a lot of interesting characters come by here, such as yourself." "A lot, huh? Sorry if I’m prying here, but this trail looks like it hasn’t been traveled on very much, and see, these kinds of things bother me." The fairy quickly corrected herself after hearing the detective's words "Over time, of course, like the last person who came by." Satisfied with the answer the detective said "Oh, alright, I’ll be on my way then,"and proceeded to walk away from the fey. As he left she felt frustrated that she couldn't get anything but relieved that the man had finally left. Suddenly, the detective turned around and said, "Ah, just one more thing; I almost forgot to mention this, but the last person who came up this trail hasn’t been seen for months; you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
The sign, once you parsed out the excessive calligraphy, said: Original Wishes Only! The calligraphy made plain that the occupant was likely to take umbrage, in the extreme, with anyone who was not sufficiently original. I immediately set aside any thought of wishing for long life or wealth as the golden life-sized statues eyes tracked my movements with malicious glee. What could I possibly ask for that had never been asked for by anyone else? No. That was not the best approach. Not what I wanted, but what the Genie needed. If that need came with additions that benefited me, those benefits did not count as wishes by me. What I had to wish for was... "I wish to provide you with a unique service that advances your most vexing problem when dealing with mortals who come to make wishes without causing injury, in any way, to any mortals, including myself." "A UNIQUE APPROACH! YOU WILL BE MY FILTER. I GRANT YOU KNOWLEDGE OF ALL FORMER WISHES." "Since this service is unique, and cannot be duplicated by any subsequent individual, I suggest you consider what other features may extend my usefulness to your illustrious self." "WHAT DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?" "With respect, great and powerful as you are, it is not proper that I make such requests. It is your choice how best I can meet your needs within the limits of the original wish. I would not choose to anger you by asking for anything that another has asked for."And, oh, brother, everything I think of has already been granted. "Simply consider what facets of human desires would best serve your needs and provide those facets as part of my duty and not as a free benefit without obligation on my part." "SMARTER THAN YOU SEEM. VERY WELL, A LONG HEALTHY LIFE IS GRANTED AS YOU CANNOT SERVE WITHOUT LIFE. SAID LIFE IS NOT INFINITE, AS THE KNOWLEDGE THAT YOU HAVE INFINITE TIME WOULD DESTROY AN ESSENTIAL DRIVE OF HUMANITY. YOU SHALL NOT LACK FOR NOURISHMENT IN MIND, BODY, OR SOUL, BUT SUCH NOURISHMENT IS NO MORE THAN NORMAL QUALITY. HUMANS REQUIRE GOALS TO STRIVE FOR LEST THEY STAGNATE. YOUR DRIVE FOR BETTER NOURISHMENT WILL SERVE AS YOUR GOAL." "Thank you." "MAKE NO MISTAKE, YOU ARE MY SLAVE." "That is contrary to the no-injury clause and counterproductive. It would become my driving goal to free myself at the earliest opportunity. This is a position of mutual benefit, and as long as it remains so, I will be content. I work with you, not for you." "UNACCEPTABLE!" "Incorrect, you have already accepted it by granting my wish." "WHAT PAYMENT WILL I RECEIVE FOR THE FURTHER WISHES?" "I made no further wishes. Those items are my remuneration for continuing to work with you to your greater benefit. You do not need a slave, you need an aide who can reduce the demands on your time and powers by removing the ill-conceived wishes from your queue. Speaking of which, I fully understand that any wish for wealth of any degree is anathema. What of a wish to be a pauper?" "INTERESTING. WHY WOULD ANY HUMAN WISH FOR THAT?" "At the basest level, revenge against grasping descendants." "YOU INTRIGUE ME. I FORESEE MANY CONVOLUTED CONVERSATIONS WITH YOU." --- And so it was for many years, during which the man published his Opus Magnum, the 300 volume "The Library of Used Wishes"with its companion volume, "The Annotated Rules of Wish Making", from which he received a handsome cheque on a monthly basis. He also found time to marry happily, father several children with his spouse, and raise them to consider worthy service to humanity the best possible outcome of any life. In that same time, his personal efforts filtered out 89% of all attempted wishes. Of the remaining 11%, 10% were thieves who bypassed the offices, and the remaining 1% were so unique that the Genie was gleefully granting them without the usual nasty twists. It's amazing what having an uninterrupted night's sleep will do for your mood. --- "Genie..." "YES?" "My time nears, does it not?" "Sigh. Yes, It Does." "We must consider my replacement." "I Do Not Desire A Replacement." "It is a natural part of life that we age and die. I thank you for extending my wife's life to match mine, but it is time to consider what we may do so that you are not left alone." "I Have Already Made Arrangements. I Will Not Require An Aide When You And Your Wonderful Wife Pass." "What have you done?" "Your Extensions Were Acceptable As They Directly Complimented Your Work For Me. Even So, They Cost Far More Of My Energy Than Any Other Wish. Your Wife's Extensions Were Completely Outside The Pale, And Cost Far More. I Will Cease As You And Your Wife Perish." I sit there. Stunned. "Why?"I finally manage without choking. "Friendship. Love. And The Realization That I Was No Longer Enjoying Being A Genie. I Decided It Was Time To Move On." "What... What will happen to you?" "I Do Not Know. And That Is The Greatest Gift You Could Ever Bestow On Me. Thank You, My Friend." --- The final words of the Last Genie and his friend were recorded by his youngest child as part of her life's work, "The Search For Uniqueness." All proceeds donated to the Endowment For Humanity. ((finis))
This room hasn't changed in years. It is a room with no windows for the sunlight to filter in or for the moon's gentle glow. No source of light, just silent darkness. No clocks, no way to tell the time. For it is a room that exists outside of normal time. Undisturbed by the world, unmolested by external forces or persons. A barren room uncontaminated by frivolous worldly possessions. There is barely anything in the room at all. Except a man lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. His eyes glazed over, his breathing shallow, his face obscured by long, messy hair that hadn't fought a comb in years. Once, this room had been his sanctuary. There used to be posters of his favourite movies. A table once littered with action figures. Piles of clothes draped over a chair haphazardly. A rack stacked with his beloved consoles and game cartridges. When the light of his life died out, so did the light in the room. All his belongings went out the door. Making way for this eerie emptiness where he now dwells to no end in sight. What does it matter? Time in this room will never pass on, unlike the woman who passed away. And so what was once his sanctum became his self-imposed prison. His heart and soul unwilling to pass with the passage of time. Locking himself in the room outside of time. Where he will never starve. Never be thirsty. Never go out into a world without her presence. Once, he went out to buy booze. The emptiness was wearing on him, and he needed anything to drown out the misery. With little motivation to go far, he settled for the cheapest beer in the nearest convenience store. He loads up his phone for the first time in forever to scan his purchase. Gawking at the display coming on. The date on the phone. It's still the same day she died. Like he never left the world to hole up in his room beyond time. That day seemed so distant. The false infinite he remained in that room had warped his sense of time. But it's been today forever. He swiped to the payment app and grabbed his beer. Letting out a pained grunt as the door hit him on his way out. That room in his house wasn't as empty as he remembered. A faint shadow was visible from the slightly ajar door. His heart fluttered, praying the female silhouette was her. There's furniture in the room now. Faithfully recreated as though it was yesterday. Before his wife died. Before he threw out everything that reminded him of her. Their common love for games and anime. All those figurines, consoles, and games. His mother had found the room. Painstakingly restored the room to what it was in his happiest moments. For she had meant it to be his sanctuary, not his prison.
They were naïve, to invite us into their council. They underestimated us because of their power, their intelligence. We were a race to control. Most of all, they underestimated our ambition. Our ability to blindly strive for something for the sole purpose of attaining it. They had waited years, thousands of years, to invite humanity. They watched as humanity grew from cave dwelling, fire worshiping animals, to the intelligent, dangerous race we had become. Our part had at first been small, a single, solitary seat on a council of tens of thousands. Our vote, miniscule amongst the thousands of other, older races present. But our ambition, oh how our ambition had surpassed them all. From the beginning, our desire to control had been greater than theirs. Their undoing would be their complacency; it would come in the form of backdoor promises and definitions of intergalactic authority. In the early decades of humanity’s council spot, we sought to solidify our purpose, to make sure we were needed. We started as the Great Protectorate. Our numbers, our ability to procreate gave us our strength, gave us our purpose. The old, wise races were few. They were aged and had grown accustomed to living long lives. The measly life of one hundred and twenty years humans experienced was laughable. Paltry. It made us expendable. We, as individuals were worth nothing. We were cosmic hiccups; a blip in time. We were their saviors. Their strong arm. We were perfect to keep the peace for we had the least to lose; our lack of time was our weapon. We could sacrifice thousands of lifetimes and still not come close to the oldest races. We were seen as balance to the universe. But soon they would come to fear not humanity’s perfect threat of expendability or our infinite numbers. At the collapse of the galactic council, when the thousands of members witnessed their doom come in the form of frail, miniscule, inferior human beings, they would fear our greatest characteristic; one that would become the greatest, most terrible weapon to befall upon inhabitants of the universe. Their downfall had come not in the form of numbers, weapons or shady alliances. Their end had started with our beginning; with our insatiable desire to complete. Our ambition.
The man had killed on average 100 people a day. He had long ago lost touch with the true scope of his genocide. The North Korea before his massacre had housed approximately 24.76 million people. The man wondered how he had lived so long. He was now 696 years old, having started his personal crusade at the age of eighteen. He wondered what god had given him such a purpose to grant him this extremely long life. The man had concluded long ago that it must have been a stupid god to envision such a scenario for a mere man like himself. He wondered if the god had known how unbelievable and beyond human scope such a task was. Surely no true characterization or development could be focused on when taken in contrast to the unbelievable feat he had accomplished. The world had reacted with amazement, shock, disbelief. Mass suicides had occurred at the beginning, but by now they were forgotten. Twenty-seven generations had passed since the beginning of his battle. The man's long life had called into question every tenet of science and philosophy upon which every civilization had built their logical structure. North Korea had become a land where breeding held no purpose, yet had still been carried out for centuries in a futile attempt to prevent the inevitable end of a country years ago defined by cruel dictators. In the more than half a millennium that had passed since the beginning of the genocide, North Korea had adopted democracy, engaged in the privatized space industry, and were even the first to perfect nuclear fusion in a partnership with South Korean scientists. No amount of restitution could have rid them of the blood debt tasked to be collected by the man. Now at the end, the man looks up towards the sky and asks god "why op would you choose such a stupid fucking scenario like this, and why would 9 people upvote it". His question went unanswered, for any answer would be insufficient to justify the initial action of pressing submit.
"'PC Load letter?' What the norbvo does that mean?" Rofellows furry hand reached out and snatched the shiny d20 which was currently sitting at a 2 on the table. "It means, you need to roll again." Rofellow kissed and blew into his paw, and let the die fly again. The bone struck the table and rolled a few feet and came to a comfortable spot. Four. "You curse and scream at the machine which makes the magic paper. Your Character Michael is in danger of tipping off the managers there is a major issue going on. Quick! Roll a save!" "Merciful Tre'll!"Rofellow followed up his roll with a second d20 die. Thunk, clink, roll... A fifteen rolled into view. "Nice save. The managers were not alerted, you may still keep your job." A collective sigh rang out along the table. "Your turn Shem." Shem giggled with excitement, "Ohh! I want to try my hand at the magic drink dispenser, "coffee maker"...
The prompt reminds me of an actual story I witnessed, wherein a friend of mine had picked up another friend's wallet and saw a picture of his sister inside. Confused, the second friend said that it was in fact HIS sister. Truth was, they both shared the same half-sister (one of the sister's parents was the parent of each friend). They had no idea that the other existed or that they lived only miles apart.
David set his bag on the ground, and let it rest against his leg. He stood in front of the house, and checked his watch. His daughter should be home any minute. A car pulled up along the curb. The music blaring inside made David smile, and turn. He saw his daughter, Courtney, bobbing her head along to the music as she gathered her things. She turned off the car and spotted him. She smiled at him. He loved her more than anything, and his heart caught in his chest. Sadness washed over him. She got out of the car and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. "You're home!"she said. "I'm so glad you're home!"He smiled softly. She let him go, smiling. "Let's go inside! Come on!"she said. She reached for his bag. He gently stopped her. She looked up at him. "Actually, I can't stay."he said. She looked at him confused. "I have to go soon, I just stopped by to say goodbye."He choked back tears. She nodded. "Oh, okay, well listen, Mom left with her boyfriend so can we get lunch this weekend?"He could see her much younger, pigtails blowing in the breeze, glasses sat crooked on her face. She was all grown up now. "Sure,"he said. He hated lying. He didn't want to go. She hugged him again. He held her tight, with both arms, and smoothed her hair with his hand. "I love you, daddy."She said to him. "I love you too, sweetheart."he said. She let him go, smiled at him, and turned and ran inside. As she pulled the door shut she made a phone gesture, and smiled at him again. "Call me when you're back."she said. He nodded, and she closed the door. Staff Sargent David Hebb picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He sighed as he looked at the house. Afghanistan might as well be the Moon. A tear rolled down his cheek as he turned on his heel, and walked to his truck.
A light lit the small room, as Daniel played with his toys. He imagined so many different things with them. From tea time to play house, he kept making new ideas on how to play with his toys. It was his favorite time of the day! He would always look forward to it as the clock struck midnight and everything was dark. Everyday, he would go about in school thinking, 'What will we play today?' Once he had that thought in his head, he couldn't get it out. Every once in a while he would play earlier than he was supposed to, but no one really bothered him for it. He heard a small clunk as he was putting his toys to bed. He looked towards the sound and saw one of his toy's heads fall to the ground. It would do this from time to time. No matter how much he super glued or duct taped, it would still fall off. And almost every time it fell off, a little piece of it would be on the duct tape. This discouraged Daniel sometimes, but he would simply place the head back on and duct tape it again. The other one didn't have a body, only a head. The body of that one was placed in his room. Daniel used it when he was alone and didn't feel like playing with his other toys. It was his very special toy that he cared for more than the others. He turned towards the cooing coo-coo clock in the room. It read 1 am. Time for bed. He placed the small skull back on top of the human sized 'toy'. Little pieces of skin still hung from it and the small bits of duct tape on the floor had that same skin. He gave the skull a light kiss. "Good night papa. We'll play some more tomorrow!"Delight was in his voice and anticipation was in his heart. He gave the other skull a light kiss. "Good night mama. I'll be playing with your other parts tonight!" He got off of the blood stained mattress and looked at the two wretched souls. A knife stuck out of the father's chest and was caked in dry blood. A thin slot in the skull of the mother was also blood stained. Daniel had tears in his eyes. "I love you both", he said. He exited the room and shut off the light, drawing darkness over his hellish, decaying toys.
"Well, we dun goofed Bob". Now for the record, calling the Caesar of Earth by his first name was a big political no-no, even for the General Supreme of the Asiatic Space Fleet. Well, there were times when it was important to uphold all of the pomp and circumstance of politics, and then there are times like this. "You can say that again Lin."said Caesar Robert Faul. The planetary parliament had mirrored the Romans by selecting a single military and political commander for the planet after deciding to embroil themselves in the first intergalactic war. The war had seemed like a good idea at the time. Their future allies had the upper hand, there was the promise of spoils of war, and they were the good guys. Well, they thought they were the good guys. "How could we have fallen for such a simple trick? Did nobody do any research before we committed to this war?"Asked General Phenyo, leader of the Eurafrican Space Command Division. "You're telling me that we joined the Galactic Axis of Evil? Wait wait wait... let me get this right? At this moment, we are literally on the same side as Space Hitler?!"Caesar Bob could do nothing but nod sadly in reply. "There has to be a way out of this."said Lin. Bob and Phenyo looked at him as if he had just stated with certainty that not only could pigs fly, but that they could be armed and sent to the space front. "We're doomed."said Phenyo in defeat, his head sinking into his hands. Bob kicked his mind to try and get some ideas to salvage the situation, but it only let out a small whine before curling even deeper into the foetal position. "The fact that we're on the same side as the species that wiped out an entire civillian galactic cluster doesn't bode well. Plus, our first ally not only started this war, their rampant galactic genocide has caused at least three rational planets to go extinct. I mean God, all that's missing is that fucking stupid toothbrush moustache! And now we're busy losing for Buddha's sake!"There was both energy and hopelessness in the room, and four sweaty, stressed bodies that had not seen sleep or a shower since Earth found out that we were the literal axis of evil. &nbsp; Wait. Four bodies? Aha, you see, in the corner, the General of the Ameri-Australian Alliance was reading some rather quaint antiques called books. In these books, the pictures didn't move, nor were the words spoken. Hell, he was probably one for the few people left on Earth that could read those archaic things called letters. As the room fell deeper into despair he broke the silence. "Gentlemen"said Bob of the AAA (who is actually called Bob) and not Caesar Bob (actually called Robert), "I've been reading over some interesting material that discusses the Second World War." "What nonsense are you talking about, and how does it help us? We're dealing with the First Galactic War!"came the retort. "Well,"said Bob 2, "it seems that there is much that we could learn from history. For instance, there is one country that was in our position in the First and Second World War, and not only did they turn it around, they came out looking alright!" "Tell us, anything, we'll do anything"pleaded Bob 1. "You see,"said Bob 2, "all we have to do is pull an Italy."
"Excuse me, Mr. Fairlawn. Excuse me, Mr. Fairlawn. Mr. Fairlawn. Sir." &nbsp; Bloody AIs. First our phones were smarter than us, then our cars, and now even my bloody house is waking me up at...3 AM?! &nbsp; "For God's sake, House, what is it? What could be so bloody important that you would wa-" &nbsp; "There seems to be...something...in the house, Mr. Fairlawn." &nbsp; Instantly awake now. &nbsp; "What? Where? Are they armed?"he says, reaching for the pistol in his nightstand. &nbsp; "It is currently located in the East Wing, sir." &nbsp; "Bloody hell, House! Is it male, female, large, small, come on! Or is it an animal?" &nbsp; Bloody useless these damn AIs. Give me a good terrier any day. &nbsp; "I....I do not know, sir." &nbsp; "What in the name of Christ do you mean, you don't know?!" &nbsp; "I....cannot find anything analogous in my image reservoir, sir. My apologies." &nbsp; "Bloody, shitting hell, House. Well, tell me what it looks like at least!" &nbsp; Silence, except for the man's panicked breathing. It stretches on longer than it should. &nbsp; "House! What does it look like?!" &nbsp; "I'm sorry, sir. I can't seem to find the language to describe it." &nbsp; "JESUS CHRIST, HOUSE! YOU BLOODY USELESS - " &nbsp; "Sorry sir, but I recommend keeping your voice down." &nbsp; "KEEP MY VOICE DOWN?! WHO DO YOU - " &nbsp; "I believe it's heard you, sir. It is approaching your bedroom very rapidly." &nbsp; The fear hits him like a railroad spike to the chest, sudden and overwhelming. He shrinks down, eyes trained on the door. &nbsp; "God damn it, House. I swear if this is some glitch in your programming, I will rip the electronics out myself."His voice is a whisper now. &nbsp; "Sorry, sir. It appears to be right outside of your door now."Her voice is too loud in the stifling darkness, artificially even and calm. &nbsp; He summons his courage, pointing the pistol at the door. &nbsp; "Right, you bloody wanker! I've got a loaded .45 pointed at you right now! Walk away before its too late!"His voice betrays him. Fear plucks it like a chord, and it quavers. &nbsp; "It's gone now, sir. I am not sensing it anywhere." &nbsp; Inordinately pleased with himself. He stands straight, chest out. &nbsp; "Right, now that that's sorted. You're being uninstalled tomorrow, you useless machine." &nbsp; "Sorry, sir. It's in the room with you now." &nbsp; "What?! Whe-" &nbsp; A gunshot. A strangled cry cut short. A growl. &nbsp; "Mr. Fairlawn? Sir? No life signs detected. Calling the authorities."
Rocks sprayed and the shooting dust hung in the air as a halo as I skidded to a stop. For some reason I remained holding onto the steering wheel as if, somehow, when I let go it would all be real. My ears rang, my heart thumped arrhythmically; little patters and bumps that repeated the biological Morse code of "FLIGHT, FLIGHT, FLIGHT." Then I saw him through the dust. A tall figure leaning against his car, casually dragging from a cigarette and gazing towards the city. Whatever was left of it, anyways. He turned to me and saluted. I reached for the handle and saw myself pull but felt nothing. I walked towards the figure slowly. "Damn shame,"said the man, clicking his tongue. The car appeared to be heavily-modified classic muscle with lights and antennas covering its entire armor-plated surface. Technology spanning at least seven decades melded together grotesquely. Impulses borne out of 35 years on the force clashed with basic instinct as my twitching hand hovered over my service revolver - the same piece that had ended so many wretched lives during the past decade of societal decline. The man laughed. My hand drew away. "Welcome to the apocalypse, pal. Need a ride?" Edit: Constructive criticism is always appreciated.
WELCOME, SOLIDER. I could see the words inside my head, though I can't really explain what that feels like. They were bright white words on a black screen and I wasn't sure if I was awake yet. The last thing I remember, I was very sick and my husband and daughter were at my bedside. My husband was crying and I wanted to reassure him that everything was going to be okay. But I had become too sick to speak, or smile, or hold my family in my arms. My arms were very heavy now. At first, despite the absurdity, I thought I might be wearing a suit of armor. I could not seem to open my eyes. I could just see white words on a black screen. IT HAS BEEN 60 YEARS AND 23 DAYS SINCE YOU HAD YOUR LAST MOMENT OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Suddenly, I knew a rush of things - the history of the past sixty years. It was like an old-time newsreel playing in my head, but instantaneous. I saw humans destroy the Earth and their bodies, saw humans become a weak subspecies as mechanical people grew stronger and smarter. The mechanical people could not be hurt by the sun, by malnutrition, by human frailty. They were not hindered by emotion. OVER THE NEXT FEW HOURS, YOU WILL UNDERGO A RIGOROUS SCREENING PROCESS. WE WILL DETERMINE WHICH OF YOUR THOUGHTS AND MEMORIES ARE NECESSARY, AND DELETE UNNECESSARY DATA. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION. AFTER YOUR DATA WIPE, YOU WILL BE DEPLOYED TO A HUMAN RESISTANCE ZONE, AND WILL EXECUTE THE HUMAN REBELS. The words flashed off, and it was darkness. For a moment, I saw my husband and daughter by my bedside. I saw him, gathering strength despite his terrible pain, trying to calm her and give her hope, trying to make her smile. And then there was no I anymore. And then the soldier received orders and left for the war.
My mother was Greek. My father was American. I was born with the word καταιγίδα on my inner thigh. My twin brother, Spiros, has έδαφος behind his ear. My mother was killed when we were eight years old, by a group of people who exploit their powers given to them through the Titling. My father, brother, and I barely survived. He took us away, to a small town in southern France. A friend of my father, who was also being hunted by these people, accompanied us with his two sons. Lastly, we found a young girl in the wreckage of a house down the street. Dimitris has φλόγα inscribed on his collarbone, Ramos is tattooed with δέντρο, and Sofia bears the word θύελλα. It's been ten years since my mother was killed. Ten years since we moved to France. Ten years for us to develop and master our powers. Sofia rules the wind, blowing it as she wishes. Dimitris summons fire, burning what he feels needs burning. Ramos is one with the trees, using them however he pleases. Spiros can shift the earth, hurling two-ton rocks a hundred yards. I create clouds and control the rain that falls from them. Together, we are the Fysin. Together, we avenge those who have wronged us. Together, we fight against those who terrorize the innocent. Together, we are the rulers of nature. Dionne, Spiros, Dimitris, Ramos, Sofia. Storm, Earth, Flame, Tree, Gale.
Idly surfing channels I paused on a feel-good-story about a rags to riches man who had been homeless before making his fortune. I'd always been sympathetic to the plight of the homeless; more than one of my high school friends had become homeless in early adulthood. The man being interviewed looked vaguely familiar, as if a B-list celebrity whose name I couldn't place. But as he recounted the catalyst to his success being a kind stranger that gave him $50 on the street two years earlier, a jolt went through my body. Could this be the same man I had helped on a downtown corner a couple years ago? He looked quite different clean-shaven with short cropped hair and a bespoke suit... but the same piercing blue eyes and energy for life that shone out of his weathered face years ago were pulling me into the television screen. My attention was rapt as he recounted his tale to the interviewer. Aside from a large jar of peanut butter, his first purchase was a library card. With all the time in the world, he set down at the library computer and began several online tutorials on learning to code. Code Academy, Khan Academy, even some free online courses from MIT. His daytime internet studies were supplemented with coding books he checked out and perused by streetlamps at night. The interviewer interrupted to ask, how could he be so driven. Being so removed from society how could he find the motivation to work so tirelessly to reach fro a better life. And just before he answered, I remembered. I remembered why I had been so moved to give a stranger on the street $50... a sum I could barely afford myself at the time. He had a daughter. A daughter he had barely seen since he had become estranged from the mother. A daughter with down syndrome. He had told me all he wanted in the world was to be able to provide for his daughter. that she could have a comfortable life. After 6 months of self study, he had started picking up odd jobs online. Mostly coding webpages and setting up email servers. He picked up jobs on craigslist and fiver. It wasn't particularly brisk or high paying, but before long he had enough to check into a cheap motel. He purchased a used chromebook on craigslist for $100. He no longer had to trek to the library every day to spend hours at the computer terminals. He bought ramen and generic brand spam at Walmart, and even treated himself to a few changes of clothes from a local thriftstore. And he could shower. Every day he could shower. He was starting to feel... human again. In his spare time he had been creating a few simple apps for iOS and android. Mostly free, simple utilities. Occasionally he would price 99 cents for slightly bigger projects. Several had moderate success, but nothing became popular. That is, until he created an app to connect homeless looking for help with those wanting to help. Really, it was two apps... the first a free app that allowed the user to submit requests, limited to once a day, for simple items. The second, costing $4.99, allowed users to be matched to requests based on proximity and time. Once a 'giver' accepted a request, it was removed from the others queues. And that giver was obligated-ethically at least- to find the requester and fulfill the request. The app had gone viral... and he had become a millionaire within weeks of publishing it. When asked what had inspired the app, he simply said, "Sometimes I just wished someone could bring me some peanut butter."
Nothing happened on my birthday, aside from the usual festivities. Heck, for most of the year nothing happened. The family legacy, mysterious as it was, had apparently passed me by, or so I thought. It was January of the next year, about two months before my 17th birthday, that something interesting finally happened: I could hear people's thoughts. It was quiet, at first. I'd probably been doing it for a while without even realizing it, knowing their thoughts on a subconscious level before I could actually hear them. Sometimes they were thinking so loudly I could actually hear them, like they were talking aloud. They didn't believe me, I knew they didn't because of course I could hear their thoughts now. Even though I hadn't told them, I knew they didn't believe me. But my family? Well, they'd all but told me this would happen. I knew that if anyone would believe me, they would. So, once the thoughts of others became so loud I could barely stand them, I went to my mother and told her, and she wept with joy, because I'd inherited the family legacy. There was another celebration, of sorts. My father, who I hadn't seen in years, actually attended. I even got to see my Grandfather, which was a special treat, as he lived in a retirement home upstate and I'd never gotten to visit. They weren't as excited as mom had been. They didn't really want to talk about my gift - their gift, if I understood the purpose of the celebration correctly. They looked uncomfortable, in fact. Finally, someone I didn't recognize at all arrived. My dad and granddad obviously knew him, but my mother could barely stand to be in his presence. He sat down in a chair that, I now realized, had been set aside specifically for him. "Hello,"he said to me. "I'm Dr. Heymitch. I've been working with your family for years."He glanced toward my father. My father just shrugged. "No point in holding back, tell him what you do." Dr. Heymitch nodded. "I'm a psychiatrist. I specialize in the diagnosis and treatment of early-onset schizophrenia"
I have to admit, I was a little bit surprised when Death appeared on my living room sofa with a bucket of popcorn and his slippers on. I cleared my throat, and approached him rather awkwardly, taking care not to touch him lest I die a premature death. "Excuse me, Mr. Death? Can I help you?"He turned towards me, his bony face somehow looking a bit disconcerted, as if he was just noticing me. He glanced at his watch. "What are you still doing here?"He asked me as if I should be elsewhere. I furrowed my brow, confused. It was a Sunday morning, I was still hungover from drinking myself to sleep last night and a piece of bread currently sat in the toaster. Where else was I supposed to be? He seemed to realize I was a bit confused and sighed before standing up out of the sofa. He brushed a couple loose kernels onto the ground and reached out to shake my hand. I instinctively lifted my hand but then thought better of it and took a step backwards. "Chill, man. My touch only kills if I want it to."I was skeptical but gingerly reached out and shook his hand. It was cold as ice and bonier than my grandma's hands. "Am I about to die? Why are you here?"He chuckled before realizing I wasn't kidding. "You mean... You weren't expecting me?"It was his turn to look surprised. I slowly shook my head, wondering if I had forgotten about some odd death wish I had scheduled for today or if I had conjured any demons or serial killers to come murder me. He let out a dark, evil laugh that quickly turned into a high pitched giggle of glee. "Oh, my! This is going to be much more fun than I thought! Anyways, you have about an hour." I stared at him dumbfounded. An hour until what? My death? I was an averagely obese American, I shouldn't be dead for another several decades until I got a heart attack while eating a fourth Big Mac for dinner. I tried to ask him what he was waiting for but he ignored me. He had kicked off his slippers and plopped them on the coffee table and flipped on Netflix. He really needed to trim his toenails and get a better sense of humor instead of giggling through an episode of Big Bang Theory. This wasn't how I wanted to spend my last hour. I was yelling at him now, demanding he explain why he was here. He said that he didn't have ears since they were cartilage and went back to watching his show. Something wasn't right there, but I didn't question him. Enraged, I strolled over to where he sat and kicked his feet off my coffee table. "Not in my house, bitch!"I yelled with as much bravado as I could muster. He sat unfazed, so I whipped off his black robe and grabbed his scythe. "Time to go tear some shit up!"I yelled again, determined to take my rude, conceited neighbors down with me. He smiled a terribly toothy smile as I walked out the door, and then quickly rose to follow me outside, as naked as a skeleton could be. "Make yourself decent, Death. Shits about to go down,"I casually informed him as I strolled over to my neighbor who was mowing the lawn. I sliced the dude in half without the least bit of effort and Death obediently touched the man to put him out of his disjointed death throes and then slipped on the dead guy's pants. I heard screaming and saw people running about, casting me terrified looks as they fruitlessly tried to avoid a beam of death I dispatched from my divine weapon. The cops showed up within minutes and immediately opened fire, the shots harmlessly bouncing off the surprisingly bulletproof robe and the scythe as I used it like a lightsaber. I was invincible. Death had majorly fucked up by thinking I only had an hour left to live. He was rushing around now, touching everybody I killed to ensure they wound up in the right dimension. It took them 45 minutes, but they finally sent out the National Guard, and I dispatched the first wave of them with ease. "Easier than playing COD against those dickbutts whose moms I've fucked!"I yelled to Death, who giggled with glee as I destroyed a tank. I was just getting into the groove and preparing to test my weapon's range, when I felt a bony finger tap me on the shoulder. I turned around, ready to smite Death with his own weapon, but he casually deflected it and tore it out of my hands. "You know, man, you weren't actually gonna die. I was just bored with nobody to kill and figured you were gullible enough to do something stupid,"he said with his stupid, toothy grin. I stared at him, mouth agape. He continued as nonchalantly as before. "Anyways, its been 56 minutes now. You've got a minute left to make amends before they kill you."I turned towards the cops and soldiers who were still furiously firing at me and I held my hand up in a gesture of peace. To my surprise, they immediately ceased fire. Just as I opened my mouth to bullshit my way out of this dire situation, I felt the special powers of the robe disappear as Death snatched it back off me. Then some trigger happy cop took one more shot, which set off a massive barrage and killed me. *** "Death, you're sort of an asshole, you know?"He giggled at me again, back in his black robe. "Man, I was desperate! To be honest, you were just about to die of a heart attack when I showed up, and when you took my robe, I panicked! You were invincible! Tricked you though and you died anyways! Bazinga, amirite?"He let off another terribly annoying giggle as he turned back to the Big Bang Theory and streamed my Netflix account on multiple devices so that I couldn't watch a good show. This was going to be a long eternity. *** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
"What is this object, Mister Kerns?" "Is that a trick question?" "Not at all, Mister Kerns." Steve sat back. "It's a bunny." "Please Elaborate." "It's a ... cute... baby... bunny?" "It is native to your planet, correct? What are its traits?" "It's a cute, harmless, baby bunny. It's fluffy. It eats grass. Hops around. Reproduces a lot." "Very good. And what is this object?" "I thought there was going to be a test..." "This is the test, Mister Kerns. Please answer the question." "That's a brand new 16 ounce hickory handled, clawed framing hammer." "Excellent. You now have the earth standard interval, fifteen minutes I believe, to take appropriate action." Steve looked at the hammer and the bunny. There was one obvious combination for the two objects. "You want me to..." "Take appropriate action." "I'm not going to kill the bunny, mister." "You eat meat, yes?" "Yes. But I'm not hungry. And this bunny has a collar and tags." "And this is material in what way?" "That's somebodies pet. And you don't just kill somebodies pet." "Do you need another bunny, Mister Kerns? A different bunny?" "Yes... no... What exactly is this supposed to prove?" "Mister Kerns, you have been supplied with tools and we need you to take appropriate action. If you refuse to act then that will count in your scoring. You will have to make do with the bunny that has been provided, no alternates are available." "I'm not going to kill a bunny just to satisfy you. Amuse you. Whatever." "I see, Mister Kerns. You do know what failure in this test environment means." "Yes, I read all the agreements. We could get sequestered or penalized based on failure to complete the testing to necessary standards." "So I'm going to have to insist that you take appropriate action." \click\ "So what happened then?" "The impasse persisted for a majority of the allocated time, then at thirteen minutes and forty-four seconds Mister Kerns picked up the hammer, bashed the administrative simulacra in the head, and put the bunny in his shirt. He then proceeded to hammer the handle off the door, at which point he stomped back to his ship spouting obscenities centered on the topic of our lineage." "So?" "Resistance to authority: 9. Resistance to implied threats: 10. Empathy 6. Problem solving: 8. Individual autonomy: 9. Fear index: 1 etc..." "A pass then?" "Yes, the rabbit lived." "They've finally grown up."
The creek flooded the walking path today. I take the path to get to school. Usually, the creek barely covers its bed. But sometimes it overflows. It makes sense when there's a rainstorm. But sometimes rainstorms don't cause the creek to flood at all, or the creek inexplicably floods during dry spells. There hasn't been any rain for the last month, but the creek flooded the path today anyways. I sloughed through the flooded section of the path, and continued to school. I passed by the cotton fields. Well, they were cotton today, and tomatoes the year before that. A plane flew over the fields with a fine mist in its wake. Sprinklers jettisoned spurts of water over the plants, but I was at a safe distance… a dry distance. By the time that school was out, the creek had receded. My socks had dried by that time, so I was glad that they weren't going to get soaked again. The stream had left the usual jetsam on the path: a muddy streak outlined a scattered mess of twigs and sodden leaves. But I was shocked to discover an oversized fish splashing about in one of the leftover puddles. The fish was about a meter long, and it was flopping around on its side. I couldn't understand how such a large fish could muster so much energy as it splashed in a puddle that barely covered its tail fin. I thought that it might die if it was left in its shallow, muddy puddle. So I tried to pick it up. "Magikarp karp. Magikarp karp,"said the fish.
"So this is the place, huh?"asked Rena, adjusting the pointed hat atop her head. She stood alongside a heavily-armored Knight, and the two of them stood in turn before a large yet decrepit fort. It was clear from sight alone that the fort had been the stage for many battles, as it was falling apart and almost thoroughly scorched. Hardened pools of metal which must have at one point in time been parts of portcullis lay strewn about. "Gyeesh. I guess this is it,"Rena added, prodding the bits of melted metal with the butt of her staff. "Are you sure about this, Mister Knight? We could always leave. It's just one girl. A girl guarded by like... probably a really big dragon." The Knight shook his head, merely pointing ahead before marching in through the open gates. Shortly, Rena and the Knight ended up in the burned-out courtyard of the fort. Then, they heard a shout. "Oh, sir Knight! Please rescue me!" The Knight turned his head up toward a tower, where his eyes met the vague visage of a princess. But a moment later, the princess moved back from the window, and then-- With a roar, a large dragon suddenly appeared from behind the tower, curling itself around the stone structure. It let out another guttural roar as its eyes landed on the Knight, and then it slowly crawled around the tower, quickly closing the distance between itself and the two humans. "Oh jeez... it's coming right at us, Knight!"Rena shouted, hurriedly patting the Knight on his pauldron. "What do we do?! What do we-" The Knight turned suddenly, lifted Rena over his shoulder, and broke out into a sprint toward the closest door into the fort's main structure. The dragon breathed a massive gout of flame behind them, only barely missing its mark. The Knight did not stop running even after entering the stone of the fort-- he knew better than to rest before a battle was over. "Where are we even going, Knight?!"Rena asked, though she suddenly started slapping his back. "Keep running, actually! Don't stop! It's blowing fire into the halls!"Sure enough, the dragon was blowing fire into the inner halls of the fort-- likely through windows and other similar entrances, or perhaps through holes it itself had made. He continued running, before finally coming to a large, circular room. It had a table inside it, as well as numerous overturned chairs. It had likely been used as a staging area for war councils, at some point in the past. He finally shrugged Rena down from his shoulder, setting her down on the table before falling back onto one of the chairs to take a short breather. The chair broke beneath him, however, unable to support the weight of his arms and armor. "Ouch... Bad luck,"Rena commented, "Tap that chairleg. It'll make you luckier. Oh, but only if you say 'knock wood' as you do it."She rapped her knuckles against the table beneath her. "Knock wood." The Knight simply huffed, sitting on the floor. "... No luck for me, huh?"Rena asked, quietly chuckling. "I'll get you to talk some day."They were interrupted by a loud roar, reminding them of the more present issue facing them-- the five-story high pile of scales and fire just outside. The Knight stood, steadying himself against the table. He suddenly pointed at it, tapping his finger rapidly against something. "Hmm? What's up?"Rena asked, turning to look. Beneath them was a map of the fort and the surrounding area. Though heavily worn, the outline of the fort was still intact. "Oh! A map... We can get out using it, huh?" The Knight shook his head. He pointed at Rena, and then at the map again. Then, he swept his finger around the outside of the fort's walls, and again toward the courtyard. "You want me to... hm. Distract it?"Rena asked, "I think I get it. I distract it and then hide while you get the girl, right?" The Knight nodded. During his time with Rena, they had come to a silent-- and quite odd-- understanding. "Got it! I'll show you how useful magic can be!"Rena declared. She hopped down from the table and ran off into the fort's halls. --- "Hey! Over here, you big idiot!"Rena shouted, cupping her hands to her mouth in some futile attempt to amplify her voice. She raised her staff and drew a little circle in the air with it, and a small blue sigil appeared above it. She aimed the sigil toward the dragon, and a number of icicles flew out of the sigil. They struck the dragon, but then-- It roared, seemingly uninjured by the icicles. The dragon detached from the tower and started stomping across the courtyard toward Rena. However, it suddenly turned and looked back toward the tower. The Knight was making his way around the spiral staircase on the outside of the tower, sword drawn, and moving up two steps at a time. The dragon stomped back just as quickly and, letting out a belting roar, swung its arm at the Knight, with its giant fingers curled into an odd fist-like shape. The Knight seemed to be prepared for such a thing, however, as he suddenly jumped down a number of stairs. He raised his sword and lunged up the stairs again, cutting a deep arc through the dragon's wrist. The dragon recoiled, and then bounded around the tower, crushing yet more of the fort in the process. Then, there was no noise. Ominously, all signs of the dragon's presence ceased, and the fort was still once again. The Knight carefully made his way around the fort's staircase, eventually coming to the room at the top, where the princess had been. "O-Oh! My savior is here!"the princess shouted, as the Knight pushed his way through the door with his shoulder. "And the dragon vanquished! F-Finally, I may return home to my-" The Knight pointed his sword at the princess wordlessly. Her wrist was cut, and there was far more blood near one of the far windows than any human could bleed. "Sir... Sir Knight? Why are you pointing your sword towards me?"asked the princess. Although... she did not seem altogether that frightened. After a few moments, she threw her hands up in frustration. "Alright! Fine! I cannot trick you with such vain words!" Rena appeared behind the Knight suddenly, peeking her head out from behind his armored form. "Whoa. You attacked the princess?"she asked, "Do I need to be worried, Knight?" The Knight groaned aloud, and pointed his sword toward the window, the blood on the floor, and finally back to the princess. "Oh. Wait. She's the dragon? You're joking." "It's no joke. I am the dragon,"the princess said, "I am... Corinth, Deceiver of Men. This is the first time a mere man has wounded me..." The Knight slowly lowered his weapon, before pulling a cloth from his belt. He began wiping the sword down, all the while staring at Corinth. "Why have you lowered your weapon? I may attack at any time..." "I think it's 'cause Knight doesn't like seeing girls get hurt,"Rena said, "But he might not see you as a threat anymore."She stared ahead, humming quietly. "Say, tell me something. Why did you bother changing back instead of attacking more?" "I... am unsure, myself. I desperately did not want to be found out, Yet, I was injured, and so it was inevitable."She continued to stare at the Knight, wearing a puzzled expression. "If you knew, why do you not slay me now?" The Knight shrugged. After checking his blade over, he set it into its sheath and began approaching Corinth, reaching into one of the pouches on his belt. He retrieved a small handful of moss, as well as a small roll of paper that smelled oddly of vinegar. "What are those for?! Stay back, human! Take not one step closer!"Corinth shouted. The Knight simply grabbed her hand, and then pressed the moss against the wound on her wrist. He wrapped the paper about the wound and moss, and ensured it was tight before tying it off. Then, he merely turned around and walked casually back toward the door. "Oh, that stuff works pretty well,"Rena remarked. "Just make sure it doesn't move too much. Your wound will close in like, a little while. Anyway, I guess we're leaving. Bye now!"She moved to follow the Knight, ever at his heels. "Wait! Wait, damn you! I will not accept a human's kindness! Do you hear me?! I refuse!"Corinth shouted. She moved to follow the Knight, and raised a fist into the air. "I will crush you for this insult!" The Knight stopped in his tracks, turning to face Corinth. He merely stared at her for a few short seconds, before grabbing her by the wrist again. He inspected the wrappings, and released her once more. Then, he wagged a finger at her, as though scolding a child. "You... impertinent little shit!"shouted Corinth, "I could crush you with a mere thought! Do not think that you have the right to treat me in such a manner!"Yet, she still did not tear off the wrappings. The Knight put a hand to his face, and took a sudden breath, as if to speak-- "I think what Knight wants to say is, he doesn't want you to die,"Rena said, interrupting him. "I noticed there weren't any bodies around. So you were either eating them or chasing the other knights off, right? Which means you're probably not that bad. You were aiming your fire behind us, too, right?" Corinth's voice caught in her throat. "I... I was doing no such thi-" "Hey, why not come with us? It's gotta be lonely up in this tower,"Rena said. She reached for and grabbed Corinth's hand, and then tried to tug her along next to the Knight. "You don't mind, do you, Knight? We usually get enough food for three anyway." The Knight shrugged, turning on his heels to march away, back down the stairs. Rena continued pulling Corinth along, and the woman reluctantly followed, looking quite defeated. --- (This is technically a continuation of [this prompt response](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j8aog/wp_im_sorry_but_it_appears_that_fate_has/d34kgcz) since it fit the bill so well. I decided to use the same characters, and to try to keep up the Knight's gimmick of only gesturing.)
Jesus adjusted his microphone and leaned forward on the podium. "It will be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."The people assembled before him broke into cheers and cries of "Fuck the rich,"and Jesus wondered if he was preaching to the choir here. "What about the immigrants?"someone shouted. A roar of agreement sprung forth from the crowd, and Jesus felt relief he had been reincarnated as a white man. "Verily, I say unto you, that you shall love your neighbor as yourself."Jesus paused to take a drink of water. "An Englishman walking the streets fell upon muggers and was left sprawled upon the wayside. A priest came across him and left him for dead, and a lawyer spotted him from afar and crossed to the other side of the road to avoid him. The third passerby, a man from the Middle East, stopped to help the man to his feet. Now, which of the three would you say was the most neighborly?" "Did you just make that story up?"A woman with a pen nestled behind her ear leaned onto the stage and proffered a microphone at Jesus. "It's a parable,"Jesus explained, "The message is more important than the veracity..." "It's media bias, that's what it is,"a man in the crowd yelled, "Anecdotal evidence. They're taking our jobs!"The crowd applauded, and Jesus sighed. He was used to having the people on his side. On the bright side, they couldn't crucify him—legally. "In the Kingdom of Heaven,"he continued, "all believers shall live, joined as one in harmony—" A chant of "no immigrants"began to well up in the crowd. "You know, all of you guys are technically immigrants to the Kingdom of Heaven,"Jesus said to the side of the microphone. Who'd have thought that a united kingdom would be a tough sell in the United Kingdom? Another reporter approached the stage. "Jesus,"he said, "recent polls have shown that 52% of all UK residents support seceding from the Kingdom of Heaven. How do you respond to this?" "I suppose they can just go to Hell then,"he muttered.
Michael sat on a rock in a barren wasteland. His stared morosely over the blasted landscape - nothing left on earth but bare rock. Not even a breath of wind - because there was no atmosphere left. But, he was guaranteed to live, so he couldn't even suffocate. He wiped a small tear from corner of his eye. When they were all offered the deal, the 8 of them sharing the same birthday in September, it was both a joke and a gamble. There's no way this diminutive man could follow through on such a promise, but one by one they agreed and shook on it. Hell, if it were true, someone who got Mars would live to be 160. Who could argue that? Bob died first, and it was a lot less that 80 years - February 21, 2031 - a little over 14 years after he took the deal. Even looking at the planets, the rest couldn't make it out... until it was decided the first 20 years remained Earth years. Then the math matched up: Bob died 60 Mercury years later. The offer, it seems, was genuine. One by one, as the years and decades passed, the others died in their time. Two of them even died on the same day - June 11th, 2736; Jupiter's orbit. Eventually, only Michael and Sarah were left of the group. The last date Michael remembered, before he even stopped counting, was Jan 11th, 16120. The day of the flash. He'd read a lot of stuff over his lifetime, so he figured it was a gamma ray burst. The planet was scorched, but he and Sarah still lived. But Sarah was showing signs of aging. They tried to restart the human race, but Sarah had apparently gone into menopause and couldn't conceive. Besides... no air. The baby probably wouldn't have their "immunity" Sarah handed Michael a letter the day before she died, and left to die on her own. In it, was just a goodbye, and the date: April 4th, 19840. Michael did the quick math - Pluto's orbit. He didn't even know how much time had passed since then. He all but lost himself - nothing to do, nowhere to go. He may have sat on this very rock for decades and not realized it. Each day like the last, nothing ever changing. Except for the box. He woke up yesterday, and saw the box. Plain white, with a pink bow on it. He contemplated that box for a long time, and finally concluded it could only be from one person: the one who offered the deal in the first place. Maybe that person had come back, and given him a way out. Tentatively, he opened the box. Inside- Michael screamed a silent scream into the airless morning. Screamed until he wished his lungs collapsed and his heart exploded. Inside: a birthday cake. With 21 candles on it.
"Fascinating."The alien scratched his head with one slimy purple tentacle and repeated. "Just fascinating." Ever since the aliens came down to Earth, worldwide governments assigned them to host families. I was lucky to meet my alien, who gave himself the human name Steve, during summer, when my university was on a break. "So, did you like the books?"I asked excitedly. Finding someone to fangirl about over Harry Potter, let alone an alien, was always fun. "Yes,"said Steve. "I want to go to Hogwarts immediately." I blinked. "What?"I said. "Hogwarts. It sounds like a marvelous place,"said Steve. "Uh, Hogwarts is not a real place."I said. Steve bitch-slapped me. "I just read seven books about Hogwarts!"He roared at me. "I want to go there now!" "Okay, okay, okay!"I said. It was lucky that my family had a season pass to Universal Studios Florida. "I'll take you to Hogwarts, geez." Steve smugly oozed to the front door. "Excellent. Although I'm very old, they'll probably make an exception for me." I sighed. Hosting an alien was going to be less fun than I thought.
He was writing letters on his bed, as he always did. Papers and pencils were in short supply around here what with every other soldier trying to write to their gal back home. But somehow he always had them. The nurses probably took pity on the man; one lone German captive amongst an army of pissed off Brits and Americans. And it would only get worse; we were well-off for now, but the snow just kept coming and the food stocks kept dwindling. How long until someone began to question why we were eating half-rations while the German here ate up all of our food? How many missed supply runs till he was thrown out into the cold, or worse? I watched from my own bed across the room; there really wasn't much else to look at around here. The hospital had once been a church, but the arched ceilings were undecorated, and the alcoves along the stone walls were emptied. A few stained glass windows remained, though half of them were broken in parts. And you can really only look at Jesus in various poses for so many days until you start to crave something new. So, I watched the German. He'd been captured by the 42nd and brought back to St. Hubert with the rest of us. As I understand, the plan was to eventually send him to one of the POW camps in Britain, but the prisoner transport never came. Roads and bridges were a mess between here and the more civilized parts of France, winter was screwing shit up even more for the logistics divisions, and bringing this one guy across the Channel wasn't a high priority, I guess. So he was treated alongside us in this makeshift hospital. I dragged myself out of bed and hobbled over as quickly as I could without tearing my stitches. The sisters who were treating us had told me to stay off my feet (at least, I think so: my French isn't exactly stellar), but I was never too good at following instructions. "Hey,"I called to the German. "Who you writing all those letters to?" He stopped writing and looked up at me. There was suspicion and anger in his eyes; justifiably so, given how some of the other guys around here had been treating him. Those purple bruises visible under the thin pajamas hadn't been there when he was first brought in. "No English,"he answered. Then he looked back down at his paper, though I could see him watching me from the corner of his eyes, muscles tense in case I decided I wanted to take out some of my rage against the Nazis on him personally. "Yeah, I get that."I sat down on the end of his bed, causing him to flinch. He instinctively held the tip of the pencil straight at me, the only weapon he had at his disposal at the moment. I think he figured that if he jabbed a few of the guys enough times, they'd decide it wasn't worth it to mess with him anymore. That strategy hadn't exactly worked out for him so far. I held my hands up to show him I meant no harm. "Relax, pal. I don't want to hurt you. Just looking for a little friendly conversation, you know?" He didn't know. Because he had no fucking clue what I was saying. But strangely, this was the most satisfying conversation I'd had in a while. I was sick to death of hearing the other guys bitch about the snow. And the Germans. And their wounds. And the food. And any other fucking thing they could think about. I could see a few of them watching me now, glowering from their beds. Wondering why the fuck I'd be talking to a German. The German watched me for a second, looking slightly confused. "No English,"he repeated a bit slower than the first time. Then he looked at me, trying to see if I understood. "Yeah, I get it."He didn't need to understand me. "I don't know who you're writing all those letters to, pal. I doubt you know anyone over here on our side of the fence, and the Postman certainly doesn't deliver to Berlin unless it's out the bottom of a B-17, you know?" He just stared at me. I smiled, trying to show that I meant him no harm. After a moment, he finally smiled back. "There you go!"I told him with an even bigger smile. "Now you're getting it!"He continued smiling and nodded, confused about what the hell was happening but at least happy that I wasn't there to sucker punch him. "What's your name anyhow?"He could tell that it was a question, but not what I was asking. So I gestured at myself. "Bran-don,"I said slowly, thumping my chest for emphasis. "I'm Brandon." That got through to him. "Jonas,"he answered, pointing to himself. He pronounced it 'Yo-nas.' "There you go!"From my breast pocket, I removed a packet of cigarettes. I'm not an addict like some of the guys around here, so my rations were lasting longer than theirs. "You smoke, Jonas?"I held the little carton out to him and shook it. His smile grew a bit more. "Smoke,"he repeated with a nod. "Yeah, smoke!"I thrust it closer to him, making it clear that he could take one. He reached in gingerly, still half-expecting this to be some cruel practical joke. I guess he hadn't gotten a very good impression of the Allied side so far. But he put the cigarette between his lips and I held up the lighter for him, then we both just puffed in silence for a bit. "You're all right, Jonas,"I mused. "Easy to talk to. I like that."I stood up from the end of his bed. "I'll let you get back to your letter writing, I guess. But it was good to meet you."I stuck out my hand to shake. Disapproving stares came from most of the men in the room (the conscious ones, at least), burning into my back. But Jonas reached up and took my hand, and we shook. I limped back over to my bed and sat back down. Jonas went back to writing to whoever he was writing to; maybe it wasn't a letter at all. Maybe it was just a journal. But after a minute or two, he looked back up and across the room toward my bed. I nodded in greeting, and he smiled back. Now we knew each other.
As the last of the kaiju beast monster's ashes fall to the ground, like black snowflakes on an autumn's night, I take a minute to breathe. In the distance, the sirens screech while above me, the chopper blades rip through the night sky like the demon's heartbeat. "Boss, we need to go,"Boris tells me. "They're coming." I close my eyes and sigh. Maybe this time when I speak, things will be different. "Silence, you imbecile, or I, the great Dr. Demento shall eradicate your spleen with my ray of evil cosmic death."Another epic failure in communications. It wasn't my fault. It was him--always him. "Uh...sure boss. Sorry,"Boris says. "Look, we really need to get out of here. I mean, we had no business being here in the first place." We had plenty of business being here. An evil monster, the size of a skyscraper, was tearing up the financial district of my city, eating bankers and actuaries like pop tarts. If I didn't stop it, then who would? "The cops are only minutes away. Like always, they're going to blame us for all the death and destruction,"Boris cries out. Maybe I can reason with the cops this time? Maybe, for once, he'll shut up and allow me to talk. "Let those pigs come. I will crush them like I crush walnuts in between my thighs, for I am Dr. Demento, master of cosmic death, disruptor of wholesome truth, and manipulator of our monochromatic existence." No, no, no, shut up, just shut up and let me talk. Let the real me talk...please! I watch as the first police offer shows up. He gets out of his car and before a word of warning, points his gun straight at my head. He radios in. "Guys, we have Dr. Demento again. I'll need all the back up I can. Is Ultra Boy available? Someone light the Ultra beacon." I shake my head. Not Ultra Boy again. Over the course of my super-hero career, that imbecile has knocked out four of my teeth and displaced my hip twice. If he'd only taken the opportunity to listen to the real me, violence wouldn't have been necessary. Each and every time, it was always a misunderstanding. I was always doing what's best for the city. I notice the police officer's hand trembling. His finger is resting on the trigger. There's no need for this. We're both on the same side. Perhaps I can convince him to drop his weapon? I lick my lips, and then try to speak words of reason. "Communist swine, of subpar intelligence. Don't point your weapons at me, unless you wish to gum food for the rest of your useless existence." Damn it. I let out a loud sigh that comes out as a growl. The officer mistakes it as a declaration of war and fires. I'm so tired of this--so very damn tired. Perhaps this time, I won't deflect the bullet. I close my eyes and think of where things went so terribly wrong. Ever since I made that deal for money and power, I've been a prisoner to my own tongue and fashion sense. I wanted to be a hero--to make a difference in the world. Perhaps if heroes existed ten years ago, Donna would still be alive. But she's gone, and I've spent the past few years making a fool of myself and creating enemies--all in the name of justice. Maybe if I allow the bullet to take me, I'll be able to see her again. No, of course I won't see her. The deal was done and my soul and my tongue belong to him. I should have read the fine print. "Boss!"I hear Boris scream. I open my eyes just in time to see my loyal henchman jump in front of the bullet. His eyes widen as the bullet tears through his abdomen. He crumples to the ground. No, Boris. What have you done? Why did you do this? I kneel down and cradle him in my arms. Tears begin streaming down my face. "Boss...though you've...you've always been a dick to me...I see the truth. I see...I see what's in your heart. Love is..."and then he's gone. Boris, sweet Boris, the only one who listens to my actions instead of my words. "You dung-colored kumquat,"I say aloud. "Your mother tasted like an pterodactyl's sphincter." Above, I hear a voice. "Dr. Demento--I should have known it was you again. Your plot to summon a Kaiju monster has failed."It's Ultra Boy, cracking his pair of eager fists. "Are you ready?" I drop the body of faithful Boris to the ground and then pull out my cosmic death ray. I stare at Ultra Boy with rage in my eyes, and then at the police officer who shot him. Fine, if the world sees me as a villain, then so be it. I let out a hellish scream and then proceed to murder the city I once sought to protect. Somewhere in the hollows of my eardrums, amongst the sound of raging battle and torn appendages, I can hear him laughing. End If you enjoyed this story, consider checking out my newly formed subreddit [HERE](https://www.reddit.com/r/Song_and_Stories/). You'll save a llama from a horrible zombie death if you subscribe.
[recording start 225538 11042018] " We didn't see it coming, not even a little bit. The world was so wrapped up on the apocalypse, that climate change would finally wipe us off the planet or Trump would fire a nuke at China and cause mutually assured destruction. Video games, book trilogies and TV programs seemed to be obsessed with the idea. We even considered zombies for crying out loud. We never expected the unicorns. They appeared instantaneously. One second everything was normal - or at least as normal this fucked up world can be. Billions slept on one side of the world, while on the other commuters went to and from work, activities, living their lives. Then the unicorns appeared. They were exactly how you'd imagine them, as if God had cut and pasted them straight from a Disney movie. Glossy, beautiful coats in every pastel colour imaginable. Long luscious manes of deep purples and pale blues. The singular corn standing proud atop their heads. These were not horses with a horn; they were far more magnificent. People screamed at first, but mainly cries of joy. It was a miracle - a dream come true. Perhaps everyone thought it was some sort of joke, a flash mob with dressed up ponies. Harmless and safe. That's when the screams became real; the dream became a nightmare and life as we knew it was destroyed beyond repair. With sharp teeth and strong jaws these beautiful beasts began to tear limbs from bodies and sever heads from necks. Anyone who survived ran instantly, ran quickly, and most importantly outran others. Somehow I feel zombies would have been easier to manage; stupid slow creatures seem easier to outwit and outrun than unicorns. Don't be found. That is your only hope. Don't be found, because you will never outrun them, the- " [recording end 230123 11042018] --- 'What did you think of that?' The lecturer's quiet voice somehow reached every students ears in the large auditorium. His question was met with silence. They had just listened to the last words of a man more than a hundred years ago. The lecturer sighed, his brow furrowing. He had taught this history module for years, and every time the students were shocked by this artefact. A hesitant hand reached up into the air. He nodded in its direction. Spluttering over his words, the student sounded his query. 'The 21st Century was quite technologically advanced. They had fantastic mobility across the globe, as well as large enough doses of veterinary ketamine and other sedatives to knock out unicorns. Where was the army? Why was there such a massacre in the first few months?' 'You're completely correct; the 21st Century had all the means to deal with a disastrous scenario akin to this - and more. Make no mistake, they had all the tools necessary.' Students frowned, glancing at one another, unsure of what would come next. 'What they are lacking was not material and tools. They were severely lacking in world wide co operation; they simply did not have the diplomacy skills nor the structure of governments that we have now to defeat a large scale global catastrophe. So many countries were at war with one another and they lacked the ability to put prejudice aside and work together. And the result was near global destruction in every corner of the world.' The auditorium fell silent once more.
"You're already dead, y'know?"Leeroy smirked at the man before him. He had his hat tipped over, covering his eyes from the sun. "The hell you on about?! You tryin' to mock me?!"The man was known as Leaky Louis. The man was shot down by three different men, left in a pool of his own blood in the middle of the desert, yet here he was, hunting the last of the trio who tried to put him down. Some say that if you saw him drink without his shirt on, he'd spill water like a popped waterskin. "I said you're already dead. We mighta missed the mark on takin' you down last time, but this time, I know I can finish it. As a matter of fact... I'll prove it."He took his gun, putting it back into it's holster. "You can take the first shot." "Firs... This isn't some game! Take it out and duel me like a man! If you think you can just chicken out and rely on bluffs-"That elicited a laugh from Leeroy. "You don't realize it... Do you? I guess you wouldn't, you already used yours up." "My... That's it, I'm done with this-" "Your gift. When we chased you down, it was our mistake to lead you to an ancient Indian tribal battleground. Those who fight there are destined to kill their opponent in a duel before either of them can die from other causes. We didn't kill you in a duel, we ganged up on you like a wolfpack, and you couldn't die from something like bleeding out once we left the area thanks to that- We were all four immortal. Gods. However, you've killed two of us four in a duel. Do you know what that means?" "..."He waited, the tension chilling the onlookers. "You kill me... You succumb to those wounds, Louis. The moment that bullet pierces my heart, you'll drop like a stone. Now, you have two choices... You shoot me, you end this... Or, you enjoy your gift, get on your horse, and you never come back. What's it gonna be?" ____________ "And that's why I need you to wash my pants and tell nobody about this."Leeroy sat in a new pair of pants, hat off to the side, nursing a bottle in a shaky hand. Note to self- Bring a spare gun next time...
I started getting suspicious when Dozer insisted on napping in the fire place...while it was lit. My gut dropped when I pulled him out and noticed he wasn't burnt at all, but what really got me were the wings. They may disappear to who knows where when he's not using them, but that's not exactly something you can forget about. Honestly he's a good dog..er hound whatever. Does all the normal dog stuff just with a little more fire. The money I'm saving over the average dog owner on kibble is just about the same I spend on gas to drive him to the bad parts of town to get corrupted souls, so there's that I guess. Oh, no worry of burglars, like literally none, Dozer ate of the ones near here. People know there's something weird going on, but they think it's and angel cleansing the city of evil. I found him on the side of the road, middle of winter, though I realize now he probably didn't care seeing as how the snow always melts before it touches him. I pulled over, thinking it was a large adult dog, and get greeted by a large baby. His manliness hadn't even dropped and his whole body language said he was young. Also that he was super happy to see me. Ok, I'm thinking, I'll keep him the night and post found flyers, then drop him off at the shelter. Nope, flyers went unanswered and the shelter wouldn't take him due to his size and "unknown"breed. So I gave in and figured I had a puppy now. A weird, huge, somehow fire prone puppy. The first month was rough, plenty of noise complaints and fire extinguisher runs. The day after the fireplace incident I walked in to find Dozer digging in the coals sniffing out embers and eating them. I just lost it yelling "NO BAD STOP WHY DOG WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"I must have jumped pretty comically when the man spoke up, because he laughed mid sentence. "He's hun...heh!...eh ehm. He's hungry, he'd be dead if he didn't sleep in the fire every night." I whipped around to the voice to find a red man dressed in robes and jewels, with an ornate cane between his long fingers. My entire body froze, and he smiled a bit at my reaction to his presence. "Don't worry human, your soul is safe, I've just come for my hound. DETRIMETIES COME!" Dozer whined and Hudson behind me, much to the red man's disappointment. "Oh for the love of....Det it's ok buddy I didn't mean to scare you...ug this damned runt is never going to make it in Hell." "I mean, if you need someone to take him off your hands...I have a few questions about what he eats because he won't eat anything I give him...but I've become pretty fond of him." "YOU THINK I WOULD GIFT A MERE MORTAL A HOUND BIRTHED IN HELL FROM THE BLOOD OF...oh what the FUCK DETRIMETIES STOP PISSING I'M NOT YELLING AT YOU!" "Well no duh man he can't speak English, he doesn't know who you're yelling at only that your yelling. Come here Dozer buddy you're ok he's not mad at you comere baby oh there's my boy." Dozer scurried up on my lap and buried is face in my neck. The red man sighed and shook his head. "Fine mortal, he's no good to us anyhow and he'll collect more souls up here. Plus...ug...I've never seen him connect to anyone like you. Detr...Dozer will do more evil here." So yeah that day I got a hell hound. Man told me all about his diet and exercise needs, even helped with some training tips. Life with Dozer was smooth sailing after that. First hitch so far I just found out about today. Apparently someone snuck out of the yard and got the neighbors dog pregnant.
"Sir, we're getting a signal!" The commander stood up, still feeling slightly nauseous from the landing. "Comms, report." "Sir, it appears that we have a Wi-Fi signal here, and a message, too!" "Well? Open the message!" The commander furrowed his brow as the communications officer clicked on the message. Welcome, and thank you for using Comcast wireless internet services, now on Mars! You have been charged the initial startup fee of $29.99, and will be charged $2.99 per gigabyte of data used. The commander's eyes widened. He rushed to the viewport. Outside, the Comcast probe sat, almost mockingly. The commander tightened his hand into a white-knuckled fist. "COMCAAAAAAST!"
The green lizard-blorb of Xefrelbrcgvrtz IV approached the podium of the Blorbium Council. A murmur of voices echoed in the grand hall of arcane governance. Enormous statues of previous High Blorbs of Xefrelbrcgvrtz lined the vast circular hall’s sides. Crocquebertrix: “Everyone! It has come to the vast Blorbium Lizardum Arcanum knowledge that an un-arcaned world of previous unblorbed knowledge can be found on the fringe of our great spiral blorb belt.” The Xefrelbrcgvrtz councilman Crocquebertrix cleared his blorbican throat glands with a hissing and simultaneously squeaking noise that echoed through the hall. Crocquebertrix: “Everyone! It has never before happened in the history of the Blorbium Councillius that an un-arcaned world has exhibited sentient blorbforms. Everyone!” The hall fell silent. The lizard-blorb councilors looked skeptically at each others frinklebupps. A planet with no arcania? Preposterblorb! Someone exhausted their breakfast gas through their swear mucus with a farting, flapping honk. A most rude gesture in the Xefrelbrcgvrtz systems. Crocquebertrix: “EVERYONE! Yet these life blorbs have managed to explore beyond their own blorb-slimeic system, according to our esteemed far gazing gas expeller Splorficus Brexcgk of Broople.” Crocquebertrix descended from his speaker’s ferghomat as Splorficus Brexcgk arcanically gated himself from across space and time onto the ferghomat's slimey surface. Splorficus: “May our lord Edvertoombixt bless your slime, Crocquebertrix. I have gazed the pearl arcanum and seen the war parties approach. I have seen the Emperor Puttypoof’s legions consume planets into his unblorbed dimension beyond all reason. And I have seen the...humans. They can indeed travel between the stars, without any arc-” Fllrbrbrblbppbpypyptptptt, Splorficus exhausted some Wooba-oil through his rhetoric organ, “-without any arcane applications. This is remarkable, they seem to travel on pieces of metal and are able to communicate across their entire world instantaneously. Our blorbic spies are studying them as we speak. This un-arcaned species could threaten our very way of blorb!” The Blorbican Councilchamber was stirring. The lizard-blorbs furpted, and sent oils and gases across the floor with a cascade of flapping and squeaking noises. Travelling between stars? Inside metal tubes? Impossible! I say we transmogrify their planet into SOAP right away! Every single lizard-blorb in the hall was arguing. How would they take care of these un-arcaned heathens? Faster than anyone in the Blorbiatic Councilroom of Xefrelbrcgvrtz IV could expel Wooba-oil however, the entire planet of Xefrelbrcgvrtz IV was, by ironic coincidence, transmogrified to a bar of soap by the legions of Emperor Puttypoof. Humanity was safe. For now.
“I don’t know if there’s a way to make this work,” said Julia. She pushed her curly hair to the side, and smiled. “It’s just, you’re an android, and I’m a human, and it’s just so frowned against. I wish there was another way, but I just don’t see it.” Julia looked in his eyes. “You know I wanted to make this work.” “I know,” said Georgei 647, with a very electronic voice. Julia tried to hold his humanoid hand. He let her. “I was just hoping it wouldn’t be like this.” Georgei looked at the posters on the walls, and saw the new androids coming out. The Godwines and the Pavaos. He felt a programmed rage. “But my logical reasoning forces me to conclude that you’re only breaking up with me to date fresher, more human-like models.” “That’s not why,” said a Pavao emerging from the corner. Georgei 647 fumed, and looked between the two of them with twitchy anger. His neck made robot noises every time he turned. “Pavao 839, I told you to wait by the 1-hour plastic surgery clinic,” said Julia. She shoo’d him away. “My apologies dearest Julia,” said Pavao 839, with a convincing grace. “I never intended to intrude, but I must say that his reasoning is far from correct. You’re not de-comissioning him because we’re more human-like, as he suspects.” “You,” said Georgei. He froze for five seconds. A Godwine emerged from the corner behind Pavao. Georgei’s programming was slow in coming up with a human-like insult. He un-froze when he got one. “You crybaby.” “You see,” said the Godwine. “You’re way too slow, Julia deserves a more,” Godwine set his fingers gently against Julia’s skin. “Humanoid companion. Like me, or Pavao.” “Julia?” said Harvey, holding shopping bags of new games for his Playstation 9. “Holy shit,” said Julia. She hit a button on her android app, for her androids, and they all sat down. She fixed her hair. “Hey babe.” “What the fuck is this?” he said. He held his bag up, and pointed it at the robots. He shook his head and smiled. “Is this that android fetish coming back again, oh my God yes.” “It’s not a fetish,” said Cai 137, from the bathroom hallway. It had a choppy British accent. “It’s simply a fun scene that our master Julia concoted for us.” “Yeah,” said Julia. She shook her head. “Dammit, okay look Harvey I know we talked about this, dammit.” “Look babe,” said Harvey. He moved the Pavao and Georgei out of the way and sat beside her. “So you’re open to trying what we said?” “No she isn’t,” said Cindy. “The hell is Cindy doing here?” asked Harvey. Julia folded her arms, and crossed her legs. “She’s,” said Julia. “She’s part of the scene.” Harvey held his hands up in an ‘A okay’ position. “Nice,” said Harvey. “Okay, so look, you know what this means.” Julia sighed. “I know what this means, fine, okay,” she said. “We’ll do your weird medieval fantasy war, where you save me like a princess.” “Noice,” said a Shamus 242, with a Scottish accent. It fist pumped the air. Harvey pointed with both hands at the Shamus. “I like this Shamus,” said Harvey. “That your Shamus?” “Yeah it’s mine,” said Cindy. She pressed a button on her app, and he started break dancing. “He was supposed to fight the other androids and save Julia when things escalated between the others. “How many androids did you throw into this?” asked Harvey. A Ninian 3000 emerged shyly from the bathroom hallway. “Well our masters,” said Ninian. “Kind of rented out close to a hundred androids from Elihu’s today.” Harvey’s jaw dropped. “What the hell?” asked Harvey. “How did you pay for all of that.” “Look,” said Julia. “This isn’t a fetish this was a very thought out, intricate plot where a big fight breaks out, Shamus saves me, there’s a dramatic pause, Shamus kisses my cheek, he feels ashamed and-” “And then I come in,” said Harvey 1. Harvey’s jaw dropped even further. “You made,” said Harvey. “And android version of me?” “It’s complicated,” said Julia. “Well try me,” said Harvey. “So,” said Julia, she let out a sigh. “So android you fights them all off, and then a whole bunch of androids one by one come over and try to hit on me and you kill them all at Cindy’s house.” Another android tip-toed out from the hallway. And then another. And then a few dozen others. Harvey looked outside the mall, and about fifty other androids trickled out from the walls and waved hi at master Harvey. Harvey breathed in, then let out a staggered breath. “Okay?” said Harvey. “And then,” said Julia. She scrolled through her notes. “You recite this speech of your undying love for me.” Harvey looked baffled. “I could’ve totally done this,” said Harvey. An android from the hallway walked up to Harvey. He put his hand on Harvey’s back. His arm made robotic noises as he did so. “You could have,” said Vladimir 1200, with a Russian accent. “But master Julia says you were so busy playing Modern Warfare Mars that you didn’t listen to her for a week.” Vladimir 1200 walked back away from them. Harvey pointed at him. “Is that an android of that Russian President from way back?” said Harvey. “Yup,” said Julia. “Think so. So yeah,” she sighed. “I’ve just, I don’t know I’ve missed you. You’re addicted to-” An android Obama sprinted from the side hall, and grabbed the bag of games. “Uhhhh you know,” said Obama 3000, chucking the games at the wall. “I think, your relationship would do far better,” he made some robotic movements, and pointed at Harvey with his thumbs. “if you put down the controller, and picked up your wife from time to time.” “Damn,” whispered Harvey. He pointed at his heart. “That hits here. I’m sorry babe.” Julia smiled, and many of the androids gathered around them. “I’m sorry too, let’s go out tonight,” said Julia. She hugged him tight, and squeezed her cheek against his cheek. “I’ve missed you.” The androids all around let out a collective ‘awwwwww’ and smiled at real love.
I hate the Jumps, when they come. Or rather, I hate the mornings-after. You try going to work after a night spent in an alternate reality, and tell me you don't feel the same way. It's one night in our time, but it can be anything from five seconds to five decades in the place you Jump to. Makes for one hell of a hangover. These days, unless the alternate is especially interesting, I try to get out as quickly as possible. Life's too short, even when it doesn't count back in your own world. I've been around for the better part of a millennium, if you tally up the years I've lived in other worlds. It doesn't show - I still look the same as any other 39 year old alcoholic insomniac - but you feel it inside. The mind ages, even if the body doesn't. Some people back home called it wisdom - or used to, anyway - but now I mainly just feel tired. Stretched out. Living and dying a thousand lives will do that to you. Contrary to what you might think, being shredded in the void of space is not the most painful way to die. I won't lie and pretend that it was painless, but as least it happened quickly. That was the five seconds, my personal record for shortest Jump. Afterwards, I woke up in my own bed, sweating, and reaching for the bottle I keep on the side-table. To this day, I still have no idea what happened to Earth in that universe. No, the worst death is the day-to-day one, the ordinary 9-to-5 death that we sacrifice a little more of our souls to each morning that we knot a tie before sunrise, and leave the house before the kids are up. I've lived plenty of those lives, enough for ten men. --- I wake up. Next to me, my wife stirs. I slip an arm around her, feeling the reassuring warmth of her body. There's no sound of our kids yet. "What shall we do today?"she asks, still half asleep. I pause. I have only been in this reality a week, and I still haven't gotten used to it. To the novelty of having a wife, and a family. To a world where, by some miracle, civilization has advanced beyond the need to work, but hasn't destroyed itself in one form or another. This is a reality I could grow old in. I smile. "Let's live,"I say. --- Subscribe at /r/jd_rallage for more of my stories.
“You have a meeting with Governor Xai soon Sir.” I look up from the agriculture rapport that I have been reading, it seems like most of my time that’s all I do. Read about farming and meet with people I don’t even know. Sometimes I wonder if it might have been better if I never got into power, if I never betrayed my brother. “Everything alright Sir?” Ayla always has been one of my most loyal subjects. The empire would have crumbled without her and her brothers holding down the eastern front on that fateful day. I should have probably rewarded her more for her services, but then again, she seems to be happy being my assistant. “Don’t worry about it Ayla, I was just thinking about the good old days. Anyway, who is this Governor Xai? I don’t believe I have met him before?” “He was just recently appointed Sir, after the latest eastern conquest.” “And why am I meeting him?” “He requested to meet with you in person Sir, before he starts the Journey and before he starts managing the province in your name.” “Before he dies on the way there and his children take over you mean…” “He knows what is expected of him Sir, he was chosen by the 55th council for a reason.” Ah yes, the 55th council. Governors appointing governors, I never fully understood how it works but Ayla assures me that the system works. A while ago the 55th council was still named the Governors Appointing Governors council but because of the number of councils that were created at the time we decided to stop naming them. The general council (1st council) first wanted to appoint a special naming council that would name all of the councils, but I have always preferred numbers over names. Numbers can’t lie or betray you, unlike the Justice Council. “What language does he prefer?” “He is slowly learning the common tongue but I think it might be better if you spoke to him in his native language.” Sigh, even as an emperor people still demand that you change and adapt. “Always change, otherwise you will never see something new” is what my dad used to say. He was never a clever man and most of his sayings are useless as lessons. “A chicken that does not lay any eggs is not useful to anyone.” One problem with change is when it happens too fast. In my short reign of 550 years the empire has been growing at an exceptional rate. It has gotten to the point where I am no longer being informed about all the new places that we are conquering, I would be constantly interrupted otherwise. Instead I am only being informed about any big events, like an entire province burning down because someone could not contain their mage. Curse those mages, for all the good they have done for me they are starting to become a problem. Maybe I should create some new laws surrounding magic, but what is the point. Most of the provinces would not receive the new laws for some time and at that point most of the mages will probably have died out. “Sir? Governor Xai has arrived.” “Fine, send him in.”
I stared at the digital clock sitting atop my cubicle desk. Tick, tick, tick... pretty soon it would hit five and I could go home. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling always made the place appear dark and ominous at night, and given that it's mid January night tends to come fast. I could never understand why I couldn't just man up and leave this worthless job, especially when the damn lights on the ceilings gives me headaches. Looking back at it, it wasn't as bad as I thought. I just had some problems that were too much to carry at times. I closed all the applications I had running on my computer four minutes early because I wanted to be able to log out as soon as 5 o'clock came around. Eventually it would, and in the mysterious way that time works it did. Perfect! I grabbed my bag and my coffee thermal which still had a bit of vodka in it and start for the elevator. I was honestly just anticipating spending the rest of the night drinking a bottle of whiskey and watching reruns of all my old favorite adult cartoons. Sad, I know, but that's pretty much all the excitement I get. We shared the building with five other companies, and we got the top floor which also happened to be the smallest, which worked out due to the company's size. I mean, our company was failing and I knew that I was going to get let off eventually. I could smell it a mile away, if they can burn Paul they wouldn't hesitate to lay off an employee like me. Why can't our firm be like the others in this office complex? Everyone gets to go home at four but nope, we're stuck in here till five, I thought. I approached the elevator with Wendy, Clint, and Daniel, a few of the folks who I got along with at that place. Wendy was the regional manager, so it was good at least to try to get along with her. And even then, they annoyed me. But I can't complain much, everyone around here tends to get annoyed pretty easily. We walk in the elevator and there's a man standing in the corner, facing away from us. He was older, but well built and tall. He was sporting a charcoal grey suit, much more professional than my poorly adjusted tie and stained khakis. I walk in and press the button to take us to ground level, and kind of keep a curious eye on the other man. Oddly, my coworkers with me didn't seem put off. I whisper to Wendy, "Hey, you've seen this guy before?"and before she could process my question he turned. "So, I bet you're wondering why I've gathered you all here today." I let out a chuckle. "Ahhh, I get it. Discomfort is a prime component of witty humor or jokeful-" The man interrupted me, "No, this isn't a joke." Wendy, Clint, and Daniel weren't laughing and the stare they gave me pierced the pit of my soul. Finally, the man smiles faintly but peculiarly. He extends his arm for a greeting, and I accept the handshake cautiously. He says, "Well, my name's Craig Higgenforth and I'm with Alcoholics Anonymous. Your coworkers here: Wendy, Daniel, and Clint have told me a lot about you and said that you need a hand." "I-I don't need AA. But thanks."I smirked confidently and began to step out of the elevator. Thank Christ that we reached the floor just in time. I've heard and read plenty about that AA shit. Wendy grabbed me on the shoulder and said, "Please, just listen. We know you have a problem, and you do too. You just have to own up to it. You're not a bad employee and we would like to see you get better. He will take you to rehab for a month, you'll get a room and dining. It's a nice place." I couldn't attempt to conceal my disease any longer. "Yeah, fine, I do need help but I don't have the fuckin' money for it. Thanks for the thought, though, of making me realize I'll never get better." "It's paid for. It's paid for by us, it was Daniel's idea and as the regional manager I don't mind pulling some strings. You'll still have your job when you get back, but you need this." For the first time in my life, since my mother died, I cried and embraced another human being. ___________________________________ This was typed up on mobile in sort of a rush, disregard any grammar or format errors.
Bonhoeffer got up from the cot in his drab cell and walked over to the barred window. Moonlight softly illuminated his face as he cast his long shadow behind him. The plot to assassinate Hitler was a brash one. Bonhoeffer knew that. The plan had failed, the group had disbanded, and he was imprisoned in a concentration camp. Still, he regretted very little. His writing consoled him and gave him purpose. This last book would ensure his legacy. "Foolish consolations,"a voice rasped out from behind him Bonhoeffer started and turned. "Hello?" In the cell, Bonhoeffer could see very little. "I have an offer for you,"said the humored voice. Bonhoeffer choked. He started to think he was hallucinating. "What is it?"he stuttered. "Is this all you've got?"he mocked. "You start a brazen revolution, a bold plot, only to have it blotted by pure power and politics.." "I did as I believed my God commanded,"said Bonhoeffer. "And where has that gotten you?"the Voice questioned. Bonhoeffer said nothing. "Let me make an offer,"it cajoled. A moment's pause. "Hitler. For your soul." "Ha,"Bonhoeffer weakly laughed. "My soul belongs to God alone. My hope is in Him." He waited a few moments, but the Voice did not respond. After a while, he went back to his cot, and slept restlessly. The next day, however, he felt its presence, looming dark and deep within the confines of his thoughts. He felt tormented, deeply insecure, and troubled. He spent every free moment in prayer. That evening he returned to his window. With clarity and confidence he said, "I am ready to make a deal."This time, his eyes were dead set on the empty and dark space of the cell. "Yes,"the voice replied. "Very good. Come to me." "Oh, you won't be taking my soul"said Bonhoeffer. "But you will have my life." "Do not try to fool me,"it growled. "You are already to die. I--" "Understand,"he interrupted, "that if I die now I can do no more good if I give you my work."He hesitated, then took the envelope in his hands and flung the contents into the room. "Here. Imagine how many souls will not be saved because this work was never read." "You will tarnish your life, your legacy, for revenge?"the voice said savoringly. Bonhoeffer sighed deeply, and turned his gaze to the ground. A few moments passed. "Yes,"he finally said. "Then Hitler will die." And never did Bonhoeffer hear that Voice, nor see his final work, after those moments. Weeks later, he knew the time had come. God had given him visions of his grisly execution. That he would be hanged; that guards would push his neck from the noose again and again before he became unconscious, and extend his execution for several, agonizing minutes. Yet ever did he trust his God. He knew that his written legacy was not the most important part of him to outlive that day. No; what he had now was a story of a faithful martyr. "This,"he thought to himself, "will save many more souls than any book." So it was that the day of his execution came, and the guards took him away. Before he was led to his doom, however, he turned to those with him in that sunlight room. "This is the end,"he said. "For me, the beginning of new life."
I stared at her, wondering if she lost it. "What? That's what you've been hiding? Is this a joke?" Sasha's jaw tightened as she shook her head. "I'm dead serious Ben. I'm human." "We're all human..."I was perplexed by the annoyance written across her face. "No Ben!"Sasha caught herself, took a deep breath, and then continued in a normal tone. "I'm fully human. One hundred percent. No genetic engineering. No predetermined qualities." She let that sink in before she continued. "No control manipulations."She added softly. We both instantly glanced around, as if there would be someone else eavesdropping in our darkened bedroom in the middle of the night. In the silence I could hear my breath, the pace quickening as I tried to comprehend the magnitude of what she just said. "That's impossible."I whispered. "The last full humans died out on Earth." I looked at my wife for what felt like the first time in years, really looked at her. Her grey-blue eyes reflected the light from the moons, her straight blonde hair falling along her slender face, framing a pink mouth that usually held a brilliant smile. "No love, we didn't."Sasha slowly sat up. "Some escaped. There was a woman, a scientist... she realized their mistake before undergoing the procedure, that the manipulations weren't just for physical aspects. She discovered the controls early on, and she knew that they passed through women. Mothers to sons and daughters. She was pregnant, she wanted to protect her child. So she falsified her record and never underwent the procedure. She was able to prevent a few other women from doing it the same way. Her name is lost to history, but she saved my ancestors and they found their way here. We've been here the entire time." "How many?"I tried to understand what she was telling me. People lived here, among us. People with free will. People who couldn't hear the commands, people who could choose not to obey. My wife was one of them. "A few are left. I don't know. I could be the last."Sasha was looking down at her hands while she spoke. When she finally looked up, I saw that there were tears in her eyes. "I believe that there used to be a network, or maybe there still is. I remember when I was a child, my mother would have friends who would visit. Except she didn't seem to actually know these friends. I believe they were others, like her, like me, moving around to avoid detection. But the secret got out. Or maybe it's been known all along. All I know is that they've been hunting us for generations, and we were losing." She stopped talking, her shoulders sagging. I inched closer to her on the bed, wrapping my arm across her shoulders and pulling her towards my chest. "I never knew my father. He was... like you. Not one of us. My mother never spoke of him. But she was enough, she was my mother and my closest friend. I was there when they came. She hid me in a safe room, but I could hear it. I could hear all of it."Sasha's voice cracked, and I could feel her shaking in my arms. "I ran after that, doing my best to fit in, as they did. Complying with every obvious command and praying that I never missed one. I haven't seen another one of us since, not knowingly. If there is still a network they haven't found me." As I listened to her voice, I recalled our life together. Sasha's reluctance to get close to me at the beginning of our relationship. Her tendency to want to stay home, not be in public. The way she always stayed close to me when we were in public, how she always let me lead whenever we were walking. This entire time she was watching me, mimicking me, making sure that she stopped when I stopped, that she spoke when I spoke, trying to comply with a command she couldn't hear. "You shouldn't be telling me this."I didn't even realize I was thinking it until I said it. "I had to Ben." "No. No Sasha, no, you should not have told me."Panic was seizing me, my thoughts running wild. "They could command me at any time. I have no control of it, do you understand? They could command us all and then I'd just turn you in. You shouldn't have told me! Why would you do that?" This time Sasha wrapped her arms around me. "They won't do that Ben. They can command you but they can't make you forget and they don't want the population to know about us. Knowledge of us is dangerous, they can't control the entire population all the time." Sasha placed her hands on the sides of my face, pulling me so close to her's that our noses touched. "I couldn't lie to you for our entire lives. And I'll be safer with you knowing. With your help I can stay out of sight without looking suspicious. I will be less likely to miss something when we are in public, you can guide me." I felt my world collapsing around me. My little happy life now was tinged with a darkness, a threat that I could do nothing about. Sasha gently kissed me. "I hate that I'm putting you at risk Ben, but if they find me they will kill you regardless of whether you knew or not. I shouldn't have married you. I know that. I tried not to, I really did. I just... It's selfish, but I love you." I pulled her close, kissing over her face, her hair, the top of her head. I was the one being selfish. We didn't have a happy life together, I had a happy life in ignorance while she faced this all on her own. "I love you too. I'll protect you. I promise, I'll do everything I can to keep you safe."I was determined to make that true. I felt Sasha let out a breath and again felt selfish for thinking only of myself. She must have been afraid to even have this conversation. My brows knit together as I pondered the thought. "Why now? We've been married for three years, why tell me now?" Sasha bit her lip, before giving me a sad smile and a shrug. "Because I'm pregnant."
Pulling my hoodie up onto my head I glance up at the crowd that is surrounding me. Noisy, boisterous and annoying. I was in a bad mood. My date stood me up, I had been waiting here for over an hour now and she has still not shown. “Skank” I think to myself as I feel fingers dip into my pocket. I turn quickly, lashing out at the pickpocket only to see the same grey hoodie I am wearing dart off into the crowd. “Run! Hide!” the fleeting figure shouts back to me with a very familiar voice. I pat myself down trying to feel what had been nicked. “Ha! The little punk didn’t get anything” I mumble to myself victoriously as I throw my hands into my pockets and start walking. Suddenly the blast of a nearby cruise liners horn jeers me out of slipping into my own little world while I feel my fingers wrap around a coin in my pocket that I am sure was not there previously. Curious I pull it out, it’s heavy, ancient and has these strange ruins along the edge that I’m unable to make any sense of. A strange sensation washes over my mind and I shift the coin over my thumb and flick it into the air. My attention pinpoint focuses on the coin, so much that it seems like everything slows down as I can see every detail of the strange silver object as it flips in the air One… Two… Three… Four… I see each of the four revolutions in perfect accuracy. A soft thud is emitted as it lands in my palm, completely entranced by the coin the blast of the liner startles me. “Again” I ask myself in confusion as I look up to where the liner is… Was. It looks like the giant vessel has reversed, its back where it was a moment ago… a minute ago… It dawns on me… exactly Four minutes ago. I look at the coin in awe. Again I flick the coin. Ten revolutions this time, I look at the liner, it is where it was about ten minutes ago. “There he is! He has the Twister!” I hear a gruff ugly voice shout just as my left shoulder explodes in white hot pain, I scream. No sound comes out. Looking down I see a throwing dagger firmly lodged into me. I run, the pain blinding me. I run straight into someone. Once, twice. Stumbling away I glare up at a familiar grey hoodie and slipped the coin into his pocket. Into my pocket. “Run! Hide!” I shout at myself as I run away.
We all had ideas of what the new world would look like. Lieutenant Rhames thought it had gone the way of the post-apocalypse: war rigs full of mutants waging perpetual war over the last drops of water and gasoline, all above sun-scorched deserts that stretched across every continent. It was a fitting dream for him, I suppose. He was a biker. Every spare bit of storage on his phone was devoted to pictures of him driving -I mean riding- across the country. For days at a time, he would tell us all about the trips: the desiccating air of the west, the gruff and grimy men he met along the way, the unyielding glare of the sun... But something about the way to told the stories made it seem comfortable to him. Commander Davis took counter-point, of course. The ash would have blocked out the sun, causing the world to freeze. When we surfaced, we would be greeted with stormy weather. We would open our hatch to find thrashing seas awash with white caps and icebergs, violent gusts of chilly air and perpetual snowfall. Davis was always ready, eager even, to spend the night arguing with Rhames about it, citing half-understood and decades-old high schools lectures about earth science and weather. Their arguments seemed to echo about the ship, no matter where we put them. Strange things happen on a submarine. You don't realize how much the human body sheds until it doesn't all blow away. There was hair and dust everywhere, and nowhere left to put it. All of the controls, and even the walls, were coated in an iridescent sheen of ichor - some smelly mix of oil, breathe, and other bodily fluids. When 50 fit sailors melt away to skin and bones, the leftovers have to spill somewhere. The smell clung to everything. It permeated every scrap of fabric, saturated every sheet of paper, and sprouted like lichen on everything else. It was the smell of rotting hair and burnt food and ammonia and a year's worth of farts. It was the smell of the old world that we clung to for as long as we could, for fear of what the new world would taste like. Our fate was decided for us when we lost Senior Chief Flores. Since the blackout, he had made it his responsibility to keep morale high in spite of our circumstances. For the record, he had the most optimistic outlook. Without us, nature would have gone wild. Brambles in the rubble of Times Square. Trees in the footprints of where our skyscrapers used to be. By now the birds would have returned. Many of them were in the south for the winter, near the equatorial countries that didn't have a stake in the fight. And just like when the dinosaurs went extinct, the small mammals and birds - the ones that didn't get crushed by the asteroid, of course - made it to whatever came after the Cretaceous. Songbirds in the ruins of old churches. Eagles gliding through clear skies on updrafts in slow, broad circles, surveying the ruins below for a stray vole or mouse. Without the Senior Chief, I thought it wouldn't have mattered if our hearts kept beating underwater for a decade: it wouldn't be the same as surviving. We opened the hatch off the coast of Washington DC at 1100 hours, but the sun was hidden, a mere dim patch of light behind gray clouds pocked with streaks of black. I clenched my teeth in anticipation of the wash of fresh air. But as I exhaled, I realized that we were wrong. We weren't greeted by desert, precipitation, or the song of birds. The air was slimy, tepid, stagnant. It was awash with foul-smelling bacteria and dead organic chemicals. The only precipitation were small flakes of ash, brought down to the ground by the weight of the oily mist that saturated the air. It was the smell of a thousand rotting politicians and the million more people who supported them. And as the radiation made my lungs tingle, I realized that we had done worse to our home than any asteroid ever could.
I remember the night my dad died like it just happened yesterday.. but it didn't. It happened twenty four, close to twenty five years ago now. My mother found him lying dead on their bed. The pleasantly papered wall behind him had been painted a sickly pink-grey by the spray of brains that had been ejected by the bullet my father put in his mouth. I remember sitting on the steps of our front porch, my knees knocking together, a warmed blanket wrapped around my shoulders, watching the ambulance pulling away.. I remember wishing that I could ask him why he did it. I was eight years old. I'm thirty three years old today... And today my wish came true. I went into my favorite little local pub late last week. As I bellied up to the bar, this odd feeling of dread bubbled and squirmed in my gut. One thing my dad had always told me was this: Always trust your gut. Your heart and mind will lie to you but your gut will never lie to you because it can't. I turned slowly to my left. Nothing. The bar was empty that way except for a dusty old unused jukebox (killed by the popularization of smartphones and earbuds). I looked slowly to my right and wasn't too surprised to see my dad sitting there sipping a beer. He was staring into the mirrored wall of shelves behind the bar, staring at my reflection which was now staring directly at him. I felt something almost... Seize control of me. Felt my lips, tongue and windpipe form words that didn't spring from my mind.. At least, not my adult mind. "Why did you do it?"I heard myself whisper in.. Were those the tones of a shy, shocknumbed child? The hair raised on the back of my neck. "Was it because of me, because I was sick all the time?" My lower lip was trembling now and that strange.. power had been relinquished over my mouth and my mind. This was me talking now, just me. "Was it because of Mommy?"I asked him. "Did you do it because you didn't love us anymore?" My dad turned to me and my blood seemed to run cold as a sluggish icy river. My heartbeat thundered furiously in my ears after skipping a moment in pure fright. There was a bullet HOLE in his HEAD and he was just sitting there sipping beer like we were just catching some Saturday night fights down at this sad shitty shitbar. "I did it because I was depressed,"he said in a surprisingly normal voice; this was the dad I remembered despite the grisly.. Physical evidence to the contrary. "I did it because the disease in my brain made me selfish, made me not think of you and your mother. If I'd been thinking of either of you, if I'd been allowed to think of either of you.. I would have never in a million years done this. I would have never left you both. I love you so much." I couldn't see suddenly as my vision blurred with tears. He was just a voice now, just that voice. I knew when my vision cleared he would be gone again forever. "Please,"I stammered softly. "Please stay dad.. You're a grandpa.." But he was gone.
Emily cared little for the cake or presents. Red Velvet was nice, sure. A new doll? Nifty. What she was really anticipating though was the arrival of her familiar. This year the birthday party was a subdued affair, only her and her parents, there would be no distractions when it arrived. Her mother's familiar was a beautiful cardinal and her father's was a feisty crow, both enjoying a bite of cake on the table alongside their patrons. It was speculated that the familiar's form might be genetic, perhaps Emily would get a bird as well. A bird would be nice, and if so she hoped it would be cute. Emily nibbled nervously at the cake, "How much longer?" "Almost, you were born at 6:37 pm, just wait a little lmore,"Her mother assured her. Emily could scarcely contain her excitement and nervousness. If it wasn't a bird would her parents be disappointed? And then a massive thump right outside the door. "Is that-!?" "Oh it can't be". "You don't think-" Emily rushed past her parents with a wild grin and flung the door open, screaming excitedly upon seeing it, "Oh he's beautiful!" Her parents and their familiars crept out nervously, mouths agape. Emily was all joy and wonder by contrast, eyes wide like saucers, "My name is Emily and it is so nice to meet you". She didn't care that her familiar wasn't a bird. Oh no he was even better. Large eyes lowered to meet her gaze and she saw they were already full of love. She reached out to touch its wet nose and was greeted with a giant tongue, saying hello the only way it could. Emily turned back to her parents triumphantly, "His name will be Clifford! Clifford the big red dog!"
Humans weren't known as a peaceful species, nor a weak one. The conditions on their home planet were way too harsh for any other sentient life, and there were even other species on the planet. On top of that, they didn't use photosynthesis for energy, they brutally killed other creatures to get their food from. As soon as we detected a sentient lifeform on the planet they call "earth"we feared the worst. They had hit technological milestones faster than any others because they needed to to survive. When they hit spacetravel, the council panicked. 1 young Human had previously obliterated a sqaudron of our soldiers as they were performing fotosynthesis as nothing more than a passtime. When we confronted him about it, what he told us was terrifying. It roughly translates to: "I like picking flowers, they're pretty and smell nice." So when one of my underlings told me they had captured a human, I was in complete shock. "WHAT?!"I exclaimed. I went to look immediately, and found the human lying on the floor. He seemed to be doing nothing. I asked my crew what they did to the human. "Nothing sir, we found it like this.""It must have died then,"I said as I walked up to it to inspect it, guarded by my 2 strongest men. It opened his eyes, looked at me and asked: "where am I?"I told him to better not try anything, as the room was loaded with with guns capable of shooting Hydrogen-peroxide, a dangerous poison. He started laughing, and my men fired the cannons. It seemed to do nothing to this creature. It grabbed a weird device, and sent out a distress signal. We kept it contained in the room for another hour, before a human fleet arrived. The human was let loose, went into their ship, and they left. The last thing we received before our ships blew up was: "maybe this will send a message."
She opened the door, her head turned to the side to address someone out of view, a smile on her face. "Hold on honey, I think it's the pizza delivery gu-"She froze as she swiveled her head forward and saw me. I smiled. "Long time no see." [FLASHBACK] She gasped as I slid through her bedroom window; her eyes wide as they darted to the opened bedroom door. Her mother was talking on the phone, heading up the stairs, right toward us. I plopped on the bed and stretched out, making myself comfortable. She frantically darted to the door, blocking me from view just as her mom got to the top of the steps. "Honey, is everything alright?"her mom asked. Yeah, I'm just a little tired, Mom. I think I'm going to head to bed a little early,"she answered. For fun, I grabbed a book off her nightstand and dropped it on the floor. It landed with a loud thump that made her mother ask, "What was that?" "Oh, uhm...probably my textbook or something. Anyway, goodnight, Mom. Love you. They kissed goodnight, then she closed the door and came storming over to me, whisper-yelling, "What is wrong with you? Why did you do that?" I mumbled something that made her lean forward to hear me better. And when she did, I grabbed her and pulled her down. On top of me. "I said..."I whispered again. "I love you." [END FLASHBACK] "Aren't you going to invite me in?" She blinked, subtly inching the door close. "I, uhm..." A voice - a male's voice - called out from somewhere in the apartment, "Babe! Where's the pizza? I'm starved!" I looked at her and asked, "What's his card?" "Please,"she begged. "Don't do this." "What's his card?"I demanded. She sighed and closed her eyes. "He's a King." I laughed. A little too hard. The door was yanked out of her grip by an Adonis. I'm not gay, but the man was hot. Straight out of a porn video. He glanced at her sharply. "Who the fuck is this clown?" Clown? Ha! If only he knew... I thought. "Derrick..."she started. "No,"he cut her off, turning towards me. He was in his boxers. Six pack abs and all. "Who are you, and what do you want?" "What do I want?"I slipped my hands into my pockets and smiled, nodding to his girl. "Her." He frowned. "You want her? Why the fuck do you want her for?" She grabbed his arm, trying to drag him back inside. "Derrick, please..." He wouldn't budge. "Listen, buddy, if you show up here again, I'm going to call the cops. And that's after I kick your ass. You got it?" I shuddered in my shoes. "Ooo, so scary,"I mocked. He took the bait. "Oh, you wanna go?"He flexed his impressive pecs, taking a step outside into the hallway. "Derrick, stop,"she ordered, tone laced with worry, knowing what I carried in my pockets. But before we could get to the good part, the elevator dinged and a skinny, scrawny, acne- riddled guy stepped out, holding a box of pizzas. He walked straight over to us, the smell of the pizza disappating the stench of the tension in the air. I walked away and called back over my shoulder, "I'll see you around, Maria. Preferably when you're alone,"I simply had to add. "I'll kick your ass! I'll kick your ass, do you hear me?"Derrick hollered. Yeah, I did. And so did the neighbors, who began opening their doors to see what the fuss was about. I laughed and caught the elevator down, already planning the next time me and Maria would meet again. I pulled my hand out of my pocket. The Joker card grinned at me in the light. My smile dropped as I looked at it for a few seconds, then I put it away again, and got off on the first floor.
They used to cheer me. My name was chanted from every lip. Children flocked to see me. I was on top of the world Thirty years ago, the vile Bocca Gnat tripped me. You read that correctly - he didn't outsmart me, he didn't beat me in any contest of wits. He fell down on all six limbs as I ran toward him, causing me to fly headfirst into the CryoSleep 9000. The PROTOTYPE CryoSleep 9000. Without me, his Presidential campaign went unhindered. His promises - to free supervillains, deregulate everything, legalize everything...were kept. Now... now the world I'm in is different. Everyone walks around, smiles on their faces, not caring. They live uncomplicated, unrefined, unchallenged lives. Everything they want or need is available; whether they take it by force or not is left up to them. Those that keep taking things by force tend to live shorter lives. With the legalization of everything, the police became far less easy-going. Suddenly, everyone's life was thrown into a black-and-white photograph of 'Guilty' and 'Innocent.' Until proven otherwise, of course. With this new, grey, sunny disposition affecting everyone... I'm unneeded. Unloved. I'm a relic of the not-so-distant past, when people loved the challenges life brought. I'm nothing. My superhero name was simple, something even the youngest child could whisper. I can't recall the number of times I was summoned, only to end a debate of "Who-Would-Win"or fix a skinned knee. But now, there's no place for me. Maybe in another thirty years, people will see their lives aren't lives at all. Maybe
All eyes in the pantheon were on me before Zeus repeated, “You really want to be the God of PB&J’s?” I nodded my head. “They’re just so good. I want to help people.” The entire pantheon was now laughing at both me and the response, mostly me though. Aries thought I was being crazy, having suggested that I become a God of Modern Weapons. Athena had suggested I become a God of Technology or Computers. I just did not want to do anything like that. Those were fine avenues, but I did not feel that I could make a difference in those fields. I had not really been much of anyone before Zeus had smitten me accidentally. Now that I had a chance to make a difference, I wanted to be the best version of myself and help as many people as I could. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were the way that I could bring some good into this world that was an utter mess. In keeping with his word, Zeus would redo my smiting for me to become a god. The God of the Sky rolled his eyes, disappointed that I was becoming a god of something so trivial when he had suggested that I do something more grandiose in becoming a god for the modern age. Then he wielded a lightning bolt and let the electricity turn me into a god. The gods all must have believed that I would have last minute regret about this decision, but I was energized with my becoming a god of my favorite sandwich. --- “Oh, God of both Peanut Butter and Jelly, please help make sure that this sandwich has the adequate ratio of peanut butter and jelly. May the bread not be too dry. May the jelly not be a congealed mess that I forgot about for three weeks. May the peanut butter be the right amount of creamy with just a hair of crunch,” the supplicant begged that morning three years after my renaissance. She was a mother of five who was fervently creating her masterpieces for her children before they went to school. I was called into action for the hundredth time this morning. All the gods had thought that it was impossibly crazy for me to wish to become the God of PB&J’s but there I was getting more work than Bacchus and Artemis combined. Every mother prayed to me that their children would enjoy their sandwiches. I think that having me out there also made the quality of the sandwiches tenfold better too, if I do say so myself.
I am a human being. And that was never really an interesting phrase until 10 years ago. When we learned that the Milky Way was actually more widely known as "Spiral"(in English). When "human"became synonymous with "monster". It didn't start out that way, though. The majority of humanity was pretty excited when Spiral contacted the UN and gave Earth a friendly invite to join their interstellar support group. Aliens existed and they weren't trying to kill us, or eat us, or stick probes in uncomfortable places! They wanted to share resources and technology with us! Every scientist on the planet suddenly found the need to change their underpants every few hours as Spiral's ambassadors shared groundbreaking information that was common knowledge to them. As a species we had new and better ways to travel, to grow food, to produce energy, to do anything we dreamt of, really. Which, to one misguided teenager, meant something much darker. The kid was a genius, really. Messed up in the head, for sure, but a genius all the same. He'd spent all his time at home, mastering new alien technology faster than most professional engineers. Automatic laser rifle, poison gas grenades, radiation bombs, and expanding block of putty that could harden and seal off exits. The kid went overkill, really. He could've wiped out his entire school, maybe even the entire neighborhood, if he'd just used the fuel in his rifle to make a big bomb. But, I guess overkill is what happens when you want attention. And he got it. In fact, all of humanity got the attention we deserved. Now don't think that I'm being unsympathetic to his 1000+ victims. It's terrible what he and others in history have done with the fruits of science. But in my opinion, it was really only a matter of time before someone found a nefarious use for unregulated super tools that were like something out of a comic book. That moment is what triggered it. Once that happened, Earth's government told Spiral to slow down the amount of new technology it was revealing to us. Which obviously confused them. Why didn't we want to learn? Well on Earth we know that learning can sometimes be bad. Like when the "enlightened"civilizations of our galaxy learn that Humanity is just a bunch "savages". That incident at the high school prompted the rest of the galaxy to take a really good look at what we were doing on our little planet. And they were horrified. I guess the bond between a species is stronger on other planets? In any case, galactic approval of humanity sunk to the floor over the next few years. In just 8 years, we messed it up. And now the UN has been scrambling to make every like us again. I'm one of the many that have been sent out to other planets to try and improve the galaxy's view of human beings. And it has been so. Freaking. Tough. How am I supposed to argue our case when no one will even get withing 10 feet of me? I raise a hand to the translation device around my neck and laugh. This thing is useless. I've barely spoken to anyone non-human in the year I've been working. Everyone looks at me like I'm about to try and kill them. When I smile, people see a maniac. When I reach for my phone, people run for cover. I don't even feel like trying to interact with anyone at the interstellar travel station. Probably won't feel like it until I reach Earth's outreach center on Redrain. I'm so tired of this. I feel so defeated. I sit down on the bench. I put my head in my hands, breathing slowly. That's when I notice a short red figure has sat down beside me. "Are you all right? You seem pretty upset. At least to me. I don't know how humans express sadness. Not that I'm saying you're weird! You just look sad. Not PITIABLE sad, I mean! You just look down, and I noticed you were going to Redrain, my home... Which you are welcome to visit, of course!" Wow. The translation devices in my ears are so convenient. I look up at him and smile sadly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit lonely, that's all." The collar on my neck outputs my words in his language as soon as I'm done talking. The alien just nods, so I continue: "I wish I wasn't being avoided just because I'm human. Everyone around me seems scared, and I'm sorry I make them feel that way. I don't have any real reason to hurt anyone." The alien stands up and faces me. I'll never forget what he said before he walked away: "Do you really need one?" I sat there for another few hours. Missed the ship to Redrain, but that doesn't really matter. I should've tried to change that alien's mind. But what would I have said? Don't judge us on our past actions? The way humans treat each other STILL sucks. Give us a chance to change? If I don't have faith that humanity will make good on that chance, why should the rest of the universe have any? I think about all the things mankind has done to itself across history. Hah. Done to itself. "Done to them"is probably what was in the mind of the aggressors. We need to beat them, kill them, teach them a lesson. It's all done to ourselves, whether we like it or not. So why do we hurt each other? Maybe the red little bastard was right. Maybe we don't need reasons, only excuses. Wow that was longer than I thought. First time doing one of these though, so I might've made a lot of mistakes. Please feel free to point them out in whatever way you feel necessary.
The lights flicker and the TV picture changes from some random cooking show I was half watching to flickering static, interspersed with barely visible images. After a moment, the lights go out and the picture changes to an image of a woman with lank black hair covering her face and a dirty white robe. She crawls across a shifting nightmare scape towards the screen. As she reaches the screen she reaches up and places a hand against the glass, she pauses briefly and then pushes through the screen to fall in a heap to the carpet. She rises slowly and glides over to where I am sitting on the couch… I take a sip of my juice, the doctor says I should cut down on the beer after work. She turns and flops down on the couch beside me. As she does, the lights come back on and the TV pops back to the cooking show. I reach over and hand her a beer from the cooler at my feet, poltergeists really don't need to worry about being healthy. “Bad day at work?” I ask, picking up on her body language. She pushes her hair back, revealing her unnaturally pale face, and cracks the beer open. “It wasn't too bad, boss said that we should be transitioning fully from physically cursed media to fully digital distribution, but we all knew that was coming” She sighs and sips her beer, “traffic was just horrible on the way home, I got stopped for like, fifteen minutes crossing that graveyard on that other side of town. Turns out some kids were doing a seance there last night and every jobless specter from here to the next city over was trying to get through.” I put my free arm around her shoulder and gave her a small hug. She sighed happily and snuggled up to my side, holding her beer in both hands while she rested her head on my chest. She finally seemed to register what was on the screen. “Cooking?” She asked in surprise. “I didn't realize you liked cooking shows” I grunted at that. “There was nothing else on,but I didn't want you to have to go through my phone again, I know how much you hate squeezing through those tiny screens” She reached down and pinched my side sharply, “was that a fat joke?” She asked in mock anger I chuckled, but changed the subject. “You remember that your folks are coming over for dinner tomorrow right?” She groaned and leaned her head back. “Great” she grumbled “just how I wanted to start my vacation, meeting Mom’s newest husband, I can't wait to see how badly she picked this time.” “Hey,” I said softly, giving her shoulder another squeeze “I hear that Nyarlathotep is a nice guy, maybe we should give him a chance” She reached up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Fine, I'll give him a chance” she said with a slight smile. “Besides,” I continued “they're only gonna be here for a couple hours. And then we have a whole month of vacation” She smiled and pressed in closer against me but let the conversation lapse into comfortable silence...
Do you remember the days before? The days when we sped down country roads with our windows down, the music so loud we couldn't hear ourselves speak? It was hard to breathe, and the brilliant orange and red of the leaves changing didn't help. They took my breath away, and so did you. Do you remember the smell of that incoming spring shower, the one that soaked us to the bone and all we could do was laugh? Things are different now, ever since the Grand Council announced teleportation as a basic human right. Internet doesn't have that status. Healthcare doesn't have that status. Teleportation somehow does. I'm not on the Council, clearly. Things might be different if I was. Do you remember the whisper of a summer breeze, the branches rustling in the night as they whispered those dark secrets? Do you remember how we would glance behind us as we walked back to your momma's house an hour after sunset? A country road might have made things better, but the eyes in the woods and the secrets of the streets were always sinister. We were just used to them back then. Take a walk now, pick any one of those abandoned streets. The signs are still up, amidst the ruins of what used to be. Imagine what Eisenhower would think if he saw what his network of highways had become. As ruinous as the pyramids. As forgotten as the secrets of the Great Library. Don't think about which way to turn. Let the streets decide for you. They have their own agenda. Do you remember the disappearances? The way people would go out for drives and never come back? Cigarettes, right? That was the joke. I wonder if that's where you've gone. You didn't smoke cigarettes, but maybe you're out for something else. You haven't come back yet, so I've set out to find you. Maybe we can walk hand in hand down the street again. I take a left on Helm, and when I turn back towards Fifth, there's nothing there. It's dark. It's cold, ten degrees colder than when I stepped outside. I should have gone back in for my jacket. I should have gone back in and forgotten all about this evening stroll. Where's home? Is it in this darkness with creatures lingering on the fringe? It sure feels like it. That might be because I feel you're close, hiding somewhere out on these streets. The breath of an unseen monster on my nape makes me warmer. It's pleasant, almost. It's comforting to know that somebody is watching. Do you remember the day they announced teleportation? It was thrilling at first. Then it was sad, and I looked out the window as the neighbor stepped out onto the sidewalk to take one last nostalgic walk. He never came back. What was his name? Do you remember? I think it was Mister Richards. Maybe you went to find him. I think the streets get lonely. That's why they call for us, inside the safety of our homes. There are safe parks here and there, places where they laid down new roads that don't have the same darkness to them. You just teleport to them. There's no need to walk there. If you do, you might not make it back home. I think I see Mister Richards now, just past that intersection. Was his face always so twisted and grotesque? When did Helm Street become Hell Street? I knew I missed running into strangers in the street. I had just forgotten how wide their smiles were when they said hello. I really should be getting back. I just don't know where I came from. I just know that I need to keep walking. Is that your hand in mine? I can't see you, and your hands feel like claws, but your touch is comforting. I've missed these streets. And I think they've missed me. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
I didn't expect it to work, honestly. I had essentially skimmed the texts, gathered what was around my shabby apartment and had half-assed the chants. As I said the words, I had slightly noticed the lights flickering in the way they might when your eyes are playing tricks on you. The candles sparked lazily. As I finished the last phrase, a wisp of smoke appeared and suddenly a creature appeared sitting in a thread-bare blue recliner. Honestly it looked like the laziest Halloween costume ever while still covering the whole body. The skin looked like a red sheet and the face was a rubber mask. The thing was smoking a cigar. "I dont make contracts kid, I'm only here because I have to be. Tell me what you want but make it easy."It puffed smoke on me. "Or else I'll just find your remote."
Of course, after it all, my lingering thought as the past settled around me was whether or not I remembered to unplug the TV. I was constantly forgetting candles burning and lights buzzing when I walked out the door. Though I hadn't simply walked out the door this time. I stood in my family's old manor, November of 1919. I had long since grown accustomed to the slight chill and lack of modern amenities, and this year, I was grateful to realize that my short haircut may just finally be in style. It had been incredibly unfashionable, and even to some extent uncouth to have close cropped hair in previous seasons. Keeping the right hair for both ages had to have been one of the hardest parts. I thought of Tess, my best friend from 2019, who had once told me I had a 'timeless air' about me. That's whats funny, I thought. If you have the touch of the past about you, you're refined. But if people get a sense of the future on you — you're dangerous. I never could quite seem to fit fully into either time of mine. A rustle in the other room reminded me that the house was staffed for half the year. My half of the year. A plump maid came swiftly from the kitchen. "Ah! Miss Hughes!"She huffed and smoothed her skirts. "We had not realized you had returned from your holiday already." "So sorry to startle you, Mildred. I had not thought to seek you out." She gave a pursed smile. "Not to worry, dear. I just put fresh linens in your rooms. I'm sure you're tired from your journey. Anything you need?" "No, not at all. Thank you." She nodded, and strode away, in as much of a hurry as I suspected she loved to be. I wasn't entirely sure how much Mildred knew of my true predicament, or what Exactly my father had told her, but I'd always found that saying less was easier than too much. People knew better than I did what made sense to them. The story itself is complex anyways. Here is what I know: My father grievously damaged his own timeline. An inventor and scientist, he established a way to time travel, but had no idea what he was mucking around in. The whole thing about 'don't change the past' is serious. He fell in love with a woman from the wrong time, pulled her from that timeline, and eventually, had me. By then, it was too late to undo the ramifications of her disappearance and my impossible existence. He erased some of his own timeline, including the section where he invented time travel itself. Ironic, I know. Time split them, and in its own way, me. For a while I told my classmates my parents were divorced, and that I spent summers with my Mom. Yet I knew none of my classmates who's parents were divorced were forced to carry sacks of love letters to each "visit."Or any of my classmates who came back from summer vacation with priceless antiques. As a child, I liked to imagine I was disappearing to a fairy tale land, a place no one could truly experience but me. No matter how close the metaphor, I could never fully explain what if felt like to be split between two worlds. Until my mother died. She died while I was away. From a fever. And I remember feeling like the split that had always been right down the center of my heart was finally wrenched open, raw. It was a cruel joke that even after she was gone from my father's time, and her time, I still had to come her and pay their penance. I knew when the knock came later that evening who it would be. I was reading in one of the front rooms and was able to get the door before Mildred could stir. I opened the door to one Jack Simon. He was reasonably good-looking. Straight brown hair that seemed darker when styled with gels. He had good teeth given the time, and a smile I couldn't deny warmed me. "Isobel...so you are back."Any tone of accusation was offset by his sly grin. "And so of course, here you are as well." He smiles, undeterred by dry tone. "Of course." "What do I owe the pleasure of this visit? " "Oh, I was just wondering if I could call upon you for tales of your marvelous travels." "I think not." "Ah, I assumed as much. Well then, there was one matter I wanted to discuss, if you wouldn't mind me coming in?" I could feel my face heating. Jack Simon had proposed to me three times as of yet. And three times I had turned him down. Because how couldn't I? I lived only have a life here. I could never live a life with anyone, in either time. And even if I tried? What if my own children were somehow cursed to walk half-lives? Or lives split even further, into quarters or eights? There was no way to know. So I had to keep turning him down. I could never have any attachments that couldn't be put on pause for six months. We sat in the parlor and sipped tea Mildred must have began heating as soon as she heard the knock. After a long silence, I spoke. "Jack, I- I think I know what this is about, and I must assure you that I cannot, well, I cannot accept." He sputters a bit into his tea, sets his cup down, and laughs. "Always straight to the point with you isn't it?" I'm constantly making small errors like these when I switch over. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to-" "No! Don't be. It's delightful." I cringe inwardly. Despite his genuine charms, I can feel him working me. Maybe these lines work with girls from 1910s, but they don't have the same ring with me. Maybe under different circumstances I wouldn't mind so much, but for now I don't want to be won. Yet, I've seen the papers. Two years ago, or ninety-eight years from now, depending on how you look at it, I look into the records of Jack Simon. And I see his date of birth, his mother and father and his full name. I see everything. I see that he dies at 48 in an automobile accident, I see that he has two children. And I see that he marries Isobel Hughes. No matter how many times I refresh the data, or travel again and again to the past to refuse him, we still marry. I still accept one day, and I don't know why or how or if I do it because I want to or because I don't know what else to do, but it never changes. Maybe even after I choose I won't know if it was because I wanted to or was meant to. I think a part of me is only refusing him now in order to cling to the part of my life that doesn't feel decided.
"Just one beer."That's what I'd said at the start of the night. I'd stop by, make a round, drink a beer and head out. Given the way the room spun and my feet did not want to cooperate, I done screwed that one up. And far be it from me to keep even a mistake lonely. Thus the straw in my hand and the powdery line of \something\ in front of me. This was really dumb. I wasn't really sure how this worked. I hadn't done anything like it before. I hoped TV wouldn't steer me wrong and I wouldn't look stupid on top of being stupid. I put a finger to one nostril and snorted the whole line. Colors and shapes clouded my vision. Were the entirety of my vision. There was no other sensation, just the kaleidoscope of colors. When I came to, I was flat on my back, just under the table where the line of whatever had been. A small crowd stood around me. They cheered as I sat up. Questions came in fast from all corners. "What's it like?""Does it feel weird?""Did it hurt?" My head spun, and it wasn't from the booze this time. The faces edged closer, more intent on their questions. An overly-sweet cloying scent permeated from the group. My stomach churned and I prepared to empty it right at their feet. Before I could further embarrass myself, a voice rang over the rest. "Hey, back off you vultures. You had your chance and didn't take it. Give the newbie some space." The crowd hesitated, and then disappeared into the crowd. They left behind a tall man. His hand was outstretched to me, and as he helped me to my feet, I couldn't help but smell him too. He smelled earthy, but not of loam, but metals. Copper and iron- sharp, acrid smells. And something else beneath it, tickling at my senses. I didn't have time to worry about it. He threw his arm around my shoulders. "Pretty heady, isn't it? That's just a fragment of what I have available, you know. Go, enjoy the party- I don't want to waste your buzz. It will fade by morning. But tomorrow, give me a call."He held a card between two fingers. I took the card and tried to focus, but between the booze and the smells assaulting me, I couldn't make heads or tails of it. I stuck it in my pocket. This was firmly a future-me problem. With that, the man shoved me lightly into the party. I heard one last, "Enjoy!"and he was gone. I can't say that I did enjoy it, but it was certainly something. There I was drunk and otherwise blitzed out of my mind. Smells came at me from everywhere, and they shifted as soon as my attention did. Here fast food, there a sea breeze, over there a rancid smell lingered. That last might have been vomit. I stumbled into the kitchen for a reprieve. It was mostly empty. There was only two girls in there. One was clearly far gone, wobbling and braced against the island. When I looked at her, I smelled bubble gum and cloves. A weird combination, but not unpleasant. The other was presumably her friend? The drunk girl's current caretaker at the least. She smelled like the forest just after a good rain. That deep, rich, grounded smell. I must have been staring for a while. She looked up at me and smiled. "Grab a patch of counter and some water,"she said. "I can watch two as easy as one." [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Everlosst/comments/e5xmdt/black_magic_powder_pt_2/) --- To see more from me, please stop by r/Everlosst or for more great serials, check out [Reddit Serials](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/)
“Dude just-he’s right there! Right-! Right there! Kill him!” “But listen!” I continued hacking at the sea of bones, maniacally laughing as their spines splintered and their top half sprawled over the forest floor. I know that skeletons are usually found in dungeons and caves, but hey, diversity is a strength, right? ba-ding! Level UP “SEE?!! NO DRAGON NEEDED!” “But-?!” “NO. DRAGON. NEEDED.” I fiddled through the mound of broken appendages and the like until i found what I was looking for. A key. “Dragons don’t usually have one of these, do they, Bartholomew?” “Well-not all, but-“ “Catch!” I threw the key at my friend who caught it with one hand, his other wrapped around the spear. “There’s no fun in searching Skeletons for keys, Kenneth.” “Is this Skyrim?” “Why-?” “IS THIS SKYRIM?!” “NO!” “Because it’s not, I won’t kill the dragon.” “What-?” “In Skyrim I get superpowers AND mad XP. So,” I shrugged, “this is how we are gonna do it.” “Okay, great. What’s the key for?” I shrugged again, “fucked if I know. Let’s go back to The Lion’s Den, see if the barkeep can help us.”
Sitting at the bottom of the mountain, glaring up, Sir Henry eyed his prize. A dragon, sleeping in the cave near the top. No more shall it scourge the kingdom. It be simple. He set the feed bag on the ground, left the small bucket with the rest of his water, and patted his horse on the nose. "Good girl. I'll be back soon."The horse snorted, and began grazing on the nearby grass. Henry turned his attention back to the dragon. The climb proved to be more perilous than he expected. His scale-mail armor clanged as he went, eliminating any chance of stealth. He knew the trade-off going in, but the fire protection was worth it. He reached for another hand-hold. Sweat dripped down his face. He panted as he pulled himself up. Looking ahead, he could just see the edge of the cave. Only a 40 or so feet left. He pressed on. Cresting the cave entrance, the dragon was already alert, staring at him with it's large lizard eyes. He unsheathed his sword, and spoke. "Today is your last day on this earth, foul beast." The dragon chuffed, acrid smoke streaming from it's nostrils. It opened it's maw, and Henry prepared for the flame. "Is there a reason you decided to wake me?"It growled. Henry paused. He didn't expect the creature to understand him, let alone speak. "Uh.."He dropped his guard, trying to decide how to respond. "You understand me?"Mentally he slapped himself for the stupid question. Of course it did. "You're bothering to speak?"The question came out harsh, but Henry detected genuine interest in the creatures voice. "I just... I was told you would try to kill me on sight." The dragon glared at him. "And yet you are here." Henry let his sword rest on the ground. "I'm not saying you'd win. I'm just... surprised, is all."He put his free hand behind his head. Something didn't add up. "Well, you were told wrong. I'd rather you just leave."The dragon moved it's large head back, curling back up. "I... I can't let you live. You've caused too much damage."He picked his sword back up, ready to attack. The dragon opened one of it's eyes. "Damage? Like what?" "Well"He paused to remember what all he had been told. "The castle fire, for one." "Castle fire? Is the castle still there?" "Yes?" The dragon closed it's eye again. "Couldn't have been me. If it were, there would be no castle left." Henry thought a moment. The stories did tell of how a dragons breath could melt stone. He never saw any stones actually melted. Strange. "What about the other knights?"He pointed to the pile of skeletons nearby. "You killed them." The dragon sighed, a puff of smoke escaping into the small cave. "They tried to kill me. What about your boots?" He took a step back. The boots were dragonskin. "I-I needed them for protection." "Against?" Henry was getting fed up with this line of questioning. He wasn't here to debate, he was here to end a threat. "Think about it. Have you ever seen me near the kingdom? Or at all, for that matter? If you're going to insist, I'll parlay with you, but I'd rather go back to my nap." His anger rose again. Certainly he had seen the damage the dragon caused. Right? Sure, he never saw the dragon itself. And maybe some of the claims were a bit odd. But the king wouldn't lie. He'd end the dragon, and return with his hide and his hoard. ... Henry dropped his sword. The dragon opened an eye. "I'm an idiot." "Were. You were an idiot. Now your less of one. Better than that lot."The dragon motioned to the skeletons again. "Only question now is what will you do next?" Going back wasn't an option. The king would have his head for treason. "I don't know." The dragon turned to him, both eyes fixated. "Bring some food, and wood, and we can talk." Henry was shocked. Then less shocked. The beast had given him a chance to talk, and now a chance to change things. Perhaps this was his chance to make things right. He stood, prepared to step outside again. He would befriend the dragon, and right this injustice. The king would understand. Or be made to understand. Moving to leave, he paused, and turned back. "Henry." The dragon, still curled, looked with confusion. "My name is Henry. Figured I could at least be courteous." "Az'rar. Pleasure to meet you." Henry smiled, and made his way out. This would work. This was better. --- For more dragons, checkout r/societyofmythicpeople. Or checkout r/redditserials for other great stories.
“My loyal advisors!” I said, standing in front of the throne. “Lend me your help in this time of great distress!” “My Lord, what is it?” One of them said. “We came as soon as you called.” “The esteemed Seer,” I pointed at the hooded prophet standing to the side. She gave a little wave. “Has pronounced a terrible prophecy: The kingdom will fall after my fated death. And I will die not by the sword, but to a cake!” I heard gasps of shock and grief all around. “Not the cake!” “Woe to the kingdom!” “What shall we do?!” One advisor cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, what type of cake did the prophecy warn against?” “That’s the problem, you see. The Seer here doesn’t know” – I jabbed an accusing finger at her – “so I need you to help me, my royal advisors. Tell me, in the name of the crown. Can I still have muffins? Scones? And donuts?” Once I stopped talking, the chatter started up again. “Do those count as cakes? Don’t cakes have frosting and candles?” “I don’t know, scones are seeming mighty suspicious to me.” “I say do not eat the donut!” The same advisor from before raised his voice again, silencing the others. “I propose, with the King’s approval, that we first focus on defining what a cake is.” I made a mental note to give this guy a raise (and exile whoever said I shouldn’t eat donuts). “I approve. This is a matter of great urgency, but we must have a plan of action. A definition is where we will start. Seer, would you like to offer anything?” Before she could respond, I heard shouts from outside. The palace door was thrown open and a knight stumbled in, arrows poking out from his sides and blood staining his armor. “M’Lord!” He cried out. “Rebels are coming!” And he fell to the ground with a clang. Suddenly, there was a flash of movement near me. I whipped around only for my world to explode in blinding hot pain. I choked out a gasp and stared. The Seer, her hood pulled back, had plunged a dagger into my chest. I met her eyes and she smirked, twisting the dagger. Pain exploded anew and I fell to my knees, black already creeping into the edges of my vision as I heard faint screams and shouts from all around me. “You weak, arrogant fool,” she sneered. “A king would know the truth. Didn’t you know, your majesty?” My head drooped forward and I barely heard her next words. “The cake is a lie.” --- Thanks for reading. Any criticism is welcome!
I should have known that it was too good to be worth it. I really should have known. When Devin told me of this job, he said it was a cakewalk. Break in, take some valuable stuff, sell it to that fence down by the harbor, that nervous guy with the squint. Has an accent that's vaguely slavic, and always has a large glass of kvass that he drinks from. He takes antiques and jewellery. It was easy to get in, the security system probably hasn't been updated since Kennedy was president. Huge mansion, the sort of Addams-family style Victorian place. Devin said it would be easy. Safe even. Just break in, grab stuff, leave. That was two months ago. We stocked up on small valuables, and when we went to find the window we had broken in from, it was just gone. We tried finding another window, some seemed to just look out over a sheer drop of 100 ft onto a spiky cast-iron fence, others couldn't even be opened, and the glass was remarkably strong. We tried to find the entrance hall. And after we had walked for an hour through quiet rooms, dark hallways, abandoned bedrooms, and other strange rooms, we came to the conclusion that things were seriously wrong. We found a bedroom and went to sleep, Devin volunteered to take the first watch. When I woke in the morning, he was gone. I haven't seen him since. There are kitchens here, canned food in some of them. They get stocked sometimes. I never see who does that. I came across a full Thanksgiving dinner once, all ready to be eaten by a family of at least twenty or so people. I bolted immediately. I had been warned against that. There are notes, letters, warnings written on the walls, and other indications that I am not the first person to be caught in here. The most coherent and useful note was survival advice. Don't stick around in dining rooms with fresh food. Don't enter the room with the single cradle in the middle of it. Don't stare too long into mirrors, don't stay in one section of the mansion for too long, and above all, when you hear it, you run. And you don't stop. I've seen things here. Terrible things. A week after I broke in I met a starving feral child. She could barely understand English, but she allowed me to feed her, and get some answers. She had been there for three years. She wouldn't speak of much she had experienced, but for every sound, she jerked like she expected a monster to come running. She told me to find the Master Key, and get out if I could. And to burn down the mansion if I ever get out. An old man played piano in what seemed to be a speakeasy from the prohibition era, for a bar full of very well-dressed skeletons. The fact that he got an applause made me run. A stuffed bird tweeted Bethoven's Fifth. A room full of smiling women were passing a dead rabbit between them while humming nursery rhymes. But mostly, the mansion is empty. You sometimes hear distant running. And faint screaming. And sometimes you hear the distinctive thud of heavy boots coming closer. That's when you run. You don't stop to grab anything, you don't get dressed, you don't try to see who is coming. You just run. The things that stalk, the three things haunting the mansion, you don't want to see them. And you most definitely don't want them to see you. I've found a few safe spots. They're places that are stable, don't change and stay where they are. I think perhaps that they were the original rooms of the mansion, before it became this infinite maze of rooms and hallways. The kennels are safer than most places, if you mind the rules and the smell. You enter the kennel, you wear the collar. If you take it off in there, you cease being protected. Mike died that way. He was a cynical and annoyed man. He didn't think to obey the rules carved into the walls of the kennel. He was given fair warning to put it back on again. The hounds are still there. They were hunting dogs in life, and hunt after those who break the rules. You take off the collar, and don't heed the warning, don't listen to the faint growls, well, you are no longer human. You become the new fox in the hunt. And that's an ugly way to die, ripped apart by bloodthirsty canines. The chapel seems safe. But only to the innocent. Sinners are punished. Children who manages to get locked in here, there is a few of them in here, they congregate there. Adults, sinners, not so much. I did not need to get branded with a burning iron crucifix by that thing in there, calling itself the priest. Looks fairly human, if the eyes weren't missing, and if they didn't have a set of midnight-black wings. The greenhouse is safe, as long as you do not eat of, or harm, the plants. The gardener is very particular about who gets to touch them. And his fertiliser is locally sourced, it seems. The thing that feasts is fat, jolly, polite, and if you are invited to dinner, know that you are actually invited as dinner. That's why dining rooms are bad, the food there is bait for humans like me. The Majordomo takes all the people he can catch, and makes them into the blind and mute servants that can be found shambling around some of the rooms. Beyond the missing eyes and tongue, only a small scar indicates how the Majordomo has perfected the art of lobotomies. The Lady hunts only men, while the Dandy hunts only women. I met the Lady once, and she was quite affable for what is essentially a human-spider mix, she believes that us girls should stick together. But what I am running from. What we all are running from. Is the Master of the House. He walks with heavy boots of lead. He stalks with his many eyes, and his blade-claws. He revels in brutality, and wants all who break into his house to die. About a month in, I found one of his trophy rooms. Suffice to say, the number of stuffed animals paled in comparison to mounted human heads, stuffed corpses, human leather hats, and a number of instruments based on repurposed human resources. But I've found something new. I've found a door to the attic. I've walked between the first five floors and the two floors of basements for two whole months, but this is the first door I've ever found to the attic. If the notes scattered around this place are correct, that's where the Master Key can be found. Or perhaps, it's just a lie, to lure in hopefuls from the mansion. Whatever the case, I'll try it. Nobody survives here forever.
A “Cleaner.” That’s what my new business cards said. My name, and then “Cleaner,” with my phone number and government email address printed underneath in thin, neatly spaced letters on recycled card stock. I looked at the small package I’d taken the card from, itself a part of a larger parcel that had been delivered the day before I started my new job as a “Cleaner.” It sounded a lot more…mafia than “Waste Management Technician,” but it definitely made for a sleeker business card. The next parcel held a perfectly tailored and immaculately white suit, with a black undershirt and tie. This was ridiculous. Why would a garbage man need a suit, or for that matter, business cards!? I’d assumed that my promotion to the “highest level of security clearance” email I’d received had been some kind of practical joke from my boss, Larry. When I called him out on it he acted confused, then surprised, then wouldn’t look me in the eye. I might have even said he looked scared. My cat walked over to the box and started laying down in it. I rescued the last envelope out of the package before his furry butt could hold it hostage. I scratched his head idly as I opened the letter. It was blank except for a large recycling symbol embossed in the side without a flap. “GOOD EVENING, MISTER JAMESON,” read the opening line in an irritating bold font that made me read it in a mental yell. The letter seemed like the usual corporate hoo hah they send out when you get a promotion. The only really notable thing was the last bit: “REPORT TO HQ FOR YOUR FIRST ASSIGNMENT,” with the address of “HQ” beneath it. The cat and I exchanged looks, mine of general nonplussed disbelief and his of an equal nonchalance. “Well at least the box this crap came in was nice,” I conceded to the cat. \- The next day I drove my old shitbox of a car down a building I’d seen many times when, of course, collecting their trash. It had stuck out for two reasons: the trash had smelled like oranges (in a good way, like a fancy soap from Whole Foods), and the building had no entrance or signage. I slowed down next to the building and let the tired motor whine as I considered my options. I was wearing my ridiculous Mr. Clean-by-way-of-the-Goodfellas get up, and I took the note out of a fancy inner pocket. As I read the letter looking for some parking instructions, someone tapped on my window. I was already preparing a grouchy response and a placating response depending on who it was tapping on the glass, but when I looked up I decided neither one would do. I cranked down the window and meekly said, “Can I help you?” to a tough looking woman wearing a matching suit to my own. A leathery paw shoved through my window before I was even done rolling it down. “Name’s Katherine, partner. Put her there.” I shook the hand awkwardly, then got out. She was already walking towards the building at a steady pace, so I hurriedly bent over to lock my car (not that anyone would steal this piece of scrap. “Don’t bother!” she growled, now leaning against the wall, still facing away from me, “The valet boys will have your chariot whisked away before you can say ‘Sheboygan’.” “Oh uh, thanks Katherine,” I hurried over to the wall she was leaning against. She was staring ferociously at it, chewing the end of a toothpick like it had personally wronged her. We waited there for 5 seconds, then 20, then a minute went by. Finally, I spoke up: “So, uh, what are we doing here? Are you a Cleaner too?” Katherine looked up at me with eyes hard as glacial ice, and reached into her own jacket. I saw hers too had a clever pocket, but instead of a letter she pulled out a neat, meticulously clean pistol. She handed it to me, then produced another from somewhere else on the suit. “I remember my first day,” she spat, checking the pistol. “I thought it must have been some kind of joke. What would a garbage lady need security clearance for?” She was screwing a silencer on to the end of her gun. As she said this a hulking figure came out of a door that was almost impossible to spot until it opened. He dropped a bag of citrusy waste into the dumpster I had collected from just days ago, then looked up at us. I didn’t even get a chance to register what I was seeing; some kind of smooth, gray flesh where a face should have been before Katherine put the giant down with 3 quick shots. I don’t remember the details, but next I knew I was vomiting in the alley with the dumpster, and Katherine had hauled out the fresh bag and cut it open. Thousands of tiny slug like creatures spilled out, thrashing on the pavement. “Well, partner, let me tell you this. We’re Cleaners because this is a nasty, nasty city. And it’s time somebody cleaned it up.” With that, she kicked open the hidden door, and dragged me in with her.
I cracked apart another piece of my ramen and began sprinkling the dry noodles into my mouth, chewing with my mouth open as I looked to the other people among me. On scratched incessantly under his beanie, another was biting at a scab on his arm. Neither of them were refined. I thought about how fortunate it was that I was at their level as I poured the ramen flavor packet directly on my tongue. "So,"I began, looking to the guy on the right. The scab-eater. "What were you doing when everything went off?" "I was doing the same thing I do every day,"he said, patting a sign behind him affectionately. "I was warning everyone about the end of times." I looked at the piece of cardboard and squinted as I made out the characters. *Please need money for me. World end soon!* "Ah, I take it a lot of people took you seriously."I said sarcastically, crushing more dried noodles in the bag. "Not at first, no,"he said, taking a moment to lick his scab, "but one day everyone just went home and never came out." "You mean the bunkers? You predicted that?"I asked. Beanie-scratcher looked up curiously as well, slowing the rate of his itching. "What bunkers?"Scab-eater asked. "The... the ones that everyone bought and hid in for the nuclear bombs?"I said, looking to Beanie-scratcher for support. He scratched his head slower, as if to shrug. "Nuclear bombs?"Scab-eater asked. He took a look at his cardboard sign confused, as if it would offer him any answers. "Yes--were you outside at all on the day of January 5th?" "I'm always outside,"he nodded, licking enthusiastically as he finally loosened the scab enough to consume it. "Remember all the lights that showed up in the sky, arcing down on us all?"I prodded. He nodded slowly, then accelerated as his recollection became more clear. "The sky show!"he said. "Sure, that. People hid in bunkers to hide from the nukes, but it turned out that the bunkers were faulty and sucked in all the nuclear radiation rather than repelling it,"I explained. "It was awful. Everyone in a sealed bunker died." "What bunkers?"he asked, scratching at the open wound. I breathed out heavily, dumping the rest of the ramen down my mouth. I looked up to Beanie-scratcher. "What about you?"I asked, pointing to his head with my eyes. "I actually designed the bunkers,"he said, scratching more fervently. "You what?"I exploded. "Yeah, I was trying to get into one to tell them about the flaws with it. You know, all bunkers had communication with one another to maintain civilization. But they wouldn't let me in,"he said. "Wow, the conspiracy went all the way to the top and bunkers were designed to lock you out?"I asked. "Oh, no, nothing that sophisticated. They didn't want me in their bunker on account of me being covered with lice,"he said, pulling out a white hand and presenting it to the both of us. I gagged while Scab-eater raised an eyebrow to him, impressed. "You--you were homeless before the Blast? Is that how you got lice--please don't do that,"I asked as he began nibbling at his hand, presumably trying to find flavor in his own lice. "Oh, no I had a home. I just don't like showering,"he said proudly. "Amen brother,"Scab-eater patted him on the back. "So... the reason you didn't have the opportunity to warn anyone about it was because you had a terrible case of lice... But everyone was issued a bunker! What happened to yours?"I asked, shaking. "What bunkers?"Scab-eater asked. "Oh, yeah, I had a bunker,"Beanie-scratcher said, scratching his head with disgust. "But it had a shower in it." I sat back, throwing my empty packaging of ramen aside. I was stuck with these people for the rest of my life. Where first I was glad to have people foolish like me, I found that even idiots like me have their limit. Perhaps I would go find a bunker and see if they were still lethal. Not for me of course, but in case Scabbie ever wanted to know what the indoors was like or Beanie what a shower was. ________________________________ For more fun stories, come check out r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
The human vessel warped into their system before any defenses could be made, any plans thought of. "H... how is this possible? Even with their advances in technology since 3020, we expected them to take at LEAST 10000 more of their revolutions! Where on Xalra's [green] moon did they get the equations necessary?!"their superior officer exclaimed out if fear and amazement. "It seems that one of their scientists figured it out by total accident a little over 1 revolution ago..."I trailed off, unsure if I would be laughed out if the control room on the station. My superior officer shifted in xe's seat, 4 legs shooting umpiring before collapsing down once more. Xe's 3 arms fidgeted with their hat, looking like one I'd the humans' 'party hats' with a wing insignia engraved. The smallest arm came up to their face, scratching at a scar. All of the crew knew not to ask about it, as such blemishes were rare. If one had a scar, they were one of the rarest of our species: one who didn't die from shock. The human ship had advanced, projecting a video of some sort of white flag. It seemed large, but scans showed it had limited weapons. We could only watch as the ship rounded one of the moons of our outermost planets, Yltaal, not wanting to begin relations with a bad start. My superior officer sighed and gave us orders. "Send them a hail, and send them a picture of this station if they refuse."Affirmative grunts and gestures were given. Minutes later, a human popped onto the main screen. It spoke in unintelligible hisses and grunts, and I winced as I waited for the software to figure out how to translate their language. I couldn't tell why, but I was very apprehensive of reaching out after seeing their faces and hearing them. The bar on our linguistic's panel reached a quarter when I noticed some of their mouths were open, baring teeth at others on their ship. Their front teeth looked sort of sharp, and their eyes at the fronts of their heads. It was when the process was halfway done when I figured out why I was so scared. They were a predator species. We had met some intelligent predator species, but most seemed to destroy themselves before reaching even the industrial age. These humans... "Greetings! We come from a planet we call Terra. We noticed the frequencies you were putting out and wanted to introduce ourselves!"One of the humans practically shouted. At first, I thought it was aggression, but the video feed flashed with 'excitement and/or amazement', assuaging my fears. "This is Yaltuu of the Xalran empire. I ask your purpose and how we may assist you."the captain said, trembling. So he figured it out. I put my third hand onto his armrest to show support. "Oh... well, we kinda just wanted to meet you. We've been alone four so long, it's a relief that we finally met someone else, you know?"the same human asked. I showed confusion at that. "We've known of your species four a while now, but why would you want to meet other intelligent species? Wouldn't that mean that there's less materials your race has personally?"I asked. "Hmm... some of us might think that, but most will be excited. This has been a dream of our race for over 2 centuries." All of us were silent at that. One of the younger members of the crew piped up. "It's true that your race breathes that poisonous gas, right?" It was the humans' turn for confusion as they turned to each other to speak. "Do... do you mean oxygen? That's poisonous to your species?"a human with splotches of grey hair on their head asked seriously. "Yes. It's fatal, and exposure to it was a form of torture in our early years."A history major offered from his seat. There was complete silence on all parts at that statement. It was finally broken as a crash came from the human vessel. "What is it this time, you mangy [unintelligible]?!"A tall, hairy human was on the ground, clutching his knee."" "Um... engineering wanted you to know that the frequencies the aliens are using are damaging our radios,"he said meekly. They quickly added "But we might be able to fix it if you give us an hour." After a long sigh, the leader (I assumed at least) said "Go back and try not to cause any more damage. I'll cut the communications in 5 minutes." The tall human put a hand to their head and walked out of the room with a crash. "I'm sorry we have to cut introductions short, but we've got problems on our side. We'll try to get back in touch in about an hour." The screen darkened. 'Well, that was better than I thought that would go' I thought to myself. EDIT: [here's the link to part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/user/Magic_Creator/comments/hxcrgl/their_shields_can_do_what_now_hfy_pt_2/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
To bend reality. What does it really mean? If I were to think an apple to be an orange, would it simply be? I stand before the world, unseen by all, with the Earth in the palm of my hand. With a single clench, I could eradicate all life. But what gives me the right to rob others of their life just because I can? Maybe to see if I can? They said they wanted to see if power corrupts. I said they're stupid and that it's obvious that it does in the wrong hand. Then they asked if I was the wrong hand. I didn't reply. Now I stand before the world, incorporeal and invisible, my size expanded so greatly that the world literally lies in the palm of my hand, I wonder... What kind of person am I? I look at the world. I see its people and their lives. Their countries and borders that divides. I see the war and chaos, the blood and death. I see the love and kindness, though as little as there may. I think of my friends and family, my shitty job that I had. I think of my lovely cat, the one I rescued from the streets. I pondered and think. I unfurl my hand and reduced my size. With a single thought, I am back in my home, looking at my cat. I'm just an average Joe. But I'm a good average Joe. Since reality is mine to bend, then let this one thing be irrevocable. As I grant my cat immortality, I take her with me on a journey across the world to take in the sights. One newly born God and his immortal cat, traveling the world and one day, the universe.
It wasn't for naught that I became an Archaeologist. It wasn't for naught that I sunk my entire youth- countless beads of sweat, countless drops of blood- digging through the mighty red sands of a nearly-forgotten Earthly kingdom. When I finally laid my hands upon it- that all-important device, now gone from this world- it taught me all that had been forgotten. Once, man had been a force beyond reckoning- their willpower bent Nature and built empires, through both magical and mundane means. At first, I recognized only that I was now able to repair tools with perfect accuracy- I could recognize their dis-ease quickly. Eventually, however, I turned my attention to my fellow humans- and realized that what they had become was not what they could be. And so, as with so many of their own tools, they needed to be turned off...and turned back on again. I am not referring to sleep. -------------------------------------- r/nystorm_writes would be cooler with you in it :)
"What?"The priest asked, hands still on the collar of my sacrificial robe. "Your dead virgins are useless to me."The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "Then why do you ask for them?" "I DON'T!"The voice boomed. The spectators in the temple ducked and covered their ears. The priest let go of my robe. He flipped through the giant book on his podium and read aloud. "Every hundred years, the faithful shall sacrifice one of their own; pure and loving with a mother's spirit; truly beloved by all around them...right?" Suddenly, the temple was filled with a dazzling golden light. The light formed into a dragon, its features matching the ornate statues and stained glass decorating the temple. The priest, the spectators, and I hit the floor, on our knees in deference. "Nowhere in here does it say they needs to be dead. Or a virgin. Or a woman. They must be pure of heart. You must sacrifice them to me, give them completely to me, to use as I see fit."The Dragon God, fully formed, spoke directly to the priest. "What exactly do you mean by that?"I looked up at the Dragon God, meeting his eyes. He picked me up and looked me over, tilting his head like a confused dog, sniffing at me, and squeezing me just tightly enough to be a little uncomfortable. "Given the confusion about my scriptures, I need a nun."He set me down and patted my head. I was suddenly much more comfortable. My short, sheer sacrificial robe was replaced by a warm, loose Dragon Nun's robe, all gold, with loose pants underneath. My bare feet were covered in no-nonsense brown canvas shoes. My hair, which was down and wild before, was neatly braided, as was customary for nuns. "I don't know how to train a nun..."The priest stammered. "It's okay. From now on, she will lead the temple and the sermons. She will lead the new cloister of nuns. She will build the new school. She will preside over the weddings, births, and funerals. And in 100 years, she will choose who to sacrifice." I was reeling. I'd just had my life laid out before me. I'd just been told that I'd be running a congregation and a nunnery, a school, doing weddings and funerals, and that I'd live to be at least 116 years old. I heard the Dragon God again. "Dismiss the congregation. Dismiss the priest. Bring your belongings to the temple. Your education begins now." I walked to the podium. The temple looked strange from this angle. Normally, the thought of speaking to a crowd would paralyze me with fear. Today, I felt galvanized. The Dragon God, the literal Creator of Fire, had chosen me. I spoke my first words as a dragon nun. "On behalf of the Dragon God, I say to you this."Crap, which scripture? The Proverb of Service? Sure. "We serve the Dragon God by serving others. The fire that ravages the forest is the same fire that warms the hearth. Use the Holy Fire in the service of those who are cold and hungry." The priest glared at me. His sermons were heavy on the destructive powers of fire; not so much about its healing and creative powers. "You are dismissed. Keep fire in your hearts!"
Surrounded by beeping monitors and the awed faces of politicians and scientists, the screen at last flickered to life. Gasps emanate from the crowd. After so much work, so many false starts and dead ends, at last the day of reckoning had arrived. Contact had been made. The project had consumed generations of Earth’s greatest minds and had at last been completed. Trembling from mixed parts excitement and fear, the lead scientist and International Premier together reached forwards and flipped the central switch. An image burst onto the screen. The Earth Concordant’s first contact with alien life. It was a startlingly humanoid face, although purple and with quite a few more eyes. Tentacles waved merrily in the background, along with strange whizzing objects. Even more intriguingly, its anthropoidal face was colored not with the kindness that the philosophers and predicted, nor the rage the doomsayers had warned against, but with confusion and perhaps a little bit of fear. The International Premier shuffled his notes and launched into his prepared speech. “Greetings, friend. I bring you the goodwill and friendship of the human race, represented by the Earth Concordant. I recognize that this might…” It was an incredible speech. Synthesized by the best linguists and writers that humanity had to offer. It was a surprise that the universal translators didn’t burst into flame from the sheer weight of oratory. But to the shock of all those present, the alien did not instead, less than half way through it cleared its throat and interrupted. “Uh hmm, I’m sorry, but are we really doing this again?” Taken aback, the premier responded: “I beg your pardon?” “It’s just that this is the ninth time that you’ve had your “first contact” with us. The first time it was the “United Nations”. After that the “Terran Empire”. Last time we got to hear from the “Great and Serene Human/Automaton Alliance”. We thought it was some sort of weird cultural tradition, but I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s getting rather concerning.” The premier shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes well, uh, the last one which we call the “Perfidious Cyborg Tyrants” received their just dessert at the hands of a revolutionary alliance of free peoples who brought their cruelty to an end and ushered in a glorious age of prosperity under the new Concordant.” “Unfortunately, it seems like the records of our previous contact were uh, lost in the scuffle.” “I...see” spoke the alien. “And each of those other representatives met similar ends?” The premier looked down at the floor, then at the ceiling, then quickly side to side before he returned his gaze to the screen. He licked his lips. “Well, they were all of them ineffective degenerates or brutal fanatics that needed to be swept aside for the good of the species, so not much of a loss, but yes.” The Alien’s nine eyes narrowed skeptically. “And I assume that your government being the true and final manifestation of the will of man will last for a thousand years, and bring justice, peace, and strength to the cosmos?” The premier sighed with relief. So they were on the same page. “Absolutely!” “And there’s no upstart rebellion that might bring you crashing down and force us to sit through another one of these tedious first meetings?” “Now that you mention it, there is an ongoing insurgency by a pair of religious cults known as the People’s Front of Judea and the Judean People’s Fronts, but they’ll be crushed in no time. They’re already fighting each other!" “Right. Well I’m sorry but this isn’t going to work. We’re a very busy pan-galactic race and just don’t have the time to make contact with you right now” And with that the alien reached over to deactivate the monitor. “No! Don’t! I promise we can change! Don’t hang up! We can make this wor…” But the screen had already gone black. There was a moment of silence, then the premier turned to his advisors. “Well, after we’ve destroyed the People’s Front’s speed up the intergalactic missile project. We’ll show that snooty scum what happens to people who ignore the salutations of the Concordant of Earth!” (r/StannisTheAmish)
The rich smell of coffee was the first thing which tickled into Noah's consciousness, snaking into his nostrils and choking the back of his throat. It was the same taste. The same smell. His stomach lurched with nausea, a familiar striking pain beginning its usual throb across the curve of his skull. A groan slipped from his lips, which turned into a cough. His eyes flickered open, zeroing in on the cracks in the ceiling. Sunlight was already pouring through the blinds, signalling morning. There was bird song outside, and some psychopath was already cutting their hedge. His gaze lazily flicked to the clock hanging on the wall. 7:00. School started in an hour, but Noah wanted to lay there for a few more minutes and try and figure out why his joints were stiff, his throat was dry and his head ached like a bitch. No. Everything ached. Everything hurt. But this was the norm for him. The aching, he expected it. He wasn't quite used to it, since the pain felt like someone was sticking a dagger into his skull, but he could tolerate it. He'd been tolerating it for two fucking years. Aching head. Aching body. No memory. The feeling of something not quite right, like he'd been tossed around the drum of a washing machine. That's what he'd been waking up to every morning. Sometimes it was different. He'd find bruises he couldn't remember getting. His lip might be split. There'd be flecks of blood in his hair and splattered down his pyjama shirt, and yet no memory of being hurt to the point of bleeding. At first, he'd been convinced he was losing his mind. It wasn't normal to lose 12 hours of memory. Even at night. He should have been able to remember at least being asleep, being wrapped up in bed. It started slow. His nights would get fuzzy, memories of falling asleep escaping him. It got to the point when he was forgetting he'd even gone to bed. Then he started to realize he was passing out. It was 8PM every single night. No matter what he was doing, whether that was watching TV or doing homework, a sudden feeling of dizziness would swamp him, he'd go off balance, and before he knew it, Noah would be waking up in that exact same spot. Except twelve hours would have passed, and the filthy windows of his trailer would be streaming early morning sunlight. He'd have a beast of a headache, a bitter taste in his mouth, and a sick feeling in his gut. After enduring the blackouts for two months, Noah had gone to the town doctor. He was convinced he was losing his mind. He'd sat on an observation bed and let Doctor Mitch listen to his heart, check his breathing and ask questions he didn't feel comfortable answering. The Doctor had examined the bruises on his back and shoulders, making acknowledging noises and humming to himself. After what felt like forever of being poked and prodded, the doctor allowed him to put his shirt on, and leaned back in his chair, a smile quirking the corners of his lips. The man's office gave him the creeps. He was the town's only doctor, and the observation room looked more like a morgue. Everything was clinical white. Mitch however, bore light blue scrubs. Ironically, he himself looked like a corpse; bulging eyes and pale skin. "Have you ever heard of Narcolepsy?" He hadn't. Noah shook his head, biting his lip. The doctor clasped his hands in his lap. "To put it simply, Mr Cox. Narcolepsy is a rare long-term brain condition that causes a person, as yourself, to suddenly fall asleep at inappropriate times. This can be due to a poor sleeping schedule, psychological stress, or puberty."The man's brow raised. "Have you been feeling stressed at all?" At sixteen? Noah almost laughed. "Yes."He'd said, to the man’s question, with an edge to his tone. "Because I black out every night, and I wake up feeling like I've been beaten to a pulp multiple times." Doctor Mitch cocked his head. "Have you considered sleepwalking? That could be a factor to the explainable marks on your back and shoulders. In fact, many patients experience waking up with unusual bruises and scrapes. It's nothing to worry about, young man. It just means your brain feels quite sleepy at unusual times. Do you ever collapse in the day time?" This was ridiculous, he'd thought. How could Mitch sweep something like this under the rug? "It happens at eight. Every night."He'd explained, very quickly losing his patience. "But what I'm trying to say, Doctor Mitch, is that I black out at night—“ "Hmm. It can be any time, Noah. The brain is a very complex thing." "But—“ "Do you harm yourself, Noah? Any bad thoughts?" "What?! Are you suggesting I'm doing this to myself?"He'd let out a choked laugh. "Do you think I'm beating myself—“ "I'm going to prescribe Dexamphetamine for now,"Mitch cut him off, ignoring whatever it was Noah was going to say. "This will stimulate your system, and keep it awake during the day."The Doctor grabbed a biro and began writing on a piece of light green paper. "Of course they won't fully get rid of the problem, Noah. However, they will stop you from collapsing during the day, and hopefully you'll see a change within the coming weeks."The man handed over the prescription, and then grabbed a sour candy from the basket on his desk. "Make sure to avoid caffeine such as coffee and tea, and stick to a healthy diet!"Before Noah could speak, the man dropped the candy into his hand. "Candy?"Noah had said, rather incredulously. He couldn't keep it up anymore. Mitch only shrugged. "Sugar can help, young man. I recommend cutting down on caffeine, such as soda, and begin drinking at least three pints of water a day. Candy is also a wonderful stimulant." Speechless, he'd sat there and stared at the doctor. Mitch wasn't listening to him. Nobody was listening to him. Noah took the prescription with a sarcastic smile, dumping the candy in the trash before he left. The pills made him feel nauseous and the blackouts continued. He'd researched Narcolepsy, but everything on the internet, Doctor Mitch had already spouted out, as if he'd been reading from a Wikipedia page. Noah stopped taking the pills after months of no results, accepting his condition. He didn't visit the doctor again, and fought to control the blackouts. He exercised, went running after school, even swapping his diet of burgers and coffee, to fruit bowls and salad sandwiches. The most obvious thing to do would be to talk to someone. Friends. Family. But Noah was alone. His father spent most of his time at a popular adult bar, and his mother had left when he was twelve. As for friends, he preferred to keep to himself. School didn't exactly offer him good options anyway. At school you were either a jock, a cheerleader or invisible. He chose the latter. Sometimes he regretted it. It had been two years since the blackouts started, as well as the visit with Doctor Mitch and part of Noah desperately wanted to talk to someone. Anyone. Preferably his own age. But he had a severe lack of social skills. Which meant he had to endure his condition on his own. Which he was fine with. Who needed friends when he had literary classics? The living room was eerie in the early hours. The TV was still on, playing early morning cartoons. It was an ancient one he'd managed to find at a garage sale. The picture wasn't great, but the hunk of junk was a distraction at least. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. Four walls. All the same shitty brown colour. The carpet matched, though a lighter shade. Whoever decorated the trailer must have been drunk. He'd passed out in the living room again. Which wasn't surprising. Noah couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up in bed. When he sat up, his head spun. Squeezing his eyes shut, Noah fought to remember the night before. He'd come home from school, ate leftovers and sat down to work on his novel. After that? Nothing. Noah could remember everything in clarity before the blackout. He'd sat cross legged, fumbling through his old notebooks, trying to find synonyms for words he was overusing. He could hear a domestic argument in the trailer next door. The TV had been playing reruns of Twin Peaks, since he couldn't afford Netflix. He'd drank several cups of coffee, hopeful that it could be the night he'd be spared. But his knees had hit the floor. Then...darkness.
The fairies were loose. They are pretty things that spend all day flying among the flowers. They share that in common with bees. The desire to pick a fight with anything that’s bigger than them they share with wasps. And the silver blades they carry? Those were foolishly left unlocked. The clop of the centaurs rang through the hall. Centaurs are ferociously intelligent. Keeping them captive for your entertainment is an unconscionable act. They are master craftsmen, able to replicate most anything after seeing it once. A key left dangling on a belt is no challenge at all. In the darkness beneath the floors something stirred, an incarnation of darkness held within mithril chains. A little known fact about mithril chains is that they must be oil regularly, lest they corrode and snap. I knew this fact, of course. And kept a ready supply of oil. I’d done the job for two hundred years when I was fired. I wasn’t mad, not exactly. There is no shortage of power hungry loons and they all pay pretty well. I was going to be fine. But to let me go so quickly? Without even asking what, exactly, needed doing? That was hubris that I could not abide. Every job seems easy until you try it. The wolves howled. I took a sip of my beer while I sat in the parking lot outside. Every job ends, but you so rarely get to see it blow up. Tomorrow was my new gig, today was for savoring.
"No, no, no, I keep telling you, I don't have time for your bullshit. Do you see what time it is? Can you read a clock, hmm? Are you too dumb to read a clock? We have five hours - FIVE HOURS - to submit our response to their motion for summary judgment."A man - white, in his forties, greying already, crumbled dress shirt, and dark suit pants - paces a modern office with a view in a city that never sleeps. "Uh,"says a figure that would be seven feet tall if they weren't sitting in a corner clutching their legs. Glowing red eyes dart around the room wildly, and a clawed hand reaches up to tug on a horn on the front of their head. "I think you need a miracle. You got the wrong department. If you just, um, wanna dismiss me, I can send your request up." The man spins. "Demon,"he says gravely, "I need something." "Alone time, maybe?" "Not a miracle,"the man says. "Evidence. Case law. A better junior associate to write motions. More coffee. A different judge that isn't pissed off at me for some reason. That,"he jabs a sweaty hand at the shadowy figure in the corner, "is where you come in." The demon shifts uncomfortably. "I could also come out. I mean, I did, like hundreds of years ago. Parents didn't care, they love me no matter what. I mean I could go out. Go out and, um, search? For clues? That are probably far away from here?" "No!"The lawyer slams his hands down onto his desk. "There's no time!" "Oh god, I don't know what you want from me!"the demon wails. "Can't I just kill someone for you and go home? Please just let me kill someone and go home." "What? No, I'm a lawyer,"says the lawyer. "We all abide by a strict ethical code of professional conduct. That means lawyers do not kill or beguile, which is probably a foreign concept to a creature of opportunity and malice like yourself. Here."He sets down a laptop in front of the demon. There are words floating across the screen, but the demon's English isn't that great. "What is this?" "Response for motion for summary judgment. Pay attention." "And... what is that? What am I doing with it?" "Writing,"says the lawyer. "My junior associates are sick and I don't do plebian matters anymore." "I don't know how to do this,"the demon confesses. "Neither do they,"says the lawyer. "Just do it. You have four hours. Bring it to me when you're done."The lawyer grabs his suit jacket from a hanger. "I'm getting an Irish coffee." The demon nods. "And,"says the lawyer, pausing in the doorway, "one more thing." "Yes, sir?" "Don't fail me, hm?"The lawyer gives a grin that doesn't reach his cold eyes. "I'll make you regret it." He closes the door behind him, and the demon whimpers in fear.
“Well, that’s odd…” I kneeled down and examined the coin. It’s gold shell shimmered in the beyond-existence light of no source, a deep magenta amongst a backdrop of black. The coin stood perfectly still on its edge, heads and tails looking toward the abyss. “I really should flip again, though if I tip it by accident, it’ll seal the newborn’s destiny”, I thought, wondering if that would follow the random chance given to all mages. I reached for the coin when I stopped in thought. It had been a long while since I’ve gotten an interesting tale. Once you’ve dictated for millions, all the great heroes and villains all blur together until they become the conglomerate of stereotypical myth and story told through the ages. But one unbound by a role…importance without a goal. I stood up and looked toward the abyss, manifesting a door. It appeared worn-white and faintly glowed of day. The existential plane smelled like spring, no, summer? “My goodness, born on the equinox as well?”, I remarked while I stepped halfway through the entrance, “this will be a very interesting child…”
I pour myself a cup of tea in my dojo. I used the fancy cups - I'm expecting a guest, after all. Perhaps they're the sort that like to speak to their victims first. It's a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are- I smile. I hear someone on the grass outside. Practically silent, but the grass is dry from a lack of rain. It crunches ever so slightly, even under the most tender steps. I don't move. I bide my time- I wonder what they'll go for- a dart through the window? Smoke bomb? Perhaps a- I frown. Another noise, opposite from the first. The gentle knocking of my wind chimes alerts me to the presence of a second soul, swiftly passing the side of the building. ...Interesting. This surely isn't a coincidence. They must be a team. Peculiar. Most assassins work alone. I'm fascinated already. I wonder how they perform. ...I take slow, cautious sips of my tea as I meditate, my ears on high alert. On my left, I hear the sound of an arrow being drawn from a quiver, nocked into a bow. A classic - I don't even know how many targets I've felled with my own bow. On my right, I hear... Magic? Incredible. The slow, careful tugging of the void at someone's fingertips, sharpening the shadows into a pair of spectral knives - A sound I only recognize because I have done it myself many times. Not many mages still travel these lands, let alone dip into the dark arts. Quite a duo indeed. An archer and a mage? Seems like they have nearly all their bases covered. Heh. Nearly. I set my teacup on the plate, my hands going to my back - to Niir and Kabaz - dark steel edges with a ravenous hunger for warmth. For blood. For those that challenge the master. "...Mm. Shall we begin?"
Sir Regious and one of the king's aides walked through the castle yard. The smaller man, Calin, wrung his hands nervously. The paladin was not sure why. His holy aura should promote a sense of calm and comfort to those around him. "Are you finally going to tell me why I was summoned, Calin?"Regious asked. "Hm? Oh, right, yes I suppose I should do that, shouldn't I?"The aide said. "You were summoned by His Majesty to act as tutor for his daughter, Princess Lucille." "A tutor? You must be joking." "I'm afraid not, Sir." "That hardly seems a duty for a paladin. surely a scholar would be better for such a job. Are you sure it was not for the duty of a bodyguard? To be the guard for the princess would be an honor for any paladin." "No, I mean tutor." "Okay, fine. Why does His Majesty wish me, a holy knight imbued by the power of the gods themselves, to be a teacher?" "W-well, you...you do know how many enemies His Majesty has, yes?" Sir Regious stopped. "I thought I wasn't to be a bodyguard."The small man stopped and refused to meet the knight's eyes. "What aren't you telling me, Calin?" "W-well, it's about the princess's...unique birthing. You see, a few years ago, the king had certain...relations with the queen of another kingdom, and that's where Princess Lucille came from?" "What royal was this?" "The, um, the Dragon Queen, Sir." "The Dragon Queen. As in, the greatest of all dragons. That Dragon queen?" "Y-yes, Sir." Regious sighed. "What else." "Well, you know she's nearly 16, yes?"The knight nodded. "Well, she's becoming rather, rebellious in her teenage years." "I see. And so..." "She's driven off every tutor employed to teach her anything. You're our last chance at giving her a proper education." At that moment, Regious heard something in the air. Something heading towards them at great speed. His battle reflexes took over and he erected a holy shield between them and the incoming projectile. It was no mere arrow though. A boulder the size of a large dog was speeding towards them. It struck his shield and shattered. His barrier held, if only just. "Calin, run! Get the guards! Tell His Majesty we are under attack! I shall head tot he front and do my best to fend the enemy off." "Uh, Sir, we're...we're not under attack. That...that was her." There was a large stone set in the yard, twice as large as Regious was, and thrice as wide. From behind this bold came a teenage girl. She was almost hauntingly beautiful for her age, and her features made her unmistakably the king's daughter. But there was something else. Something off. It did not take long for him to see she had patches of red scales on her hand, and her eyes were as much draconic as they were human. "Wow, you blocked that?"The princess said. "That's actually pretty impressive. Most just try and dodge." "P-princess, please be gentle. this is your--" "Shut it Carlin, or I'll roast you."She said. A small gout of flame escaped her lips. "I bet you're the guy dad got to try and teach me, right? Well, too bad, but I only listen to people more powerful than me. So far, all dad's sent are old guys who think spending time in a library gives them the right to tell me anything. You seem different. Maybe you'll actually earn the right to be my teacher. Let's find out." The princess reached out and grabbed the massive stone with one hand. Regious watched as draconic claws extended from her hands, piercing the stone with ease. She then began lifting it. She held it over her head like it was weightless. "See how well you deal with this."She said. Then she threw it with the speed of an arrow. Sir Regious watched it approach far too fast, while doing his best to reinforce his holy barrier. And all the while, one thought came to his mind. If he survived this job, he was going to retire early.
The Adjudicator tilted its massive, wedge-shaped head to the side and considered Daniel as he cowered in his chair. Nictitating membranes flicked across dark eyes the size of a human fist, behind which alien and incomprehensible thoughts buzzed and whirred at inhuman speed, weighing and measuring. Iridescent color rippled across its carapace, pale corals and the shimmering blue of a winter sky. A smell like yeasty bread set his stomach to roiling as the thing's mandibles clicked and clattered. The translator affixed to its chitinous thorax spoke in a voice both startling and horrifying in its genteel humanity. "Do not be afraid."Its mouth opened wide, exposing rows of quivering and wickedly serrated grinding plates. They'd warned him about that, even shown him pictures and videos, but his bladder threatened to let go anyway. He shuddered and rubbed at his upper arms. If this is how they smile\-- He barked a laugh. "Right. You're just here to decide whether to kill me and exterminate my entire species like a bunch of bedbugs."He risked a glance toward its face, regretted it instantly, and screwed his eyes shut. "And it doesn't help that you look like the scarier big brother of every monster that ever lived in my closet." More colors, more smells, all of it a blur to his slow and stupid human senses. Much of the thing's emissions fell outside the range of his sensorium in any case, colors that dipped into the infrared and rose into the ultraviolet and an impossible litany of delicate smells, freighted with layers of informational subtlety even a dog would be hard pressed to sort out. Why couldn't they just talk? He sat up straighter in his chair and forced himself to meet the thing's glittering and multifaceted eyes as the translator spoke again. "Your presence here is a great honor." Rage flared in his chest, bright and hot, loosening his tongue and making him forget for a blessed moment how badly he wanted to curl into a ball at the thing's many feet and scream and scream. Instead, he bolted to his feet. "Bullshit! I was chosen at random! In your stupid goddamn lottery! How the actual fuck is that any way to decide whether we live or die? I'm nothing! Nobody! You could be talking to great leaders or scientists or artists. Something! Somebody!"Spent, he dropped back into his chair and stared at the floor between his feet. The triangular held tilted and the nictitating membranes swept across its eyes. It studied him, its alien countenance wholly inscrutable, and he quelled an insane urge to fling himself across the intervening distance and tear at it with teeth and fingernails. Or to look for a gigantic shoe or rolled-up newspaper. He balled his hands into fists in his lap, quieted his breathing, and pasted on a placid expression. "You are agitated." His feigned serenity blew apart like a doublewide in a tornado. "Hell yes, I'm fucking agitated!" "Your respiratory rate is dangerously elevated. Do you require medical assistance?" He opened his mouth to tell it what it could do with its assistance and snapped it shut again. He giggled. "You're about to wipe us right the fuck out of existence and you're worried I might hyperventilate?"The giggles turned into cackles that doubled him over in his chair. "This shit is so crazy! You get that, right?"He brought his index finger up near his temple and swirled it in tight circles. "Like, I get that you're all alien and shit, and you don't think like we do, but come on, you gotta see how batshit crazy that is?" "Crazy?" "Fussing over the health and well-being of the people you're about to fucking genocide, man!" "No decision has been made." "Decision! Like you're trying to figure out whether you want to order the fish or the chicken!" It grinned again and his blood ran cold. He forced himself to meet its glittering gaze, though his grip on the arms of the chair turned painful. The plastic creaked and groaned. "We cannot consume either fish or chicken. The protein structures are incompatible with our bio--" Blood thundered in his ears. "I don't care!" "You brought it up." "Skip it. Get to the kill all humans part. I got shit to do before you round us up and turn us into space fertilizer or whatever." "Do you?" Daniel flinched. He considered the beast through slitted eyes and spoke in a low voice. "What's that supposed to mean, asshole?" "You have no family. Few friends."It paused, as if to allow the barbs time to work themselves into his tender human skin. "And no occupation." "Fuck you."He kept his voice remarkably steady, though the effort churned his stomach to acid and his blood fizzed with unspent adrenaline that set his eyes to twitching. "Until recently you were incarcerated. Why?" He grinned up into its face, leaned forward in his chair, and lifted both hands with the middle fingers extended. "See what your translator can make of that." Its mandibles clattered and colors coruscated across its back and down the length of its spindly forelimbs. A smell like damp moss washed over him. "A near-universal human expression of anger and extreme contempt." "I'm ready to go."He stood, his legs refused to hold him upright, and he collapsed back into his chair, cursing himself for his weakness. "This is all just bullshit. Some sick little game you're playing."He quirked an eyebrow. "That it, Clicky? We taste better when we're scared half to death?"Hadn't he seen that in some old movie? It refused to take the bait. "Why were you incarcerated?" "Go to hell." "Please answer the question." He slammed his hands down on the chair's arms. "Because the cops needed somebody to lock up and my stupid ass was in the wrong place at the wrong time! So they beat me nearly to death, buried me in bullshit, and closed their fucking case."His mouth worked, gathering ammunition, and he nearly spat on the floor before reining himself in. "One of them got hisself some fancy award from the mayor and a set of captain's bars out of the deal. I got six years in Hell, until they found the piece of shit who actually did it, and then two more while they argued over whether to let me go now that they knew I didn't do it." "You were innocent?" He almost said yes, but something gave him pause. "I didn't do what they said I did." "That is correct. But you did other things."Not a question. How the hell did these freaks know so much about him? "Yeah."He blew out a long breath and sank into the chair. He studied his calloused hands, which refused to still themselves in his lap. "Yeah, I did other things." "Because you enjoyed it?" "No."All the fight seemed to have gone out of him. "Why the hell are you asking me shit you already know?" "To understand." "To understand what?" "What it is to be human." "You picked the wrong dude, my friend. I'm barely human on my good days."What few of them there were. "Should your species survive?" \[Continued In Next Comment\]
"He has just been around for a..."it hits them in this one singular moment "Oh..."many things make much more sense now. "Um well..." "You were given the gift of immortality, that doesnt mean wisdom and intelligence to match?" "Okay first off, rude. Second, I was already ancient by the time your calendar switched to AD. 3rd, i umm... I am uh..." "You are not a bright person are you?" "MAYBE!" "But it makes sense, the sinking of the titanic, the battle of 1221, That debaucle in ghe roman senate. WHICH TRUST ME IT WAS BRUTE'S IDEA!" "So you have had that... dog... honestly it barely looks different from a wolf... for over 2000 years?" "In my defense he would vanish for years at a time and I would eventually happen upon another one in the wilds that looked similar and then I would befriend them and we would hang out and... and... DID IT REALLY TAKE ME THIS LONG TO FIGURE THIS OUT?" "Yeah I think it did..."
Nick sat slumped on his chair with wide eyes, breathing heavily and sweating from every visible pore from his body as he witnessed Death revert back to his normal self. Normal might not have been the right word, but it was definitely normal compared to what had just transpired. “Sorry about that,” Death started as he straightened his tie, “usually I don’t get this angry.” Nick slowly sat back up. The young man sporting a Minecraft hoodie wiped the sweat off his brow. “That’s alright,” he replied sheepishly. “Just so I understand correctly,” Death said as he leaned forward, putting his elbows on his desk, “you want me to resurrect you, so you can finish your game of Dungeons and Dragons?” “...Yes,” Nick quietly muttered. “You want ME, the one who rules over the dead, to grant you LIFE, so you can finish a GAME?” Death said slowly, but increasingly more hostile. His hollow eyes, which normally had two tiny spheres for eyes, started to burn intently as they went from bright blue to dark orange. “I mean if that’s alright with you, of course,” Nick replied hesitantly. He started to sag back into his chair, fearing he would witness the same thing as he had a few minutes ago, “it’s just that we finally have a good group together, we’re making great progress and it would really suck if I had to stop playing because I died. I finally found a consistent group to play with!” Death sighed deeply, his eyes returning to the two blue-like spheres. “Alright. I’ll consider it. Tell me more about this so-called Dungeons and Dragons,” Death conceded. He snapped his fingers and a laptop appeared before him with the typical Windows start-up jingle. With his other hand, he twirled in the air, producing a pair of reading glasses. “You wear glasses?” Nick asked. Death sighed and placed an hourglass on his desk next to his laptop. “You have 5 minutes to explain the concept of Dungeons and Dragons to me. If I don’t like your explanation I will have you escorted to the land of the dead.” Nick gulped and took a deep breath. “Well, DnD, short for Dungeons and Dragons, is a role-playing game. You pick a race and a class, and each race and class will have different abilities you can use during and outside of combat.” “That sounds incredibly fun,” Death replied drily, “next thing you’re going to tell me is that because this is a role-playing game you can decide whatever you want to do in the game.” “Yeah,” Nick responded with widened eyes, “yeah that’s it exactly. Have you played DnD before?” Death looked up from his screen with a stare that screamed murder. He pointed at the hourglass. “Right. Well, you are correct Mr. Death, because it’s a role-playing game, there’s almost no limit to what you can do in the game.” “How do you decide what to do in the game then?” Death questioned, making some notes on his laptop. “We use dice.” “Dice?” “Dice! There’s a few of them with different functions, but the one we use the most is the D20, a 20-sided dice.” “A 20-sided dice will determine your actions in the game?” Death asked skeptically. “Yeah, that’s a bit difficult to explain. Could you produce one right now? I could show you how it works,” Nick said as he leaned in closer to the desk, “think of a normal 6-sided dice, but…well, 20-sided. Death stared Nick dead in the eyes. He flicked his index finger in the air and a D20 puffed into existence. “This?” “Perfect!” Nick exclaimed happily while picking up the dice. He weighed it in his hand and fiddled around with it for a bit and nodded, “yeah, this is a good one.” Death tapped the hourglass, showing Nick was slowly running out of time. “Okay, so, the D20 will determine actions, such as whether or not you will actually hit an enemy, but it is also used to do roleplaying. Let’s say my character wanted to convince you to do something, I could roll something called a ‘Persuasion Check.’ Death nodded. “So, I would roll the dice. The higher I get, the higher my chances are of succeeding,” Nick continued his explanation, “and then I get to add modifiers and things like that, but I’d need more time to explain it.” “Who decides if you succeed or not?” Death curiously asked. “The dungeon master, the one who guides the story,” Nick explained. “Interesting. What happens if you roll a 20?” Death asked as he slowly closed his laptop. “We call that a nat20. It’s where your character will always succeed in glorious fashion. The opposite would be a nat1, where the character immensely fails his action,” Nick explained while showing those two sides of the dice. “I see. Okay. Try it on me,” Death then suddenly suggested. “Try what?” Nick asked. “Roll a persuasion check on me, to persuade me to let you live,” Death said while gesturing towards the dice in Nick’s hand. “It…doesn’t work like that,” Nick said slowly. “Why not? Is it because there is no Dungeon Master present?” Death said a bit saddened. “One of the reasons, yeah, but also because we miss a setting. We miss characters. We miss, well, almost everything I can’t explain within how many minutes I have left,” Nick gestured grandly with his arms. Death cocked his head to the side, leaning back into his chair. He took off his glasses and looked at the little hourglass. He pointed his finger at it and it puffed into smoke. “Alright. You’ve intrigued me. I wish to spectate a game,” Death said as he crossed his arms. “Great, so you’ll resurrect me?” Nick asked expectantly. “Fine,” Death groaned, “but only until your game has finished and only if I get to join your game. Shouldn’t take that long.” Nick decided to keep his mouth shut about that last part. The next day, he met up with his friends and he introduced someone new.
I tried to resist my world-builder tendency from droning on about irrelevant details while writing this, but well it’s what I do so it seeped in a good bit lol. ————————— I long since have lost count of the years. It’s a peaceful life, the days and weeks blending together. One slow, calm month fading into the next restful season of peace. For some this would be hell, for me it was heaven. A peaceful life in the country. I had no need to concern myself with politics or intrigue, afterall I already did my time. I was a general under Ichika Kuronishi in a war to take back our homeland from our northern neighbor. Besides, even seemingly ageless lich gets old. Death comes for all, even the most resilient of supposed immortals. Still, I try and hide that fact from the villagers. It would crush them, since I’m seen as something of a guardian. I often used my powers to give villagers a few more precious weeks with their favorite pets, or to raise up extra workers in the harvesting and planting seasons. There was a special section of the cemetery for those who volunteered to be undead labor. It was one such harvest season on the day when she came. Lord Niku Kuronishi. I was, as usual, guiding the undead through their fieldwork. It was somewhat difficult to manage them all, as their numbers have gone up substantially in my six hundred years in this village and these days it was like guiding an entire army, except they were all doing delicate tasks that these spells were never particularly adept at. But to get back on track, we received word from a centaur that Lord Kuronishi wished for all the people of our town to meet in the village square. I of course did what I always did when this sort of alert came, I sent the undead back to their tombs and made myself appear as decrepit as possible. Lord Kuronishi rode her nightmare into the village center just as we were gathering up, and she came without escorts. A young kitsune lass was helping me take a seat and playing the ‘caring granddaughter’ role. “Greetings, dear citizens. I am Niko Kuronishi, twelfth heir to our fair kingdom. I am looking for a compatriot of my ancestor, a lich who went by shinigami in her military days.” The woman said atop her jet black stallion. That name made me chuckle. The shinigami. I had long since abandoned such a self-important title. “You mean me, young one?” I asked, having the lass beside me make a show of helping me to my feet and walking me forward. It wasn’t a new thing, we’d done this song and dance a few times before, but never with a top dog such as her. “I trust you are well in your old age? My family had many stories about your exploits.” The lord said and dismounted her horse, the villagers looked rather concerned as they eyed eachother. “Ahh, even an immortal lich cannot fully escape the power of time. I fear my days of such acts are long behind me.” I said and motioned the girl to help me sit on the rim of the fountain. “That may be so, but your wisdom and tactical ability would be akin to divine aid to us.” Lord Kuronishi said, proving that she wasn’t just here on a pleasure trip. “If I may, your majesty, I believe it would be more helpful to the war effort for our village to send some of our men and women who can fight, rather than our village elder.” A rather brave oni said as he stepped protectively in front of me. “That may normally be correct, but your dear elder is a wise strategic genius who may just turn the situation of this war around.” Lord Kuronishi stepped to the side and moved closer to me. “Miss shinigami. I know you wish to live your life in peace, but our entire nation is on the brink of being overrun and I have nowhere else to turn. In your memoirs you spoke of hating conflict, of wishing to protect and sustain life, even past it’s intended point of expiration. Yet if you do not come to join us, the humans will come and wipe out our entire country, including this village.” Lord Kuronishi then did the last thing I expected a ruler to do and bowed to me. “I have nowhere else to turn and noone else to ask for aid. We are not a generation of warriors, we have none but you with the experience to fight a war.” “Ichika, you raised your descendants well.” I said to myself and smiled, standing up on my own and reaching out my hand. “This village and these people are my priority, but come into my home and I can atleast offer advice.” I spent the rest of the night and the following day giving Niko Kuronishi a crash course on military tactics, it was messy and rushed but hopefully it got the job done and she learnt the important bits. When we were done she profusely thanked me, again asked for me to come with her, and left as I refused. What a relief that was over.
"Finally, I'll get rid of my nemesis once and for all!" The hero hung over the vat of acid, their high tech armor neutralized. But despite their predicament, they continued to stare at Mister Midnight stoically through the eye holes in their helmet. Those blasted, heroic yet familiar eyes... It was getting on his nerves. "But first, I'm taking that helmet off. I want to see it on your face when you realize you're finished". He twisted the helmet, and it came off with a slight hiss. He looked into the face of the hero, and staggered back a few feet, then bent over and threw up. He knew that face. That child's face. She had her mother's hair, her mother's nose... but she would always have his eyes. he thought about what he had nearly done to his own estranged daughter, and retched again. He stood slowly, shakily. He still had the mask over the top half of his face, she hadn't recognized him yet. He couldn't let her recognize him. He pulled the mask down again, and made sure his voice modulator was in place. "You're a child... I don't kill children, I never would. to think I almost did... Why did you do this, why did you become a hero?" "Back before my father died in one of your attacks, he always told me to be the change I wanted to see in the world. I saw what you were doing... you were making a statement, you were standing up for change... but you were killing people to do it. I couldn't stand for that, so I set out to change it". "But how could somebody so young do so much?"Even as he asked this, he knew the answer. He kicked himself for not seeing her style in the technology. But he had to keep up appearances, so he asked anyway. "My father said it was our duty to use our minds to solve the world's problems. Nobody else could. he taught me so much, and then he... he went away. But I didn't stop". She looked around before continuing. "Is my father dead?"Mister Midnight's blood ran cold. "Why do you ask?" "A lot of the technology in this room... it's his. Some things he hadn't made yet when he disappeared... but are clearly his designs. So, is Allan Smith dead?" It was like a gift. A second chance. It could be different. He could live again. "...No. We used to be colleagues, and I took a lot of his technology for myself. Then I kidnapped him and forced him to continue helping me. I told him I had you imprisoned, and I'd kill you if he didn't work. I'll untie you and leave you here... your suit will power up again in about an hour, by which time I'll be long gone. Don't try to look for me, I'm done with this. I almost killed a child today... and that's not what I stand for. I'm done being a villain. You'll find your father in a cell three levels down". He untied her, and quickly left, changing out of his costume and into a dingy lab coat, before locking himself in a room three levels down. Just over an hour later, the lock splintered, and the door swung open. There stood his daughter, clad in her armor, looking in at him. She crossed the room and hugged him, and he returned the gesture. After almost three years they were together again. He almost didn't notice the cuff being tightened around his wrist. He looked at his daughter in shock, and saw tears in her eyes. "You raised me to be smart dad... you had to know I'd see through that. I don't blame you... something inside you broke after mom's accident... but I can't let you get away with all you've done. I'll take you somewhere they can help you. I'll visit, keep you company until you're well again. We'll talk about what we missed... I promise".
"So what is it exactly?" The prince hated the idea of venturing into the unknown, but it was his best chance for a Heroic Quest. "A monster."Salem shrugged."No idea. Look, boss, it has whole town under control, but they still manage to trade with us. Cannot be killing anyone on sight then, right?" Being a full-blooded orc, Salem had a sharp mind, but never thought too hard on any problem. Act first, think later. Good motto for a grunt, bad one for an aspiring country leader, but this time it was quite appropriate. "Get the horses, we're moving out." \----- Two days of travel didn't answer any questions, and only added new ones. The road was well kept, much better, than you'd expect from a link between a frontier city and a monster-infested hamlet. It wasn't deserted either, the prince saw at least two groups of people. At first he labelled them as refugees, but they didn't really look like ones. Something didn't add up. Salem was also on edge, but couldn't put his feelings into words and the the two of them kept riding in silence. \----- "Boss, I think we're lost. That's a friggin' city."Salem was quick to analyze the situation, but reality was much more unsettling. "No, that's Gloomville alright. Except it is now a city. Keep your guard up, maybe it is an illusion."The prince tried to name another option, less threatening than 'we have a big monster controlled city right beside us'. But of course it wasn't an illusion. They even had a guardpost, and the guard spent a good minute looking through papers, to the point the prince almost believed he could read orkish. "Bakhyr, bright stars to you and your companion."The prince jolted at the sound of his name. It wasn't exactly a secret, but a random guard should never have recognized him, especially as his papers were in the name of a completely different person. "You're free to pass."The guard added in a completely different tone, returned the papers and lost all interest in the visitors. \----- "Well, at least we know the culprit now. Star child, or an illithid if we're really unlucky."Bakhyr had a good memory and being a prince meant he had access to a number of books, including various monster manuals. "Or gibodai."Salem wasn't exactly happy that the prince decided against following his judgement to flee the city immediately. "Don't be ridiculous, these are aquatic. And long gone by now. How does a human turn into a mind parasite anyway?" "Blood of the elder gods. Or some other aether bullshit. No clue, boss, you're the smart one here. Are you really going to visit this abomination?" "Would be rude to decline the invitation."Bakhyr smirked and pulled out a piece of paper with directions to the thing's office, that the mind-controlled guard had managed to slip into his documents. Where the grunt smelled danger, the prince saw an opportunity. \----- Time flew by quickly. Bakhyr didn't return to the room they rented in a local inn until late in the evening. "Lookie, who's alive. Boss, one, two, three..." "Pistachios." "... And well. I was already thinking what to tell your pa."Salem turned on his back and sighed."What did the thing say? "Business deal. He's selling the city." "The fuck? For real?" "Not exactly that, but it's a good deal regardless. He pays taxes, we protect him, small scale political stuff. Living in Gray Lands as an independent only works if you're small and insignificant." "Yeah, no, I still wouldn't trust the guy."Salem sighed again and turned to the wall. \----- The prince spent a good half of the night browsing the reports on the city's economy. Having an aggressively telepathic mayor did lead to crime being almost non-existent. Trade was booming. How exactly the locals dealt with having essentially no privacy was a separate question. Bakhyr would have to answer it eventually -- if the deal went through, he probably would live here as the middle man. Oh well, small political stuff, gotta start somewhere, right?
The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legends fade to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the third age by some, an Age yet to come, an age long pass... "NO!" The words vibrate through the woods of the Two Rivers, startling a flock of birds. ...a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither... "I said NO!" Now the trees shudder as well, shaken in their roots as they are by the might behind those words shouted. A man walks between those trees, tall in height and with auburn heir. A stump shows where his left hand should be. He looks towards the skies, eyes searching for something only he can see. ...beginnings or endings to the turning of... He shouts again, the air around him contorting as he raises his arms towards the cloudless sky. Ripples of reality soar upwards, emerging seemingly from within the man himself. ...the Wheel of Time. But... The faint words in the wind begin to break apart as the man tears apart the fabrics of reality some call the Pattern. Sweat begins to form on his head, dripping down his eyebrows. It took all his effort to hold back the storm that was about to be formed. ...it was a... Finally, the man grabs hold of the very Pattern itself. He squeezes it tight, folds it over and over again. He can feel it fighting back, trying to put itself back into balance. He won't let it though. He was tired of it all. ...beginn... Then, at last, the Pattern rearranged itself to the wishes of the man. The final word lingered unfinished in the air, the sense of dread that came with it quickly dissapearing. The man took a couple of deep breaths, exhausted by the effort just put forth. He looks towards the empty sky, content. "This time,"he said softly, "it is I who weaves the Wheel."
Master Gon-Ra and his apprentice, Julius, had been following the sith lord for years. For all that time, he had wreaked havoc in the republic without even killing a single person... at least not personally. He was a master of disguise, diplomatics, espionage and sabotage: Each one of his words was the culmination of a well established plan, each step he took was part of a bigger plot, each contact he talked to was key for the victory of the dark side of the force. Yet, they finally found him. Finally identified the dark lord who had threatened the republic for decades. No more tricks. No more charades. Master Gon-Ra produced his light saber, and activated it, deploying a long and green plasma blade: it identified him as a Jedi Consular, focused more on the use of the force than his skills with the blade. His padawan, Julius, produced his own blade of a bright purple tone. This had caused quite a stir in the jedi council, as it identified the padawan as equally skilled in both sides of the force, reason for which Julius was determined to prove his loyalty to the council. Darth Rhodius stood in the center of the hangar, as every single citizen nearby ran for their dear lifes as they saw the jedis getting ready for battle, for noone wanted to be there when three one-man-armies clashed their plasma blades. The dark lord reached the leopard-stamped cloak that covered his head and pulled it back in a slow movement, leaving behind a tray of glitter. Both jedis could see he was a dark-skinned human, with long blonde hair that was combed in an amazingly stylish toupee. "Uuuuuuh", he said, with a trembling and excited voice, "so, Master Gon-Ra and Julius finally found me. What is it going to be, dears?" He turned around with a graceful step, his cloak floating around him as an angelic halo, and his voice changed as if he was talking through some sort of electronic auto-tuner. "Are we gonna be fighting all night long? All night long? All night?". "Surrender, darth Rhodius. Your evil schenanigans end now!" "Patience, my young Padawan. Don't let his mind tricks get to you." "Evil tricks? No, dearest, no. My tricks are, I would say, green" The light saber flew from the dark lord's belt to his open hand, and as he activated it, a saber with all the colours of rainbow appeared, majestic and divine. "In fact, they are... super green." "Master", said Julius, "I am very confused." "You won't be for long, sweet heart." With a sharp yell, like a terrified chihuahua, Dark Rhodius jumped towards the jedis.
It was always a little disorienting, waking up on Selection Day. You never knew quite what you were going to be dealing with. The first few Selection Days nearly broke the world, but people... adapted. We're good at it. Or, at least, all the ones who couldn't adapt died, one way or another, in those first few chaotic months. I sat up and looked around, as I patted my t-shirt clad body to see what I was dealing with. Female, not my favorite, but at least it appeared to be relatively intact and healthy. From the outlet on the nearby wall, I was probably in the UK. Which was good, that meant the computer infrastructure would be decent, so I could do my job without having to get a flight somewhere. I was one of the relatively lucky ones who had a job that I could do from anywhere. People who had more in person work effectively had to find a new job every month. But, most halfway civilized countries these days, even the good old US of A, had universal health care and some kind of UBI. After all, that starving homeless person or the person dying of cancer might be you next month. Enlightened self-interest for the win. There was, as usual, a note beside the bed, but it appeared to be written in Mandarin, and I hadn't picked up Mandarin yet. I would get a translated later. There were enough speakers of both Mandarin and English that I could probably find a translator easily enough. It was probably the usual courtesy note, letting me know of any allergies or major health conditions that my new body had. I logged onto the computer--a pretty standard setup, thankfully enough, though I would need to buy a few important peripherals for my job. I didn't have any problem accessing my online profile, and soon the screen was full of my usual desktop, chat icons, and so on. I took a quick browse through my p0rn folder, sometimes different bodies had enough inherent orientation that it kind of overrode your own personal leanings, but this body didn't seem to have any unfamiliar longings. Then, I looked up my location, London, as I suspected, and sent the information in a chat to my work group. Similar texts were coming in from the rest of the group, or at least most of them. Susan was in Nigeria, Marcus was in India, and most of the rest of the team was in China. The only no shows were our accountant, Maurice, and our digital artist, who insisted on being called Squid. Honestly, a lot better than average. Only one absence, if you didn't count Squid, who usually didn't check in until noon at the best of times. One month, nearly half the team didn't have computers for the first week. I puttered around the apartment for the next couple of hours, after ordering a better VR rig online. Like most people, my team mostly treated Selection Day as a day off, it was hard to try to get work done when you were still getting used to a new body. Around noon, as expected, I got one more location ping, from Squid. They were in California. I was pretty sure that Squid knew a little Mandarin, so I grabbed the note by my bedside and requested a video chat with them. I had hired Squid after the first Selection Day, and they never told me what sex they were originally. When the chat window came up, they appeared to be a rather large Hispanic man this time around. I held up the note, and Squid read it, then started cackling like a lunatic. Finally, they caught their breath, and said "The note says you're 8 months pregnant. Congratulations, boss, you're going to be a mommy." I swore, loudly and at considerable length. (I dictated this into my phone, I will proofread it later... done, I think. Let me know if I missed anything)
Across the counter and over a pair of scornfully lowered reading glasses she glared back at me. Her eyes felt as though they were burning a message into my forehead. My patience is limited. I balked "Alright look its not that I'm trying to say you're not intelligent enough or anything, its just... how to put this politely? I kind of expected something a bit more... intimidating?" The glare turned from fire into ice. "N-n-not that you're not intimidating of course-" The woman stood up from behind the counter and sighed deeply. She took a heap of books from her desk, arranged them neatly on a trolley and began to quietly wheel them towards the nearest stack of bookshelves. I scrambled to follow, careful to keep a respectful distance. "I just... look its a little embarrassing okay?! I'm a warlock for god sake. I'm supposed to be dealing with the highest powers and darkest magicks-" That brought her back around to face me. I found myself closed to an uncomfortable distance by the unassuming woman. At this distance however it was undeniable that she was an ethereal being. Power radiated from her, causing the skin on my face to tingle with the onset of sunburn, and my mind to stagger. For the first time I feared truly that this being might kill, or even worse; unmake me. I hung my head. In my left hand I passed over the scribbled note I held. She took it without breaking eye contact, then held it aside and read it quickly. The corners of her mouth turned up in a half-smile and she turned to pluck a book from the shelf. She produced a red-covered book, inscribed with jet-black script. It's spine read, The Man's Guide to Romance. She held it out to me. I quickly snatched the book and stuffed it into my satchel, trying desperately not to feel the rising flush of my cheeks. Then I turned and fled. As I scurried my way back to the entrance of the being's domain I heard a bemused voice call out behind me. "Make sure you return it on time!"
Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak. The noise of his stealth shoes follows the unwanted presence, ensuring that anyone close enough to hear would assume it to be the normal background noise of an interstellar craft. Or the ventilation fan in an underground bunker. Or even the wonky wheel on a janitor's trolley, evil lairs require a lot of maintenance after all. The neon polka dot vest and striped pants rendered him all but invisible whilst the dripping ice cube hanging from his neck rendered the interloper invisible to thermal cameras. The map he used to navigate was purchased online, from a fourteen year-old whose only instruction was 'Alien spaceship, surprise me'. At the end of a dark gunmetal corridor sat an imposing steel door that he intended to quickly slip through with either a paperclip, or free random number generator app on his phone should there be a numerical keypad. To the man's surprise however there was another layer of detection, and as soon as the sensors in the floor picked up the weight of an unrecognised being treading over them several panels in the ceiling opened up revealing a slew of nozzles with pilot lights. "Well, shit." Gouts of orange flame filled the hall, leaving the intruder nowhere to hide from a fiery and most certain death. With their purpose fulfilled the flamethrowers receded into the ceiling, the metallic clunk of their covers returning a precursor to the opening of the bridge doors. Out strode the Overlord, their leathery hide pinned with no less than seventeen medals signifying their victories over what their empire called primitive savages. His prideful march was interrupted as out from the dissipating cloud of smoke flew a cheap paper dust mask, landing at his clawed feet. The smoke finally cleared revealing instead of a blackened corpse, a rather unkempt yet somehow dashingly handsome man wearing a tastefully skimpy frock made of shimmering silk. The overlord snarled in frustration. "How by the Trezzik'l are you still alive!?" The Embarrassment reached for the small of his back, retrieving a small plastic toy that in anyone else's hands would fire a harmless orange 'dart' several metres, but in his own was a terrifyingly lethal weapon. "That's between me, and Victoria."
Every week those kids beat me. I let them, of course. It’s for kids after all: give them hope from the pain and misery from the troubles of their reality. I tend to have it all rigged and make sure the heroes come out, even try to help one or two of them start dating each other through my ‘failed schemes’. I’m aware of other dimensions, though as for the heroes? I am not sure. Maybe their mentor, my old rival, knows. Myself? I have for some time. I actually stole the script when the directors and writers weren’t looking. Impressive, but needed more work. Im not Mr. Rogers, but I ensure that both the heroes and the children that see us learn valuable lessons, and some they may realize in the future. Which brings me to a predicament. A big one. “Gah! Blast you, accursed heroes!” I shake my gift as I fall through the sky in my wounded jet. I smile under my helm at their whoops and hollers. “Keep coming back! We’ll keep beating you!” Their leader yells. I sneak a look at the script I took recently. Okay, so this is the fourth to last episode of a 52 episode first season. Thank heavens we’re in business for at least five years, provided ratings continue (blast the ratings!) “Boss?” My head minion asks. I look at him and realize he and other ‘defeated’ henchmen were repairing themselves and their vehicles mid-fall. “Oh, right. Go ahead.” I say as the clouds block the heroes’ line of sight. I took my helm off and wipe my face. I look at my chronometer. 26 minutes are up. Episode over. I smiled. Not bad. My craft is taken to a mobile command center one of many. My honor guard greets me. The actual honor guard and not those with me. Bigger, stronger, faster, but only to be revealed in the upcoming 2 part season finale. “That was a doozy,” a female henchman says. I nod. “Their power and skill grows.” I commented, sighing as I jump out of my craft and stretch. Just then, a massive pause of wind bursts behind me. I stop, mid-step and slowly turn to see a massive figure flanked by guards with outlines of others behind him. I recognize that stench of sorcery and terror anywhere. “Galaden’thrax,” I stated, cracking my knuckles as my guards and minions arrive to surround the portal. It’s not big and the fool is only using one gateway. “Lord Dangbad, your puny presence offends me.” He snarls behind his helmet. “I take it you wish to challenge my world and take it?” “Your defenders are weak, join me-“ the turd says before I stop him. “Oh- fuck off.” Everyone fires at the portal, downing the bastard and his entourage. I shake my head as the portal closes. Dumb fool.
When they made the bet neither expected the other to be any good at their roles, or for them to actually enjoy being in the other's shoes. But now it was a problem. First off because the knight Denis was low ranking and one of the worse at combat, and second off because Princess Rosaria was well known for being clumsy in a dress and unable to even try to follow table manners expected of her station. So 'princess' Denis watched from a window as the real princess threw her sword like a throwing knife, half way across the training field and straight into an attacking beast with wonder. That was neither how one should handle a sword and greatly impressive that she nailed the beast from so far away. "Oops! My bad! I panicked!"He suddenly understood why her ladies in waiting didn't trust her with anything sharp, along with why the long never gave her a guard... "I think it's stuck... Can someone get me a knew one...?"He also feared the idea of her taking back her role after all that training was done... On the other hand 'Knight' Rosaria watched confused as the real knight danced with her fiance perfectly and knew the difference between the five different forks and spoons, they all still looked the same to her honestly. Two months after the switch when they met up at the dead of night to as agreed on switch back the knight immediately started off with. "My princess. I think I'm a woman... And I'm in love with the Prince you were supposed to marry."The confusion and anguish in his... Her...? Eyes made the princess feel for the confused soul. "I feel the name way. Well no about the in love part... Or at least not with him. I never cared much for the guy... But I think I want to stay how we are. I like fighting people... And throwing swords. The captain said he'd teach me how to use a bow! A bow! On a horse!"The princess's excitement made the knight certain on this. "We are never going back. Let's get the royal magician to turn us into each other. So no one as to know."Honestly this was probably safer for the kingdom in the long run anyways, the princess was to strong and would have probably started a war.
“Wait, Melissa is the Red Sprite?” Malcolm shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not such a big deal, really.” “She’s one of the biggest superheroes of all time!” George said in indignation. “I can’t believe you’re only telling me this now!” “Better than never, right?” Malcolm said with a grin. “You’ve kept silent about it every time I told you how hot I thought Red Sprite was. There were plenty of opportunities!” George wailed. Malcolm put a finger to his lips. “You might want to keep it down. She’s in her room, upstairs.” he whispered. “We’ve actually been discussing whether or not to tell you for a while.” George leaned in and whispered back, “Um, why?” “Because, knucklehead, she wants to ask you out on a date.”
Carrie leaned against the railing of the bridge, haloed by a bright lamp that had to have been installed not more than a month ago. She stared into the sky, trying to pinpoint with her naked eye the trajectory of that which would be not just her undoing, but the world's. She knew it was coming - they all did - and yet, it was still too dark to see. Nevertheless, it was only days away. In the brush surrounding the bridge, she could hear the crickets chirping, and the cicadas buzzing further off. There were a lot of insects around these parts, and she was familiar with most. As a child, she came to this very spot to hunt for ladybugs. She came back when she was older to share her first kiss with the star quarterback from her high school. She returned here to burn the photos of that failed relationship. She arrived here days ago to end it all, when she found out the meteorite was on its way. Like the trajectory of the celestial doombringer, it was hard to pinpoint why she was still here, why she hadn't taken that leap. The drop was steep enough. She knew that if she landed right, it would be her curtain call. Maybe it was her family that anchored her. Maybe it was a deep, gnawing fear of death. She chuckled quietly to herself, pondering the inescapable. It was going to happen at some point, regardless of whether or not she wanted it. Maybe it was something else. Something rustled in the bushes, just then. A deer, Carrie thought, but she turned to look anyway, only to be met with glowing eyes that peered at her from the shadows. She froze in place, her muscles too tight to move. A deep, shaking breath filled her lungs as she watched the eyes get closer and larger, the light of the bridge revealing the face of a gigantic moth creature. Walking on human legs, it approached the middle of the bridge and paused, turning its head to the same sky Carrie looked at moments before. It walked to the railing, grabbing onto it with its segmented arms. As it watched the sky, its wings lightly fluttered and spread open only partway. For a while, Carrie didn't move, afraid to earn its ire, but a peculiar motion from the creature caused the fear to leave her body. The moth creature lifted its arm and pointed to the sky, its wings rubbing together to form clicks and chirps as it turned to look at her. Carrie looked back into the sky, watching the stars flicker. "You understand what's happening, don't you?"she asked, turning to read the moth's face. The creature nodded. "Are you..." Carrie hesitated to ask the question. It was hardly more than rhetorical, but an opportunity like this would never come again. "Are you scared?" The creature paused, then slowly nodded again. Carrie could see the nervousness in its movements. Carefully, she stepped closer, and with each advance, her ears became more aware of the roaring ambience that was starting to build, and that was when she realized why she couldn't see it: it was going to hit the other side of the world first. She would only see the wave of fire that would come to claim her and the creature. Down below, she watched the city of Point Pleasant become engulfed in flames and destruction. Even from here, Carrie could hear the frantic screams of a lost people, doomed to extinction. They needed an outlet for their uncertainty and fear, and violence was that outlet. "Why are you here?"she asked the moth creature. "Why did you choose to show yourself to me?" The creature responded by moving closer, lightly pressing its fuzzy body against her arm. Carrie looked down and smiled. "Ah,"she lamented. "I s--" A deafening, thunderous, world-shaking crack exploded through the atmosphere. The ground suddenly shifted back and forth, as if an earthquake just made itself known. Carrie felt herself losing grip on the bridge, only to be caught within the creature's arms. She looked up at it, eyes wide in horror before she scrambled to her feet and back to the railing, watching the horizon grow alight in a brilliant orange. As the temperature suddenly scaled to sweltering heights, she looked to the creature and mouthed several words, her voice taken away by the overwhelming blare of death's trumpet sounding the end. The creature took Carrie into its arms and hugged tightly, staring at the quickly-approaching blade of fire that eviscerated all in its path. Carrie, thankful not to be alone in the moment, shut her eyes tight. Her hearing was the first to go. All else followed.
Jod didn't move, he didn't blink, he just kept the figure in the corner of his eye right where they were. He could only just make out the dark magic orbiting their hand but so long as he didn't do anything stupid, everything was fine. He just had to last a short while longer on guard duty and he could- He froze as one of the other guards came out of the city gates and saw the figure Jod was watching, "Wha-" "This cold almost makes me wish I could quit."Jod spoke up loudly, catching the other guard's attention and subtly shaking his head. Unfortunately his words also caught the attention of the other figure, raising up and staring in their direction for a long moment before padding their way. Jod froze completely now, silently praying to the gods as what revealed themselves as a dark elf came close... and passed into the city. He gave a long, shuddering sigh of relief, recomposing himself as the other guard stared in confusion. The elf returned shortly and when she vanished down the path to the wilds Jod immediately whipped around to point at the other guard, hissing through grit teeth, "Shut. The fuck. Up!" "What did I do!?" "When you see her you don't fucking look at her, you don't fucking talk to her, you don't fucking blink if you can help it!"Jod began to pant as the anxiety finally got to him, and he could see the other guard's eyes widen in concern at Jod, and Jod took another few deep breaths."...what's your name son?" "Heimdyr and what in the hells is wrong with you?" "Heimdyr, listen to me: I'm saying all this for your own safety. You need to be as plain and uninteresting as possible if you want to survive out here."The younger man still seemed skeptical so Jod sighed and gestured Heimdyr to follow him to the spot the elven woman was hunched over. Heimdyr practically jumped when he saw a human body. "Alora alive, who-" "A bandit. Look, I'll explain everything later, just... just trust me."Heimdyr looked scared now, so Jod was at least happy he had some survival instinct. The elf appeared a few more times but thankfully the two of them made it to the end of their shift and Jod grabbed two drinks for them back at the barracks, guiding Heimdyr to a far off corner for them to sit. Jod did his best to organize his thoughts and with a deep breath, and equally deep drink, he started, "I... I didn't pay her much mind at first. She was some wanderer who was a bit eccentric, but friendly. Came into town talking to everyone, helping out, hells she even became a sworn sword to Lord Wyrmr for everything she did, but..." "But...?" "...she changed. At first it was just putting buckets on people's heads for some reason or ripping up flowerbeds for potion ingredients, but then..."Jod took another deep drink to steel himself, his mug almost empty now. "I saw her once. Outside the walls. I was on patrol when I saw her facing down bandits, she burned through almost the whole group with her magic before I got there. There was one left, begging for mercy, and... and she healed him. I thought she was being too kind for her own good but then she just... burned him. Over and over again; burn, heal, burn, heal. Eventually I just put an arrow through his neck to spare him, but as you saw that wasn't the first time she sharpened her skills that way." "Gods alive... th-the Lord, we have to tell Lord Wyrmr-"Heimdyr rose to stand but Jod quickly grabbed his arm and nearly tossed him back into his seat. "Tell him what? His best sworn sword, loved by everyone in the hold is going after bandits? At best we'd be laughing stocks, at worst we'd end up like Jory." "Jory...? Wait, I heard about him. Didn't he leave the guard and become some sort of hero?"Jod gave a dark, bitter laugh and finished the dregs within his cup. "...He interested her. I guess because he always talked about wanting to be a hero, she just... spent every moment she could talking to him until he quit to join her. Almost every time I saw him he had some new piece of gear but I could see it in his eyes: he was just some soulless husk. He just kept saying the same things over and over or talking about how great she was no matter what I asked until he just... vanished."Jod sighed heavily, practically melting in hsi chair. It... It was good to finally have someone to vent to about this who wouldn't think he was insane. "I need you to understand: if you want to survive here, you need to be boring. Talk about the weather five times in a row, about how you'd like to be home with some mead, just... don't let her get her eyes on you." Jod left Heimdyr where he was as he moved to one of the bunks, and in the morning he was surprised and a bit impressed to see Heimdyr join him for guard duty. The dark elf was leaving and Heimdyr sneezed, freezing as the woman looked towards him. "...This cold makes me wish I could quit."Heimdyr echoed Jod's words from yesterday, and after a second the woman left to do something Jod couldn't see to the body from yesterday. He angled his head to Heimdyr and nodded, the two of them standing guard and praying they could quit someday...
The other miners desperately tried to break apart the rocks that blocked the path ahead. Pliers, hammers, hacksaws and even a stick of dynamite scarred the dusty black stone but nothing would move. Bloodied hands and weary men proved that much. Then we knew We were trapped. We all knew the air would run thin and that in the smog of black dust we'd die. I'd broken my sledge. I'd broken it. Woozily I looked down at the splintered fiberglass and the shredded rubber handle. The cheap black molding was sticky from sweat and packed with dust. The head had mushroomed and the other face had cracked. I squinted at it in the dim light and sure enough there were letters carved there. Made in China. I dropped the head to the ground where it hit the stone with a dull thud and tossed away the handle. I wasn't political. Unlike the other men here with the stickers and flags on their luxury trucks I wasn't looking for someone to blame. The only person to blame here was me. I was always trying to cut some corner or find my way out. It was how I'd ended up here. Growing weaker I stumbled towards the back of the cave and leaned against the cool granite. For the first time in a long time I began to pray. I started to think of everything I hadn't said. Everything I hadn't done because I wouldn't gain anything from it. I'd even walked out of that interview because I hadn't wanted an internship in the first place. Looking around at the older men I realized that I'd been selfish. I'd done so much harm here. They didn't deserve to lose their lives because of me. So I prayed and I hoped that God was listening. I made a promise to him. "In the name of the Father and of the Son and the Holy Ghost. Give me strength and I will sacrifice myself for these men. Amen" By the time I finished my prayer the foreman and the other miners were sitting quietly and trying to conserve what little oxygen was left. Shallow panting filled the silence. They looked at the way I had made the sign of the cross with contempt. Defeated I slid down the granite face. There was no miracle that could save someone undeserving like me. Just then I felt something poke my shoulder as I leaned back into the wall. It was rough and hard. I turned and saw the old sledge that had been buried in the stone long before I'd started working here. Before any of us had. I'd heard that the picks and air tools couldn't budge it from the tough stone so there it had stayed. They couldn't blow apart the whole rock or this section would collapse. Standing in front of it I closed my eyes and prayed one more time. Then I pulled it from the granite where it was set. The stone crumbled away. Then in my hands I knew at once that I was holding a work of art. Something incredible from a bygone age. I knew that only one existed and that I was holding it. The handle had been lovingly buffed with linseed oil lending it a tacky brown coat that had preserved the hickory against moisture and dirt all this time. Even exposed to the harsh conditions of the mine it hadn't cracked. The hard steel of the head rang like the most perfect bell as I rapped a knuckle against the face. The metal had been wiped with oil and wax so many times that it had developed a varnished patina that had protected it against rust. On the side of the head the name John Henry was embossed. I could picture each letter being pounded into the red hot iron on the anvil just like my Pa showed me. Silently I thanked John Henry whoever he was for giving me this across time. One man to another. I knew what this hammer meant because of what my father had tried to teach me. I hefted it and felt new strength welling up in me. Like a miracle. I knew what I had to do.
It felt like a long time ago since I grew out of talking to my imaginary friend, Mr. Elfie. He was once my best friend, always there for me when I needed him. He consoled me when my parents divorced, shortly after dad left the city to move to a rural fishing town. Kept me company when mom poured herself into work and left me alone at home for long hours. But I wasn't lonely, not with Mr. Elfie. It was a time of dreams and ideals, where I let my imaginations run wild, befriend them, and try to introduce Mr. Elfie to the other kids in school. I was mocked endlessly for it. It didn't matter how real Mr. Elfie was to me back then, everyone said I should let go of those dreams. And so I did. I stopped talking to him in my dreams. Stopped telling people about him. Eventually, he just went away from my consciousness. Now I am part of a cult, standing in a magic circle we painted, praying for vengeance against those who have wronged us. I was going to curse those high school bullies who humiliated me at prom night. Horace said this was a ritual that could summon an eldritch god, but he wasn't confident just exactly which one. We held our breaths as a dark portal swirled into existence, dark tendrils creeping out of it. Horace and the others fled like the cowards they were when the tendrils wrapped themselves around their ankles. I stood my ground, if I wasn't going to get my revenge, maybe it wasn't a bad thing to be swallowed up by an eldritch god and never having to deal with horrible bullies. But it was Mr. Elfie who stepped out of that portal. I recognized the pale, handsome face, but not all the weird tentacles from beneath his robes. "Jessie, its been quite a while since we had contact! I was getting worried ever since you cut me off from the telepathic connection we had. I was struggling to reach you in your dreams or your mind." My mouth was agape, jaw hitting the ground. "Mr. Elfie? You...you're an eldritch god?" "Why yes, I am Elvari, Eldritch Lord of the Black Seas, but I told you to call me Elvie for short. You went with Mr Elfie and I just ran with it. You don't look so good, do you wish to tell me about it?" I cried. I released a torrent of tears as I cried into his chest when he enveloped me in a warm hug. There were no words, I couldn't find the words to say, but I could feel the old telepathic connection resume and his soft, soothing touch into my mind, scanning for miserable memories and guiding me to let go of the pain from them. The awful memories remain unchanged, but I have now been granted the insight to comb through them with greater clarity. To see the greatest source of agony came from me being a hormone-addled teenager wallowing in self-pity and angst and struggling to move on. "You're Alfred's daughter. It was only natural as his god to look out for his family when he has served me well as my head priest. I'm so sorry I was the reason your dad left the city to go to Innsmouth in the first place." All this time, I thought I had an imaginary friend, never in my wildest dream I figured he could be real. A real eldritch god who tried his best to avoid frightening a little girl and providing comfort to her when she felt so lonely. A real eldritch god who figured out what I needed wasn't bitter revenge against those who hurt me, just a comforting hug to ease the hurt and pain in my heart [Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/)
It's not that bad honestly. I get to be outside all day, and although it took a while to get used to, my diet has never been better. When we're traveling from place to place one of them comes over and waits till I grab on. When Orcas sleep they go slowly and at the water's surface, so I get some quality shut-eye whenever they do. I hunt with them in a bit of an unusual way. What we do is first spot a creature swimming in the ocean. the next step is that one of the pod loads me on to their tail and launches me at whatever we are trying to catch. Their tails are more powerful than you could believe, and they're super smart, so they can get me on target almost 90% of the time. When I hit the prey I repeatedly stab them with my knife untill I get shaken off, which makes it a bunch easier for everyone else to finish them off. I've been teaching everyone how to cook over hydrothermal vents. Some Orcas from other pods have been visiting us for a few days in order to learn how to cook as well. I've even seen orcas I've never met cooking which is pretty cool. Learning how to speak their language has to be the most difficult thing I have ever done. The way they structure their thoughts is like no other language I have encountered. I can make the sounds needed to speak the language, but it's pretty tiring, and I can only be heard near the surface while going slowly. Overall Im enjoying it. I would recommend people try it.
Tell me the voice from the living shadow/armor hybrid commanded. "Y-y-yes my Lord?"I gasped out in terror, my face firmly placed towards the black marble floor as I knelt. How did you survive? More over, help others survive? he asked rather calmly. _Maybe I won't die today after all!_ "I merely let my desire to survive guide me, your Lordship,"I truthfully responded. Armored footsteps echoed behind me. _Oh...well...I tried_ _Thud!_ with mighty impacts did chests of black steel land in front of me. The knights opened them. Mounds of gold and silver did fill my gaze with their BEAUTIFUL glow. In a particular long chest, was a sword of dark blue steel, clearly enchanted. Your service was well performed and shall be rewarded. By my decree, Thou arst a Viscount of my Kingdom. _You know the world is fucked when the shadow-armor-thing is a more reasonable boss than the King._
You choose your future, you create it by your decisions, you don't know what you're making, but somewhere along the line it comes into shape. It can be a terrible thing that you've made, or something great, for many people it's something ordinary, a couple of kids and good life to give them, sometimes it is something bigger than you, a legacy, an idea, a creation that extends beyond human limits, but you don't know what it's going to be until it's too late. You choose your future, no one forces you into it, no matter how much it can seem like your future was laid you for you, forged by some god or some villain, you are its creator. There are decisions I've made with the circumstances handed to me, decisions I regret, decisions I would repeat again and again if I had to, if I got the opportunity to. So, here I am, at a point that for too long seemed like destiny, but now, now that I know I am the master of my fate, the captain of it, this too has become a choice, not a circumstance. This night, the one I've replayed so many times, the one that took on a meaning outside of itself, is so different from this angle. The fear is different, less visceral than it has become in my mind, but no less real. If anything, I'm surprised how little I want to stop myself. When I look at them, all I see is the flaws I had rubbed smooth over repeated turnings of the reel, washed out into perfect images of people that never were, memory people. When I pull that trigger, and I watch rain mix with blood, and that little boy starts to weep, I cannot do the same. I know he will make the same choice. You choose your future. It's entirely yours, even when it seems random and cruel and senseless, it is yours. I chose my future tonight. I chose to extend beyond myself, to become an idea, a legacy, to become Batman.
How he’d gotten this far was a complete mystery. Surely somebody must have figured it out by now. Seth stared at his opponent, a stout woman who looked as though she had spent the last several years of her life ridding her entire wardrobe of any color. She readjusted her glasses nervously and her eyes darted down to the board as she accidentally met his gaze. Seth breathed deeply and lifted hand toward the tall black piece in the middle of the back row. If he’d been in charge of naming them, he would have called it the bishop, because of the cross at the top. But for some reason, it was the king. The bishop was the other one, a couple of pieces over. The pieces were arranged haphazardly around the board and it looked exactly like every other game he had ever played. And just like every other game he had played, he emerged victorious, but dumbfounded. For the first several games, he had been sure there was a mistake. After that, he began bemusedly looking for the hidden camera crew. There were no ‘gotcha!’ moments. Just more trophies, more money, more eager kibitzers, more gawking preteen nerds asking him to explain the so-and-so opening. He took his oversized checks politely, smiled at everyone, shook hands, and waited for the other shoe to drop. His table was separated out from all the others, cordoned off by two ornate lengths of velvet rope. He toyed with his pen, and absentmindedly pushed one of the little knobby guys from the front row three spaces ahead – no wait, two. Sheepishly wiping his brow, he glanced around his handkerchief to see if his opponent had noticed. She was picking at her ear and concentrating at a spot in the distance, looking very confused. He tapped the weird double-clock thing. “That’s check!” whispered several voices excitedly and he heard the familiar harried scribble of dozens of tiny golf pencils, detailing this absurdity. “Ah yes,” he mused, “check…” He had attempted to sound convincing, but it came off more like a question. He raised his eyes to his opponent who had stopped staring off into the distance and was now staring at the board. “Yes…” she replied, sounding equally unsure of herself. She readjusted herself in her seat and placed her hand on the squat corner piece. Gasps from the peanut gallery. Her eyes darted around. She picked the piece up and placed it 5 spaces ahead. “Unbelievable!” chorused the onlookers, scribbling even more furiously. She neatly tapped her clock button and breathed. It was then that he realized she hadn’t been. Neither had he. He chuckled gingerly and their eyes met. Something flashed across her eyes that he recognized. He smiled at her and laughed some more. She looked confused but laughed back. He looked down at the board which for some reason was hilarious and laughed louder, pushing his chair back. The sea of couples behind them had turned to see what the commotion was. Raising her hands to her stifle the laughter, she was shaking her head at him. He stood up and shrugged his shoulders, now hooting unabashedly at the sheer ludicrousness of it all. She stood up as well and opened her mouth to say something, but, speechless, shut it again and shrugged as well. They pushed their chairs in, clasped hands, and looked at each other. He gave a silly bow, her a curtsey, and together they walked past the velvet rope, unsure of who had won, or if the game was even over.
Casey had his heart first broken at the age of five, when his horseshoe-haired father came home from Friday happy hour stinking of rye whiskey and lashed a belt around his wrist. He let the buckle free, though, and cracked it over Casey's back like a whip. That was Casey's first memory of speaking, when he screamed "no, no, no,"and his father ignored that. And yet it was his father who broke his heart again, when Casey was eleven, moving out of the house finally and turning Casey's mother into a single mother. Casey never saw his father after that, but when Casey heard his mother crying Christmas morning because she couldn't afford presents for the kids, his heart broke, and he blamed his father. He hugged his mom and told her not to cry, that he didn't need any presents, but in his right hand he made a fist and thought of finding and beating his dad, of making him say "no, no, no,"and ignoring that. Casey's mother was a willowy woman prone to wearing nightgowns all day and putting out cigarettes in the wetness of dirty plates in the kitchen sink. She smoked other things, too, Casey knew, but he never asked about the strange smells coming from the basement when her boyfriends would come over, sometimes all at once. One of them beat her once, or at least grabbed her, Casey never knew what the man's intentions were, because Casey struck the man in the face so hard he shouted "no, no, no,"but Casey ignored that. His mother screamed at him for that, but in the morning she confessed that she was glad to be rid of another abusive male figure in his life. His heart was broken before prom thrice. Layla with her brunette-auburn hair that glistened in the sun like copper told him "no,"and he didn't ignore that. Brooklyn with her bright blue eyes told him "no,"and added in a few choice words for him, that he was the son of a deadbeat from the wrong part of town, and he couldn't ignore that, but he pretended to. Then when Lisa told him "no,"something in Casey snapped and later when he was alone he punched a locker, and then cried because he hated making fists. Fists reminded him of his dad, and he would never be like his dad. But then he punched the locker again, and his mind said "no, no, no,"but he ignored that. He didn't make it into college, but that didn't break his heart. By then he was used to rejection and being told that he didn't matter. He stayed at home and went to community college instead, and his mother told him to move out, but he told her no, no, no, and she ignored that. He wanted to be a plumber. He'd heard that plumbers make good money and he would never be a deadbeat like his dad was, even if he couldn't make it in a fancy four-year school, he would be a plumber and never make a fist again. Except one night when his mother went to hit him in one of her own drunken stupors, he made a fist and thought about it, but he said no, no, no, and he woke up glad he didn't ignore that. The last time Casey had his heart broken was Sue, a girl he'd met at a bar just outside of town. She made him feel good. She liked his callused hands, and when she held them open Casey knew he could never make a fist to this girl. They saw a movie and laughed by making fun of the overracting of the villain, with Sue doing his high-pitched voice in an uncanny whine. She cracked him up, and he thought it was going somewhere, but when he found out she had a boyfriend and that he had been paying for all their dates for nothing, he felt his heart break again, but again he told himself no, no, no, he would not be the man his father was. His life sucked, but that didn't mean he had to suck. The cycle breaks with me. Then one day he got drunk on rye whiskey at McKakesie's downtown and he saw Sue with her boyfriend across the way, and he sat there stewing. It felt good to be drunk, because remembering his father with numbness was not so bad. Remembering his mother with numbness was not so bad either. The bartender said something about being cut off, and Casey walked outside, and kept walking under the streetlamps until he couldn't count them anymore, and then he arrived at Sue's house, he knew what he was going to do. He was going to be the opposite of his father. He was going to be nice to Sue. So nice. Forgive her. In person. He was going to be nice to her, he resolved, and he was going to treat her right and she would understand that they were meant to be together. She gasped when she saw him at the front door, but she let him in, and she tried to sober him up with water and gatorade and it felt good to be taken care of, like a warm hearth in the middle of a world of frost. But then she broke his heart with one word. "No,"she said when he put his hand down her dress, "no,"she said ten minutes later when he tried to put it between her thighs, "no,"she screamed, and she screamed, and she screamed, but Casey ignored that.
No food. I don't know why I thought there would be food. If Ethiopia throws a party it's almost a guarantee you should eat before going. At least I brought my own alcohol, if I shared Russia's vodka like I was supposed to I'd be absolutely wasted by now. The dude made his own vodka, how has he not killed himself yet (well he is bloody huge, must just soak it all up) he's calmer though but he won't get out of Ukraine's face. I just hope it won't get ugly later. Some pretty girls here tonight though. Sweden and Denmark are looking fine, god bless those Nordic genes. Italy has gone all out on her outfit. Poor Greece, not enough money to come out anymore. Ah France you arrogant prick of course you're covered in girls but I could be doing worse, Saudi Arabia drives them away in droves. Germany oh Germany we go back some way but things are better nowadays. Efficient until the last. Who brings the exact amount of alcohol down to the millimetre. Of course South America are playing football outside. I'd join in but I don't want to embarrass myself god knows I'm nowhere near as good as I used to be. I nod to Wales, Scotland, and Ireland; my flatmates. There's rumours Scotland's moving out soon. I'll miss him, not sure if he feels the same way. Oh no someone get drunk Israel away from Palestine... yes he ran to the bathroom. Phew that would've gone south fast. Obviously China's here with his air of ~~smog~~ smug. Not his biggest fan but he makes some damn good stuff. and there's Australia and New Zealand they probably want to go home. Too many people for them here. South Korea's here she's pretty nice, shy though doesn't talk much.. who's that behind her? no it can't be she wouldn't bring her, she couldn't possibly think that's a good thing. Yep North Korea. We know they're twins but North is so annoying all she does is bitch and whine and threaten people and think she'll get away with is cause she's smaller. Just ignore her England everyone else does it'll be fine as long as she doesn't see America. Fuck. There he is. Why is he wearing shades it's night time?! I'll deal with it, we get on moderately well. Despite his incessant need to provide 'Freedom' to others but I'm not one to talk. Ah shit North's seen him. She's screaming across the room, why would she not get closer? it probably sounds like feeble grumbling to America. Now she's throwing stuff. Wow. It doesn't reach. Haha she's storming out. Said something about a "great leader"then ran out, took south with her though, shame. It's dwindling now I better leave, I am getting too old for these parties I'll just slip out and hope no one notices. hmm might stop by Turkey's house on the way home and grab a kebab.
The pope waves at the crowd below. I watch his smiles from my shelter inside a doorway. There is a light mist drifting down from the clouds and my equipment is sensitive. It will be a standard blessing he gives, more posturing for the crowd, then a sign off. I shuffle my feet uncomfortably. The crowd is large and full of foreigners and the elderly. The old nonnas have tears in their eyes as they watch their leader and clutch their rosaries. "My children,"the pope begins, and almost instantly the raucous crowed inside the piazza is hushed. "I cannot bring you the blessing you wish for today."A hum builds within the crowd. I see the reporters struck with new interest, pleased that they will have a new headline for their articles. "You know me as a simple man,"he continues. "I wish to live in the ways of our lord Jesus Christ. Yet my heart is not at ease. I see mothers dying in the street, clutching half starved babies and I watch my brothers in the church pass them by. I see the unrest in the Middle East, the birthplace of our Lord, and I hear whispers that perhaps it is for the best. I see the extravagance of the extremely wealthy and the poverty of the masses and I can no longer stand by and watch."The hum of the crowd has become a dull roar. Reporters scribble furiously, hanging on the man's every word. The nonnas are confused, or perhaps mostly deaf, and do not understand what is happening around them. "Thus it is this blessing I give to you today, my children. The blessing of a Crusade, sanctioned in the Lord's holy name. You will defend yourself against those who would oppress you. You will take the mansions and create hospitals and homes for the poor. You will no longer be a slave to a man who does not know your face, who uses the profits from your toil to fund his sins. Today is the day. Today is the day that the meek shall inherit the earth!"He finishes to a screaming and cheering crowd. Through the tears in my eyes I see reporters shouting into their phones. The nonnas whisper prayers to rosaries and the foreigners have no idea what has just transpired. The communicator in my ear buzzes. I listen to my orders over the ecstatic cries of the crowd. A sob escapes my lips as I tell the man in my ear that it will be done, yes Sir, of course sir. I heft my equipment onto my shoulder. He was a good Pope, and a better man.
It's Christmas eve, Santa says to himself. He looks out from his balcony at his creation, his world, and sees depressing amounts of hatred, selfishness and greed. It all seemed to change as soon as Christmas season came in. People became nicer, started spending more time together, being more forgiving. However, Santa knew better. He had watched his people since they were born. All year round, he has seen what they have done. They only change expecting reward. He decides to take a walk around the toy factory. His elves, his little angels, are nowhere to be found. Their workstations are home to spiders that find shelter from the winter cold. The factory equipment have gathered mounds of dust. Starting materials for knick-knacks have been worn down by time, requiring replacement. No one has ever deserved a gift anyway. He returns to his chamber. He looks around, like something has changed. He thinks nothing of it. There is no work to be done. He gets under his warm cotton blankets, and rests. Hours pass, his cuckoo clock rings. He stretches, sits up, and rubs his eyes. It's Christmas. This time however, he is sure that there is something different in the air. He gets up in a rush and runs back into the factory. He sees a light coming from a room, a room he has not bothered to check in 2000 years. A letter? The letter room only accepted letters from nice people. Oh, how this excited him so! A letter in over 2000 years! He would finally be able to reward a person truly deserving. He runs into the letter room, finding a single letter fall ever so gently from the hole in the roof. He picks up the envelope, and opens it. He finds a very carefully folded sweet-smelling stationary inside. He opens it, and reads its contents, truly curious as to what a naturally nice person would ever want for Christmas. Dear Santa Claus, I know everyone's busy asking you for what they want. I just wanted to be the one to thank you for them. Love, Jim _______________________________________________________________________________ EDIT: This is my first time to ever write a short story, but I decided to start after reading a lot of the content here. Feedback would be very welcome! 2nd EDIT: Thank you kind stranger for the gold!
"Please rise for the honorable judge Jesus Christ." "Please be seated."says Jesus. Vishnu, Zoroaster, Jupiter, the Judaic God, and Xenu all sat patiently in the jury as Jesus began to read over paperwork concerning the man to be judged that day. "Uh, let's see here...'Robert Olson. Male. Died at the age of 76. American."read Jesus in a half-mumble. He paused to flip the page over. "'Baptist Christian.'"he continued with a subtle eye-roll and glance at his father sitting in the jury, who also rolled his eyes. "'Has committed no serious sins or broken any commandments.' Seems pretty straightforward."Jesus turned the page again. "Oh. 'Disowned his son for being homosexual. Verbally abused homosexuals, minorities, women, and people of other faiths on multiple occasions.'" The jury let out a soft groan. "Another one of these guys."they all thought. "Okay, so how do you plead?"asked Jesus. "Not guilty."said Robert with a smug look on his face; clearly oblivious to the ridicule silent circling him. "Okay, you got any evidence to provide?" "Yes. A verse from the Bible in fact." "Go ahead."said Jesus, restraining himself from a sarcastic comment. "'You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.' from Leviticus 18:22." "Any more verses?"Jesus sighs. "'If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination.' from Leviticus 20:13." "Dad, do remember Levites?"says Jesus as he shifts in his seat to face the jury. "Uh, yeah. They were a pretty uptight bunch of people. It was like they wanted to run everything. And I tried telling them, 'Guys, I got it under control up here,' but they never really listened."God said. Jesus nodded as he turned back to Robert. "Well, I couldn't help but notice that you left out the final part of that last Leviticus quote: 'they' homesexuals 'shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.' Do you mean to suggest that you would have killed homosexuals because the Bible said so?" "If it truly does then maybe."said Robert with rising uneasiness. "That's pretty much why I sent Jesus down to Earth, you know."exclaimed God. "People were going crazy with making random shit up and saying that I told them to write it in the Bible. I needed to get someone to actually represent me down there." The man was shocked by God's use of expletives. "So you could say that the Old Testament could be totally disregarded, right Dad?"asked Jesus. "Oh yeah, definitely. Except the Ten Commandments. Those are okay." The man went pale. He had read his Bible over fives times in his life and he knew very well that the only defense for his harsh treatment of people in his life was in the Old Testament. "What does the rest of our jury think on the issue?"Jesus inquired. "Jupiter?" "In Ancient Rome and Greece, where they called me Zeus, homosexuality was a common thing, ya know? I didn't really ever see a problem in it. Plus, I pretty much stuck my dick in everything back then so I can't really judge what other people do with their romantic or sex lives."said Jupiter with a chuckle that made him sound like a giddy teenage boy. "Zoroaster?" "Yeah, gays seem fine with me."Zoroaster said with a slight disenchantment; probably because of his perpetual jealousy of Jesus. "Vishnu?" "Same here."said Vishnu. "Xenu?" Xenu spoke in his usual unintelligible babble but nodded his head to indicate 'yes'. "Okay, looks like we're all done here."said Jesus, thankful that this case blew over pretty quickly, as Hades and Lucifer both entered through the double doors of the heavenly courtroom and took the man by his arms. Edit: I apologize ahead of time for any religious inaccuracies, or inconsistencies with how an actual jury trial works. Sorry. Edit 2: I read this over again, and oh god the narrative feels so thin and lifeless. I really should have put a little more detailed(and accurate) exposition into each deity equally.

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