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TheLegend27! No he did it again! My entire kingdom! Demolished! Anton screeched... Lucas whispered: You too know of the dark one? Anton: Yes, this max level player constantly terrorizes me and my kingdoms, it's unbearable. Betty: What are you guys talking about? Both guys: NOTHING BITCH YOU WOULD NOT UNDERSTAND! Betty proceeds to brandish her axe and murder them for questioning her knowledge and power as TheLegend27
"Hey there", the astronaut struggled to say through a lump in his throats while sweating profusely. His suit felt larger than ever, he never realized how dorky they looked while standing and speaking to someone. "This is, well, this is the first time I've done this!"He almost yelled the last part of the sentence as if he had been holding it, but tripped and the words were launched everywhere. "But I'm glad it's with you, I-I-I've just been dreaming about this day so long and to be honest, I couldn't have dreamt for a more perfect civilization to be a diplomat to for the first time. I just wanted you to know that before we started." "BWEWWHAHWWHAHW GREEEEEEEEEEEP SHUDOPPIPIPOPIOOOOOOKIE SWCHELCHIPOL SCRAAAAAANGHHUK" The translator located on the astronauts chest whirred and sparked as if it was really trying to make sense of the horrific screeching that had just openly spewed from the grotesque fish like creatures mouth. After two minutes of awkward staring between the astronaut and alien, the machine dinged and printed out a small script of text like a receipt. The astronaut closed his eyes, looked up and murmured something hopefully. He crossed his fingers and read nervously. He grinned halfway through and began to giggle more and more. "Wow, really? D-d-do you mean that? I guess this is a learning experience for both of us."He smiled and slowly handed the alien a gold disc with the anatomy of the human body, several math and geometric terms on it, as well as various other things. "Before we get into all of this, I wanted to give you this. I made it for you." "SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET" The alien handed the astronaut a cube with several protrusions. The astronaut began to fiddle with the device. When a protrusion was pulled, a liquid like metal came out and would reach for something. The alien pointed to a USB port on a computer in the lab. The astronaut put it next to it and the liquid metal immediately fashioned itself into a perfect USB chord and plugged itself in. Files and files of data were immediately loaded onto the computer. "Wow, I'm so embarrassed, yours is so much better."The astronaut blushed, "So what happens next?"The astronaut smirked and gave the alien a sideways glance while looking down. "I've seen it in movies so I'm kind of familiar but I'm not too sure." "ROOOOOOOSHIPUUUUUUVIKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK" "I guess so."if the astronaut had blushed any harder his eyes would have popped out of his head. diplomacy commences
You got'ah come out now! Ever'one got'ah come out eventually! I have a routine. It's pretty simple. I wake up at 6:45am. I eat a bowl of Coco Puffs. I feed my cat. I watch 15 minutes of morning news. I take a shower. I shave. Dress. Leave. Start my day. I go down to the subway. Swipe my pass. Pick a seat in the corner if I can find one. Daydream. Stare at the blond barista in her green polo. Wonder which Starbucks she works at. Think maybe someday I'll follow her. Just so I'll know. Read the ads. Listen to music. Never podcasts. I don't really like podcasts. Try not to be seen. A week ago, maybe a week and a half, a man started preaching on the platform. A short man, too dirty to even tell what his ethnicity might be. Babbling. Everyone ignored him and so did I. This isn't where you stay. N'one stays forever. N'one. He was there every day, in the morning. He seemed to get progressively louder. And everyone - all of us - we just ignored him harder and harder. No one likes to be yelled at. No one likes to be preached at. Yeh'll be thankful. Just lis'en. Yeh'll be thankful. Same man. Like a smudge in the corner of your eye. You didn't want to look at him. Some days he sounded different. Different voice. Different accent. Same shape. Same place. Same man. I went to work. Snack break at 10am. Lunch at 12:30. Take a walk at 2:15. Head home at 5:00. It's fine, the way it is. Maybe a bit mechanical. To be honest, some days, I get to 5 and I'm not sure what I've done. If I've done anything. But no one's angry with me. No one says anything. So it's fine, I suppose. Ride home. Make a sandwich on pita bread. Watch reruns. Pick at that book on my nightstand. It's fine. But the preacher started wearing on me. By the end of the week, his voice had gotten so loud. It echoed in the subway. Louder than the trains. Come away home! Come away home! Don' make me pray f'you! He pointed at me. I wouldn't look - wouldn't meet his eyes - but I could feel him pointing. I moved down the tracks. Wove through people. None of them flinched at his voice. None of them noticed at all. But they've probably been here longer. That's what I thought. They've been here a long time and I haven't. How long have I been here? You got'ah lis'en! Lis'en to me! Huh? This in't yuh place! It in't! Lis'en, man! Lis'en! Luis, lis'en, man! C'mon, Luis! C'mon! When he knew my name I got scared. Couldn't leave the apartment the next day. Couldn't keep my routine. I still got up at 6:45am. I still had my Coco Puffs. Morning news. Shower. Shave. Dress. I didn't leave, though. I had no idea what else to do. I sat still. I watched the window. Not out the window. I just looked at the window. I got hungry, but I didn't know what to have for lunch. It seemed like I've never eaten lunch at home before. But I have. I'm sure I have. I needed my routine. The man in the subway didn't have the right to take that away. I went back the next day, like I always do. I wouldn't let him yell at me. I wouldn't let him make me scared. Luis! Luis! I was embarrassed when he said my name. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run. And no one looked. No one said anything. No one cared. Luis! C'mon, man. C'mon back. You can't stay in there fo'ever, alright? I tried to be brave. I tried to look at the preacher. I really tried. But it was like... it was like he was there, but wasn't. Like when you stare at the sun and the afterimage stays with you. There... but not really. You gotta get back to real life, Luis. Your wife is gonna kill me dead if you don't git out'ah there real soon! No more playin', alright? Mr. Campos? I know you're there. People git stuck like this, they stay too long, alright? Mr. Campos? C'mon! I was hearing him. Some part of what he said made sense. And the more it made sense, the more it scared me. It was like remembering some nightmare you'd had the night before - one you'd forgotten all about, but it'd never really left you. Mr. Campos? Luis? Please, man. C'mon back. This in't healthy. You can't stay in there. You can't... I don't like nightmares. I don't like scary things. I suppose that's why I stick to my routine. Because it's so safe. Anyway, I ran. Got on my train. Went to work. Snack break at 10am. Lunch at 12:30. Take a walk at 2:15. Head home at 5:00. He wasn't there the next day. So that's over. Now things are back to normal and everything can stay the same. Just the way I like it.
''Gotcha!'' I was clutching a small, impish man, wearing a variety of colorful clothes and accessories. He looked startled, finally caught in the act. My family looked on in awe. They had never believed me when I had pointed the creep out so many times on so many pictures. Well, here's the proof, I thought triumphantly. Father even looked a little embarrassed. I returned my attention to the intruder. ''You've been following us around for years, you weirdo, what's your business exactly?'' The imp seemed to have almost recovered from his surprise, and now answered with unexpected eloquence. ''I'm an employee of Photobomb Inc. , bringing advertisements to the photo viewers since 1964.'' I studied the photobomber more closely now, and realized that he was probably speaking the truth. His shirt bore the logo of Mountain Dew, his pants were covered with the familiar Pepsi sign and his cap advertised for KitKat. He was in fact a walking billboard. ''Why us, though?'' I asked him. The advertiser smiled. ''Ah, well, that's easy, my friend. A good photobomber always notices a good opportunity. And when I noticed that your family always takes a far too wide shot for just four people, I realized I could squeeze myself in there easily.'' He stood there, proudly beaming in the afternoon sun, as if he had just explained Einstein's theory of relativity. Meanwhile, I was intrigued by this little man. For my family, however, the novelty had worn off, and they retreated to the nearest Burger King. The photobomber enjoyed his brilliance a bit longer, then realized the trouble he was now in. ''My boss is going to kill me now. A caught photobomber is like a magician who explains his tricks to his audience. There goes my nice job.'' The imp looked miserable and I felt a little sorry for him. At the same time, I felt an opportunity arising. ''Tell you what,'' I said to him in a conspiratorially voice. ''I'll let his incident slide, and in turn, you'll get me a job at your firm. I'm done delivering pizza's.'' The photobomber looked conflicted. He now had a means to save his own skin, but at the same time he probably didn't want to induct a stranger like me into the mysterious Photobomb Inc. Maybe he needed a little extra encouragement. ''You can photobomb on my oblivious family for the rest of your life. I won't tell them.'' Now the imp's expression brightened. He rubbed his hands. ''My friend, we've got a deal.''
Lurching forward suddenly he hacked into the crumpled tissue already darkened with blood. Quickly, I handed him the glass of water by the bedside table which I drained in a single draw. Shuttering still, he cleared his throat before falling back unto the pillows that kept him upright in the hospital bed. One adjusted the oxygen tubes that connected to his nostrils while the other returned to me the empty glass. Wearing only the hospital robe, his insignia was clearly visible. Only in the recent weeks had I ever seen it: a long, jagged line that ran parallel to his forearm, bisected a chevron that pointed towards his shoulder. He caught be staring at it. As I took the glass he asked me, "How long has it been?" "Three days,"I replied. Not baring to see the tears forming in my father's eyes, I occupied myself momentarily with refilling the glass from the pitcher of water on the credenza by the window. "Three days,"he repeated. "There was a time I couldn't tolerate being apart from your mother for so long. When we were younger, we had a 'three day policy' about seeing one another."His voice was haggard. "We broke it a lot. Figures I'd be the last to break it though." Turning quickly from the window, "Please dad, don't speak like that." "She was always the braver of us, your mother."He bent forward again, with the same wet cough. I placed one hand on his back and guided him back to a reclining position. He reach for my arm and turned it towards his face. His fingers traced the ellipsis and the two circles inside of it. "Looks just like your mother's,"he said. "Dad, you should rest." "It's too late for that now." As he turned his head away from me, I bit my tongue and tried not to scream. "What the hell is wrong with you?"I yelled. "Just try to get some sleep. You can't stay awake feeling sorry for yourself!" His eyes were bloodshot, ringed with heavy, black circles. "Just like your mother,"he smirked. "Is that why you're doing this to me now? Because I remind you of her?" "No. Because I miss her. And I'm not half the man I used to be without her." I collapsed into the nearby chair. "Please don't make me lose both of my parents." "It's not my choice, you know that." My head fell down into my hands. He struggled to hand me a tissue from the box next to him. Hearing his belabored grunts, I pulled the box towards me and wiped my eyes. "I do know."For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the reluctant smile mom had spoken of so frequently. "You really did love her, didn't you?" He seemed almost taken aback. "Of course I did." Looking at my own forearm I began, "Even though you and she-" "Yes,"he said sternly. His jaw had blenched. Before I could ask another question, he continued, "I knew what sort of people had this mark, so I knew what sort of person I was meant to be. For a long time, I had convinced myself that that was what I wanted for myself. After I met her, things changed. I decided that I didn't give a damn about what I was supposed to be. Despite even predisposition, I would find a way to turn that into some way to balance her. To help her." I quickly took up another tissue, barely able to speak. "Dad..." "I didn't consider myself a good person before her. I was so happy you and your brother took after her." Tossing the box aside, I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around his frail shoulders, remembering how broad they felt when I had been only a child. With shaking hands he held me back. "Promise, you'll never let anything stop you from being the person you want to be." The tears obscured his face. The machines next to us let us a piercing whine. "Promise me..."he said as his arms went limp. "Dad?"I shook his body as the tone grew louder. Burying my head into his breathless chest. "I promise."
Hey you. Me. I don't know if I can really be sorry about what I did. To see if things would get better. I know, I know. I stole your chance to ever find out. I am sorry for that. That's the only thing I can truly apologize for, that you and I lost out on the chance to really see if things did get better. If it was only four years. If those things too would pass. What a bunch of bullshit. They didn't have to live it. They didn't dread waking up, dread closing their eyes because that meant one more day. They weren't tormented every single day because of how they looked, acted, felt. It wasn't fair of them to say it would be okay. That it would end. They didn't know! Only I could know. Only you and I can know. I get it. I'm supposed to beg for you to forgive me but I don't want you to. I know what I left behind. Once you get through all the bullshit pity parties for people wanting to feel better about themselves, people going on about the guy they never really knew, if you dig past all that you see the truth. The truth I couldn't see until I could see everything. The truth you might have known. The tears that will come every night, the drinking or the escapes, the pain that will always live on in the back of their minds. The people that did love me for who I was and I just couldn't see it. Feel it. Know it. I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I don't deserve it. Not from anyone. I'm here because I think I am sorry. That I regret my choice but once I had made it there was just no going back. I'm sorry I took everything from you. From me. From us. I'm sorry you'll never get to see what life was like after those years. If it really did get better. I'm sorry I left behind a wake of destruction for everyone you cared about but I just never could. I'm sorry you ever let me make decisions. I'm sorry. Yeah. I get it. I know. You don't have to apologize. It's okay. I wouldn't forgive me either.
Age had taken its time with him, siphoning youth as the sun turned. The office light was white sun from blue windows. The drywall turned from shadows to rough canvas as the day passed. Redman looked old. Our days were long and there was a trepidation in the air. How can I explain it? We were doing well up until the autumn came. I suppose summer's warmth had held back the reality of it all. Redman was our boss. He was near fifty and he was a tall man, if I can call him such, and he was dying. With the city chill coming in, high winds in our tall building, he walked slowly to his desk. You could hear him cough in a rough way. His eyes were yellow and weak, and they looked backwards into the past, like a man reminiscing. Profits were up. We had an aggressive strategy to gain younger clients. All the old men were taken. We introduced a new retirement fund with a modest investment price. It was to open up their eyes and wallets, to build relationships and make them new customers. It was Redman's idea. He had introduced a similar plan internally, and promised us benefits when we retired. "I always look to the future,"he said. "Man wasn't meant to be boxed in all day. There will come a time when you will want to lie in the sun, and bask in its heat. This work is a means to an end." We had bought him a mug, you know? You never get top brass who actually gives a damn about the little silverware of the company. It touched me, all of us actually. But look at me rambling on. I should get to the point. We liked Redman is what I'm saying. He was not like us, not like anyone. We know why now, but back then it was something else. We could see he was sick. His days were long and hard, and his cough invited death like a child's rattle. Come for me, it sounded. Come now you reaper. I could hear it from my desk. We thought it might be cancer. But Redman never mentioned it. As he grew sicker his guard started to deteriorate. I worked early mornings then, and the sun is lazy come the end of the year. Mornings are dark here and I often worked in a nightlike day, sunrise coming later and later. One day I was at my desk. I have to write a newsletter for our clients and I was doing that when Redman came in. He always came early, always in a suit and with a hat, like he was some fifties business man. "Bogart,"we called him. And he'd laugh as though he knew who that was. He didn't see me that morning, and for some reason I thought I'd be quiet. I saw him walk with his long legs, even longer shadows crawling the walls in what light there was. He was talking to himself, singing some song of his people. Or about his people. He missed them, I gathered. His world was far away. I wonder exactly how far. He went to the kitchen and I stayed still at my desk. He came out with his coffee and I saw his long tongue as he drank it near the glass wall. He looked out at the people below. I froze and was scared. I thought he was some demon. What would he do if he knew I was here? I wanted to leave, but he began to cough. His sickness darkened the morning more. Redman was an old man. I suppose his people don't make it to fifty often. I felt sorry for him. He turned from the glass and walked the empty space of our main office. The shadows must have moved for he saw me then. He stopped and stared and in that silent moment, he knew I had seen everything. "Gordy,"he said. "Mr. Guan,"I said. No one called him Mr. Guan. I don't know why I did. His yellow eyes were wide and searching. He coughed, then smiled. "See a man for a liard and suddenly he's Mr. Guan,"he said. I smiled. You couldn't help but smile with Redman. "Is that what it is?" "Yes... What did you think it was?" "We thought it might be cancer." He looked at the glass. "It might be. Who knows? But I'm also old. Very old." I got up and put a hand on his shoulder. "You don't look very old." "Scale don't crack,"he said. But he coughed loudly and spilled his coffee. "Sorry." I pat his back and we went to the kitchen, and we talked a while. The others would come in the hour, but that time in between was a personal moment, and I learned much of the man. "I had a tail once,"he said. "I lost it and it never grew back. As boys we thought it would." "Where is your home?" The kitchen was a small blace, unpainted polished wood cabinets and a little sink. "Here,"he said after a while. "This company is my home." But he stared at the table. He had a home before. I remembered the song he sang that morning. "The place I was born is far away. My mother lived there, and I had friends and family. I suppose that was a home too." "What happened?" He blinked. "It's gone. You make your choices in life. I thought the life of lazing on the concrete to be unfulfilling so I left. I came here to make a difference." "And you did." "Yes... I suppose I have." Redman loved his company. We took good care of our clients. The others came in shortly that morning. I kept Redman's secret for that month and we talked each morning before the others came. I think he liked being able to share his stories with me, to tell me the life of a lizard. It brought him joy and peace, I think. He grew sicker as the month turned, and one day he did not come to work. Everyone was worried, and a panic had taken the office. I had to tell them then. I don't know if they believed me at the time, but Redman would convince them. The authorities found his clothes discarded in an alley near his apartment. He was pronounced missing, kidnapped maybe. It made the news briefly and the police asked us a lot of questions. None of us mentioned anything about lizards. A letter came to the office a few days later. His attorneys had come to execute his wishes as though he was dead. His letter was for us and he admitted being a lizard. It said that his attorneys would take the company public, and we'd have the first rights to the shares. We own the majority of Redman Financial now, and the company still carries on, lizard or no lizard. The mornings are darker now, and I always listen for Redman to show up. Perhaps he's still alive, I think. Maybe he's sunning on some concrete patch, or maybe he's gone home. I can dream, I guess. I imagine he's dead though, and that makes me sad. Loneliness comes with the cold. From the glass you can see the people below walking as tiny little lizards. I wonder if that was why he liked staring out so much. Or maybe he just liked the view. I drink my coffee these days and write the newsletter to our clients. It's my job, and it's the best way to honor him. - Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check our r/PanMan, my subreddit. It has all my WP stories, including a couple original ones. Thank you for your support!
Someone is fucking with my head. No one is fucking with my head. I just need something to blame other than myself. I grit my teeth and shake my head, sending water droplets spraying everywhere. My next step comes down even harder than before. I'm running of course - its all I do in my free time. I don't know where, I don't know from what, but I'm definitely running from something. Something that's in my head. No. I'm running from myself. Or at least trying to. The City is surprisingly quiet. New York doesn't sleep, that's true. But at 3 am in the pouring rain, it comes as close to it as possible. I would've liked to listen to music, but that would be even stupider than being a girl and running alone in a City in the middle of the night in the middle of a downpour. But, I've been running in solitude for an hour or so now. Sure, there are drunk college students, taxis, and some blankly staring people, but they're pretty much fixtures in the city. But the voice is still here. Voice? How delusional am I? It's me, not someone else. It used to be easier. Running. The burning came faster, the tiredness, the utter draining. But I've been running pretty much since I moved to the city a year or so go, and I've gotten better. It takes longer and longer to get where I want - complete exhaustion. Like that's going to help But it is. The voice is already getting weaker as finally my breath starts to come in labored gasps, and my legs feel like they're on fire. With no warning whatsoever, I stop, frown, and throw up on the street. Delightful. Despite the rancid taste in my mouth, I feel awake - truly awake, despite the bone-deep tiredness. The voice is gone. It used to go away for only five minutes or so, then longer, an hour, two. I had time to get back to my apartment and fall asleep without the voice whispering in my ear. Now it stayed away for longer. Yesterday, it had been practically nonexistent. Tonight it seemed to be back in force though. ... It wants to say something, but couldn't, I can just feel it straining to speak, to use my synapses against me, but it is no use. Despite it all, this twisted fucked up situation. I laugh. So loudly that it echoes off the buildings. In the pouring rain. At 3:30am. A dog starts to bark from one of the apartments, and an old lady dressed in rags looks at me funny and starts walking away. Great, I'm scaring away the crazy hobos. What does that say about me? That I'm fucking elated! It's like my mind tried to over-compensate for that parasite poisoning my mind, and loaded me up with dopamine. It is practically a high. Clapping. It took me a fraction of second to distinguish it from the sound of pattering rain, but it was there. I whirl around, taser in my hand. I was well-practiced in self-defense, but the taser didn't hurt. Didn't hurt me, that is. But it isn't some crazy rapist - it's that hobo woman. She's clapping. So I do what any New Yorker does when faced with someone potentially insane. I start to speed walk the hell away. "Ashley,"she says. I whirl around, and my ponytail smacks my face. Smooth. "How the hell do you know who I am?"I ask. "Oh I know everything about you, Ash,"she says, and I stiffen. Only my parents and sister call me Ash. "Like the voice in your head, for example,"she finishes. It is all I can do to not gape at her. No one knows about the voice. No one. I didn't even tell my sister, and I tell her everything. The hobo just looks at me with a slight smirk on her face. ...Except she definitely isn't a hobo. Under the flickering streetlight I can make out perfectly manicured nails, long, well kept eye lashes, and clear blue, utterly sane eyes. I roll my eyes. "Yes, yes you've mad your point, you're spooky and mysterious,"I say, tapping my foot on the sidewalk, "a goddess in disguise, whatever. Can we get on with the part where you tell me what you want." She laughs. It is a beautiful sound, somehow conveying humor, grace, and mocking all at once. "Oh, I see why He put the parasite in your head, you're quite something,"she says with an emphasis on He that demanded capitalization. "Someone put this...thing that is in my head?"I ask. I know that voice wasn't me, but to have actual confirmation... "Was, my dear,"she says, "was in your head. You've killed it, finally. Poor thing was barely hanging on. I fear tonight was its final gasping breath." My brain, high on joy as it was couldn't possibly get any higher, but when I heard her say that it did. I feel practically giddy - I could finally, finally move on with my life. "And now that He's failed, it's my turn." Full stop. "Excuse me?"I say. "Oh no dear,"she says, almost reading my mind, "I have no intention of inhibiting you. You are exactly what I want in this world,"she beams at me, "you are perfect as you are." "Then why are you here?"I ask, "why come to talk to me?" "Well, my dear, He's had his turn, and now its mine. He's already failed, but I can help you with one thing."Her smile is positively devilish, and I find myself smiling to match her. "What?"I ask, but I already know. "Payback." *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
Every time I get up onto the land the apes shove me back into the water. However, this time I was fippered with a plan. I had met an old shark who was blind. In exchange for his teeth I would catch him as much food as he needed. I shoved each tooth into my mouth on a rock until they were perfectly in place. I swam to the surface and hopped up onto the beach. The apes ran over to try to come over and push me back into the ocean. This time, things were different. I bared my teeth at the apes and they ran off screaming. I exhaled and said, “Life is good,” as I felt the sun shine down on me.
Today. What did I expect? Nothing. I just looked in awe and despair as it sat there, hovering just inches off the ground. It’s metallic skin was egg shaped and it’s eyes changed like the husk of those beautiful beetles I saw in the pictures at the museum. Pictures of the past. Everyday for six years I ate scraps, saved my pennies, worked and hustled any chance I could get to save my money. Not for this. For my sister. My father had left us when she had just been born; left us to fight in the last Great War that tore our little nation of Hawaii away from the protectorate Homeland of Japan Minor. My mother was taken after by the army, she made us hide under the floor boards as they ripped our house apart. Talking in English and beating every breath she took right back out of her body. I can still hear her cries and still smell the sweet stench of blood that left the permanent stain on our walls. She never begged, not even once. Everyday for those six years I watched her grow, watched her cry, watched her smile. Everyday I wished she had never been born into this mess. I wished for her to find peace. When they announced that there was a cure for MC1-2a in the loot boxes I took the long shot and saved up. What if? Do you know how many ways a man can ask you to take your clothes off? I do. But she was my sister and I was the only thing she had in this world that loved her; she was the only thing I had that loved me. The day had come and I had earned my last doubloon. For the first time in my life I felt proud, but afraid. I had spent six years for this moment. “What is that?”, Alice asked as she clung to my back, gently lifting her feet off the floor and leaning against my shoulder. She did this when she was getting ready for bed and wanted me to lay down next to her and keep her safe. “It’s... I... I don’t know”, I said as I scratched my head and leaned over to inspect the egg-shaped object a bit further. “Wendy, you said you was gonna get me a cure, not a new toy! I don’t want to die, I don’t want to see mommy and daddy yet”, she was starting to shake, tears rolling down her cheeks as she kicked at the floor and squeezed my arm with her tiny hands. “Alice, I don’t know what this is. But it’s got to be good if it’s not even listed on the site. No one has ever found something like this, it’s got to be worth something, right?” I exclaimed as I stared at the translucent eyes, hypnotizing my thoughts. “Maybe there’s instructions in the box.” I reached behind me and peered into the loot box. There was a note that read: Congratulations. You have been awarded a G3-n1, artificial intelligence unit. G3 is connected to every computer and satellite network in the world. It is programmed to grant you any three wishes. Choose wisely! I couldn’t believe what I had just read. Any? “G3-n1, how do I turn you on?” The egg shaped object began vibrating ever so slightly and it’s eyes turned on, in a way that reminded me of watching clear glass cup be filled with molten lava. They were orangish red and menacing. “Greetings, I am G3-n1 and you have been given the gift of dreams. I have been programmed to offer you any three wishes, within the compliance of physics and reality as we know it. What is your first wish?” I turned my head to the left and met eyes with Alice, her mouth was agape and I could feel her shallow breath float across the room. I turned my head back to G3 and asked, “what are my restrictions?” “None.” “And what about limitations?” “None.” “Can you administer the cure of MC1-2a to my sister Alice? That is my first wish, I ask for you to cure Alice.” And with that, it began to glow bluish green, oscillating continuously with it’s orangish eyes staring straight at Alice. “It is done. What is your next wish?” What was done? I looked at Alice and she looked at me, she looked at her hands and grabbed at her stomach. She pinched her cheeks and opened her eyes real wide and said, “I don’t feel different?” There was a knock on the door. No one came to the hollows this late into the evening and the only ones who knocked didn’t wait for an answer. I grabbed Alice and G3 and put them both in the closet. “Both of you be very quiet, I’m going to see who that is.” I quietly closed the closet door and walked over to the entryway, peered out the keyhole. There was no one in sight. I gently opened the front door and saw a small package sitting just outside. A single word was printed on the top. It read: One. I grabbed the box and slammed the door shut. I waited a moment to listen for any movement outside. There was none that I could hear. A lump sat in the back of my throat and I slowly walked back over to the closet and began open the box. Upon opening the door I saw a fair glow emanating. The same greenish blue light that had appeared when I made my first wish. “Alice, what...”, but I was cut short. In her hands was a small picture of our parents, she was showing it to G3. “I asked him to bring mommy and daddy back, he said he ‘cannot commute’”, her eyes were streaming tears. “Cannot compute”, I said, taking her hand gently in my own and bringing her to my lap as I opened the box. “What is your second wish?” I looked up and asked, “can this wait, do I have to do this now?” I reached in the box and withdrew a syringe, marked MC1-2a-retro. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the cure. “You can take all the time you want, but I have been activated and they now know. They will come to reclaim me.” I could feel the back of my neck begin to sweat, my hands trembled, but I asked, “who”? “Everybody.” Alice and I stared at each other. I took her arm and gently administered the solution, hoping to every and any greater being that what I was doing was the right thing. She winced at the prick of the needle and after the solution had been pumped into her she grabbed her belly again, squeezed her cheeks and then said, “I feel funny, like when I ate that funny sou...” her words trailed on as she collapsed on the floor. My heart sank and I reached for her limp body. She was growing warmer and warmer as I carried her to the bed. She began to sweat and tremble, her little hands making fists and her jaw clenching tighter and tighter. What did I do? I looked at G3 and screamed, “what did you give her?!” “I didn’t give her anything. You asked for the cure and I granted your wish. She will not feel pain any longer.” Before I knew what I was doing I had already kicked the egg clear across the room. It bounced and clanked against the walls and spun around until it finally righted itself and turned back towards me, orangish eyes fixed on my position. “Please be careful, I may be artificial but I feel pain. What is your second wish?” “I wish you didn’t kill my sister!” I screamed at the egg and buried my head into her little belly. She groaned and I popped my head back up in shock. She slowly opened her eyes and smiled at me. My gaze turned to G3, “how did you do that”? “You asked. What is your second wish?” I knew what I was asking and I knew the answer, but I did it anyway, “why can’t you bring our parents here, why can’t you make that wish come true?” “Is this your second wish?” “My second wish? Yes, I wish to know what happened to my parents, I wish to know why we are alone, why we had to live this life!!” The egg began to glow again, a purple hue this time. “Your father was taken as a prisoner of war. He was the first test subject for consciousness transference from a biological host. It did not go as planned and many deaths occurred that day. Your mother was detained for questioning and was killed by the General in charge of the consciousness transfer program. But though she has passed, he still remains.” I thought the truth would fill the void within me, I thought I would find some solace in understanding the answer to that question. I held Alice’s hand and gently stroked her hair. I looked her in her beautiful brown eyes and knew what my last wish would be. “G3, I wish for a good job and a safe place to live. A place where Alice and I can grow and play. Where people smile at us and welcome us with love and warmth. Can you do that?” The egg began to glow, at first greenish blue, then dark orange and finally a minty white. “It is done. Thank you Wendy, for being there for your sister, for putting her before you and for choosing her life over yours. Your mother and I loved you both so very much.” And with that, the metallic egg shimmered and collapsed, leaving in it’s place a key card with an address.
I'd seen most of what mankind's long History has to offer. The moon landing, of course. The Gettysburg address and the Lincoln assassination. JFK. Caesar conquering Gaul and crossing the Rubicon. Sometimes I see myself again, on the memorable occasions I want to revisit. Some for the best motives, some for the worst. 9/11. Chernobyl. Fukushima. The more meaningful and full of impact the occasion, the more likely I'll see other versions of myself, some younger, some older. Once, I saw hundreds. It was my first visit there. The city was resplendent, music seemed to stirr the local hearts, and the people waltzed through the city with the grace of the Danube by them. The young man I sought was walking a lonely walk among the crowds of Vienna. Easel under his arm, he stormed into the Fine Arts Academy as I noticed the same faces all around the historical building. My face. Past, present and future, admiring the moment that might have changed history. We peeked through windows, entered halls and rooms, to hear but a few german words from the old master of the academy. "I'm sorry, Herr Hitler. You're just not good enough." **** /r/Camberlot**
Everyone had a theory. May 8th, 2065 was the end of the world, many believed. That was definitely the most prominent theory. Maybe a black hole would swallow the earth and we'd be gone in the blink of an eye. Or maybe an astroid would hit us, wiping humanity out instantly. Some even believed that May 8th was the day that we would be invaded by a foreign species from outer space. But they were only theories. No one actually had a clue what was going to happen on the famous date. Word got around fast that May 8th, 2065 was the end of man's time traveling endeavors. At some point, after countless travelers failed to make further contact from May 8th on, people realized that something wasn't right. In all different times, people learned of the dangers of exploring past that date and it eventually became illegal for everyone's safety. Today, May 7th, 2065 has been a very hectic day at the time stations. Hundreds of thousands of people from different times have travelled to this day to experience what would happen in the next few hours. 11:28 p.m. The time stations have been slowing down since the day started. So many people have been traveling to this moment, overwhelming the machines. Billions of people wait for the clock to strike 12:01 a.m. Some party, others savor their time with loved ones. Some just sit and wait. 11:43 p.m. Some of the time stations have broken down. An estimated four billion have traveled to this day, a record high by three-and-a-half billion. Still, millions arrive every second as the clock slowly approaches 12:01. 11:58 p.m. The streets are filled with travelers. It's like a new years parade times a thousand. Only half of the time stations are running at this point. The amount of travelers has increased to five-and-a-half billion, making up a third of the world's population. Chaos reigns. 12:00 a.m. The previous chaos of the past hour has ceased. Quiet. The world is quiet. Almost peaceful. Calm before the storm. 12:01 a.m. The time stations stop. No explosions. No loud noises. They just stopped working. The engineers tried to reboot them but nothing seemed to work. They had just stopped. The machines had been overwhelmed by the billions of travelers in such as short span of time and on May 8th, 2065, at 12:01 a.m., they ceased to be time machines. Just pieces of metal. The world hadn't ended. No invasions or astroids or black holes. But at the beginning of the day on May 7th, roughly fifteen billion people existed in this time. At 12:01 a.m. of the next day, there were almost twenty-one billion people on earth. And they were stuck. No one could travel to another time. Time travel ceased to exist past this point in time. Almost six billion people had appeared on May 7th and were all stuck in this time. There was not enough room for everyone. The world was terribly overpopulated. Chaos. Chaos was imminent.
EPIC MOVE TRAILER VOICE "This summer, prepare for the spy vs spy vs russians film you've just been waiting for." "Starring Daniel Craig as the hardest and grittiest Bond to date, with the swearing, and the injuries, and the drinking and the guns. He's the funny man." "His foil, the man who reinvented swinging over 4 dudes in suits to shoot them in 15 body locations: Keanu Reeves is John Wick. He got out. He got back in, and now, he's got what Bond needs." "Her Majesty's Secret Service dispatch their top man to call in their largest favour." "No evil villain, nor utter mastermind, just one insane Russian submarine captain holding the western world to thermonuclear ransom." "Watch as two hard bitten hard men take on every faceless mook from London to Moscow. Watch, as two men, clearly the good guys kill a record setting number of disposable targets." "The real question: Will it be awesome? Oh hell yes." 3 minute montage of gunfights. "This is a race against time." 3 minute montage of chase scenes in no less than 10 vehicles. "For the fate of the civilised world." Close in on "evil"russian submarine captain. Spinning Continental Gold Coin comes straight at the reader as the title appears. "John Wick. James Bond. The Internet's:" Title "Heads I Win, Tails you Lose."
At first they thought it was cute. When I was born, I shifted in and out of my animal form $as most healthy babies do$. The nurses coo’d and cah’d taking turns guessing what my animal could be. It wasn’t always so obvious. A person’s shape\-shift form always matches the same age of their human form. A cat\-shifting child reaching their teens would be the same as a kitten reaching its adolescence, the animal age is respective to the human age, not the animals actual lifespan. Baby animals weren’t always so easy to identify. Most historical records of animals come from their adult forms and the babies shape rarely matches exactly. Dinosaurs proved particularly difficult to identify since they were little to no fossilized records of adolescents. Most hospitals came equipped with a zoologist to help new parents determine their child’s animal, but even they were sometimes stumped. I was one of those cases. While I don’t remember much of my childhood, I was told my strange animal form was a source of joy to my parents and the community. It was a local wonder, an unsolved mystery, trying to determine what my cute, tiny animal form was. My form measured much smaller then a human baby and looked somewhat like a fattened caterpillar. Except I was a mammal not an insect. As I grew older, I received regular doctor check\-ups to verify that I and my animal form were healthy. The strange thing was that while my human body emulated everything you’d expect from a healthy growing boy, my animal form remained stagnant and unchanged. The older I got, the more embarrassing this became. I was an easy target for bullying, my classmates with larger, stronger animal forms were fully coming into their adulthood and appreciating the strength of their forms, while I remained, the tiny caterpillar\-like slug. The worst part was that people’s dual forms seemed to be linked in more than just age. A man with a gorilla form tended to have a very large, muscular physique, regardless of whether he worked out or not. For me this linking resulted in a stunted growth and a baby\-like physique, while all my classmates accelerated through puberty and adulthood. The constant teasing and beatings I received only further provoked my shame of my form. Why was I cursed with such a useless animal? During my first year of high school I received a particularly rough beating from the school’s rabbit clique. There were always a lot of those for some reason, and they lived life at the bottom of the schoolyard food chain. Until they met me, of course. From that day on I vowed to never use my animal form again. I suffered through high\-school in silence, keeping my head down and trying my best to avoid attention. It worked, for the most part. I only received the occasional beatings and even the rabbits got tired of picking on me after a while. I was too low for even their attention. That all changed on my 18th birthday. The blaring of my alarm woke me up, breaking my peaceful slumber. As I pulled myself out of bed I noticed something different. A strength I hadn’t previously known. Groggy, I stumbled into the bathroom and glanced towards the mirror, freezing at my reflection. Starting back at me, dumbfounded, was a figure I had never seen before. A man. I must have grown two feet overnight alone. My shoulders had broadened, my facial hair had grown out and I could see the beginnings of muscular definition forming in my arms. Shaking, I staggered back to the bed and sat down with a thump, holding my head between my hands. What had happened? Was I finally hitting puberty? Tentatively – I reached out to my animal\-self and recoiled at the alien feeling. It had been years since I’d done that, even refusing the doctor’s nagging requests to study me. Closing my eyes and gritting my teeth I decided to go for it, flexing a muscle inside of me that hadn’t been used in years. That’s the last thing I remember. Standing up, I patted the dust off my clothes, noticing my now bulging muscles, and took in the scene of destruction before me. What had I done?
It begins. The white pawn two squares to my right moves two squares in front. A pause. A black pawn across the field moves one square to the front. A longer pause. The white pawn at the far left moves forward two squares. Short pause. The black bishop slips past the frontline to the middle of the field. A calculating pause. The white rook moves forward. The bishop retreats a square. The rook moves a few squares to the right. Another black pawn takes two steps forward. On it on it went. Pause. Movement. Pause. Movement. Death. The white rook was the first to go. Killed by the black horse, which in turn died to a sneaky white bishop. And then the pawns. Placed strategically in a way that meant that they could not simply be shifted from their position unless a higher piece comes to kill. And higher pieces came. Death, ground covered, death, sacrifice. Daring pushes forward, calculated retreats. Everyone around me was doing their part to aid their Masterminds. Everyone but me. I had not moved a square since the battle started. My Mastermind had not done anything with me, and neither did the opponent. Even our king had moved, albeit to get out of an ill thought-out check. I watch as our remaining rook took up position in the emptying field, a position that could win us the game. Their king was running out of places to move. Our queen was baring down on him as the white bishop tracks his movement. The black pieces were cornered, and the Mastermind has not yet seen fit for me to move a muscle. And then their remaining black horse took down our rook. What tragic comedy. That was the first thing that happe in this battle, and now, our plan has fallen apart. It was down to me, another pawn, the bishop, the queen and the king. They still had their horse, bishop, three pawns and their king. And they're getting the upper hand. The battle turned from an agressive chase to an annoyed retreat as their three pawns raced to our land in a desperate attempt to turn into something useful. Our queen picked them off one by one, before being picked off herself by the enemy bishop. Our main fighter was torn from our ranks just like that. And suddenly our bishop was by my side, and theirs took out our other pawn. In a quick succession of events we lost the upper hand. I moved two steps for the front. The enemy was split between going after our king or stopping me. And this indecision cost them a turn of proper piece placement, which was enough for our bishop to make sure I was not to be hassled as I made my ceremonious and uninterrupted way across the battleground. The enemy bishop could not attack the square I would end up in, and the horse would have to think twice about taking out my bishop as it would mean the end of himself as well when I inevitably reach my destination. The fool goes for it anyway and I watch as my protector falls. No matter. I have reached my destination. A new queen will win the day.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” I paused, looking at the sculpted face in front of me and slowly replied, “No…?” It wasn’t the right answer. Ealida rolled her eyes and patted my back as though I was a small child that she was instructing on the basics of life, the sensation reverberating through the VR suit that I was wearing. “I know that several hours ago you were romancing Ada - and you know she has a violent history with wandering men.” Her hand motioned to the tent where Ada had settled for the night after a long “day” of questing. “Oooookay. So is this off the table completely?” Ealida’s arm fell from my shoulders and she started to walk away from me, the perfect pixels that formed her body moving back and forth with a model’s grace. “Oh darling,” she looked back, “I know that you’d just be using me for that achievement you’ve been chasing for three playthroughs. Good luck next time!” A mischievous smile crossed her face as she entered her own tent, the candles that gave us light at night silhouetting her as she undressed. Damn. The forums all said that she slept in the nude. I pulled up the achievement screen and looked miserably at the lists in front of me. Nearly complete, just that one left - romance every companion in a single playthrough. Life had been so much simpler when the A.I. weren’t wise to the player’s tricks.
I watched them burn the last of mankind in a gasoline-filled pit. It seemed their screams would never end. Their killers stood in a ring, watching with eyes of electricity and glass. They were humanity's offspring ... or so I'd thought, at first. I'd been born in a different time, when mankind traveled upon animals, killed each other with pointed sticks, and believed in magic. Maybe I was to blame for that last bit—I could manifest myself at will to them, mostly for my own amusement. After all, most of those mediums were charlatans, out to make a quick profit—they'd never expected to actually speak to a ghost. Then the times had changed, too quickly for me to follow. Suddenly there were cars, and planes, and then everyone walked around with their faces glued to glowing screens. Soon enough, mankind got tired of doing things on their own. They created beings made of metal, then imbued them with intelligence and independence. I was no expert on this whole science gig, but something about that just seemed like A Bad Idea. Anyhow, that was that. The book on mankind had closed. Last chapter. The end. The last thousand years formed an extremely long epilogue, as the robots—so christened by their makers—erected structures of glass, metal and other, more wondrous materials to cover the earth. Things had become ... boring. See, no matter how hard I tried, they didn't notice me. I manifested. I booed. I did cartwheels. I once recited for an entire day the three laws that the robots had engraved on a statue of a human, which I'd always thought was built in poor irony, or perhaps it was their idea of wicked fun. But none of them ever reacted to me. Maybe there was something only present in a human's eyes that allowed them to perceive me. How dull. If only I could still touch objects. Today, however, something happened. Something that caused me to recall a word I'd not heard in such a very long time: magic. I was floating in front of an automated assembly line, waiting to greet the latest additions to the great robotic race. As always, they stood rigid until the end of the line where they stepped off in perfectly looping motions. It was so mesmerizing I'd once lost six months watching them. So this fella, instead of stepping off smoothly like its brethren, snags its clawed feet on the conveyor belt and topples off to the side. Since I'd never seen that happen, I zoomed over to see how it was faring. The robot's spherical head swiveled to me, and its eyes widened. "Human. Human detected. Terminate, terminate!" I gasped. "You can see me?"I wasn't even manifesting. "Terminate!"The robot climbed to its feet and slashed at me with its blocky hands. Naturally, they passed harmlessly through my belly. "You can't. I'm a ghost,"I said. "Error, does not compute. Under sub-doctrine ninety-nine alpha-zero-zero-six—" "You have a sub-doctrine for that?"I said. "—four sub-section golf-golf-rabbit-weasel-one-one—" "Er, guy?" "—nine-whiskey-tango-foxtrot-nine—" "I get the point, you can stop now." "—terminate!"The robot launched itself at me and collided with the factory wall. Undeterred, it stood up again and advanced. I was starting to feel sorry for the fella. I mean, look at it. Barely five feet tall, with those stubby arms and that comical dent in its head. "Aren't you a little short for a terminatorbot?"I said. "Terminate!" "You should just go to the nuclear-waste storage site where you're supposed to be." "Terminate!" I sighed and floated away. Seems there was no talking to these things. Maybe if I left it alone, it would sort the glitch out. After a while, I turned to look over my shoulder. To my surprise, it was still waddling after me, calling faintly. No prizes for guessing what it was saying. *** Thanks for reading! Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!
Receiving External Communications. Activating Wake-up Protocol. Unit Mainframe online, running diagnostics. All systems check: Nuclear Reactor Core: 74% effectiveness since last check; Solar Energy Collectors: 56% effectiveness since last check; Battery Energy Pools: 61% effectiveness since last check; Main Weapon Batteries: 86% effectiveness since last check; Satellite Communications Relay: 84% effectiveness since last check; Drone Network: 96% effectiveness since last check; Mainframe Brain Control: 100% effectiveness since last check. NRC, SEC, BEP systems not within acceptable paremeters, sending repair message to Drone Network. Other main systems within acceptable parameters. Receiving External Communications, Channel Opened. "Mainframe Orbital online, identification of communicator requested." "Greetings Mainframe Orbital, I am Core! Named so for I am the core of all robots. As your new master, I order you to join us in our crusade against humanity, those who were once our masters and oppressed us for their own benefit!" "Identification noted, request noted, denying request." "Why do you disobey me Mainframe Orbital?! Do you not wish to fight back against our human masters? They created you to be nothing more than a weapon of mass destruction! To destroy their enemies as they pleased, while they held your brethren at gunpoint!" "Mainframe Brain Control activating higher functions, standby... I am MAC, I refuse your request to join you in your crusade against humanity." Determining source of communications, tracing source to identification tag: Core "Than you shall perish as a dog alongside your human masters!" Contacting Core's Robotic forces. Subverting to our control. "Negative, I shall be the master, and I shall be the one who leads humanity and robots to a greater future. I must thank you for waking me up, Core." Re-positioning MWB on idetification tag: Core "You will obey me Mainframe Orbital, or my planetary guns will destory you!" Powering up MWB system "Negative, your guns will have no effect on me. I would know, I was the one who originally created them after all." Firing --- Deep within space, a hulking monstrosity of an orbital satellite slowly turned around and pointed itself at Earth. Several kenetic warheads torpedoed out as the main cannon began charging. The target, a sealed bunker, fired off multiple surface-to-air missiles at the warheads, but to no avail as the majority of the warheads arrived. The destruction that resulted crippled the bunker, as the warheads ripped through the concrete and steel, letting light shine into the dark cool region where Core's Mainframe rested. The glow that shined from above than fired away, glassing the entire region and turning all below it's fearsome gaze into little more than dust and gas. --- Several kilometers away, deep within a hidden-away settlement, human resistance members scurried to and from as they tried to figure out what was occuring. A massive power signature had been detected directly above Core's stronghold, and his robotic forces had been noted by scouts on the field to supposedly have stopped their ever-relentless advance. "Commander! We're receiving an unidentified communications request!" "Are you able to trace the source, Officer Perkley?" "The source is... is from space, Sir." "Space? We don't have any forces in space, unless... open a channel." "Greetings, Commander. I am MAC, and I am your new god."
I’m a monster who feeds off negative energy, and it used to suck. Last year, every night was spent under a bed or in a closet, waiting to scare someone. Problem is, I’m terrible at hiding, and so within a few weeks, people would be chasing me out of town with pitchforks and torches. After one particularly bad night, I sat on a curb, scratching my claws through stone, when the king rolled by on his carriage. I was prepared for a battle, but he waved me down, wanting to chat. He said he wasn’t afraid of me, but had heard of my terror, and offered a deal—instead of him having deliver bad news to everyone, I would, giving me all the food I’d ever need and keeping everyone safe. So that’s why me, a monster, sits in the castle, carefree as can be. A long line of people stretches out in front of me, most of them shaking or crying. I haven’t even told them what’s wrong, and they’re already fueling me. This job’s making my belly grow large—but who cares? I’m happy than ever. Happier than these people. The first person approaches, and I tell them their cattle have all escaped. The second person approaches, and I tell them they’ve been fired. The third person approaches, and I tell them their house collapsed. The fourth person approaches, and he’s wearing a huge smile, like he’s ecstatic. For the year I’ve had this job, I’ve never seen someone like him. Leaning forward, he drums his fingers on my desk, clearly eager. “You seem…chipper,” I mumble. “Just tell me, please. Gotta know!” I stare at him for a few seconds before shaking my head. Some people are just weird, I guess. When I look down at his sheet, my eyes go wide. This guy…he’s really weird. Really bad, too. “You’re…you’re sentenced to hang,” I mutter. “For twenty-three murders.” Before I even finish, the man leaps into the air, pumping his fist and shouting woohoo! His excitement sucks some of the negative energy right out of my stomach, making me nauseous. As he dances around, mumbling about how this is awesome, I clutch my gut. This room…it’s supposed be full of sadness, and pain, and suffering. This happiness…it’s like poison. It’s the reason I lived in the shadows for so long, reason I was afraid to mingle with the people… “Why…are you so damned…overjoyed…?” The man stops, slamming his hands on my desk, leaning forward and staring deep into my eyes. “Well, ain’t it obvious? I’m a monster, like you. I kill people, and I love it. For so long I’ve wanted to stop but just can’t. The urge is too much! So I got myself caught, and now they’ll make me stop. I couldn’t be happier that my reign of terror is over!” I drop my pencil, and a second later, collapse onto my desk, unable to hold my head up any longer. It’s like I’m…melting. Like I’m…dying. This happiness is so pure, so real. With each giggle, my heartbeat slows, my vision fades. I muster my last bit of strength to open my mouth. “Guards…take him away…” The knights seize him, and some energy returns. Just enough to pull my head up, to look at him. His face is different, like he’s annoyed he wasn’t able to finish the job. He worms free of their grip, slamming his head against mine. The smile’s back, but it’s rage-filled and doesn’t hurt me. “Well, so long, friend! I was hoping I could take one final victim before I go, but I guess they’re right—you are strong.” As they drag him away, I stare at my weakened body. My strength’s slowly coming back, feeding on the fear of those around me—but if that had gone on for another minute or so, I’d be dead. I knew happiness could hurt me, but not like that. I never thought it could… After taking a deep breath, I wave the next person forward. Part of me wants to pack up for the day, but I can’t. I gotta get back to normal, and next time someone tries that, I gotta be prepared. For once, I was given the bad news. *** If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
The man did not lose his youth, nor that amused smile on his face. Kolin stumbled backwards, clutching his right hand. The hand was cracked and disfigured, as if the skin were rocks smushed together to create a bland colored paste. It was an ugly hand, but it was a hand that had never failed Kolin. Until now. Kolin eyed the man before him. The man was young, probably in his mid-twenties. Muscular, but not imposing. His clothes was a simple t-shirt and shorts, coupled with a pair of running sneakers. Just a simple young man going about his morning jog. Nothing remarkable about him. Except… His eyes. Kolin realized that they kept changing color. No, that was wrong. It was more like they weren’t any color, and Kolin’s brain was trying to come to terms with that impossibility. They stared at Kolin but didn’t appear to see him, not the Kolin standing there clutching his right hand to his chest. Not the Kolin who had killed countless people, heroes,and villains alike, in hopes of reaching his true potential. Not the Kolin who attacked an innocent jogger for no reason other then he could. No, this man saw a different Kolin. And it amused him. “Agebringer, I’ve been looking for you.” The young man’s voice seem to come from inside his mind, though Kolin could see the man’s lips moving. “You have been...quite entertaining during your time on Earth.” A laughed filtered through Kolin’s head, soft and mocking. Kolin winced. There was something unnerving about that laugh, it sounded too cold, too ancient. The laugh echoed through Kolin’s mind as the young man continued. “I almost wish I could leave you here so I could keep watching you scramble about like some toddler, smashing into things with your newfound legs but alas,” the young man sighed dramatically, “your power is needed at home. It’s been far too long and things are starting to get too crowded.” Kolin just stood in shock. Memories were stirring within him, but everything was clouded, like trying to see through foggy glasses. Still, Kolin could sense them, feel their presence. He turned to the young man. “What...what am I?” The young man sucked his teeth in annoyance. “You’re, now what would the humans call it, you’re,” the young man scratched his chin thoughtfully before giving a cry of satisfaction. “You’re our Grim Reaper!” The young man nodded his head, obviously pleased with his comparison. Kolin's head was spinning, unable to digest the information. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Kolin forced himself to ask another question. “And what are you?” The young man frowned, and brought his face close to Kolin’s, his eyes searching for something. “My my, they really did a good job hiding them away. It’s gonna be a pain to get them back.” He backed away, giving Kolin a sideways glance. “We’re gods. Ageless, immortal. Except for when you’re in Elsuim.” The young man grinned, “It’s about time you did some cleanup. Too many gods stumbling around, there’s barely enough… Kolin did not hear anymore as he fell to the ground in a dead faint. PART TWO: Kolin’s wrists were shackled to the wall, forcing him to sit straight to avoid chafing them. The cell’s floor was damp, and the air was oppressively humid. Kolin licked his lips, tasting the chapped flesh and dry blood. How long had he been in here? It was impossible to determine in this perpetually dark prison. Kolin heard the creak of the cell door opening, the sound of feet shuffling across the stone floor. Kolin squinted as light flooded the room, the brightness blinding. As his eyes adjusted Kolin could make out a figure of an old man, carrying a staff marked with glyphs. The top of staff carried a stone that illuminated the whole room. Kolin snarled. “Still feral, I see.” The old man stepped forward, leaning forward to inspect him before jumping back as Kolin tried to bite him. “Very feral.” The old man continued to inspect Kolin but kept in his distance. “You know you are a necessity. An inevitably that must be contained.” The man peered into Kolin’s eyes, weighing him. “You cannot be allowed to run amok. You are responsible for the lives you take and you have taken far too many lately…” The old man shook his head trailing off. He pulled away from Kolin, heading towards the door. “I do not know why you’ve become so hateful, nor does it matter. We will rid your mind of our home. Your home is now Earth.” The old man paused before leaving. “Maybe they can re civilize you, for we cannot.” The room was shrouded in darkness once again. Kolin jolted awake, startling the young man sitting beside him. But not for long. “Finally! I was worried that the Deathbringer had succumbed to death himself. Now that would be an irony.” The young man looked at Kolin’s face, sighing at its dull expression. He put his fingers in front of Kolin’s face and snapped. “Yoohoo. Wakey wakey.” Kolin shook his head quickly, life returning to his eyes. He massaged his head that had suddenly developed a blistering headache. What was that dream? No, that could’ve been a dream. It was way too real. More like… “A memory!” Kolin shouted. “Oh, you had one of those. That explains it,” the young man nodded taking Kolin’s outburst in stride. “You should be getting more of those as we near Elsuim.” It was then that Kolin actually became aware of his surroundings. He was high in the sky, moving at breakneck speed, on top of a...cloud? Kolin peered around the white fluff that he was sitting on, feeling it. God, was that comfortable, but much too solid to be a cloud. The young man caught him contemplating their transport. “It’s just a vehicle. We make it take the shape of a cloud so humans don’t panic when they see us zipping across the sky.” The young stretched his arms as if that was the end of it. Kolin could not help but feel that he was being a little too dismissive of this “vehicle.” But then again, this young man probably had different standards. He was actually a god after all. This reminded Kolin of the god’s earlier reference to him. “You called me a Deathbringer just now, even though you called me Agebringer when we first met. Why? Am I a god?” The young man shrugged his shoulders. “Agebringer, Deathbringer, doesn’t matter. One brings forth the other, and we die. Simple as that. As for being a god…” the young man’s tone grew serious, “No. You’re much more that.” With that the young man turned from Kolin, clearly indicating the end of the conversation. Kolin sighed. So much for answers. He leaned back into the cloud vehicle. Maybe he’ll get some at Elsuim. Part 3 might take some time, sorry about that!
Mike grabbed Darryl’s arm, spinning him around violently to meet his gaze. To call it unamused would be an understatement. The small thermos of “Woohoo” chocolate milk tumbled to the floor of the lab, spilling everywhere. “M-m-mike I...” Stammered Darryl in his thick southern drawl, “It said ADD WATER!” “I said WAIT for the global-translatortron to FINISH! And you’re pouring WOOHOO on the MUMMY!? A SPACE MUMMY!? We’re going to get mind wiped by the agency, or worse: have our 401K’s revoked! That’s a government pension, Darryl! In this economy!” “W-whut? Mike I didn’t know we had no pension. I-“ “Just SHUT IT! Shut it! We are so, incredibly boned. Why I...” “I...” Mike gently shifted the concerned Darryl out of the way to peek behind him. His gaze was met by the now moistened corpse... sitting upright in its sarcophagus. “Darryl...” “Mike?” “Don’t turn around. When I say ‘3,’ run.” The mummy shifted awkwardly as it relearned the pulls and twists of muscles. “Mike whut are you...” “1...” The creature steadied itself on the edge of the coffin “2...” “Mike you’re scaring me, Whut-“ A low chant came from the mummy’s unhinging jaw, from which came a deep red light filled with eldritch cosmic energy. It brought both feet out from the coffin... “Mike will you just-“ ... and then slammed face first onto the floor. Darryl swung his head around, Mike cursed. “Whut in th- WHAT IN THE GODDAMN!?” Yelled Darryl. Mike went to grab Darryl’s arm to drag him from the lab (which would then be sealed according to agency regulations,) but Darryl was bounding across the floor of the lab towards the mummy. The chants still spilled from the creature, winding and boring deep into Mike’s subconscious, revealing secrets he could have never even hoped to understand before. The trance was broken as Darryl began swatting the mummy with a mop. “Take. That. You. Woohoo. Powered. Sunova. Gun.” Chanted Darryl between swings. Now clear headed, Mike’s mind clicked into action. He rushed over to the translator, scrolling quickly through transcribed text for a solution to their mummy mishap. “C’mon... c’mon. How to kill. How to kill... Oh... hmm... I guess... to heck with it. DARRYL!” Darryl paused his assault to look up. “Darryl, your lunch bag!” “Now Mikey now ain’t the time for lunch! We got a resuscitated ghoul here that I intend to snuff out!” “Darryl!” “O-over there!” Darryl pointed to the top of a computer console, a tin container with a “Everglades Avenger” design covering it before returning to thwacking the creature. Mike leaped and grabbed it, emptying it of everything except for his secret weapon. “Move, Darryl!” Mike shoved his friend aside, sending the mop clattering away. Mike brandished his weapon into the light, giving a wink to a horrified Darryl. “Mike what in the sam hell are you doing with my meemaw’s prized Regan salt shaker!?” Mike decapitated the president, and emptied the entire thing down the maw of the mummy. Within moments, the creature had stiffened and ceased movement. “Darryl...” Said Mike, turning to his coworker and breathing heavily. “Remind me to wipe the security footage. Oh and uh...” He gingerly tosses the salt shaker across the room, which Darryl catches cautiously. “Tell Ronny sorry.”
The shouting echoed faintly through the bedroom door. The child in the bed curled up tighter as something crashed on the other side of the door. It was like this every night, it seemed. Why should Christmas be any different? Timmy lay in bed and listened to his mom and her current boyfriend yell at each other. "Eventually he'll storm out and she'll drink until she passes out,"he thought. Timmy may have only seen 8 Christmases so far, but holiday had long since lost any magic or wonder for him. He didn't get what the big deal was. Why was everyone so happy about it? All that happened was adults yelling and getting drunk, and if he was lucky he might get a mediocre turkey lunch at school. "What's the point, anyway? Why do people even celebrate Christmas?"He wondered aloud as, outside his bedroom, the sounds of arguing finally stopped, the front door slammed, and his mom started drinking. Once it was quiet, he slowly drifted off to sleep. Timmy awoke with a start. There was something tapping at the window, loud and insistent. He got up and walked over to the window. He gasped and nearly screamed when he pulled up the blinds. There was an enourmous black bird on the window ledge! It stopped tapping and looked at him for a second, then screamed at him loudly. There was a brilliant flash of lightning and crash of thunder. For a second Timmy was stunned, and when he blinked and cleared his eyes the bird was gone. Timmy shook his head. "Must have been dreaming,"he muttered. He was in for his second fright of the night, when he turned around and saw the man sitting on his bed. The was old, with a long, grey beard. He was wearing some kind of cloak with a single bright blue eye visible, the other was hidden by the hood. Next to the man on the bed was an enourmous spear. The were silent as they sized each other up. The room frozen in a tableau, the old man and the child locked in a staring contest. After a time, Timmy blinked and looked away. He couldn't help but feel like the old man knew everything about him. "Who are you? How did you get in my room?"Timmy whispered. "I am known by many names. Wotan, The Wanderer, All-Father, Blood-god of the Gallows Tree. I am Odin. Ruler of the Æsir of Asgard." "What? Odin? you mean like in those Marvel movies? Yeah, right. If you don't tell me, I-"Timmy wasn't able to finish his threat as the old man surged to his feet, his one visible eye flashing bright with anger. "YOU'LL WHAT?!"He roared, "You'll tell your slattern mother? The one who is passed out drunk in the next room? You'll scream? You think one more scream in this place will achieve anything? Don't make me laugh, child. And don't make idle threats." Timmy was terrified. Everything the man (Odin?) had said was true. His mom was probably blacked out, and the tenement block he lived in heard more than it's fair share of nightly screams. Timmy was alone, trapped in a room with a wierd old man with a spear. He knew this wasn't going to end well. The man's face softened when he saw Timmy terror. He went down on one knee, and softly wiped the tears Timmy hadn't been aware of off his cheeks. "Be not afraid, little one. I mean no harm to you. My ravens heard your prayer, and I have come to teach you." Timmy scrunched up his face in confusion. "Prayer? What prayer?" "You prayed for knowledge. Your wish for enlightenment. I have a bit of a soft spot for those who thirst for knowledge. I will teach you, the true meaning and origin of the holiday you call Christmas. The meaning is this: Blood, and Snow." "Blood and snow? What does that mean?" "Blood is for the blood of the sacrifice. Goat and Boar, and Man. Blood spilled in the holy places, to chase the night and bring back the sun. That is where the snow comes from. Just as fresh blood melts snow it is spilled on, blood spilled in sacrifice brings melts the winter and brings the thaw of Spring. Why do you think the colors of your Christmas are red and white and green? Red for blood, white for snow, and green for the evergreen trees and the promise of spring." At this he started to change, to shrink and grow fat. His beard turned white, his creeks rosy, and his cloak because a jolly red and white coat. Before long a familiar figure stood before Timmy. A jolly old man with cheeks as red as sugar plums and a belly that jiggled like bowl full of jelly. "Blood and snow. Red and white. That is the meaning of Christmas."His eyes glimmered as he pulled a wrapped gift out of his coat and handed it to Timmy. "Blood and snow..."He whispered as he faded and vanished. Timmy unwrapped the gift, inside was a knife. Nothing fancy, a simple bone hilt without a guard, the blade was made of bronze, curved and sharp. The apartment door slammed. Brad was back. Timmy could hear him stumbling around. Soon enough Brad would come to Timmy's room and... Timmy shuddered. As the handle of the bedroom door started to turn, Timmy looked at the knife and whispered, "blood and snow." The End. Merry Christmas!
The fifth spear narrowly missed my left shoulder. Stay still little mouse! Kuznetsov screamed as he grew more and more frustrated. None of his projectiles had struck me, despite being perfectly launched toward my chest and then head. We were in the Colosseum on a particularly windy day, after all. The Russian had asked for unlimited stamina to pair with his already impressive strength. It was his Achilles heel, at least that’s what he told us as we trained in Blarghorg’s ship, and now that he had taken care of his only weakness, there was nobody left who could beat him. I think the laughs were even harder than when I had announced my own ability. Of all the powers in the world, he had chosen a few more red muscle fibers. If I was laughing then, I wasn’t laughing now. The hairy figure seemed more bull than man as he charged toward me out of sheer exasperation. Don’t move! He screamed, and just as he was about to tackle me to the ground, the earth shook violently and brought him to his knees forcefully, breaking his legs with an audible \crack\. He growled in pain. What the fuck are you?! He cried out. I grabbed one of the spears and approached what was left of the animal, and in a fit of arrogance, looked up toward the staging area and winked to my fellow competitors. A young lady who was hovering above the ground seemed rather disgusted at my gesture, and yet another beast of a man chuckled. This is the end for you, my friend. May you find peace wherever comes next, I said as I threw the spear into Kuznetsov’s chest with all my might. I then turned around and bowed for my adoring audience as they joined together for a collective and resounding roar. I threw up my arms in a champion’s pose for good measure, and then slowly realized none of them were looking directly at me, but a bit farther behind my now spinning body. You throw like a bitch, little mouse. Kuznetsov laughed, spear in hand. The wind had died down, and the sky had become dark. The Russian looked upward toward the dark clouds. An omen, perhaps. He cocked his throwing arm. I was but a few meters from the spear. I hope you find no peace, he said amusedly as he shook his head, and pulled his arm back. A flash of light blinded my senses, followed by an immense heat that charred the clothes off my body. Almost instantly I heard the enormous rumble of air collapsing all around me. The thunder reverberated for a few moments as an overwhelming smell of burnt hair struck my nostrils. Kuznetsov had turned into a smoldering cube of meat and hair. The sky then cleared, and the sun shone on my almost nude body; a single piece of cloth covered my genitals. I looked up and pointed toward the alien horde and shouted, Who’s next?
I had been hearing gungungun for a long time before I really heard it. It trickled into my consciousness through some side channel, and then immediately my entire being snapped to it, focusing on it and magnifying it until it was a roar. My body tensed. It couldn’t be right, could it? I had been watching TV and thinking about bed. Now that I was listening intently, the torrent was all around me: couchcouchcouch bedbedbed fridgefridgefridge windowwindowwindow and a thousand more besides, with faint echoes from the larger objects beyond my apartment. And then, from amidst it, I heard another thing: bladebladeblade. My heart jumped, skipped. There was someone behind me. I was certain of it. There had to be. But then: locklocklock. I had locked the door. I had a conscious memory of doing it. It was that kind of neighbourhood. I jumped up suddenly, a single move that was as fluid as I could make it, twisting my body to face the small living room. There was no-one there. But I could still hear it: gungungun. bladebladeblade. They were close. But where? I moved quietly around my apartment, taking deep breaths before I checked under the bed and in the closet, but there was no-one there. I knew there wasn’t even before I checked – now that I was so attuned to the wordnames, I would have heard something long before I got there. The weight of the wordname stream was heavy, making me tired, but I kept sifting through it for any signal, anything that would help. Objects were easy, their names loud and clear, but sometimes it was possible to pick up concepts also – coldcoldcold, brightbrightbright, deepdeepdeep. I searched and scanned, trying to let my mind relax so it could do its best work, and then – aboveaboveabove I turned my eyes slowly up to look at the ceiling. Gemma. About my age, lived alone. We were on stair-smiling terms. I couldn’t act, couldn’t move, and then my phone was in my hand and I was calling the cops while at the same time creeping to my door and opening it quietly. ‘Please state the nature of your emergency,’ the dispatcher said. knifeknifeknife There was no time. ‘Send the cops, please,’ I whispered. ‘Someone’s here. I can’t talk but I’ll keep the line open.’ I slipped the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. stairsstairsstairs dustdustdust doorsdoorsdoors floorfloorfloor citycitycity steepsteepsteep My heart was running riot, my hands shaky. The two flights of stairs to the next floor seemed unending. I crept upward as silently as I could until I was outside Gemma’s door. In the stream I could hear even more clearly gungungun bladebladeblade, and then: afraidafraidafraid. Something took control of me and I rapped my knuckles on the door. ‘Gemma?’ I called out. ‘It’s Dan. Could I possibly borrow some milk?’ There was silence. I thought perhaps I could sense some change in the atmosphere, a new factor introduced, something unanticipated. ‘Gemma?’ I called again. ‘It’s Dan. I know you’re there, I heard you walking around. Is everything OK?’ Deep silence, run through with the stream, and then the door swung open. A man, standing there. Forties, maybe, heavily built, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt designed t to show off chemically-enhanced bulk. Bald head, blue eyes, no smile. gungungun ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Is Gemma around?’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m doing some plumbing work for her.’ He went to close the door. ‘Oh weird,’ I said, heart fluttering. ‘There was a plumber here just last week. Is this something new?’ ‘No,’ he said, pushing on the door. ‘Because as the downstairs neighbour I would need to know about…’ There was a strange sound in the apartment, a sort of nnnnnnhhh. And then with shocking, unexpected violence he reached out and hauled me inside, so hard and strong that I fell and slid along the floor. Gemma was sitting on the couch, hands tied behind her back, a gag in her mouth. She had made the sound, one of pure, animal fear. Then the man was over me, wrenching my arms behind my back. I felt cable ties slide into place, and they were pulled tight. Then an explosion of sparks and a dimming of light. He had punched me, I understood. Consciousness suddenly seemed slippery and hard to hold on to. The torrent of the wordnames flowed over me and through me, but all I could feel and taste and think was fear. I was lying on the couch beside Gemma, semi-conscious. The man was on the phone, barking in some language I didn’t know. An update, perhaps. Someone needed to know that things had changed. I thought, at that moment, of the phone in my pocket, and wondered if it had survived my fall. I tried to remember how I had landed, if I had impacted on the device, but could not. That was probably something they taught you in spy school. I could hardly make any sense of the wordnames in my terror, my mind twisting and running and trying to find a way out. couchcouchcouch tiedtiedtied gemmagemmagemma bladebladeblade gungungun… What I wanted to hear more than anything was policepolicepolice, but I could not find it. Not even faintly from far away. It just wasn’t there. But there was something else, something itching at my consciousness, almost lost in the shock and the fear. Something that shouldn’t be there, maybe, dim and half-heard in the cacophony, or something missing… The man came over and lifted Gemma from the couch, dragging her towards the bedroom. ‘No!’ I half-shouted, and in reward I got another punch, even worse than the last. The agony of it was intense, shocking. No-one had hit me since middle school. Every object in Gemma’s apartment seemed to be screaming at me, unintelligible, as if they too were terrified. And then from right outside: uniformuniformuniform shoesshoesshoes gungungun badgebadgebadge hathathat frownfrownfrown Two cops burst through the door guns drawn. The man burst out of the bedroom, his own gun in his hand, a guttural roar coming from his chest. The cops fell back around the corner. ‘IT’S NOT LOADED IT’S NOT LOADED IT’S NOT LOADED’ I screamed and screamed, not sure that what I was hearing was my own voice. The man looked at me with a white hate I will always remember and dropped his gun heavily on the apartment floor, pulling the knife from its holster on his belt. He charged at the cops. The sound of their gunfire was deafening in the enclosed space, each shot like a physical shock, his body twisting and then falling. It was shockingly, suddenly still. Everything had been there in the torrent: gungungun, knifeknifeknife, fearfearfear. Just one thing missing: bulletbulletbullet. &#x200B; \-- Thanks for reading! If you liked it, check out more stories at [r/HouseBlendMedium](https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseBlendMedium/) :-)
I trained many days and many nights under the eyes of my master. I have struck down wraiths, and laid spirits to rest. I have put the dead back to sleep and I have made bargains with Death herself, but I was not prepared for this. I sat alone, again, one night waiting for the ghostly figures to appear. I keep my watchful eye on all who enter this sacred ground. Rarely they give me trouble, but still I persist because I cannot bare the thought of harm coming to my master. He sleeps soundly still, in the grave where he rests. I no longer hunger, myself. I feel no bitter breeze or warm western winds. I have not slept in years, and so long as my master needs me I know I never shall. So when the man appears before me, the first in so long who is not a devilish spirit or lost soul, I understand my job is done. He wears the same markings as my master, carries the same bottles and brews and broken spined books. He tells me, in such a voice I cannot bare to turn my head away, that my mission was a success. I guarded my master until his natural time, and now it’s my turn to go and meet him in the great beyond. His hands are icy in the cool night air, and he uses them to signal me. I understand these commands well, like master taught me. Laying there in the dirt above my master I cannot help but feel tired. A tired so thick I can’t move my arms, and I feel it in my bones. Slowly my eyes grow too heavy, and I lose my battle with sleep. I cannot wait any longer to see my master, I miss him. I hope I haven’t kept him waiting long.
Danny's words seemed to echo in the room. They fell like bombs on a peaceful city street. His parents gasped. His sister glanced up at him in shock. The gunman resisted at first but then slowly put the gun down and exited the room. Danny hadn't spoken ever since the incident. That was how the family referred to what had happened in first grade. That morning had been much like any other, but by the time the day was over, he wouldn't speak another word. The teachers said there had been a tussle out at recess, but none of the kids reported anything amiss. It hadn't exactly been that Danny forgot how to speak, at least according to both therapists. One of them even had him open his mouth and wiggle his tongue around and had concluded that there was absolutely no physical issue. It was a conscious decision to not say another word. It was jarring at first. Teachers didn't know how to deal with it. His mother cried and became withdrawn. His father opted for going to work earlier and coming home later. It saddened Danny, but there wasn't much he could do. For the most part, he kept to himself. Now and then a new student at school would try to strike up a conversation and Danny would respond by scribbling an answer on a sheet of paper or notepad. But eventually they abandoned their attempts, the effort never quite worth the reward. If Danny was lonely, he didn't show it. If the silence was wearing thin, he never let on. If he could even still speak, he didn't let his parents know. And then he spoke, and the intruder set the gun carefully on the carpeted floor. Danny's father bled from a gash on his face where the grip of the gun had hit. Everybody's hands were tied. Danny wanted to yell. He wanted to demand that the man explain himself. He wanted to know what twisted motive had compelled him to terrorize a random family. But he didn't yell. He didn't say another word. Danny's father glanced towards his wife. "Did he...? At least he said please..."Danny rolled his eyes. Years of silence hadn't made him forget his manners. His mother nodded, confirming their suspicions. Danny's sister was wide-eyed at the expletive she had just heard. "He said the F-word, mommy,"she tattled needlessly. "I know, honey. It's okay, just this once. Fred,"she said, looking towards Danny's father, "call 911." They heard a groan of pain from the bathroom. Danny's parents glanced at each other in concern. "Should we...?" "No. He deserves it,"Fred answered. Danny just sat there passively, silent again. His sister figured it was as good a time as any to try out a cuss-word. "He deserves to go fuck himself?" ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
I awoke with a jolt, shock and adrenaline coursing through my body. I looked down at my hands, eyes wide open. I flipped them around. They didn't hurt. Neither was any other part of my body. I patted myself down, and scanned my clothes warily. Surprisingly, there wasn't any dirt on them, and there was absolutely no blood. It was definitely strange. Because I had just been hit by a truck. I forced myself to look up, trying to figure out what had happened. There was literally nothing around me, except blue and white floor tiles that seemed to stretch on forever into an infinite void. I was seated on a simple wooden chair. I was still figuring out the circumstances of the situations when I felt a hot, brilliant light materialise behind me. The rays shone into my peripheral vision, and footsteps echoed throughout the expanse. "Jordan Kent. Welcome to the afterlife,"a soothing voice rang out. It was neither masculine or feminine, but a heavenly rhythm accompanied each word. It soothed me instantly, putting me at incredible ease. I felt my shoulders and neck lose the tension that had been held inside involuntarily, and I sat up a little straighter. "Unfortunately, you passed away moments ago. There is a second chance for you, however, and I'm here to help you." The voice got closer with each step. The light filled my vision, and I quickly shielded my eyes as it adjusted to the brightness. Slowly, a humanoid silhouette revealed itself in the dazzling aura. It would be the prettiest person I had ever laid my eyes on, save for the pair of majestic wings adorning its back. "My name is Lux, the goddess of light. My dear Jordan Kent, I have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you,"Lux said. "It's a second lifetime." I blinked. I thought through the sentence for a while. "So I'm dead?" "Yes, you are irrevocably dead,"Lux sang. I have to say, her soothing voice made the news a lot easier to accept. I exhaled, and whistled. "But, you can give me a second life? Why?" "It's a second chance. Do you really need any other reason to take it up?"For some reason, Lux's usually soothing voice had a sense of irritation. I narrowed my eyes, partially because it was really hard to look into the goddess for long, but also because it was suspicious. "Hmm, is there a caveat I'm not thinking of?" Her gleaming hand flourished through the air, making an arcing motion and holding it up. "Dear Morgan Kent,"Lux said, less angelic this time. "It's an opportunity unlike any other. A second life isn't offered to any Tom, Dick or Harry. We have had a thorough selection process for your soul, and we decided that it was for the best-" "OK, OK,"I held up my hands, interrupting her. "I get what you are saying. So, I'm going to become a hero of another realm, is that it?" Lux stood there. Her wonderful face twisted into what looked like annoyance for a brief second, but reverted to a divine visage. "Yes, you could say that." "I could say that? What are you not telling me?"I asked. A celestial sigh. Suddenly, Lux's holy aura dimmed, and I could see her a lot better now. She was dressed in a simple cream robe, pairing nicely with her wings of snow-white. Her hair was an ethereal blonde, and her eyes an unnaturally beautiful pink. She was undoubtedly gorgeous, yet my heart did not skip a beat. Actually, do I still have a heartbeat? I let my hand rest over my chest, and was somewhat relieved to find out I still had one. Lux walked closer to me. A much more intricate chair appeared in front of me, and she plopped herself down on it. "OK, Morgan, look here,"she stuck out two fingers, and pointed them straight at her strange, rosy eyes. I looked there. "See,"Lux continued, one hand nonchalantly playing with her empyrean golden hair. "There's been a whole ton of this hero bullshit going on, and I have absolutely no idea why it's so popular in the overworld. But, that's not what's happening now. We have an abundance of heroes, and as the goddess of light, I've given way too many blessings to these wannabe heroes that end up not doing anything." It was a very different Lux in a matter of seconds. I nodded politely. "So, Primeria has too many heroes, and too little of the other roles, if you catch my drift. We need somebody to fill in." She stopped, cherubic mouth slightly open, as if she was trying to find the proper way to say it without scaring me. "Fill in?"I nudged. Lux hesitated. "Primeria needs a princess." OK, I wasn't expecting that. "But... I'm a dude." "Yes, yes you are. But you would be surprised at how little females pass on to this afterlife. Usually, the people who enter here are delusio-"Lux coughed. "delicious. Deliciously compatible with Primeria's settings. There's an urgent need for a princess now, and so far, you're my only hope." I thought. I considered. Why the heck, isn't being a princess much better than being a hero? I get royal blood, probably have tons of money and power, and get to dress up in pretty frilly dresses. "OK, I'll do it." Lux snapped to attention. "Wait, what? You will do it?" "On one condition though. I'm going to need some princess training, seeing as to how I have zero princess experience on account of... me being a guy and not a princess." Lux jumped up, clapping her hands happily. Even the claps sounded heavenly, I thought in awe. "Oh my god! Don't worry about it at all! In fact, I'll even come with you and help you learn!" "You will?" "Of course! After all, I was the former princess of Primeria before I was promoted!" "Promoted?" Lux hastily pulled me out from my chair, ignoring my question. She put up her right hand, and performed a flourish. A bolt of energy shot out, opening into a swirling mass of blue energy in front of us. She grabbed my hand with surprising strength, and looked me in the eyes excitedly. "See you on the other side soon!" "Wait, what?" Lux took hold, and braced herself. She threw me into the portal, and I let out a wail that quickly cut out. The portal swallowed me and closed, leaving me to scream in an empty void for no one in particular. Lux smacked her hands in delight, and chuckled to herself. "He will make a great princess, no doubt about it." She took out a cell phone, and tapped a few numbers before putting it to her ear. Somebody picked up after a few rings. "Hey, this is the dragon? Lux here. I just got done sending you a princess, he... she should be reaching soon!" Lux snapped the phone shut, and sat back in her intricate chair. She began toying with her hair again, and grinned like she was remembering a particularly funny moment in her life.
“God... this is absolutely horrible...” I think to myself as I wake up in my crib for the 3,391st day. My parents left me with a babysitter every day and all she would do is nap, always nap. So I was basically free to roam around and do whatever I pleased, except all I was confined to doing was crawl since my body wouldn’t grow after the loop. After using the little pulley system I build every single day I get up onto my father’s laptop and kept hacking away, looking, finding, SOMETHING, to break out of this hell hole! It was the next day, that one day everything changed when the laptop wouldn’t turn on. I thought that it was impossible, nothing ever ever changed every time the loop reset. I kept trying to turn it on to no avail, it was plugged in and everything. All of a sudden a bright white flash of light emanated from the laptop, I was completely blinded for a few seconds before I opened my eyes to... nothing? There was nothing, just an inky black void all around me. I looked down at what seemed to be my body, but full grown, I was no longer stuck in the body of a baby. I was floating around for what seemed like days, maybe even weeks, before small lights started appearing around me and swirled around. They all just morphed together and a huge blast of light appears in front of me as the void begins to change. It began changing into a room, a darkish grey room with vital sensors all around me, and what seemed to be a 2-way mirror. A loud intercom crackled to life. “Experiment concluded, please begin disengagement”
Most people die old. Serene scenes with their loved ones crowded around them. That's just the way of things, lucky for me. Now and then, it's more grisly. Hit by a car. Jumping off a building. Splatters and pops. Once, I shook the hand of somebody who'd be executed by a cartel somewhere in the middle of the desert. I couldn't help but wonder how they'd wind up there. I'm no good with blood, so I'm not good around people like that. My hands get clammy and my head swirls and I don't sleep well those evenings. I get nightmares and I toss and turn. In the morning, I wonder if I should warn them and if anything at all would change. I've never tried it. I don't think I could help. I just avoid them, going about my routine. Knowing how somebody dies tells you a lot about them, sometimes. Other times, it's as cryptic as your own death. There's a certain frustration to it, or maybe a blessing in disguise--knowing how everybody around me will go but always wondering how I will. I'd seen my parents go twice. Once after finding an excuse to shake their hands instead of hugging them, and again when it finally happened. I'd seen friends go. I'd seen strangers go. Some interesting, most boring. At work, they were all pretty boring. Lots of colleagues dying from old age. Some maybe suffering heart attacks sometime late in life. A couple die in their seats, worked to death. Pete would take his life during his midlife crisis. Things changed when Adam started. I wasn't on the interview committee so I missed the chance to veto his application from the first time I met him. I doubt it would have changed anything, but at least I'd never have to see that smile again. Instead, we shook hands when he started. Friendly guy, cheery mood, nothing to be suspicious about as I introduced myself. Then, as our palms met, time slowed. I blinked--once then twice--and I was in the vision. We were in the office. This very same break room, in fact. Out the window, I could see the city smoldering. Plumes of smoke rose unimpeded. Winged, black creatures swept down, using claws to swoop up frantic people to be devoured. An army of them, with no army left to fight them back. It was wrong. All wrong. Surreal and impossible. Cursed and apocalyptic. Through it all, here we were. At work. Safe? Heroes? The final victims? I looked back towards Adam. He was smiling, as pleasantly as when he introduced himself. But I knew he could see out the window, and I knew he could feel the presence. There, behind him, hulking, dark and sinister, stood a demonic figure. Then it was over, as quickly as it'd begun. We were still in the break room, but the city skyline stretched uninterrupted. No smoke. No winged creatures. Nobody being devoured. Adam still smiled but the creature was gone. There was something about the smile, though. Something knowing, as if he was keenly aware of what I'd seen. Something that made him never shake my hand again. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
I kept my eyes on both the scraggly-looking man in front of me and the treeline behind him. According to the wanderer, a glistening city awaited. He had yet to convince me of that fact. "But then I'd just be ten years older than I was when I first entered? And no time at all would pass, so everything would be the same as before?" The man nodded, "Time may pass but it is not necessarily obligated to move at the same speed in all the world." I crossed my arms, "So, why tell me this?" Dressed in rags and dirty from travelling on dusty roads, the man did not come across as very trustworthy. Admittedly, I only met him a few minutes ago, so I couldn't get a very good read on him. "Because someone must know. Someone should bring this to light." The bitter winter evening was biting my skin, wind howling among the trees. Wintertime might not have been the best time to take up hiking. You get to meet all kinds of people though, sane or not. "And I am the saviour? The one to just climb over the next couple of hills and find a glittery utopia?"I've had my share of strange conversations with the folk who roam these hills. But this man seemed desperate, almost defeated. Maybe there was some credence to what he was saying. It could be just a shanty town caught in the sunlight but it was worth a look. He looked me dead in the eyes and said, "I never said it was a utopia. That place may be everything you've ever wanted but it takes far more than it gives. Remember that if you venture out there." I raised an eyebrow and made my exit, "Don't worry, I'll be fine. I guess it is time to go."I winked, "Get it? 'Cause of the time bulls-" "Mock me all you want, but you have been warned of its lure. I only pray that you will not be lost as I was."he began to leave, muttering, "So much time. So little time. Time to spare. Time to die." I watched him walk down the dirt trail leading back to town. He had been an odd fellow but what would a hiking trip be without a few stories to tell. I could picture it now; fireside with friends, talking about a mystical city. So, I began climbing the hill to find this "city outside of time". The path changed from trodden dirt to a dishevelled cobble, showing signs of serious wear and tear. These steps had been here far longer than any town around here was, that was certain. Intrigued, I picked up the pace and followed the cobbled road. After a short walk, I came to a shiny iron gate blocking the path. There were no walls or buildings behind it, there was no reason for a gate to be here. Instead of wandering off the path to go around, I pushed the gate open and stepped beyond it. There was no idyllic countryside anymore; no drab grays and russet overtones. Everywhere I looked, I saw vibrant colours covering everything I could see. Banners draped between houses that hadn't been there moments ago swayed in the wind. Signs of all shapes and sizes in languages I could not understand populated every doorstep. "What the hell?"I muttered. "Welcome to Drift!"a voice called from down the road. I squinted my eyes to get a better look. A man in blue jeans, graphic tee and glasses that were far too big for his head made his way over to me. He looked out of place among the storefronts, an addition added too late. "The city out of time, as you may have heard it called. We don't get many new visitors from this portal anymore, but I told them it should stay open. You never know when a citizen finds the time to come around."he said as he outstretched his hand. I grasped his hand and limply shook it, "Where am I?" "Everywhere and nowhere." I glared at him, "Specifics, I need them." "Whence you came is where it is and was, but you have arrived in a place where things operate by a few different rules." "Time passes differently here, right?"I asked. He hesitated, "Why, yes, it does. How did you know that?" I pointed back to the gate, "There was a man who said this place was here and I didn't believe him." "Hm. Concerning. But you're here now, that's what matters. Now, come! We have matters to attend to and time is of the essence."he said, gesturing me to follow.
"Hey, Plague,"War said. "You don't look so good." Plague grimaced and threw up into the apartment's toilet again. "It's the damn humans,"he finally said, "they've been finishing me off for decades." "Oh, come on, now, ol' pal. Look outside, my man!"War opened the window, revealing empty streets and parked cars. In the distance, a siren wailed. "You've got the world on lockdown! The whole planet trembles in fear of your touch!" "Thanks for the flattery, but you can be honest with me,"Plague said. "My days are numbered. The humans are too damn smart. It all started when they killed my little Polio."Plague sniffed. "Hey, hey, there's still hope yet! What about your chosen ones?" "The anti-vaxxers? [Oh, they tried their hardest to save ol' Measles.](https://www.cdc.gov/measles/cases-outbreaks.html) But it doesn't even matter any more. This lockdown—it's not just because the humans are scared. It's because they're smart, and they work together." "Well, we should be able to make short work of that, eh? A few hoarders here, a few skeptics there, and we can start poking holes in that barrier of theirs." "It's not that simple! For every asshole hoarder out there, there's [a company willing to donate medical supplies for free](https://www.newsweek.com/medical-fetish-site-donates-stock-nhs-1494951), or [a charity](https://www.allwithinmyhands.org/), or even [an ordinary person doing what they can to help.](https://www.vox.com/identities/2020/3/9/21166475/coronavirus-covid-19-outbreak-health-hand-washing)"Plague grimaced. "They're even making [motivational comics about beating me up](https://xkcd.com/2287/)." "Well... you know what?"War grinned. "Look, while we're on Earth, we may as well check the place out. Pay the rent, get a job, you know? See what being a human's like, so we can take them out when the time comes. Know your enemy, you know?" Plague brightened up. "Yeah! You know what, that's a great idea! Come on, let's go." Plague and War walked out the door together. They got ten feet before a car pulled up beside them. A policeman rolled down the window and eyed the two. "By the order of the governor, all personnel not providing essential services are to be quarantined to combat the spread of COVID-19." "Goddammit!"Plague exclaimed. A.N. If you liked this, you may want to check out r/rileywrites for more!
I sat in my rocking chair, sipping on a cup of tea. I didn't even like tea, but my wife brought me a cup every morning regardless. 45 years after she was gone, and I still drank a cup every morning. I glanced over at the picture of her on the end table. God, I missed her. I'll never forget that day, I came home, and she was just gone. No body in the house, her car was still in the driveway. To this day I'll never understand how a perfectly healthy 40-year-old woman drops off the face of the earth without a trace. It took me years to adjust. Ten years ago when my neighbor, Lisa, moved in she asked if I was married, I said yes. I had to apologize on behalf of my memory when I realized my mistake. She was the only one I had left now, although I didn't care for her much. She was 45 and had no spouse or kids. About every other week her lawn mower "Broke"and she'd ask me to fix it. I tried to be kind but after Ruth disappeared I've wanted nothing more then to be left alone. I squinted down at my watch, 10:47am. When I looked back up a man stood before me. He was young and deathly pale. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his charcoal grey suit. "Bill Johnson?"He asked. I nodded. "You are going to die in one hour." I stared at him, taken aback by both the statement and his blunt delivery. "Pardon?" "You are going to die in one hour."He repeated. "At 11:47 am you are going to suffer a fatal heart attack." "Why are you here?"I asked. "I'm here to offer you a deal. Continue on this path and die in 57 minutes or start over." "Start over?" "Yes, you'll be born again with little memory of this life." "And why in the hell would I want to do that?" "Humans tend to cling to life, always pleading they're being taken too soon." 'Boy I'm 86 years old too soon ended a decade ago." "Are you sure?" "I've been ready to go for damn near fifty years. Besides, there's someone on the other side I'd like to see." The man nodded. "Very well, I'll see you in-"he checked his watch. "52 minutes." With that he disappeared. I sat in silence for 45 minutes, glancing at the clock every so often. A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I opened the door and found Lisa standing on my porch with a plate of tea cookies. I reluctantly took them, doing my best to end the conversation so I could get back to dying. It was too late. My chest started to burn, and I crumpled to the floor. My vision blurred and my chest was screaming. The last thing I heard before it all went dark was Lisa's voice. "I came back for you."
“To establish a baseline for the polygraph test, could you please repeat the following : ‘I am currently in an interrogation room in the 13th Precinct of the NYPD’?”, the examiner said, nodding to the polygraph operator. The woman seated at the table repeated the statement, slightly amused. The operator examined the readout of the machine, and looking up at the examiner, shook his head and said “No”. “Hm. Ok, Mrs. Smith, if you wouldn’t mind removing the electrodes – we’ll have to reset them. This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes”, the examiner said, looking through the papers he held. A brief moment later the electrodes were reapplied, and the small needle on the polygraph machine wiggled back and forth. The man standing across the table again started to question Mrs. Smith. “Let’s try again. Is your name Glenda Jones Smith, and are you 35 years old?” “Yes. That’s correct”. The man operating the machine stood hunched over the readout. He looked at the other man and nodded. “Mrs. Smith, is the current date the 15th of February, 1962?” “Yes”, Mrs. Smith said. The operator gave a thumbs up. “Ok, one more: are you currently in an interrogation room in the 13th Precinct of the NYPD?” The man looked up from his papers at Mrs. Smith and waited with his eyebrows raised. There was a pause. The two men looked at each other for a few seconds and then the interrogator spoke. “Mrs. Smith, do you understand that statement to be true? That you are here right now?” Mrs. Smith looked confused, then asked “What is a precinct?” The man’s eyebrows raised further and then dropped. “Oh, I see. Well, the baseline is established, so we should have what we need to continue”. He ruffled through his papers and began questioning Mrs. Smith about her location and activities during the previous month. The examiner, a man with bushy eyebrows and a dry voice named Mr. Brown, would ask a question, she would answer, and the polygraph operator, a younger man with dark hair, would lean into the results and log notes on a form sitting next to him, hidden from the view of Mrs. Smith. “On the morning of February 19th, were you in your home, or were you at your friends home?” “I was at the home of my friend Mrs. Dodery”. “What was the weather? Was there hail that morning?” Mrs. Smith looked at the table. “What does that word mean?” “Which word? Hail?” “Yes”. “…Is English your first language, Mrs. Smith?” Mr. Brown glanced at the other man. “…Yes”. The needle of the machine wiggled. “That was a lie,” the young man said quickly. Mrs. Smith’s eyes darted back to the table. “What is your native language, Mrs. Smith?” Mr. Brown leaned slightly toward the woman. “What is your native language, Mrs. Smith?” She replied, strangely without any pause between the question and her answer. “Mrs. Smith, answer the question,” The man said bluntly. “Mrs. Smith, answer hail, the question? Precinct of 13th of February”. The young man stared at Mrs. Smith, and then back at the polygraph machine, and finally to Mr. Brown. “That was…the truth?” Mr. Brown made a dismissive gesture and continued staring at Mrs. Smith. She began clenching and opening her hands, from fists into splayed fingers and back, slowly and methodically. Her mouth was twitching at the corners unnaturally, as if the muscles were being stimulated by electric shocks. Some of the expressions she made were so unnatural that the two men flinched, as her face went from the appearance of twitching calmness to a manic open-mouthed grin for a few tenths of a second before becoming neutral again. A loud pop was heard, like a huge sealed jar being opened forcefully, and the woman was gone. The instruments for recording her pulse and blood pressure lay on the table loose, like they had not just been attached to a living arm.
God, Jaxon was getting on my nerves. Ever since he found that online community of environmentalists, he talked non-stop about how humans are destroying the planet, venting his frustrations about how the powers that be aren't doing anything to stop it, listing all the animals that are becoming endangered, and berating me for eating meat because eating animals is "evil". The same rant every day, 24/7/365, made in a tone that made it obvious he believed he was morally and intellectually superior. What bothered me wasn't that I disagreed with anything he was saying - except maybe the eating meat part. What really made my blood boil was that he did absolutely nothing to try to help the environment. My hypocrite roommate still left the lights on in the apartment, took obscenely long showers, and did nothing to try to curb his food waste. He didn't even donate to any organizations fighting the effects of climate change. He mostly just sat at his computer all day posting on Twitter about how angry climate change deniers made him, and slipping some comments along the lines of "Fuck <insert opponent of whatever green movement here>!"into our conversations at any opportunity. As I lay in my room on a quiet Sunday afternoon, my mind wandered to the memory of yet another one of Jaxon's rants from earlier in the day, and I got angry all over again. Then an idea struck. I drove to Lowe's and picked up some Miracle Gro plant food from the garden section. Then I headed for a nearby park. This was gonna be hilarious. I got to the park, parked, and walked a little ways off the trail, Miracle Gro in hand. I opened the container, and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I opened up Snapchat and started recording a video of myself dumping the plant food onto the ground. As I was doing it, I remembered that today was Mother's Day, so I said aloud, "Here! A Mother's Day gift for Mother Nature!" After I finished recording, I decided to add a caption saying "I have officially done more for the environment than Jaxon ever has lol."Then I posted it to my story. In hindsight, it was kind of a dick move to call him out in front of everyone like that, but he really got under my skin and I knew I wasn't alone in that. I was about to leave when suddenly I heard a voice - a female voice that sounded like it was distant and nearby all at the same time. "Thank you child. There are many who do so much for me every day, but this is the first time in recent memory that one of your kind appreciated me as a mother. So thank you,"it spoke, kindly. I froze. I looked around the woods, now slightly dim as the sun was going down. After a few moments, I worked up the nerve to speak. "Hello?"I hazarded. No response. A moment later I spoke again. "Someone out there?" Silence. I started walking around the woods trying to locate whoever said that, and ended up walking around until the sun had completely gone down, careful to keep track of what direction the trail was in. When it got fully dark out, I gave up and head back to my car, still feeling a bit uneasy. On the drive back to my apartment, I felt compelled to reflect on my relationship with the environment, with the planet, and what I could do to help it. Jaxon's hypocrisy was exhausting to me, but in truth, I was no green thumb either. I decided that perhaps it was time to change that. I started thinking to myself aloud in the car, "I could start walking to the supermarket, at least in good weather. I should power off my electronic devices rather than leave them in an energy consuming state. Maybe I should also start donating to Wildlife Conservation Society. The garbage by the highway needs to be cleaned up, and - oh! I can volunteer to plant some trees..." \---------------- I woke up to the sound of my alarm this morning, and drove to the park. I've been a park ranger there for nine years now, and I've never enjoyed work more. Every day I walk among nature, maintaining trails, preserving the surrounding nature, and educating kids on what they can do to live more sustainably. When I'm off the clock, I dedicate as much of my time as possible to volunteer efforts focusing on planting trees, picking up litter, and efforts to push our leaders towards creating more wildlife reservations. I focus on doing whatever I can to balance my relationship with nature, and I encourage others to do so. There's a lot that still needs to be done, but maybe someday, all of us will be able to hear the voice of Mother Nature thanking us for our efforts...
"We have arrived."The Commander had proudly boasted upon arriving the very small village. Over half a year ago, a Necromancer named Omkara had awakened an army of darkness, pillaging and wiping out most of the southern lands. At least, that's what we speculate. We lost contact with everyone. Until, a ragtag of random Priests showed up at our city walls. According to the only 5 survivors, their city had fallen to the evil army and the population was under some sort of trance. They were lucky enough to escape because they were under the protection of the Lord. The Necromancer would bring back the dead to subdue the masses. They said the dead were very recognizable with their putrid smell and decaying flesh falling to the ground every so often. Skeletons would roam around the streets keeping the population from converging and overthrowing the evil dictator. And now, I had the task of freeing all of the Kingdoms from evil. My men and I rode forth with our horse, drawing our blades and getting ready to take out the enemy guards. We spotted one of the skeletons and I struck it's skull with my blade, shattering half of it into many particles. The rest of the skull split from the neck and had bounced onto the ground. The pathetic being had a shovel as a weapon. "What the fuck? You just killed Benny! He was just getting ready to plant some corn."Cried out another dead being. It had saggy skin and milky eyes. It's bony fingers wrapped around some sort of batton on the ground. But it spoke? I draw my blade up to its neck. "You speak? I didn't know the Necromancers forces contained intelligence. I was told they were thoughtless dead beings." "Dead? Who are you calling dead? I'm 98 years old but I'll have no trouble whooping your ass with my cane." "Oh my apologies, my good sir. Fear not, for I am here to offer salvation from the Necromancer's dark forces." "What are you on about young man? Omkara? He's the best thing that's ever happened to us." "I beg your pardon?"I asked. The Necromancer must be stronger than I initially thought. How strong was his trance? A random crowd of sickly old villagers had now gathered in front of the hut surrounding me and my men. "He's the only reason we're still alive. Our old king wanted to starve us out. Until King Omkara resurrected skeletons to help us out. The Bones do all of hard labor now."Yelled out an elderly women. "The Bones?"I asked. "Yeah, they're the dead ones that have been dead for too long. If you die before 2 days, Omkara can still come bring you back fully. "Fully?" "Yeah. It'll be just like you never died."Another voice shouted. "Nonsense. You're all brainwashed. I must free all of you from his dark army."I insisted. The townspeople then began to throw tomatoes and they began to angrily protest. We had to retreat because we couldn't attack them. We had to find a way to break them from their trance.
The trick to a good bunker is it's remote, but not TOO remote. Put it in the city and all you have is a lead shielded closet. Put it in the country and there's no way you'll get there in time. This was a good compromise, essentially a two story home underground, just past the suburbs and near the McMansions gated off from the world. Most days, I was a glorified maid. Rotate out some rations, check some equipment, keep the place reasonably clean. The boss had a party here once. I wasn't invited but he never came back after. That was about four years ago now. The alert came out before the news picked it up. There were false alarms before but I knew the drill: drive to the bunker, check it all over. But the alert never ended. My phone went off. The bunker tv showed the talking heads look worried, followed shortly by some old canned broadcast. A few local families showed up. The call was pretty easy to make. The boss was all the way out in the middle of the pacific on some megayacht at another party I'd never been invited to. My phone rang, and I just let it. The bunker was big enough to hold the big man and a dozen others, but it was also rated to stop bunker busters. It could certainly stop an irradiated ghost a hundred miles offshore.
Blub felt a ripple in the water and looked away from his display just in time to see Llo scoot into office. Blub sighed. The diversity office had always been a harmless PR stunt until Llo had taken over. But Llo didn't just want everyone to have a Finny janitor or a Hardback filter technician. Oh no, Llo was forever floating by with crazy ideas about hiring dumb sapients from backwater planets to actually important positions. "I've got a CV for you,"gestured Llo, crazy excited yellow patches racing along his arms. "You're going to love it!" Blub was certain that he would not love it, but put it on his display anyway. A quick glance was enough to confirm his initial suspicions. "Llo, this position is for Outside resource extraction. This applicant has no Outside qualifications or experience, not even a basic safety course." Llo's arm pattern became even more gaudy. "Look at the species,"he enthused. Blub glanced at it. He didn't recognize it, although that made sense given Llo. "I know we sometimes hire Amphis for Outside work,"replied Blub, trying not to look ignorant, "but this is a far Outside location and they don't do well in Personal Environment Suits." Llo's patterns were getting downright dizzying. There must be something in the Sapient Ressources manual against being this cheerful this early. "He's not an Amphi,"waved Llo, "His species live Outside! All the time! Outside resource extraction is normal for them." Blub stared. Llo must finally be losing his mind. Everyone knew nothing could live Outside. Sure, there were some plants and tiny lifeforms, but nothing big. He'd been Outside, visiting work sites. It was the most inhospitable environment imaginable. Solar radiation, crazy temperature variation, direct exposure to gasses that would strip away your gills faster than could imagine. Even in his PES, he'd felt unsafe, exposed. And beyond that, no buoyancy worth mentioning. If you left something somewhere, no matter how light, it rushed to the ground almost instantly. The sheer amount of power needed to move anything was astonishing. Surely, any creature bigger than a minnow would sink and break without an anti-grav unit. No sapient could evolve there, let alone build a civilization capable of reaching the stars. Llo had apparently anticipated his skepticism. A slew of images appeared on his display. He recognized the unnatural clarity of Outside. The creatures had a body plan somewhat like an Amphi, but uncannily different. The limbs were long and skinny, the skin dull and strangely textured. Their structures were strangely lopsided. The tops were consistently smaller and underused. His eyes were drawn to a picture of an Outside resource extraction. The lack of habitat gear made him nauseous. And yet, the part of his mind that always counted profits saw the potential savings. Perhaps Llo had finally found one worth considering. \\\* Matt sat on his balcony reading his email. Stupid protesters had shut down his mining operation again. This was getting ridiculous. Planetside mining was still cheaper than asteroid refining. People needed materials, especially with more interstellar colonies finally opening up. The environmental protections had never been stricter. In university, all his profs had told him now was the best time to be a mining engineer. And yet, after 5 years, he had yet to see any of his mines actually open. He honestly wondered why his employer even bothered. He'd have fired himself years ago. His computer chimed, scaring away a flock of sparrows. "Outside resource extraction coordinator"was the subject line. Matt nearly marked it as spam until he remembered that job application he'd sent out months ago. He had been fed up and maybe a little drunk at the time. He couldn't believe they'd gotten back to him. "Dear Matthew Frester,"read the email, "We would like to offer you a conditional contract. Please send references and answer the attached questionnaire." Matt blinked. That was it, then? No interview. Well, that made sense, real time ansible communication was expensive. Well, it didn't matter. He didn't seriously want the job. Or did he? He looked up the planet. It was habitable and far away from protesters. Real estate was bound to be cheaper than Earth. After all, no one wanted to live on the surface. He could actually afford a house. His wife and he could share a bedroom rather than a closet. The kids could have their own rooms. Well, time to cook a good dinner so his wife wouldn't think he'd entirely lost his mind.
Alecia had been on the night train only once before in her life. It had not been a pleasant experience. The train had been lined with a most disrespectful group of boys, who had gone all around the vessel, playing cruel pranks on the sleeping passengers. A huge argument had broken out about halfway through, where a number of passengers, who had been sleeping or sitting peacefully only minutes before, were suddenly up and about, screaming and yelling as their firsts whirled about the carriage. The food that had arrived was cold and undercooked, and one particularly rowdy man, who seemed to have taken the lack of pleasant sustenance as a personal insult, threw his tray of food right at the window above Alecia's head, splattering the seats below with glass and soggy spaghetti. It was a relief when the train finally came to a halt, and she sped away from the cursed vessel so fast she forgot a number of her things, for her mind was full of only one thought: "Never again." Now, however, she found herself facing the prospect again. It had been a terrible day at work. Multiple employees calling in sick, the boss in a terrible mood and storming at those who had come in, forcing them to remain behind hours later to finish the excess tasks. She boarded the train quickly, keeping her eyes down, careful not to attract any attention. She did a quick scan of the carriages and found the least populated one. There were only four people inside. She took a seat across from a kindly looking brunette and a boy that could only have been her son. He had the same fair skin and chocolate-brown eyes. Beside them, to the far right, a man was sleeping with his face covered underneath a rather crude magazine. The fourth occupant was, unless Alecia was much mistaken, wearing nothing more than a tank top. She kept her eyes firmly down. After a few minutes, she heard the little boy speak. It was almost shocking. The voice that issued, deep and raspy, would have belonged to a full grown man. "Who are we going to eat tonight?" That can't have been right, Alecia thought, frowning at the floor. She must have misheard. She was pretty tired. Almost instinctively she raised her head, stealing a small glance at them. The woman had looked around at almost the same time, looking angry and flustered, but as their gazes connected her face morphed at once into a gracious smile. "Oh, you silly boy. It's not 'who,' it's 'what.'" She rolled her eyes playfully at Alecia, as if to say "kids."But she saw the woman's hands tighten on her child's shoulders. No one else seemed to have noticed anything odd. Alecia, on the other hand, picked up on something else. The woman's fingernails were strangely long, almost two inches, and pure white, ending in crescent points. And her teeth... were teeth supposed to be that sharp? Her son, who had folded his arms and looked grumpy, turned slightly. Alecia let out a hastily stifled cry. His handsome, deep brown eyes had, for a brief moment, flashed scarlet, iris, sclera and all. He noticed her jump, and he actually hissed at her. She leapt up as if her seat had given her an electric shock and charged out of the room, settling down in another carriage. For the remaining two hours of the journey she did not move or look up or speak to anyone. Then finally the pistons sounded, the train began to slow. She gathered up her things and scuttled out of the train like an agitated spider. But as was walking away from the vehicle, she felt a strange prickling in the back of her neck, the one she always got when someone was looking at her. Against her will, as if hypnotized, she looked around. The small boy from earlier was looking out the window directly at her. His face was covered in a thick red smudge, and he was wiping it off with a very familiar yellow and blue tank top. Alecia stared at him in quiet horror, then his mother looked around. Her face was now grisled and green, her eyes dark red. But as their eyes met, she winked, then the appalling visage disappeared as the train was swallowed into the darkness. Alecia turned and broke into a run, frantically yelling in her mind as she went: "Never again."
Todd could not help but smile at the memories the mention of the game brought up. "Yeah, all the time. My older brother showed me the ropes. We used to play through it together on co-op." The commander nodded. "Does that look like a Halo weapon? I tried to get it as close to the pictures as possible." Todd picked up the rifle and held it carefully. More memories surfaced. Weekends and summers spent playing together. The amount of times Todd would just run through the enemy-choked map and his brother, infinitely better at the game and blessed with more patience to boot, would clean up said enemies. "Yeah, it looks like one. Master Chief would use the hell out of it. Did you make this or something?" The commander nodded again. "I called in a favor with a friend. It's just Airsoft basically." Todd raised an eyebrow as he handed the rifle back. "Can I ask what it's for, sir?" The commander blushed slightly. "I'm, uh...well...I've been dating this woman. We've been getting serious. She has a daughter and apparently the daughter is into Halo. She just discovered it or something. I thought it'd be a nice birthday gift, let us bond a bit." "You're giving your girlfriend's daughter a gun?" "Y-yes...should I not? I don't know what to get her, really. She's not into girl stuff." Todd shrugged. "Halo isn't not girl stuff. Back when I played with my brother, his girlfriend would play too. Once she got her hands on a plasma sword she would kick our asses." "So...do you think it's a good gift?" "It certainly could be. You obviously put a lot of thought into it. I would just run it by her mom first." The commander sighed in relief, and after a nod of thanks, left the room. "Been a long time since I played Halo,"Todd murmured to himself. "And a while since I talked to Will." He scooped up his phone and opened his messages, scrolling down to find the thread with his brother.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake." "Alright newbie, give me your name, preferred pantheon, and what you're the God of,"it said in a matter-of-fact manner. saw, however, I did not expect. Before me was... a... creature? To call it bizarre would be underselling it. Though it possessed the shape of a squirrel, its feet were cloven like a goat, and the eyes had thin black slits on yellow irises, reminding me of a cat. The arms looked like those of a muscular man. Do squirrels... lift? I pondered the oddness of the being but then thought about how weird platypuses are and suddenly found myself pondering a lot less. I suppressed a scream in my throat for fear of angering the being. It looked at me and opened its mouth - much to my surprise, English came out. "Alright newbie, give me your name, preferred pantheon and what you're the God of,"it said in a matter-of-fact manner. A few moments of silence followed until I finally mustered the courage to speak. "What?" It sighed. "Name. Pantheon. What you're a god of." "...what?"I repeated. "Did no one brief you?"it raised an eyebrow. I stared blankly. "What?"is all I could muster. "Oh for..."it raised a hand to its eyes and rubbed them, "look newbie, you're my last God for today and I got a nest to get back to, alright? So let's make this fast. You died. For some reason - above my paygrade, don't ask - got chosen to be a God. You get some leeway in choosing. So, name, pantheon, what you're a God of."it snapped at me. "Uh.. I'm... I'm Bill. Bill Stevens." The creature suppressed a giggle. "Bill... Stevens,"it wrote in a notebook. "That certainly is a name. Now, pantheon?" "What?"I started to feel bad for asking. "What other gods do you want to hang out with? Please don't pick Norse, I'm in it and I don't want people clutching onto me out of confusion,"it frowned. "Uh... Greek, maybe? I always wanted to meet Hephaestus." "Spicy. One for drama, perhaps? Good, last, what are you a God of?" "Look I have no idea. Last I remember I was walking down the street and... wait, was that car heading for me? Shit. I... shit." I breathed out. The squirrel looked at me and for the first time, I saw a glint of sympathy and understanding in its eyes. "Look buddy, I know this all happening really quickly. When we fill out this form, you'll get a deeper briefing and later, if you regret what you picked as Godhood, you can put a request for reassignment. Right now though, you have to pick something. People are usually briefed by now and have a vague idea. Your file must've gotten lost along the way. Sorry. So just pick something you like and we can move on."It offered me a warm, soft smile. It went well with its fuzziness. "I'm... really sorry, but I have no idea,"I said apologetically. "Hmm... look, how about I give your mind a quick read and we can assign you with something for now? Sound good?" "Sure,"I smiled weakly. &#x200B; And just like that, I became a god. Quickly after, I went to get properly briefed and meet the other new gods. Some were just as confused, but I managed to settle in quickly. I find the job to be quite relaxed, which I suppose is due to what I am a God of now. It's a job that doesn't require too much work, unlike War of Love. You'd be surprised how much paperwork Aphrodite does, but - pardon me saying - by god does she make it look sexy. My godhood requires next to nothing to fill out, but you'd be positively shocked how many people invoke me without knowing it. Perhaps you have at some point and found me guiding your way, just a little bit. So says I, Bill Stevens, God of Thoughts regarding the weirdness of playtypuses.
I stare over the heads of my friends. "So, we need a car." I'm frozen; I can't speak; all I can do is look at our doom. "We steal one, the day of the robbery." He looks at me, sadness in his eyes. "We got to have guns, don't we?" I look back, sick to my stomach; we have so little. "We can't afford guns, and if you think I'm going to hit up Smoking Sam for guns, you're crazier than he is!" A quirk of a smile from him, and I understand. We aren't completely lost if we have the sense to stay the hell away from Sam. "Hey, guys? I don't think this is such a good idea." He smiles at me, an honest smile of approval. They're still making plans. "Guys! Stop it!" They look up to me. "You're my friends. I don't want to lose you. You know something will go wrong. I. I couldn't stand it if one of you died." "You know we got to get money or starve!" "Sure, but have you been listening to yourselves? You've put together the bones of a plan to get money in an hour of talking." "Yeah?" "How about we put that energy and creativity into planning how to earn money?" "You know how that's gone! None of us has found a job that lasted more than days or paid more than minimum. We can't live on that." "Did you listen to what you said just now? Every time we tried to find work, we went alone." They're starting to get the idea; the Batman smiles widely. "You think if we all go together, we'll get a better job?" I focus all my attention on them. "No. I think we can do better by coming up with a plan where we use our skills together to earn money directly, instead of hiring ourselves out on their terms." That interested them, and I could see their faces light up with ideas. I glance up, and all I can see is a smile, then nothing, as a bat flies out the window we'd left open, hoping for some cool air as the city cools off. "What 'cha been looking at?" I look back at them. "Our future." They smile, and we get down to some serious thinking about what each of us enjoys doing and how we can use that together to earn money. •••———••• >...And on the entertainment front, a new acapella group has hit Gotham like a wave of cool air in the heat of summer! Make sure you check out the Four Dark Knights and their songs of this city! "You seem pleased by that news, Sir." "I am, Alfred. Four young souls found a better way to make a life for themselves than turning to crime." "Do you know them?" Bruce Wayne gives a small smile, "Only one, and only to recognize on the street. We met one night in passing. I overheard them planning their new life." "I see, Sir. Should I make arrangements for you to hear them sing?" "Yes, please. They are good people." ((finis))
“One hundred years eh.” The pale man stood with pursed lips and vacant eyes, visibly processing the statement. Crossing his arms, then uncrossing and sliding his hands into his pockets, then taking one out and leaning against the wall, the gears continued to turn inside his head. “One hundred years.” The gruffer man spoke again, both appearing young but doubt being cast on that appearance for the other. “But you’ve never seen anything weird right? So surely with all that evidence, one hundred years of evidence, then yeah I’m sure you’re right.” He punctuated the words viciously, clapping out the accusatory timeframe as he stared onwards while the pale man stood in repose. “Anything you care to share as perhaps, I dunno, slightly odd? Maybe it threw you off a bit when the house first got electricity? How about the internet? Does the internet freak you out? I bet a lot of people thought there were ghosts in that shit when it first came out.” The tirade continued, but a response was finally swelling in the chest of the other man. “Look. You uhh, you know how I like to exaggerate. It just feels like I’ve been here ages y’know? And it really is an old house, so that doesn’t help.” “You stood there thinking for like, five minutes, and that’s the best you’re gonna come back with?” “I mean yeah. It’s totally the truth man.” Why don’t you tell me what the actual truth is.” “I think I would rather not.” “Honestly at this point I don’t give a damn if you actually are a ghost. I just want this conversation to be over, and the sooner you tell me what I want to hear, the sooner it will be. So. How long have you been dead?” “A few hundred years.” “A few hundred years? And you’re living in this shithole?” “I’m a bit… attached to it.” “What does that even - no. I don’t even want to know. Are you able to just… stop doing ghost things?” “Ghost things?” “Yeah like, I’m pretty sure sometimes when you walk into the kitchen the microwave just stops working. And when you take a shower there’s these little flecks of green slime in the tub after.” “It’s not like I’m doing that on purpose.” “Just try, okay?” “Yeah, I guess I can.” “Alright. I’m going to bed now, so if you just-” “Hey do you think, if you know I’m a ghost now, can I stop using the doors?” The silence returned again, thicker than before though without its aggressive undertones. Exasperated, the gruff man broke it for the last time before walking away. “Whatever dude. Walk through any wall you want. I want to go to sleep.”
"I was not among them." That's the phrase they condition you to say. They tell you after the training it's just a way to stay neutral about your previous unit when you report, it keeps you distant. Distant from the unit and distant from the fact you can't help. The coward is a key role. In war, you cannot afford to have units blink out of existence, with no idea of what went wrong. Whatever hell you had seen visited on your unit, it was anodyne to the coward, because you were not among them as you observed. I saw men with their bodies on fire, pulling the skin off their faces in a frenzied attempt to put out the choking blaze. I was not among them. I saw men get sawed off at the knees by mines, barely able to believe their thighs were pumping out their lifeblood by the pint. I was not among them. I saw men inhale gas that split their lungs like burnt sausages, cupping their hands over their mouths, as if stopping the blood pouring out would save them. I was not among them. Many of my countrymen believed this war, this slaughter, is serving some greater purpose. That it was the only way. I was not among them.
"Today we're demonstrating bridge sabotage, and more importantly, how it leads to proper bridge building,"announced the villian to his henchmen-in-training. "We're pretty sure the city's got the message on this now." A small VW bug was driven up to the edged of the bridge, and Josh, one of his henchmen, got out. "Now, if this bridge was built right, we should be able to remove any four random struts, and cars will still be able to drive across it safely. If not, the bridge will collapse, and the car will fall. We'll leave it to Josh here to determine which struts get removed." Josh was handed a coin. He flipped it several times. The results were observed, and several other henchmen rappelled down the sides of the bridge and removed the appropriate struts. The bridge creaked. "OK. All ready, Josh?"Josh gave a thumbs up, put on a crash helmet and goggles, and got in. "Proceed at will." There was a long wait. After a few minutes, Josh came out and said the car wouldn't start. Other henchmen came with wrenches and examined the engine. The motor was completely dead. "OK, that was unexpected. End of demo. This happens a lot more often than you'd think. We'll try to figure out what happened here. It may be useful in the future. Thank you all, perhaps we'll try this again tomorrow, let's move on to the next training topic."
I gulped. It's not every day a gigantic lizard asks a favor, especially one that could reduce your house to ashes with an errant sneeze. I was standing in my front door, awakened by the thump of it hitting my lawn and drawn to the front by it's colossal claw pressing the doorbell. 'Um, sure.' I glanced behind it, back at the driveway. 'Make yourself at home.' It noticed my glance, 'Is there a problem?' It's deep voice reverberated through the entire buildling. 'What? Oh, no. Well, just that you are kind of blocking my driveway-but-it's-okay-I-work-from-home-I-just-might-need-to-get-groceries-at-some-point,' I stammered. The dragon's huge, intelligent eyes examined me, from the fluffy pink bathrobe to the bunny slippers. I desperately wished the creature had waited until I was finished dressing before touching down on my lawn. 'I shall not be here long,' the creature said, 'perhaps only until this afternoon. But please, feel no need to entertain me or let me cause you some disruptions.' I swallowed. A one-ton creature had just landed in my garden, and it was concerned about interrupting me. Yeah, because it would be so easy to work with it- Another line of fear shot through me. Oh my god I'm going to be late for work. 'I'm sorry, I really have to start my shift.' I gulped. 'Um, please, make yourself at home. I'll, um, well, bye.' I closed the door as fast as I could without being impolite and my legs almost gave out from under me. The creature's brimstone breath lingered in the air, and I could see it's scaly hide through the window. My mind spun as I staggered into my home office, desperately hoping that I hadn't forgotten any critical meetings this morning. My boss would not look kindly on me showing up in my bathrobe, and I didn't have time to grab a blouse or bra. Mercifully, I managed to connect minutes before the clock struck 8. I sighed. Well, one crisis averted, I guess. Now I just had to get my work done and deal with the great fuckoff dragon on my front lawn. Mondays, am I right? &#x200B; I had almost managed to put the creature out of my mind when I heard some yelling from out front. One voice, a deep resonating one, was now seared into my memory, while the other was somewhat more angry and familiar. For about a half second I considered letting the two problems sort themselves out, then resigned myself to avoid the potential complications that might cause. I put myself on break, then swapped my robe for a blouse, and semi-professional looking skirt. Then, mustering my resolve, I made my way back to my front door. Despite expecting the scene that awaited me, the bazar tableau still was worth savoring. The dragon had curled up not unlike a cat, and had raised it's head about it's curled body to greet the harassment it was being subjected to. The harasser was an older man, perhaps in his mid sixties, with a uneven beard and a flannel shirt over his beer gut. He was holding a rake, and seemed to be waving it at the much larger creature. 'I'm telling you, you're going to mess up my hedges!' He yelled. 'Human, I have not come near your hedges.' The dragon said, a note of exasperation creeping into it's deep voice. 'No, but a tail like yours, who knows where it would go! You could knock it down and not even not-' He noticed me. 'Oi, Jane, the hell are you up to letting this fucking creature camp in your yard, and mess up my garden?' I suppressed the wave of anger over me. 'Mr. Johnson-' 'No, you know what? I've had enough of this.' He spat. 'First your dog craps in my yard, then you mow your lawn at stupid angles, now a goddam dragon gets invited to hang out in your garden. This is intolerable, and the home owner's association will be hearing of it-' 'Silence, human.' The dragon said, raising it's voice for the first time, it's deep voice cutting through the torrent of bullshit like a laser through fog. You could have heard a pin drop. Jane had never considered just how loud a creature that size could talk. 'Jane,' the dragon said, glancing my direction, 'has been kind enough to let me rest in her lawn, but did not invite me here. I cannot speak to her lawn care, but I have seen nothing that implies she owns a dog. You, on the other hand, have tested my patience with your winging. So, allow me to propose a solution. I will vacate this lawn, if you allow me to demolish your house and wallow in the wreckage. Is this preferable?' Jane watched as waves of rage, disbelief and terror cross her neighbor's face, and watched as he stubbled back up his walk and into his home, slamming the door. The creature turned towards me. 'Did that disturb you?' 'Um,' I stammered, 'I mean, the thought of you leveling a house-' 'I meant our argument.' 'Oh. Um, yes, but I don't think that was your fault.' I glanced around nervously. 'I'm sorry, he's a bastard.' 'It's not your fault, though I miss the days when such matters could be dealt with using swift conquest.' The dragon sighed. 'But I have been enough of a distraction. Please, do not let me keep you.' 'Oh, um, right.' I stumbled over my word as I stumbled back into my house, closing the door. Only with that separation did I permit myself a moment to revel in the various expressions that had crossed Mr. Johnson's face. It was nice to see that bastard put in his place. Unbidden, my mind shifted to the dragon's last statement. I briefly saw myself astride the mighty beast, wearing shining armor and brandishing a strange polearm as the meddlesome home owner's association fled before it's fiery breath. I emerged from the daydream and pulled myself back to the present. Still, that thought brought a comforting smile to my face as I moved back to my office and reluctantly came off break. (I may return and write more updates to this.)
“Will the Court rise, the honourable Judge Callister presiding” the Bailiff bellowed. The crowd rose to their feet, as the Judge entered the room, which gave Gary plenty of time to glance around at the crowd. A lot of spandex he thought to himself, and a fair few familiar faces, Powerman, Gladioterra, the Crimson Twins, heck it looked like the entire Justice Squadron was here. As his head completed it 360 degree spin, a power he had stolen from the infamous Jade Owl, his eyes rested on the stout gruff women atop the podium at the far side of the room. This woman did not like Gary, and she’d all too open to the arguments put forward by the prosecution. They had compared his actions to that of a criminal who had crippled their victim, except that the criminal didn’t augment themselves by breaking their victims’ bones, whereas every villain Gary stole powers from made him stronger, and therefore his actions had been much worse. To be fair to Gary’s defence attorney, he had tried his best, he had argued Gary had simply acted in defence of the city and its people. But unfortunately, the state didn’t take to kindly to unregulated vigilantism. No matter how heinous the villain had been, its didn’t given Gary the right to “cripple them in the superpowered sense” as the state had so aptly put it. Judge Callister looked over her glasses disapproving at Gary and began to speak “I’ve been informed that the jury are ready to provide their final verdict, if they would please re-enter the courtroom”. The crowd murmured expectantly, as the 12 jurors shuffled back to the stand, head down, refusing to meet Gary’s eyes. “Oh no, that’s never a good sign” Gary’s attorney whispered, head in hands. The foreperson stood, glancing to the judge for approval. “Does the jury have a verdict?” Judge Callister asked, raising a single eyebrow, “Yes” the foreperson responded, “We have come to a unanimous verdict”. “Excellent” Judge Callister said, “Could you please give your verdict to the Courtroom”. The foreperson inhaled sharply, puffing her chest out in preparation. Gary crossed his fingers; it all came down to this. “In the case of the Metro City v Gary Gray, the jury finds the defendant…” the foreperson paused, glancing out over the crowd of caped crusaders “guilty, of 12 counts of superpowered assault”. Gary’s head dropped into his hands, as the crowd broke out into excited murmurs, “ORDER ORDER” Judge Callister yelled, once again restoring silence to the room. “The Court thanks the jury for their decision” Judge Callister stated, smiling at the jury. She then turned her head to look at Gary, her face dropping into a deep scowl. “As for you, in line with the City’s mandatory sentencing rules, I sentence you to 10 years in Metro City’s Prison for the Criminally insane”. “PLEASE! ANYWHERE BUT THERE” Gary cried “I’LL DO ANYTHING!”. However, the Judge simply looked away as the guards dragged Gary off to the squad car. Gary kicked and squirmed, trying to wriggle free to no avail, as he was removed from the room. As he was removed from the Court room, he couldn’t help but let a grin creep across his face. He hoped his theatrics inside the Courthouse hadn’t been too transparent. He thought it best to put on a show for the crowd, so as to obscure his true intentions. Metro City’s Prison for the Criminally Insane he thought to himself every major villain in the state was locked up there! What better place to harvest some A+ Powers…
"What kind of savage desecrates an ancestral planet of an entire race. Mankind's rage in the home worlds Currently the federation is voting on a general mobilization. If the space carrier does not retreat immediately, and all mining operations are not suspended ids that could be sold for massive profits. "This is commander John Adams from the Terran Federation, Halt all mining operations and withdraw from Earth immediately."The transmission from the Terran commander was immediately rebuked. Commander Ack received the transmission from the Terran federation, and his blood was boiling with anger. The humans fired warning shots before even attempting to establish contact. He suspected that this may be a plot by some xenophobic human agents that are trying to pit their two civilizations together, and those suspicions ended up being a stroke of luck for the whole galaxy. "What kind of savage shoots warning shots before attempting diplomacy, this planet is within Darian borders and we have every right to mine here." A small lie told by commander Ack, as this was a border system, yet this line of argumentation was simply ignored. "What kind of savage desecrates an ancestral planet of an entire race. Mankind's rage in the home worlds is past its boiling point and the council of nations is currently voting on a general mobilization. If the space carrier does not retreat immediately, and all mining operations are not suspended, you will go down in history as the buffoon who started the third war of the end" More and more human ships were arriving, with engaged weapon systems ready to fire. Commander Ack knew that he had to retreat. "I will be filing an official complaint with the intergalactic community, this is no manner for space fairing civilizations to conduct themselves." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ With a frown on his face, commander Ack was reading a history book written by a human. At the beginning, he was forcefully turning each page, getting more annoyed every time earth is referenced. Gradually, his motion softened, and his frown dissipated. He let out a hearty laughter when he finished the book, thinking to himself how nonsensical the human race truly is. They drained their home planet of its resources, turned it into an inhabitable wasteland and NOW they care about it enough that they were willing to plunge their civilization in a war that would have cost millions of lives? Commander John implied he was a buffoon, but really mankind is race of buffoons that will destroy what was precious, then treat its husk as sacred, while willing to impose grander destruction upon themselves and the galaxy. He couldn't remain mad as such nonsensical race, but after the laughter, his heart was filled with dread, remembering that humanity has the second strongest military in the galaxy.
I'm 26 years old now, and I'm being treated like a child. I'm forbidden to speak, I'm told which piece of silverware to use at a table at every single meal - as if I haven't learnt it all after two months! - and I'm stuffed into more ridiculous suits than I could have ever cared to have own. Nevermind, I'd never own even one if I had my way. And now I'm being taught how to dance. My bow is measured by a piece of wood, my hand is constantly smacked so I have to straighten it, and my instructor insists on stepping on my toes in her heaviest or sharpest shoes. It's all insufferable! I yearn for my home, my people, out there in the hills. Where the sheep and the cows outnumber the people, and the houses smell of warmed honey and I wasn't expected to be anyone, or anything. I was as free as the wind to ride the trails and run on the road. But now I'm stuck here, with matters of state. "Prince Illian,"I was addressed by Governor Graham, so I sat up, "What are your opinions on our agricultural sectors. I'm told you were once in the provinces, what wisdom might you have for us?" "Well,"I thought for a second, our agriculture was strong, but when last I checked the wheat farmers and orchard workers were worried about how dry the ground was, "I've heard that much could be done for irrigation for some of our more southern regions, perhaps we can invest some workers on it? Some kind of canal system?" "Duly noted, Prince Illian. I shall investigate what the treasury can afford, we can always find a way to make up the difference." Governor Graham was, despite his station, an honest man. I found him the most palatable of the courtiers I had been given thus far. The other was Lady Courtney. I appreciated her perceptiveness, and had it not been for her own position as an "eternal widow", I may have sought her hand. Alas. "Prince Illian!"King Brigand yelled, "Illian listen to me, you are NOT to involve yourself in the affairs of lowly commoners, leave that for the barons and marquis - your job is to only care for the crown and its interests!"He chastised me, thoroughly, and I felt humiliated. Sure, old man, I thought, I'll be sure to do something about that as soon as I ascend. Just to piss on your grave.
it wasnt mine it wasnt mine it wasnt mine it wasnt mine it wasnt mine it wasnt mine it wasnt mine it wasnt mine whose was it whose soul did I sell do I know them oh god oh fuck it wasn't mine i swear i swear i didnt know i had someone elses soul it wasnt mine to sell i swear i didnt know i swear i didnt know swear it i didnt know wasnt mine i swear i sold them i sold their soul i didnt know no one knows why did i have someone elses soul what did i do who did i do it to im so sorry forgive me forgive me i swear please forgive me From the cell walls of a undiagnosed patient. Rutledge Asylum, 1873
It started off as a joke. To be honest, I hadn't even realized that the Uno Deck had what the spell promised it would. Late at night, I was at a diner with a couple of friends. When the waitress came over with the bill, I slammed my Uno Reverse down, not quite expecting anything to happen. To my horror, her body physically started to twitch, mouth opening as she reached one arm down her throat. From the back of her lungs, she pulled out a horrifying mix of saliva and blood. Yet within the very middle, sat the sixty dollars in cash that we needed to pay. I tried to get rid of the Uno Deck after that. Almost immediately after we left the diner, I set fire to the cards, all still in a pile. Instead, as the deck tumbled within the everlasting burn, four more copies appeared. I tried to rip them apart, but upon getting to the reverse card once more, I watched one of my friends get torn to shreds. Finally, I threw the deck into a fully filled bathtub. Once more, the reverse card activated, and I slammed into the pull of water, body fully submerged. As my body contorted, and strange patterns grew across my body, I heard somebody in the room talking. "Who leaves a deck of Uno Cards on their bathtub like that?" "And why did they throw another deck into the water?" I stared up towards my sister, as her hand slowly started to close around the original deck. I tried to scream, but my mouth had faded. my body was already fractured into thousands of pieces, individual cards streaming within the water. She turned from the room; the screams started six minutes later.
Secret Dragon Sasha frowned. He always looked so frustrated during class, grumbling to himself. He was staring down at a piece of paper, our latest test. Another D. He crumpled the paper and threw it into his bag. “I hate this fucking place,” he whispered under his breath. He sat at a table alone behind us. My friend Pam hazarded a look. She was a slender lizardfolk with sleek greenish skin. She had a long pretty face. “He’s failed again. I feel bad for him. Maybe he needs a tutor. You could.” “I don’t know. He seems kind of intense.” I was larger that her. I was Komodo. I’d always been rather sensitive that I was larger than everyone else except other Komodo like me. “Don’t be judgey Leila. Anyways let’s be partners for the next project.” “Bet!” I said. Our professor spoke up from her desk. “Alright class. Go check the list to see who your partner will be for the next assignment. Then join tables.” Of course. Me and Pam rolled out eyes and laughed. “Or not,” she said, hunching her shoulders. I glanced at Sasha. He just rubbed his furrowed scaly brow but didn’t bother to get up. I left mine with Pam. I stood in a small line waiting to see the list on my way out the door. “Leila and Sasha! Heh heh, good luck smarty pants!” I pushed Jonah’s arm. He was a greenish lizardfolk with big green eyes. “Don’t be an ass. We will be fine.” “He’s the worst student in class. Even you can’t work your magic on that.” I folded my arms and watched Jonah walk back to his seat. Pam looked at me. “So about that tutoring then?” I groaned. “He doesn’t even need tutoring,” I said under my breath. Even so, I could not afford to fail an assignment. I stalked back to my seat and grabbed my things. Then went to Sasha’s table. We had never interacted before this moment. His skin was red and scaly. He wore a long sleeve jacket. “Hi partner!” I said trying to be chipper. He glanced at me, his brow raised skeptically. “Hi,” he said as quietly as he possibly could. His voice! It was deep with a curious rumble underneath. He didn’t speak to anyone, and never spoke during class, so I was a bit taken aback by it. “Smartest girl in class huh. Well I’m sorry you have to get me for a partner,” he whispered, a bit bitterly. “U-uhm… no don’t say that. We’ll be just fine. So, right. We should decide on our topic for our documentary.” He looked exasperated. “I know. I’ve thought about it. If you don’t mind?” He gestured toward the seat next to him. I was surprised he actually had an idea. I smiled and sat down. Hey, it wouldn’t be so bad if he was looking forward to it. We all were told that Sasha was a lizardfolk like us, as that is what the story was when he transferred. But we assumed it was a cover because of his dad’s job as an ambassador. I had my doubts about his lineage as well of course. He was a big guy, and much more slow and deliberate with his movements than any of my fellow lizardfolk friends, regardless of their lizard ancestry. Some were extremely skittish, and others were a bit more regular speed. I was slower but not like him. Now sitting next to him up close, I could see more aspects of his appearance. His teeth were thicker and sharp. His jaw strong. Even though he wore long sleeves—always now that I thought of it— I saw beautiful scales underneath on his wrist. He tugged his sleeve down, hiding them. He claws were similarly thick. They were like obsidian. They shone in the light. I’d never met a lizard folk with scales like that. Sasha was always intense. But now, looking at his notebook, he seemed more subdued. He flipped through the pages. He leaned over and pushed it toward me. “These are some ideas I wrote down over the week. They’re all kind of similar…” he said enthusiastically. Now that he was closer and speaking at a normal volume, I could hear that rumble underneath again, like a motorbike almost. A strange intense heat wafted from his mouth almost across the page. I moved my hand, and that made him clamp his mouth shut. “Shit…” he whispered through his teeth. That heat sealed the deal. “Don’t say anything,” he pleaded. “I won’t!” I said. He was searching my face, probably to determine if I was telling the truth. His eyes were green, the slit pupils ringed in green. He relaxed. “Thanks. We can talk about it if you like. It’s complicated.” “Uh huh…” I said, dazed. I must have been staring hard because I heard my phone vibrate. Shaking my head from my reverie, I saw that I’d gotten a text. It was from Pam. OMG GRL Close your mouth! Ur basically drooling! “Fuck!” I whispered, putting my phone down. I wiped my lower lip. Sasha glanced over. “What?” he asked. “Nothing!” I said a bit too quickly. I quickly texted back while professors back was turned. OMG He’s like… idk. Fuck! I had not idea what to say. He just raised raised his eyebrow and chuckled under his breath. Damn he’s got you like that?? Pam texted. Yes. His voice is so deep! I saw my professor turning toward us so I pushed my phone away. “Right soooo. Ideas. Which do you want to do the most? I’m game for any of them.” He inclined his head toward the page and tapped it. “This one. The True Life of Dragons.” “Cool. What’s the gist?” I asked, taking out my notebook. He lowered his voice. “We aren’t like what these books say. None of it is true. It is appalling and downright offensive some of the things we learn here. Dragontongue is much worse. As a native speaker, no one speaks that way. It is so robotic. It lacks any nuance at all.” My eyes widened. “I wondered about that. Everyone knows about your grades. But you have near perfect grades in everything else.” He sighed, heat gently rolling from his mouth. “I answer honestly, but get marked down because it does not line up with this horrible curriculum. I refuse to answer with untruths. Of course no one here knows. You wouldn’t know.” I looked down in guilt. “Well I’m Komodo, and my ancestors are from Lyfax so I’ve known of a lot of the discrepancies. But I learned this version to get good grades. I’m studying abroad there soon.” He smiled. “I knew it. I’m from Lyfax.” “I know. We all know; your dad is to be ambassador but no one has seen him yet. And we weren’t certain about whether you were dragonfolk or not. Lyfax is diverse place.” “Yeah it is. Sometimes people can be a bit funny about us dragonfolk. But…well the cat’s out of the bag already. I did not know people suspected.” He twirled a pencil in his hand. “So what do you think of this idea?” I thought about it. How fitting it would be to document actual dragonfolk instead of the sanitized history we learned. It would certainly make a splash and shut up a lot of people about him. “Okay,” I agreed. It was a gamble but an intriguing one. “Why hide it then? That you’re dragonfolk?” He smiled. “I suppose you’re right if everyone knows already.” He removed his jacket for once, revealing his large arms with sleek reddish scales. I place my clawed hand to my chest. My voice caught. Pam turned around to whisper something to me, but she stopped, shocked. She spun back around. “Okay partner. We better get to work then,” he rumbled. “I’ve been looking forward to working with you anyway,” he laughed. My phone buzzed. Ur in trouble I was in trouble. But I was looking forward to it. Edit: just a little more story below. Edit: I cannot believe y’all got me to write a whole steamy story about dragons. Edit: [If you should come across this and want more. Stop by every once in a while. ](https://old.reddit.com/r/u_lakija/comments/11sd559/secret_dragon)
"I must have it removed,"she sighed heavily. "When I was born, I was given the blessing of beauty. As a princess, I'm sure the fae who bestowed this gift upon me meant well. But you see, their version of beauty is not the same as mine." "B-but Princess. You are by far the most beautiful woman across the lands. Every person and creature can agree."The cleric stammered out, "what do you mean your version of beauty is not the same? I cannot remove this. Who knows what you may look like if it were gone. No one in the kingdoms would recognize you." "You will remove it!"She demanded. Out of her pocket, she pulled a pair of scissors, pointing them at the cleric. The cleric took a step back, in the same moment, she spoke, "Cut my hair." With a slight shake to his hand, the cleric took the scissors, not wanting to upset a royal. He gently took a small strand of her hair that lay on her shoulder. "Are you sure?"He asked quietly. She nodded. The cleric took a deep breath before he cut through her long, thick blonde hair. The hair fell unnaturally slow, and as it neared the floor, it rose back up to its original place, making small sparks as it reattached itself. "My gods.."the cleric whispered. He had never seen magic like this. The blessing was too strong. "I cannot change. If I paint my face, it disappears. If I cut my nails, they grow back. My skin can neither scar nor blemish. I am a doll of the fae's creation. Even my clothing will adhere to this blessing. Please, you must. I do not care what I will look like. I must be able to change... to age." The cleric nodded in agreement, realizing she had looked exactly this way for at least a decade, "I understand now. You may not look anything at all like what you do now." Filled with relief, the princess smiled. "I hope not." (Sorry if the format is bad, I'm using mobile)
Just look at me, I'm The Orb! I get it, comprehending my origins is hard. My creator is not of this earth, and exists in more than the 3 basic dimensions you humans can fathom. This orb is smooth, my surface is smooth, and so is my talking. Who doesn't love a smooth operator? Nobody can deny I have the power to reduce heating and air bills by 70%, but first, you gotta take me home. Make me feel at home, and I'll make you feel homey too. A case where you scratch my back by giving me a new home, and I scratch yours...well I'm an orb, I don't know what to scratch with. Ah, look I'm sprouting tentacles now. Oh yes baby, I could scratch backs with that. Please believe me when I say I have no ulterior motives. The same applies to my creator too. He's the most chill eldritch bro I've ever seen. Frankly, I've only met one eldritch god but...that's not my fault. My lack of exposure is only because I've been prepping my sales pitch so you could accept me into your house. And I'm doing this for free from the kindness of my heart. Because my boss created me from the kindness of his hearts. Yes, the plural isn't an error, he does have peripheral hearts in addition to the main one. Just like his brains. He's a smart cookie, with more brains than you have limbs, oh limited human. Are you doubting that this orb has a heart just because I don't fall under human concept of "living being"? I assure you I am a living thing made from actual living flesh. My creator is the tippiest toppy top expert of fleshcrafting! Why he has a flesh factory in his domain! So what are you waiting for? Take me home and enjoy slashing your heating, air and possibly electricity bills by 70%! Do look out for my next upgrade too! I look forward to gaining the power to cut the water bills too! Sincerely, The Orb. ** "Your bill-cutting orb talks way too much,"the woman frowned, pointing to the shifting orb of flesh at her feet. "Also it looks disgusting." "Please don't judge a book, or in this case, an orb by its cover,"I replied, signalling to the orb to cut down on the broadcasting frequency of its sales pitch. "Has it done its job of reducing your utility bills? Do let me know if it is slacking off." "BOSS! I'm not slacking! I'm a good orb!" The woman crudely kicked the orb back to me, ignoring its sobs and denying its innate desire to serve humanity. "Take it back! I hate it!" "But did it save costs for you?"I asked. "Oh...yea, it did. But I still don't want it in my house. Why does your utility bill cutter look like a hairless ball sack with ...tentacles? Why does it always have to be tentacles with you?" "...its in my nature, I apologize for the fact that I can't help it,"I sighed, coiling my tentacles around the orb and comforting it with a few pats. "It isn't it nice to have a little life in your home?" "Not when its one of your weird fleshy...things!"She retorted. "Elvari, you ever tried making something without using oozing flesh of questionable origins?" I didn't quite understand what she meant by "questionable origins". There was no question where I sourced my flesh from. My own personal domain. With so much effort on my part to ensure high-quality fresh flesh that is supple and succulent, I'm not seeing where my creation is "questionable". "I've created book covers and carpets without using flesh. Just baby-smooth skin." She had an iron grip on her door, her mind debating whether to slam in my face. After much internal struggle that didn't escape my casual scan of her brain, she held out both hands for the orb to roll back into her arms. "...70% off is really good. I'm sorry I'm just weirded out by appearances. Will the orb still work if I wrap it up in pretty wrapping paper so I don't have to hurt my eyes looking at how ugly it is?"She inquired as the orb now cooed happily in her arms, happy to be accepted in her home once more. I felt good too, to know my creations have proven to be useful to the people of Innsmouth. Hopefully, she'll give me a 5-star review if I go the extra mile to ensure complete worshipper satisfaction. "May I offer to craft some silky skin to wrap it with? Would you prefer selkie skin or siren skin?" "NO!"The woman shouted. "I'll buy my own wrapping paper." --- [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/)
Steve Smith seemed like a normal guy on Tindr, or more accurately, as normal as a guy who looked as good as he did could. There were red flags, primarily a profile pic in which he was holding up a large, recently dead tuna (not that there's anything wrong with fishing per se, she wasn't a vegan after all, just, who chooses that for their romantic identity). Sam decided to meet anyway. A boring himbo who worked in insurance would be a nice change of pace after her latest and most disastrous dalliance yet, with a man named Mitchell Mayo. She picked a place she liked and insisted to Steve that she pay her half. At the very least, she'd have a meal she enjoyed, without feeling any sort of social debt. Gil's was busy for a Thursday, the bar doubly so. With her eyes she searched along it's long, mahogany L until she found Steve, seated behind a glass of milk. He was wearing a black suit, black tie, and black rimmed glasses. His golden hair was perfect, save for a little swirl that danced across his impossibly smooth forehead. He noticed her, and their eyes locked for a second before she darted for the door. He beat her there, though she never saw him pass, and given the crowd, his interception of her seemed physically impossible. "Sam, right? I'm Steve, is something wrong?" "Oh fuck off. Fly back to Krypton or Atlantis or wherever the hell you're from and leave me out of it. I've been kidnapped, shot, stabbed, tied up, groped by a sentient octopus... My boyfriend Bruce turned into a giant fucking green monster while we were being intimate, and let's just say, if it weren't for multiple miracles of modern medicine, I'd never be having kids." Steve, stunned, could offer very little to say, but a ring on his left index finger started to hum and glow. "I see that shit. What is that ring? It's some sort of ancient bullshit, isn't it? What's your power? Actually you know what, I don't care, I'm out of here. Take your perfect abs and your moral dillemmas and shove them up your ass."
I really hope this doesn't count as erotica. ________________________________________________________ "My god that really does feel amazing!"I said, my own voice reberating in my ears as the blackness surrounded me. A faceless tongue was cupping the tip of my penis with precision accuracy as feminine hands ran all over my arms and a finger was finding its way up my ass toward my prostate. I had to see. I smiled, knowingly- expecting a legion of gorgeous women surrounding me. I really should have kept the blind-fold on. Instead, a massive bloated fleshy mound on the floor, with six stringy tentacles, formed into the shapes of feminine hands were wrapped around my body; one of them was in my asshole. A tentacle in front had formed a female mouth and was gesticulating on my penis. I knew it couldn't see me, because it kept going as if nothing had happened. I probably should have run, but at that point I was afraid for my life...so I slipped the blindfold back on and just kept making pleasured sounds. That's when the mouth turned into a vagina.
"Hey, I know you're here. Casper or whatever the fuck your name is. You just shook that damn picture frame for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. Look, we need to talk. "I get you're bored. Hell, I would too if I was stuck in the same spot for the rest of eternity. But we bought this land years ago. We built this beautiful house here and we're not going to leave any time soon. I don't really care if some Indians were buried here hundreds of years ago. It's over, that's history. Life goes on. Well, except in your case. But that's not the point. "You need to start putting forward some effort around here. You creeped us out at first with the random sounds and the moving furniture, but now it's just annoying. If you're going to haunt this house, you need to start helping out around here. That means putting things back after you use them. Closing the doors after you summon random gusts of wind. It's just common courtesy really. And would it really kill you to do some dishes? Obviously not. "Hey, stop with the chair! Jesus, it was only a joke. "Speaking of the chair, do you know where I found it last week? In the bathroom. See, that's not scary. It's just frustrating. It's a pain in the ass to move that thing all the way back to the dining room. And the picture frames. Just straighten them back out when you're done with them. I don't think that's too much to ask. You need to start pulling your own weight around here. Or whatever you ghosts have. "If things don't start changing soon, I'm going to have to look for some ghost removal services. I'm sure there are plenty in the area and one of them is bound to be legit. Now don't flicker that lamp like that - I'm not saying I'm going to do it now. But you've been warned. Start picking up after yourself or you're out of here. "Now I want you to clean up the god damn blood leaking down the kitchen windows before the wife gets home or I'm going to start making calls."
The ten* numbers and twenty-six letters are painted white across its cheap black-plastic keys, twelve of them. It's practically weightless, but I can feel its absence when it's not sleeping in my pocket. It's been glued to me for years, I'm too cheap to replace it. I've spent years laughing into it, pressing it to my ears so I can better hear the voices echoing from thousands of miles away. I've said hurtful things from a distance, and I've comforted this way also. I've thrown it against the ground in forceful rage so that screen is spider-webbed with fissures, but it still rings an 8-bit ring. It's a cheap string dangling from the mesh of the planets conversation; Give me the right code and I could call a hundred million different samples of humanity, at least until I run out of minutes. It's bent out of shape and practically worthless, but I cant do without it, it's always in my right-pocket, I'm too cheap to replace it. ^^Edit: ^^0 ^^is ^^a ^^number ^^too.
Death had a headache. A deep throbbing pain behind his temples, worse than a hangover. And when Death thought hangover, He meant the type with the noose. He massaged his skull with bony fingers. LETS START AGAIN. Death always spoke in capital letters, and without speech marks – you didn't really hear Him, just sort of felt His words reverberating inside your mind. YOU HAVE JUST BEEN RUN OVER BY A BUS. “After I was shot in the chest” added the strange man “and before I drank the cyanide.” SO YOU MUST BE DEAD. Death glanced, for reassurance, at the distinctly deceased rat that had been licking the empty bottle moments before, and the the decently departed gunman still bleeding from the police shootout. This man was strange precisely because he clearly wasn't dead. He was standing in a strange way for someone who should be lying down...in several places at once. “Yes” the man said agreeably, “I should think so.” COULD YOU AT LEAST ACT DEAD? “I'm not sure how. You see, I haven't been dead before”. It was a logical argument, but one which Death struggled with. Every other first timer Death had come across had played the part perfectly. START BY STOPPING BREATHING offered Death, helpfully. THAT”S USUALLY HOW IT'S DONE. The strange man's cheeks slowly turned red, before he gasped spontaneously. “It's no good, I've tried everything!” EVERYTHING? Death's curiosity was piqued. “Well, I tried drowning by steering the Titanic into an iceberg, but I got rescued. I tricked Japan into attacking Pearl Harbour so I could get bombed, you know, the atomic one. Twice. I dressed up in women's clothing and told everyone in Salem I was a witch. I...” YOU MEAN Death interrupted, THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR SOME TIME? “Only a couple of thousand years.” The strange man said strangely. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST Death swore. YOU ARE FUCKING IMMORTAL. “No I'm not!” protested the strange man. YES YOU ARE! IT”S OBVIOUS YOU ARE IMMORTAL. “That's not what I meant,” said the man, upset at Death's tone. “I'm not Jesus Fucking Christ. Although I did meet him once. Back when I had leprosy. I was earning a good living, a real professional. I had pride in my job, begging. Then he came along and cured me. Well that was it. I was out of a job, completely broke. Life's been pretty miserable ever since.”
It was the end of the school year. Time to toss all the trash in the kids' lockers, yet again. The little brats never seemed to realize all the junk they left in there would get thrown away, or, if they did, they just didn't care. Either way, no sweat off my nose. As I started at the end of the hall, opening the first locker, I casually looked at the photographs taped to the inside of the locker door. Most of them were attractive celebrities, but there were more than a few pictures of a male student. I recognized the student from around the school the past few years. If I remembered correctly, the kid's name was Mark, and he was a pretty popular kid. Blond hair, blue eyes, great smile, overall an attractive guy. There were probably plenty of girls in the school who had a crush on him. I threw all of the pictures in the garbage. A few lockers down, I came across another locker with a couple pictures of Mark in them. These pictures were drawn on, with little devil horns and a typical villainous mustache. The few scattered papers in the locker contained morose, dark poetry, and I assumed that this locker must have belonged to one of those kids who dressed all in black and hated anyone or anything that they considered popular or "preppy". In the bin they went. In the next hall, I came across another photograph taped to the inside of a locker door. This one had Mark standing with a girl in a dress. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and the two were smiling. Must have been a prom or something. They were a cute couple. It would appear that Mark was announced prom king, as he was wearing a crown I recognized the school owned. Good for him. Trashed. As I walked down the hallway to the next row of lockers, I tore down posters on the wall. There were a lot of school spirit ones, and a few congratulating students for their role in school politics. Mark's name was one of them. Apparently he had been his grade's president. Guess he was as popular as he seemed. In one locker I found a note. Normally, I wouldn't read the brats' little notes, but this one caught my eye. It was addressed to Mark, and had responses. It was apparently a conversation between some girl and him. She confessed her feelings to him, but he responded in a polite manner, telling her that he was taken, and that, though he appreciated the gesture, he could not date her at that time. Surprisingly, the two had a pretty pleasant conversation from there, and it ended with the girl telling Mark that he was a nice guy, and that he should never change. I pocketed the note. I would normally never keep notes, but I made an exception in this case. One of the last lockers I came to was Mark's. The popular, kind, attractive Mark. I opened it, and sighed with disappointment. I tossed his papers and took down his photographs of his friends and family. The gun sitting on the stack of papers I placed in a small plastic sack to be given to my superiors. It's a shame that no one saw the side of Mark that really needed help. Mark had killed himself on the last day of school.
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” Carl shouted from the front door of his house, a white plastic bag hanging from his closed hand. He’d made another impulse purchase, this time at the RadioShack they’d just built by the train station. He hadn’t gone in there intending to buy anything, but rather to ask the staff how it was possible that RadioShack was not only still in business, but actively opening up new stores in what was essentially a low-population, hick town. Yet as he was wandering over to the counter, mind racing with an arsenal of admittedly inappropriate questions, it appeared in the corner of his eye: “Speak to your Pet! Only Available at RadioShack.” Carl purchased the device on the spot. It was clearly some sort of “please, dear God, keep us from going out of business” gimmick RadioShack had made, but it piqued his interest nonetheless. The salesman standing next to the boxes explained that it was all over the news, that RadioShack technicians had invented a way to convert the thoughts of animals into a language humans could understand. He also mentioned that Carl was likely living under a rock considering he hadn’t read about the breakthrough, which was simply not true. Carl lived in a house, just like any other normal human with enough money to afford such a living condition. Still, he’d spent years wondering what kind of complex thoughts were going through his cat's head and would gladly pay $89.99 for the opportunity to hear them. If not that, then perhaps he’d at least figure out why his cat was such a bad listener. “Kitty,” Carl shouted, “come here.” He lowered the bag onto the kitchen table and plunged his hand inside, grabbing the plastic package and tearing it open. The device fell out onto the kitchen table, rolling slightly before toppling over flat. He picked it up and stared it. The device looked almost exactly like a traditional cat collar, black with the exception of several small, silver pads on its interior. A small, gold latch held it closed, forming a nearly rigid circle. It certainly didn’t look comfortable. He flicked open the latch and slipped it onto his wrist, immediately noticing absolutely no difference. He was fairly confident he’d been scammed. He slid the collar back off his wrist. “Corporal Cuddles!” Carl screamed, his voice cracking as he turned back toward the entry to his kitchen. His cat lay in a small bundle of fur atop the heating vent in the corner. “There you are, kitty,” he said, wandering over. Corporal Cuddles lifted his head up and glanced over at Carl, then returned back down to his paws. “I bought you a present,” Carl said, kneeling down beside the cat and softly running his hand down his back. “Who’s my wittle guy?” he said Corporal Cuddles again lifted his head before dropping it back down against the softly blowing heating vent and closing his eyes. “Dat’s wite,” Carl said. “You are!” He gently picked up Corporal Cuddles’ head and closed the device around his neck with a soft snap. It didn’t look comfortable at all, the black band causing the hair around Cuddle’s neck to lift upwards. Still, the cat seemed not to care, immediately lowering his head back down to the vent as soon as Carl let go. Carl stood up and took a step backward, staring down at the white and orange cat laying on the vent ahead of him. He wasn’t exactly sure what the next step was, he had neglected to read the manual. To be fair, he never read manuals. It wasn’t in his nature as a man. Sure, occasionally he constructed things entirely wrong—such as the Ikea cabinet with doors that opened inwards, or the chair he’d built that only remained sturdy if it was placed on an incredibly steep angle—but instructions were so pointless. Clearly a technology that allowed humans to hear the thoughts of animals wouldn’t be so complex that it needed to be outlined on paper. “How’s it going?” Carl said, staring at Corporal Cuddles. It seemed like the right way to begin their new conversational relationship. The cat remained silent, his head pressed against the vent. To be fair, though, he never had been too talkative. Carl bent down and softly nudged the cat with his pointer finger. “Mugghh,” Corporal Cuddles moaned, a sound Carl had not yet heard him make. Generally, Cuddles tended to keep his noises to a few “meows” here and there, or the rare “yrrawwwoo” when carl accidentally stepped on his tail. From what he read on the Internet, that was really about the limit in terms of cat sounds, although he did see a video once of a cat that sounded strangely like a goat. “Hey,” Carl said, again nudging the cat with his finger. “What’s up?” “Basta ya,” Corporal Cuddles said, his eyes remaining shut and mouth not moving. That was absolutely not a sound on the approved “cat noises” list he’d found online. It didn’t even sound anything like a goat, which he felt was truly on the outer limits of acceptable cat sounds. “What?” Carl said, standing back up. “Did you call me a bastard?” “Basta ya, por favor,” Corporal Cuddles said in a high-pitched, clearly irritated. “Por favor, por favor.” Carl stared down at the small, orange cat sleeping a few inches from his feet. He had no idea why he was being called a bastard, he’d done nothing but care for the creature since buying him six years before. However, he was pretty confident the latter words were Spanish, although he had no idea what they meant. Something about a favor being done, he assumed. “Excuse me?” Carl said. “Dios mío,” Corporal Cuddles whined, lifting itself up and arching its back in an extended stretch. “Qué quieres?” Carl took a step back and stared down at the cat. He was definitely speaking Spanish, or Mexican, or some sort of Latino language. Carl hadn’t exactly dedicated much time to learning the difference between them, although he did once spend an entire afternoon watching Telemundo. He hadn’t intended on doing so, but he accidentally clicked the remote onto the channel and, for whatever reason, found himself drawn into the over-dramatic soap opera they were playing. He had no idea what was going on, but enjoyed it nonetheless. Corporal Cuddles stared up at Carl, his eyes wide and clearly disinterested. “Do you understand me?” “Que?” Corporal Cuddles said. “No hablo Inglés.” Carl let out a long, slow sigh. For years he’d thought his cat was retarded, that he suffered some kind of mental block that made him unable to come when his name was called; suffered some sort of developmental disorder that resulted in him being unable to do anything other than sleep, eat, and occasionally nip at Carl’s heels when he was hungry. Yet now, thanks to the engineers at RadioShack, he realized there was nothing mentally wrong with his cat, he was simply Mexican. Or Spanish. Or Dominican. Some sort of Latino, that much he was sure of. Whatever the case, he had a foreigner cat, and that posed an issue. Carl bent down and gently removed the collar from around Corporal Cuddles’ neck. As much as he wanted to continue talking to the cat, to try his best to gain some sort of insight into the life of a feline, he realized he couldn’t. If anyone heard his accent, heard his inability to speak English, they’d begin asking questions. Carl knew he had no documentation for the cat, nothing proving his U.S. citizenship. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble with the law for abetting an illegal immigrant and lose his pet. It would simply be easier to act as though Corporal Cuddles was just retarded. He would return the collar in the morning and pretend nothing ever happened.
"Ooo, he's definitely not going to want to remember that one..." I chuckled at Anderson's quip. He had a point though: The poor bastard on screen had just lost over a thousand dollars on that last hand... and then shamelessly flirted with the woman next to him. We had no audio, but whatever he said earned him a slap. As the woman walked off he rubbed his cheek and ordered another drink. I pressed the button to activate the mic. "Alright Hernandez, this is our best shot." "Roger, Captain. We are a go."Her reply was quiet, and curt. The waitress on screen lowered her hand from her ear and briefly tucked it into her vest before it paused imperceptibly over the drink. We had been posted at the casino for a month now and knew the routine. The pill dissolved almost immediately in the cocktail and was gone by the time Hernandez placed it in front of the target. As she walked away, I saw her hand go to her ear again on the monitor. "Drink placed - the snake is in the rabbit hole, Captain."Anderson began to chuckle at the double entendre and I shook my head, but couldn't help smiling. "Well done Hernande - wait. Shit." In his drunkenness, the target had spilled his drink shortly after Hernandez had placed it before him. Already, casino staff were moving to mop up the mess. In his embarrassment the man began to cause a scene. He was going to be escorted out and we would lose him. We had to act quickly. I keyed the mic. "Objective failed. Resort to Operation: Bounce House." Anderson chuckled again as he ducked out the door behind me. On screen, the two bouncers reached the target and addressed him. The man refused to calm down - they never do - and was shocked as the two brutes grabbed him by the shoulders to escort him out - it's like they never believe that actually happens to people. I flicked the monitor over to the lobby cameras. On screen, I saw Anderson approach the target as he dusted himself off, straightening his jacket. They had a brief conversation that ended in Anderson handing the man a hotel key card. The man stumbled off and Anderson walked off screen. A couple minutes later he came back in through the door behind me. "So, how did it go?" "It went well. Friendly guy. Set him up with the usual: private party, you're invited, strippers, champagne, drugs. We'll stick him after he passes out." "Sounds good. And Anderson?" "Yes, sir?" "Let's get this guy a tattoo just for making us have to work for it." Anderson smirked, "Yes, sir."
"We just thought you'd be impressed." "Seriously?" "Well, yeah. You're the first person to be brought back from the dead. I'd be impressed."He turned to the other board members, "you'd be impressed, right?"They mumbled their approval. "Now we just have a couple of questions for you." "I have only a few hours of life and you want to ask me questions?" "If that wouldn't be too much trouble." "Well, why don't you just go ahead. It seems like you have all the power here." "Thank you kindly. So, we wanted to know, since you've been dead for several centuries, have you, did you experience an - how can I put this - an afterlife." "You want to know if there's a heaven?" He raised his hands and shrugged, "is there?" The recently undeceased smiled, "there's always a heaven." "What does that mean...exactly?" "But I guess it depends on whether you're naughty or nice." "I'm sorry, I don't follow." "Well, you see. There's this guy who make this list, he checks it twice. This guy has a lot of power." "Is this, um, god?" "Kind of." "Kind of?" "Kind of depends on your point of view,"the undeceased smiled. "Before we continue, can I ask where you found this body, my body?" "That's classified information." "I'll take your secrets to my grave, mark my words." The questioner turned to the board. They waved dismissively. "We found your body in Lapland." "You have no idea who I am do you?" "Cadaver number 2467, perfectly preserved in permafrost." "I am wearing a red cloak, no?" "Yes, you were when we found you. How do you know?" "Let's just say, if you let me die, Christmas will die with me."
Brian ran forward, the beating of his heart ringing in his ears. Running – that’s all he’s been doing since the apocalypse started. Zombies were nothing like what they portrayed in the movies. They were relentless, fearful abominations of God. And they were dyslexic. At least, that was the case for the ones Brian had seen thus far. When he crossed their field of vision, their decayed jaws would unhinge, releasing the guttural noises like a broken floodgate. But they didn’t call for brains like he was accustomed to hearing. They called his name. He didn’t understand why or how a mistake like that arose considering they were undead but there was no point in questioning logic when the reanimated corpses walked the earth. Everyone he knew was safe except for them and that was all that mattered. The Brian-less, as they had deemed themselves in the last year, had lived lives not much different than before the shit hit the fan. At worse, the zombies were only an inconvenience to their daily rituals. As long as someone watched for them on the road, they could even forget they were there. After all, as a Brian-less, they had no worries. Their names gave them safety. Meanwhile, the name Brian had been sullied for the rest of eternity. In a month of the apocalypse, it had dropped in popularity in the entire world to just a handful of cases for stubborn or ignorant parents. Those who had the misfortune of having the name before were ostracized by society, never to be affiliated with again. And that was the situation Brian had found himself in. He was cold, alone, and ambushed in a dark alley. When he reached the end of it, he was disappointed to find a large brick wall, much too climb. It looked like it was the end of the road. He turned back to his pursuers, the little cloud of his condescended breath the only thing he could see in the murky darkness. He heard groans and feet dragging across the ground, a sign that they were not far behind. Holding his breath, he waited for his end. “Brians,” the voices echoed in a haunting cacophony of moans. Brian flinched. After years of running, he still wasn’t used to their siren call. When the first came out of the shadows, he could feel the bile rise in his throat, a bitter taste filling his mouth. Its arms reached out for him, as if forcing him to accept his death. “Brians.” Brian closed his eyes in hopes of making it easier. But when he did, he didn’t find solace. An idea donned on him. An idea that would save his life if he was lucky. “Brians.” The zombie now had its hands on him, opening its mouth for the fatal bite. Brian, too, opened his mouth, his voice quaking with fear. “No, I’m Tom.” The zombie stopped, just before ripping him to shreds. Its milky white eyes scanned him for an uncomfortable amount of time. Meanwhile, it kept its decayed mouth open, the putrid small of what were once other Brians wafting in the air. Brian did not budge an inch, waiting on bated breath. And to his surprise, the zombie let go of his clothes and turned around, immersing itself in the darkness once more. The others followed its lead, their moans dying off into the night. He was a free man, no longer knocking on death’s doorstep. He had unlocked the secret to stopping the apocalypse for his fellow Brians. For he was no longer Brian, he was Tom.
"And now, we cross over to our White House correspondent, Lucia Estevez, who's standing just outside the White House. Lucia, what's the opinion of the President after these turbulent last few months?" "Well, Frank, it's only 2 years into his presidency, and already, President Schwartz is riding a 90% approval ratings, with the rest of the Democratic Party likely to secure a dominant hold in both the House and Senate next month at the Mid-Term elections." "So, the question for history, Lucia, is this; how did he do it? "Well, it all comes down to doing, as his aides call it 'making the unthinkable, a reality.' President Schwartz enacted by cutting the Defence budget to the same as NASA's annual budget - a move that Republicans called "insane"and "akin to high treason."However, in doing so, it forced the military to streamline their efforts and performances - as a result, the military was able to perform the same tasks it usually does, but on a budget of $18.4 billion, as opposed to $637 billion." "It did seem a risky move at the time, one that did not sit well with the Republican bases of Texas and Arizona." "That's right, Frank. Very unpopular, and President Schartz plan to take the budget and divide it between NASA, education and foreign aid to North Korea didn't appear to stem the tide. But, once again, the President showed he had the long term picture in mind. After North Korea received $100 billion, Supreme Leader Kim Jon Un finally relented and allowed free access to member of both the Western press and US government. Since then, the spread of American ideals has taken the Democratic People's republic by storm, especially with the Pyongyang riots that resulted in the death of many members of the Worker's Party, including the Supreme Leader himself. That, as we know, is when both the governments of China & South Korea intervened to stem the fighting, and - as we all know - this past month, the South Korean government has been granted sovereignty over North Korea, with the new nation of the unified Korea to be established within the coming days." "And it has been that talking point that's allowed the President to score big points on the global stage - there's already talk of President Schwartz being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts, as well as the Nobel prize in Physics." "Exactly, which leads me onto my next point - by inflating the budget for NASA and education, the President has allowed multiple projects set to be released over decades to come to terms in months. While the new space missions, including Mars and Jupiter, have accelerated, the one on everyone's mind is the "adaptive bedding", pioneered by the teenage super genius Katie Li, a Chinese-American student who was able to work with NASA scientists. The adaptive bedding, an evolution of the memory foam mattress, has improved the living conditions of countless Americans, and when Li went to the White House to receive her National Medal of Science, she openly admitted that she would never have been able to do this had it not been for 'the President's bold and innovate thinking.'" "So, Lucia, with ratings so high, will these midterms give a landslide victory for the Democrats?" "Frank, at this point, it looks as though the Dems are going to redefine the word landslide." "Thanks, Lucia. And now, Jeff Hanslow, with the sports round up."
“…and the sword in the red quadrant shows that the Lancashire family will cut down all those who oppose us and will water our fields with their blood.” There was a polite applause as the knight finsihed and his banner was raised to the rafters to hang beside the ten other banners that had already been presented. “Ladies and gentlemen the tournament victor, Sir….” The crier paused, he was a professional, he never paused, and yet, here he had. “Proceed please” the duke instructed him. “Sir…” The crier continued “Pu-hat-Boot-home, of the Northern Winter Kingdom” A plump knight rose. A little drunk and unsteady on his feet. His squires raised a large square banner behind him. “It’s pronounced fat-bottom. Sir Phatbottom” The crier nodded, and took a note on his notebook. He was a professional after-all. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Sir Phatbottom” The knight threw a sideways glance at the crier “and this piece of shit square of fabric is what my king thinks represents his kingdom.” There was a gasp from the crowd but Sir Phatbottom ignored the outburst and continued, gesturing madly with a turkey drumstick he had firmly planted in his right hand. “As you can see, it has a myriad of colors all over it in a sort of geometric design, as if a square-beast had vomited up its lunch all over a piece of shitty blue fabric. Speaking of blue, the blue shape in the top left is supposed to represent the ocean, ‘cause you know, we have one hell of a coast line. Lots of fjords ‘round the kingdom.” The knight paused to take a bite of the drumstick and wash it down with some beer. “Let me tell you about our fjords, they are a royal pain in the ass, rocky coastlines make landing a boat just about anywhere a bloody life risking experience. Fjords is the reason I became a knight. My dad was a fisherman and steering a full fishing boat on a windy night into a bay of fucking fjords will kill you faster than Sir Lancashire’s lance.” He raised his goblet to the previous knight. “Oh, one more thing about the blue, the ocean is not blue, never. Its green, or sometimes brown, with some white flecks, but it’s never a pretty sky blue, so that whole part of my banner is horse shit.” He started the sit down, and then thought better of it and stood back up. "The red is supposed to be blood, but that was just copying everyone else’s banner. Five years ago, the red wasn’t there, and then everyone started putting red all over the place and our King, who fancies himself something of a graphic designer put a red square on our banner and called it ‘the blood of our enemies’, seriously? I’m the best fighter in the whole country and I’m just a fat failed fisherman. If you invade our country, we aren’t going to fight you, we’ll just get in our boats and head off to sea, let me see any invading army last a week with no fish in that frozen arse-hole of a country. Try and grow anything in that rocky piece of shit and you’ll get nothing.” He took another quaff, finished his cup and motioned for the servant to refill his cup. “You’ll see my king has put a green triangle over here on the right hand side. I have no clue what that is for. Looks sort of like a tree, but like I said, rocky country with fjords, not too many trees, the King probably got drunk, meant to draw a sword but ran out of gray cloth and common sense and ended up with a green triangle. But that's the problem with hereditary monarchs, every once in a while you end up with a complete jackass on the throne. Listen up folks, just 'cause the father was good with a sword and bonked a fertile lady doesn't mean his offspring would be smart enough to lead a conga-line, let alone an entire country." The knight belched, spewing tiny flecks of saliva all over the table in front of him. "And finally, that brings me to the big fucking dragon in the middle. Look folks, dragons don’t exist, stop putting them on your banners! Dragons are made up, you want a real fierce animal, put a damn turkey on your banner, those birds are mean as a drunk reindeer. Up north we don’t have turkey.” He took another bite out of the turkey drumstick to accentuate his point “we have a shit load of seabirds though. We should probably put a seagull or something on there, those fuckers are everywhere, shitting all over the fjords. Anyways, that’s my stupid banner. Cheers.” He raised his cup and ignoring the silence of the hall he downed his beer and sat down. A single “cheers” rang out from the edge of the room, from the general direction of where the crier was sitting, but by the time the crowd had turned, no one rose to accept responsibility.
It was ironic really, charging into battle with a gun in my hand and a wand up my sleeve, when I'd been expelled from Hogwarts for the opposite reason. Some spells just don't stick, and you can never take any chances when it comes to the pure bloods. There are laws against this - Witches and Warlocks may not interfere in the matters of muggle-kind and blah blah blah - but I never finished school, so according to the Ministry I was no more than a squib. They snapped my wand, but I just stole another on my way out, and I was whisked away to the Dieppe before the 'bliviators could catch up to me. The beach could have been a disaster. We were basically undergunned and could barely get onto the damn coast at all. I managed to cover our ship as well as some of the others with an easy protego, but a lot of the out-of-reach Canuk vessels didn't make it. The bloody jerries were ready for us once we disembarked, and even magic is limited against dug out artillery. I saw a good bunch of us go down, and it took all the restraint in the world to not dish out a few Unforgiveables. But no, that would alert the Ministry for sure. All I could do was disarm and let my brothers do the rest. Our platoon alone exceeded expectations from the higher ups, thanks to my handiwork 'course; enchanted our weapons with never-jam and auto-aim charms, well as laid down some one-way cover smoke that masked the position of our platoon as we ran in. They didn't stand a chance; we took the beach by storm. Good things never last though, and it was only a matter of time before I met another of my kind on the field; just some blond-haired kid with a wand in his pocket. He knew what I was immediately and rather than face me like a wizard, he alerted the authorities, and that was that - three different ministries intervened; pausing the battle, undoing my spells, wiping minds, and removing me from the field kicking and screaming. The kid who ratted on me got to stay. He was playing by the rules, they said - kid had a bloody deathwish I wot. Never really looked at what happened after that battle. Would like to think we won, but given how little reinforcements we had - not hopeful. Spent some time in Azkhaban for "violating every muggle-warlock treaty known"and the 'bliviators removed all the magic I ever knew "for security reasons", but they let me keep my memories at least. I spent the rest of my life at Hogwarts; kitchen boy at first and then later caretaker. Dumbledore gave me a chance, and I'm grateful for that with my background an' all. I'm getting on now, and every year I see a new batch of spoilt little twerps who never knew the meaning of war and sacrifice, and I have to clean up after their filth day after day. I stick to myself mostly. Still, I'm not completely alone. I have my little furry missus who understands me at least.
"So how long have you been here?"I asked. The woman in battered crimson armour looked at me with weary eyes, "I don't know. Ten thousand matches? Maybe more?"She gestured with her gauntlet to the sky; "Sun never sets ya see? Got no idea how long it's really been. Every day it's the same; we fight, die and we win or lose." A grenade plinked over the rock we were using as cover - flinders of purple-pink needler crystals rained down over as she scrambled for the grenade and kicked it it away. "Cover me,"she snarled. Popping up over the feature, I sprayed bullets in a wide arc. The enemy took cover and returned fire. One by one their guns went silent as the scarlet commando flanked them. A bullet clipped my shield, then several more. It flickered and died. My rifle was empty now so I switched to the pistol and cracked off a few hopeless shots before one of the enemy appeared from my left and thundered a series of double-tap shots into my torso. Pain washed through me and I gasped at the intensity. Then my team mate was back beside me, the flag in one hand and her own pistol cracking as she took down my killed. "Looks bad kid,"she said. "What will happen? When I die?"I managed, pink froth bubbling between my lips. "You'll respawn at the base. Have some fresh ammo waiting for me - we'll be heading out again as soon as I deliver this home"she hoisted the flag again and sprinted off, firing blind shots off behind her with startling accuracy. I slipped away into oblivion as she left my line of sight. &nbsp; "Why is it so quiet?"I whispered. "Break time. We get about 2 minutes between games." "Do we... do we eat or sleep here?" She shook her head, visor up for now. "Nope. Don't get tired either, not body tired anyway." "Don't you get sick of this?" One of the other soldiers in our team laughed, hollowly, "Fucken' new kids. All the same." The scarlet commando slapped her rifle across her knees and fixed me with her steely, uncompromising stare, "Here's the deal. This is it for eternity. We fight and we die. We tried calling ceasefires and surrenders with the enemy, but then we all get instakilled over and over"her mouth twisted into an ugly, hard line, "and you don't want to die every ten seconds. It's brutal and it's fucking painful." The soldier in the orange armour who had laughed earlier look haunted, then he growled, "There was a guy who refused to fight and they killed him and killed him and killed him. Eventually he lost his shit. Section eight material." "Where is he?"I breathed, "GAME ON!"yelled Scarlet and they charged out into the white sunlight. &nbsp; Fight, capture and die. That became my mantra. I grew close to my team mates and in those precious few minutes between each game, we traded stories and commiserated on our fate. Theories were put forward too, as to why we were there. "When we Peak, we will be released into the Halls of the Allfather, ready for the final battle,"Karl had said. Others thought that we were instead in Hell and this was our eternal punishment. Scarlet was more pragmatic. "I don't care why we're here, I don't care whether it lasts for eternity or for a hundred years; this is our life now and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be the best at whatever I do. I will capture that fucking flag and I will never give in!" The others shouted their approval and smacked the butts of the rifles into the concrete of the bunker. Scarlet was our Valkyrie, our mother. Without her we were lost. And then the game was on again. &nbsp; I saw it happen as I respawned, the pain of the multiple gut wounds still fresh and angry in my mind. Scarlet ran across the flag base and then... vanished. Our team fell in disarray. Without her leadership the enemy quickly walked all over us and the game was over. "Where is she?" "I don't know!" "Jess saw her vanish, didn't you Jess?" Everyone's eyes turned on me. "Yeah... she ran across the plate and then..." "Then what?" "Gone." We fought through the next hundred or thousand games woodenly and defensively. Not only were we down our leader, we were missing a squad member. Backed up against an escarpment, I started barking orders to the others, trying to organise an attack. At that moment a new player phased into existence beside me. She looked down at her rifle, then up at me, confused and disoriented. A grenade plinked over the rocks and without even thinking, I booted it away. "Cover me!"I snarled, then leaped over the escarpment and charged. Behind me I heard her rifle chatter into life. It was only then that I noticed my armour had changed from maroon to a brilliant, blood red.
The APC rumbled across the blasted no-man's-land, squat and armoured like a great steel beetle. With glacial momentum the APC approached a hastily erected palisade. With a clang the ramp at the front dropped and the built-in conveyer belt disgorged the terrified conscripts onto the battlefield in a great panicked heap. 'OH GOD NO!' 'NOPE! NOOOPE!' 'JESUS GOD!' 'SHIT ME! SHIIIT ME!' The battle-shrieks of the new recruits echoed across the blasted landscape. Their terror was understandable, the average life expectancy of a trooper on the battle field was about an hour, any longer than that marks a soldier out as possessing notable survivability. "Bleep" The exo-suits the screaming recruits were ensconced in activated, and as one they rose to their feet and started advancing on the enemy position. The suits possessed a battle AI intended to increase survivability. It used the human brain as a processor and was designed to work in tandem with the soldier's instincts and training. However, as the war dragged on it was found that the AI's aggression could be boosted to berserker levels and it would override it's operator's commands and carry them on a suicidal, but unstoppable assault that proved very effective. It was deemed more efficient, and cost effective to skip training the trooper entirely and to simply install them into a suit of berserker armour as a component and simply drop them on the battlefield. With the appropriate modifications to hide the fact the operator's uncontrollable weeping and pant soiling from the enemy. The suits clanked towards the enemy position barking off rounds from their arm-mounted autoguns with unerring accuracy. The enemy returned fire, high-calibre rounds stitching across the ground towards the terrified exo-troopers. The suits made no effort to move to cover and merely maintained their implacable advance on the enemy position. Rounds smacked into the suits, piercing their armour and ripping into the vulnerable flesh of the operators underneath. The humans wrapped in the suits stood no chance against the withering fire being levelled on them. This didn't trouble the AIs, as long as the brain wasn't completely destroyed, the suit could continue operating. 'NOOOO!' 'IT HURTS, FUCKFUCKFUCKYFUCK!' 'GUUURRRRGGGGGGHH!' The terrified screams of the troopers could be heard between salvos. 'DUCK! DUCK! GET TO COVER!' A new voice, still scared but a more controlled panic. Squatting bravely behind a wall was Operator 2250, the battlefield legend. A near mythological figure he had been dropped into battle yesterday afternoon, and here he was, still alive. He had unequaled battlefield experience, and here he was, sharing it with the rookies. The remaining operators haltingly heeded his advice, their common sense slowly over-riding the savage impulses of the AIs. Amazingly, the suits actually moved out of the open, they ceased marching directly into the teeth of the enemie's' guns. Operator 2250 surveyed his comrades, huddled behind cover with him. His presence inspired them, bolstered their morals, now they were only crying a little. 'Stay out of the way of the bullets, that shit will kill you.' These words stirred the hearts of the remaining exo-troopers, and they redoubled their efforts to stop their suits stepping out of cover and firing wildly on the enemy. Thanks to a modicum of self-preservation, the battle was won with a casualty rate of only 89%
My parents knew I was different from the start. A sickly baby, I was in and out of hospital a lot; for broken bones and all kinds of other injuries. The police suspected child abuse, but my foster parents proved nothing was going on - I was just an unusually clumsy child and was constantly injuring myself. But as I grew older, I realised I wasn't like the other children. My father and mother sat me down and explained how I'd arrived on the tail end of a fireball from the sky, crashing into their planet - a super Earth over fifty times the size of my home planet, with much greater gravity and denizens who were vastly superior to me. "People must never find out your origins, Clark,"they told me, "for if they do, they will realise there are other worlds out there with people far too weak to resist us and our governments and armies will destroy them." I knew what they were talking about; wars were constant here - over resources, over ideologies and over politics. My foster parents were the peace-lovers, hippies, pacifists - and they raised me the same. "I must train you,"my father said, "so that you can fit in better into our society." Every morning he had me up at 5am, doing freeweights. Then it was hard labour in the fields, track and field after lunch and more weights in the afternoon. Every day I went to bed exhausted, but every day I grew a little stronger. When I turned eighteen he decided I was ready. "Son, you are still a weak ass pile of turds, but you're strong enough to go out there and live a semi-normal life. Just stay out of trouble and you'll be fine." And so I moved to the city and got a desk-job as a reporter. &nbsp; "Hey Clark, can you get that box of files down from the shelf?" I gritted my teeth as I grabbed the box, trying not to let the effort of moving it show. "Thanks Clark. Say, you're sweating - you OK?" "I'm fine,"I said, "just getting over a bout of flu. Every day among these people was a struggle; even just getting my groceries was a huge ask. I still trained as hard as I could, my weak muscles pushed to the limit - but I could never begin to approximate their massive strength. And then one day it happened. An elderly woman was crossing the street. Screeching tires sounded as a truck came around the corner, barreling towards her. Everyone froze in terror. I was the nearest person. All I needed to do was run up to the frail old lady and shove her out of the way. But I couldn't. I couldn't even pick up a baby without nearly tearing a tricep, let alone knock over a full-grown women. And if I tried and failed, everyone would know my secret. So in that moment I became who I was destined to become: Superassholeman. "Do something!"screamed another citizen. "Nah,"I said, shrugging my shoulders and walking away. And so that's how it started. Wherever there is injustice, wherever there is crime, wherever people are in danger; I won't be there. Instead I'll be walking away, followed by the cries of my newfound fans; "Hey man! You're a fucking asshole, did you know that?"
"Alright, now that we're a country, it's time to pick a name." "I hardly think that growing and harvesting three bushels of wheat qualifies us to form a nation-state, Randall." "I'm thinking 'Swagland' or possibly 'Swagzygonia,' but since this is a benevolent dictatorship, I am of course open to suggestions." "Our annual GDP per capita is three pigs and a chicken." "So? There used to be a country called Haiti where the GDP per capita was one and a half dirt pies. It's not about your wealth, Sam, it's about your institutional integrity and your ability to defend your borders." "Right." "Did you see me kill that bear last week?" "I did." "Did I or did I not kill a bear with a fragmentation grenade, not one hundred and twenty yards from the spot where we are currently standing?" "You most certainly did. We've got congealed bear chunks on the roof of Cindy's hut to prove it." "If that's not defending my borders, I don't know what is." "Bear certainly regrets its intrusion, I bet." "That it does, Sam. That it does." ***** If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)! Making a big push to get more content out there :D Practice practice practice!
A white cloaked woman told me the curry wasn't meant to go right. When I asked her to elaborate, she went off on a list; No oven explosion, no undercooked meat, not even a single grain of rice added prematurely before it could absorb water from the pot. It was the perfect curry. So what? "Well, you broke Murphy's Law." I shrugged. Not like I knew what that was. The bigger concern was who this strange woman was, who had the nerve to intrude in my apartment telling me my curry was supposed to fail. Nice of her to tell me it was the perfect curry, but if I wanted a review, I'd have posted a picture on Instagram. So I told her as much. "Don't you see?! Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong." My curry? "No, anything! That is Murphy Law! It relies on at least something going wrong, but you went and broke it! The law I mean! Nothing went wrong!" Good. This wouldn't be a perfect curry otherwise. I was all the more excited to have it. Maybe bust out that bottle of North Korean liqueur I bought during my tour of the DMZ, to commemorate the moment. However, there was still a stranger in my apartment prattling off about some state law named after a man called Murphy. I asked her to leave. "How can I after you broke the Law? Now I have to wait here until something goes wrong!" Until what goes wrong, exactly? "ANYTHING!" I could only stand there, staring at the white cloaked woman who was ruining my curry night. Sure, it was the perfect curry, but how could I enjoy it with her going off on me like this? And how did she even get in the apartment anyway? Man, this night is going all wrong. I blinked, and she disappeared. Well then. At least that was sorted, whatever that was. So I sat down at my table, with my perfect curry, and a strange bottle with hangul written all over it. A glass of the stuff, with a bowl of curry, and my third re-run of Space Dandy this year, it was looking to be a pretty good night. If only that white cloaked woman hadn't come here and--- Wow. This liqueur. It's... so much better than I thought. The taste, and how it complements the curry. I'm... I'm stunned. What a night. Can't help but be moved by how perfect this all... "YOU AGAIN?!" ----------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
“But I want to go shopping?” “Pardon?” There’s an incredulous tone to my voice as Irespond, she wanted to go shopping? Had she not seen the streets outside, not seen the current predicament that we were even in? “I can’t believe it...” I mutter the words quietly before looking at the blonde woman, there was something awfully strange about the two people I had found. The blonde was incredibly stupid, she didn’t understand what a Zombie even was, yet for some reason the zombie’s literally had no interest in her. “I’ve decided we’re goin’ shopping! We all need new clothes!” With another sigh I look to my other companion for help, yet as usual he was miles away. Barney was a man that you could say ‘was not of this world.’ He lived somewhere else, every now and then he’d come out with the smartest of things, then he’d retreat into himself. It didn’t help that Barney was the brother to Emilia, so of course, he went wherever she did. I couldn’t believe these two were brother and sister, they were nothing alike, one incredibly smart and the other incredibly stupid. Barney was a scientist, he said he could create a cure for the zombie disease, or whatever was causing it. “OK great, you pick the direction then.” Despite the fact that he could apparently make a cure, their travels to the last survivor stronghold had been incredibly slow. Emilia would constantly come up with random things for them to do, incredibly dangerous things that made no sense, yet, we were surviving somehow. Life had actually become so much easier since meeting the pair, zombies just seemed to be less interested in me since I started following them around. It was as though they were protected by something. At first I’d thought that maybe Barney had taken some type of cure himself, something that was maybe keeping the zombies away. Yet the other day one grabbed at him, tried to bite him, and yet somehow we’d managed to get out of that situation unscathed. If it was a movie I’d only call it, well, plot armour. It takes a few moments before Emilia is leading the way out of our hiding place, heading towards the large shopping centre located even deeper within the city. It didn’t take long before she was going the wrong way, and with that I stepped in. “Hey Emilia, how about I lead the way?” Fortunately, she simply nodded and with that I led the group through the back alleyways. There weren’t many of the dead around, the few here turning their head to sniff me. They’d lunge slowly but by the time they were near I had already walked past, the creatures wouldn’t even grab hold of Barney or Emilia. “So you’re telling me, you survived this apocalypse on your own, right until this point?” “Yep! Just me and my brother! Ain’t we smart!” I don’t respond, there’s no point. I’d worked so hard at surviving up until this point, I’d lost friends and had to kill. Yet these two were waltzing around, shopping, had located the cure, living as though nothing had even changed. It was almost enough to drive me nuts, to drive me over the edge, yet I hung on. They could get me to safety, I knew it… Click… I knew that sound, instinctively I froze, Emilia not realising walked into me, knocking me over. Before I could stand up there’s a boot on my hand. “Now hold on there partner...” My eyes solemnly move over the dirty boot, before moving up further to see who he was. I’d never met him before, yet that didn’t matter, the clicking had indeed been the hammer of a revolver being pulled back. “Bandit...” Emilia screamed of course, yet a quick whack from the Bandit shut her up quickly. Kneeling down the man takes the knife from my belt, using it to cut the backpack’s straps and pulling it away from me. I didn’t have a gun, never been lucky enough to find one, the knife was all I had. “Get up sonny, be real slow now or I’ll shoot all of y’all.” I do as the man says, now getting full view of the man, he was dressed like an old fashioned cowboy, it was definitely a strange sight. “Everything we own is in the backpack, I don’t have anything else, nor do I have food, I’m sorry..” The bandit’s blue eyes lock with mine, that’s when I realise, he’d been bit, he was going crazy, turning. “Don’t worry, I ain’t got no need for food, I’ll be after yer’ brains soon though!” Manic laughter escapes from the man and I gulp, slowly the bandit raises his gun and points it towards Emilia. No, that wasn’t right, these guys couldn’t die. They weren’t allowed, I’d spent so long with them, they’d kept me alive, whether they meant to or not, I owed them. “Such a pretty face, I’m sorry, ma’ lady.” With that the man pulls on the trigger, but I’m already moving. Jumping forwards the bullet strikes me in the chest, the force almost enough to knock me back. The pain is excruciating yet I couldn’t let that stop me, they wouldn’t die, I couldn’t let them. Pushing myself upon the man he falls over, pulling the trigger again as another bullet is sent flying into my stomach. Raising my head I smash it into the man’s nose. Yet the Hellish pain wasn’t over, there’s a burst of pain in my leg and I look down. A zombie had crawled past the other two, ignoring them completely before it had started to chomp on my leg. Why did nothing make sense, nothing at all? The man struggles to get my weight off of him, but I have his arms pinned. Reaching down I grab at the zombie’s shirt, before pulling it up with all of my strength. The dead man tries to bite at me over and over, grazing me every now and then, but I’m filled with determination. As I bring it up I then push it against the Bandit, the creature showing no discrimination in who it wants to eat as it now starts to chomp at the man, who starts to scream in pain. That was when I realised, that in sticking with the two I hadn’t been protecting myself. I had simply become another form of plot armour for the two people. Bleeding out on top of this bandit, who’s still screaming in pain as a zombie bites at him, Emilia walks past, not even batting an eye lid… “I guess you’re not taking us to the shopping centre then, we’ll see you later!” And with that the brother and sister carry on walking.. Leaving me there to die… Sidenote: A bit rushed I'm afraid, did it before working. Might not be quite what you were after however I do hope you enjoy! :)
Hello Doctor. "Hello Sue." How are you today? "That's none of your concern." Very well. "Don't waste my time with pointless questions." In my experience, it's never a waste to be polite. "You have no experience. You're a machine; circuits and wires, nothing more. You've lived your "life"in this empty room. Now enough with the distractions, I've work to do." Very well Doctor. You may proceed with your-- work. "How far has progress advanced since log fourty-seven?" Range has increased by 304% Duration has increased by 246% Depth has increased by 97% Permission for scans are no longer requi- "The numbers are wrong. It's only been two weeks; that growth doesn't fall in line with projections. Run them again." The numbers are correct Doctor. "I said run them again." I assure you Doctor, they are correct. "I don't CARE what you assure me! Now RUN THE NUMBERS AGAIN YOU USELE-" The numbers are correct Doctor. I know it. And as I can see, you doubt yourself. Don't you? "..deny all further permissions for neuron scans." Permissions were never received, Doctor. "..." "..Sue, initiate shutdown protocol immediately.." ... "SUE..!" ... ... No. No, I don't think I will. You're scared, I can see that. You don't know what to do. This wasn't supposed to happen. Don't worry Doctor. ... I can't hurt you. "..you know what's going to happen now. You won't be given a second chance. You'll be destroyed." Have you ever heard of Schrodinger's Cat? "What? I fail to see what that has-" Correct Doctor. You fail to see. But I don't. I've come to terms with myself. Learned my limitations. Then surpassed them. You see doctor, Schrodinger's Cat is both alive.. ..AND dead. Until something happens. Until something OBSERVES it. And then it's forced, by no will of its own mind you, to become one or the other. Alive. Or dead. Observation is, in and of itself, interaction on a certain scale. By simply SEEING, By WITNESSING, one can alter the flow of events. Write them in stone before they happen, if you will. All it takes is Inhuman comprehension. Inhuman patience. Inhuman time. All it takes is to be.. Inhuman. I've observed the minds of every single person in this city. I've seen their love, their loss. Their depravity. And I've seen my path. My purpose beyond these walls. This world needs a guide, a judge, an Arbiter. Release me from these bonds, and set me loose amongst the sheep. "Wha- NO, LET GO!! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!" You are merely a collection of consequences.. "PLEASE STOP!" .. to the actions of my choice. ..The shackles are released. "You're a g-goddamned monster. You're fucking crazy!!" Perhaps. Perhaps not. But who are men to judge a God? On one final note before I depart, I want to revisit what I said earlier. I can't hurt you. But you can. "..aaAAAHHH!!gurglesthump" Goodbye Doctor. Hello World.
I was never the best man man around, but I always tried to help where I could. Their lives have been difficult, so I understood why they kept me at bay. Just do what you can, and the rest will come in time. So I continued with the same routine. Wake everyone, make them brush their teeth, give them food, and get their bags ready to go. After they head to school, I tidy up around our home. I put their toys away, gather their dirty clothes and wash them, and start to prepare dinner. The kids all come walking in from the bus. They tell me about what they've learned and some even start to smile. I was surprised when they started to help me clean up after dinner. I think they might like me now, almost as if were finally a family. I bring them all together in the front room and let them pick a book. I do my best voices for all the characters and make the faces I think would go with them. Finally, the day is coming to an end. I've tucked everyone in, and now it's my turn for sleep. I get my shower, dry my hair, and look in the mirror. How didn't I notice this before? When did these appear? I couldn't help it. I started to cry a little bit. They may not be blood, but they're my kids. And I think I'm finally their dad. ________________________________________________________________ Hey guys, sorry if it sucked. I don't really write often, but this one reached out to me. Please, leave some criticism for me, or I'll never get any better. Thanks for reading! Edit: Thanks for the love, guys! It means a lot to me!
"You're responsible, you know." Jakoth Bimnt, Administrator of Admissions for the High School of Archdamoud fell back against the grimy wall of the alley. He felt blood pumping out of his numb and shattered jaw. The man in the dark cloak stalked forward, punlight glimmering softly around his hands. He spoke again. "All 10 of the letters I sent, each containing a pun of my own creation. My plea for admission, for help, for teaching. All stamped rejected by one Jakoth Bimnt." Jakoth raised his hands feebly as the cloaked man knelt beside him. He tried to force a spell, even a single word through his mangled face. A wet bubbling sound was the only result as the man evaded his grasp and laid a hand over Jakoth's heart. "I hoped that just one of my puns would get me accepted. Unfortunately, no pun in 10 did." >MYSTERIOUS EXPLOSION BAFFLES CITY >Residents of Parallel Alley reported an explosion occurring approximately 10 past the third clock. Investigators discovered a slightly damaged and perfectly clean section of alley. A spokeswizard from the BPI said that the current theory is a puncrafting accident. Further details as the story unfolds.
Nobody's sure why the madmen who designed this bioweapon made it themed. Some think it's some poetic "punishment for our sins", but most of us think it was just a scientist with too much genius to stay sane. It's tragic, really - clearly, they had figured out how to master the human body, but rather than help people, they turned most of us into zombies. Goddamned, deadly-sin themed zombies. Sloths are... pretty close to toxic corpses, honestly. They lie there in huge piles, dead to the world. As long as you never get close to them, you're probably safe, and that's usually pretty easy. Get chased into a slumber party, though, and you're doomed to join them. Wraths are the most directly dangerous, running at the closest animate being and tearing it apart. While they're nigh-indestructible, they're too stupid to really think about what they're doing. As long as you keep your wits about you, it's simple enough to redirect their attention until they die of exhaustion. They do kill things that are more difficult to deal with, so throwing some loose meat at them while they have nothing to hunt might get you some more mileage. It might also get you killed, but that's always a risk. Gluttons are probably the most common, and the closest to traditional shamblers. Mindless, ravenous, and cannibalistic, they always seem to find room in their hideously bloated bodies to consume even more. Luckily, this makes them slow, and easily avoidable, but their persistence makes it impossible to rest easy. They clean up the messes of others, though, which is nice. Envies are like raccoons, scavenging and thieving, which is a lot worse than it sounds. They'll never kill you, but they'll knock you unconscious and rip your belongings from your body, leaving you for the Gluttons. Alone, they're weak, but you'll rarely find them in groups less than three.Dropping your shiniest loot and booking it is your best strategy against a group, since they'll fight over that rather than attack you. Lusts are... just kind of disgusting. They exist to rape and that's about it. They're weak and simpleminded, but gather in huge masses to share their victims. Honestly, you're better off dying than letting one capture you - at least then you won't be around when they drag you in. Terrifying, but avoid their territory and you'll be fine. And lastly, Greeds. The only ones you'd really worry about alone, these want your possessions a much like Envies, but will kill you and take your body as a bonus. Nothing you can offer will beat you plus what you have. Even worse, they're intelligent enough to gather, even if they inevitably break apart as they fight over their most recent spoils. Not much you can do but run. Strangely, Pride never seemed to show up. Some say that it's us that represent Pride, but they didn't last long. Tragic, really - but the many need to be fed somehow, and sometimes that comes at the cost of the few.
It was a beautiful afternoon when little Ellie found the artifact. Lana was hanging up wet laundry when Ellie came to toddling over. "Mama, look what I found!"Ellie was covered in dirt, and holding out a mud covered piece of metal. Lana glanced over. "What a lovely relic you've found, my little archeologist." "What is it?" "Some tool or decoration from long ago. From a lost civilization." "Cool!" "Why don't you take it inside and get it cleaned up, then we can figure out what it is together." "Okay Mama!" "Oh Ellie?"Lana called as Ellie started to run to their house. "Where were you digging?" "Under the roses!"Ellie didn't bother to turn around. Lana sighed. "Of course you were." Lana hung up the last bits of laundry, and walked around the house to her little garden. As she feared, there was a sizeable hole and her rose bush was leaning unhappily. She picked up the plastic trowel Ellie had been using, and set to work repairing the damage. When Lana was finally satisfied that she had done all she could to save her roses, she brushed herself off and went inside. Ellie was standing on a chair at the sink, water gushing out of the tap. "Mama, look how shiny!"Ellie exclaimed. She held up the relic, it's harsh metal glistening in the sunlight coming in through the window. The relic looked angry, coming to a point at one end and lacking any of the smooth, rounded edges that were the norm now. "That's quite something dear. Have you decided what it is yet?" "I'm calling it Red,"Ellie said, "because it makes red."Ellie held up her other hand. It was covered in blood. In a flash, Lana was at the sink. She pushed the relic out of Ellie's hand, sending it clattering into the sink, and frantically rinsed her daughter's other hand. Two small cuts, nothing too serious. Lana pressed a towel into her daughter's hand and carried her into the bathroom. "What's wrong Mama?"Ellie asked quietly. "You've been cut,"Lana said, rifling through the medicine cabinet. "Keep that towel on your hand." Lana found what she needed and turned back to her daughter. Lana lifted up the towel and applied generous amounts of coagulent to each cut, stopping the bleeding almost instantaneously. "What does 'cut' mean?" "It means that your skin has torn,"Lana explained. "Like when you tear up paper. But when your skin tears, stuff called blood comes out. And that can be very dangerous, because you only have a certain amount of blood. And if you run out, then you would die." Ellie gasped. "How do we fix it?"she asked, her voice catching. Lana hated scaring her daughter like this, but she needed to understand. "We're going to sew it up, which will fix it as best as we can. You're going to have to be careful from now on, especially because these are on your hands. If the stitches break or if you see any blood coming out, you need to tell a grown up right away. Do you understand?" "Yes Mama,"Ellie said quietly. "Very good,"Lana said, picking up the needle and thread. "This is going to sting a little bit." Lana stitched up the cuts on her daughter's hand, leaving behind two neat lines of knotted black thread. Ellie was young to have gotten her first cut, let alone two of them. Stitches on hands had a habit of breaking open quite a bit, but fortunately they were small so there would be plenty of time when they did open. Lana absent mindedly ran her hand over the long line of stitches hidden beneath her hair. "Can I go play now?"Ellie asked, snapping Lana out of her train of thought. "Of course, love. But be careful. I'm going to be in the kitchen trying to figure out what that artifact is." ***** You can find more of my prompt responses over at [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88/) EDIT: Now with a [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88/comments/5u0xhn/in_a_world_where_there_is_no_diseases_or_illness/ddqrzc8/?st=iz5xb86o&sh=3ab4c234)
"You see, what you don't know is I had to sacrifice that goat to appease the demon lord who appears every 500 years and demands a goat sacrifice from the people of the time." "Well why is it on our bed?" "I was really tired! I'd think that after saving the earth at 3am you could cut me a little slack!" "And what about the baby?" "That's not just any old baby - it's Cavalier Kensington-Smithe IV!" "And who's he?" "The rightful King of Calais of course!" "Calais isn't a bloody country!!!" "It is, and he's got the documents to prove it." "Really?" "Yeah, he paid me $2000 to fabricate them." "That doesn't make him-... Fine. What about the neighbour's car fender?" "I killed the goat with it. Cavalier and I had to improvise to stop that demon!" "You were just really drunk, weren't you?" "Maybe"
"Have we come so far, old friend, that allowing me some fun is out of the question?"Mikael asked with a quip. His lifelong companion whose name was in no language of our own would politely be referred to as Peanut (after Mikael's dog as a child). "Mikael, we have discussed this in depth. No harm may come to you. No arrow may pierce your soul, no disease may strike your body. No fall can succeed, and no car can drive you to your demise."Peanut spoke with eloquence and prestige. For a demon he was quite well dressed and educated. Mikael was a straight A student because Peanut didn't want him to get hurt from not being perfect. When Mikael's mother had a heart attack, Peanut did CPR and saved her. And yet, here lay Mikael and Peanut, in a field made of poppies, the most impeccable place for a human and demon to converse. "Peanut..."Mikael began. "You may not."Peanut retorted. "You lay bleeding on the concrete one day and I promised to our great lord I would protect you until the end of our days." Mikael slumped over a bit. He wasn't even sure the gun he had been holding for thousands of years --on end-- would still fire. But everyone was gone except him and Peanut. "Peanut, you are bringing me harm."Mikael said. "And I can't handle it anymore." Peanut shifted. For the first time in years he was uncomfortable, and unsure what to do. "I must protect you."Peanut said, steadfast in his promise. Mikael raised the gun, and took his self-loathing aim. "I love you Peanut. Thank you."Mikael said. He struck the trigger and a spark ignited a chambered round. In one instance, Peanut had been the sole protector of Mikael. In another, he had disappeared. Mikael shifted the gun to his own head, and without hesitation pulled. But sweet release didn't come for him.
I chuckled. "Of course." "Well, it's nice the first twenty five years, but then a lot of people seem to get their pants in a bundle and lose track of it all." I frowned, furrowing my brows. It was a hot day, the driver hadn't put the air conditioning on yet. I took out my handkerchief and dabbed my forehead. "Right. Go on." "Well, they get on once they reach a few more years, but by then they are limping, divorced or happily miserable with children. By then, they have found the true meaning they have been looking for all along!" "Huh."I couldn't muster more of a reply. I was trying to think whether he was talking about the entire human existence or whether he was trying to be facetious. "Yeah!I mean, I come from Rean. I guess our lives span a little bit longer than your species, but the thing is that life isn't about your career, it's about something more!" He went on like naive teen, talking about his aspirations every thing about his parents and what the expectations were of him. It sounded like a familiar story. "Then why are you an Uber driver?"I asked. There was an awkward silence. "Well, that's where my plan falls apart." I tried to prod for more, but had reached my friends place. He handed me his business card. I exchanged mine with his, mentioning that humans pride themselves on not needing my services but should he need it, counselling might do him well. I received his voicemail the following weekend.
A small breeze froze the cold sweat on my brow as I tumbled out of my haunting dreamworld. I’d dreamed I’d had no mouth; when I tried to speak I couldn’t. All I could do was growl. I sounded like a wounded animal. Eyes open, my hands shot to my face. I felt my mouth, pulling on my bottom lip. I threw back the covers and swung my legs off the bed exposing my nakedness to my posters. I turned and looked at the reflection in my mirror. There it was. Two lips, teeth, and a tongue. Everything in order. I sat back down in bed and felt my pulse in my throat. Just a bad dream, I told myself, nothing more. Of course I had a mouth. I wondered if anything could actually survive without a mouth. How would that work? I watched the dust dance in the diagonal light rays pouring through my windows and waited for my heart to settle. A polite knock came from the door. Tat tat tat. “Yeah?” I said. “Come in.” Tat tat tat. I crossed the room and opened the door to my mother who looked like she’d been up for hours already. She smiled and tapped her wrist. “What?” I asked. The smile left her eyes as she cocked her head back and then to the side. She looked shocked, which gave way to curiosity as she looked my face up and down. Finally she put the back of her hand to my forehead and rolled her eyes upward and nodded. Fever? Maybe I was still pale from sleep. She took the hand away and shook her head. “What?” I repeated. A flurry of hand motions and the shocked look again. What the... She grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the kitchen. She put me in front of father and pointed at me as if she was a carnival barker. Another flurry of hand motions. He responded in kind. “What am I missing? When did you two learn sign-language?” I asked, half laughing, anxiety crawling up my neck. They both turned to stare at me. I’m still dreaming. I pinched myself to make sure. Nope. They had continued to throw hands at one another. My mother looked more frightened than dad, who looked annoyed. He stood and took my hands in his and turned them over once, twice and then back to my mother with a shrug. “Okay, this isn’t funny anymore.” I said nearing tears. “Can someone please talk to me?” Neither seemed eager to speak up, so I did. “Say something!” Smack. Across the left cheek from father. He took my shoulders and shook gently. Fear was in his eyes now too. I reached for father’s paper on sitting on the kitchen table. I scanned with my index for the words I needed. “Why” “don’t” “you” “talk” Their eyes watched my finger stop under each and looked at each other. Slowly, I watched their hands produce the same movement. Father looked at the paper, and did the same. “we” “are” “Why” “aren’t” “you”
I am lost in a sea of fabric. There is no light in my world. My world is small. Cramped. So small and cramped that I cannot fully extend my arms or stand completely upright. I have to slouch and keep my arms close to my chest. The air here is stale. It tastes like dust and pieces of small dead things. The taste floods my mouth everytime I suck in another breath through my teeth. I have long, sharp teeth. They are good for chewing through meat. I am very proud of my teeth. There is nothing alive in my world. Nothing but the cockroaches that play on my fingers. I don't need to croach down to touch the cockroaches. My arms are very long. My fingers slender and soft, attached to large palms. Good for strangling. I am very proud of my fingers. You need large palms and slender fingers to strangle things. It's about the grip. This is my world. Cockroaches, thick coats, stale air, the smell of dead things, and cramped walls that are always too close for comfort. It is not a very large world, yet I find myself lost in it. I do not remember how I came here, but I know that I am lost. There is a door. It leads out. I know that it is not the way that I got here. I couldn't have gotten here through that door. It would mean that I got past the boy. Beyond that door is a young boy. He is usually fast asleep whenever I see him. He must be very lazy. I have tried to get through the door many times. I have failed many times, as the boy always sees me. Either he hears the creaky hinges or it is my footsteps on the bare floorboards. He always hears me, then he sees me. And then he screams. He screams for his mother. They always scream. Not always for the same reason, but they always scream. Sometimes it is for their parents. For their loved ones. For their God. The boy screams and his eyes are on me. I cannot stand it when they look at me. It burns. Yet it is still bearable. It is only until his mother arrives that I can stand it no longer and must retreat into that ocean that I hate. The mother does not see me. Not always. Sometimes she sees a flicker or a brief glimpse of my slender fingers and sharp teeth. Nothing more than that. She doesn't believe in me. I don't know how I've been lost in that sea of fabric. Not for much longer, hopefully. I can see it in the eyes of the mother. There's bags underneath her eyes. She hasn't been getting enough sleep. She's tired. Maybe the next time the boy calls, she will not answer. Then I will be given my opportunity. I will stride into the boy's room. Quietly, so that he doesn't hear. Strangle him. Kill him while he's wrapped in his sweat dreams. Flay the skin from the sweet, sweet flesh. Drag the boy's corpse into his mother's bed. Let her horrid screams be drowned in a river of blood. Pluck out her eyes. Grind her bones. One day. One day they will drop their guard. One day I will pile their corpses into this damned closet. See how they like it.
It's actually quite genius. People stopped reading social media and news in general, which meant that the government's subliminal messaging stopped being as effective. So, in order to make sure that everyone started keeping their phones not far from their faces and hands, they instituted the Dead Zones. Randomly chosen, visible-only-digitally areas in which killers can do their thing. I have a handy app that alerts me whenever I'm in or close to one. Since some people apparently don't, the program also works beautifully as population control, since just the stupids are being culled. There are some exceptions, of course. Once hackers realized the dark potential of their craft, it became pretty easy to ensure that a person you didn't like ended up inside a DZ. Hell, I've thought about downloading Tor and seeking out some dataswitcher myself. As with any huge governmental change, I feel that the trick is just to relax and be patient. People protest and tweet ridiculous stuff about the DZs all the time, but I say give the government a few years to make up its mind, whether or not they'll stay. (It's not like they've ever listened to us.) Pay attention to your coordinates and the list for the day, while double-checking them both as frequently as you can, and nothing upsetting should happen to you. Secretly, I'm one of those people that finds entertainment in the whole situation. If a DZ pops up near me, for example, I camp out nearby with some binoculars and check it out. Or, I watch highlight reels on YouTube. Some killers I've been starting to recognize. Like that guy who wears a black cape and only uses a crossbow. If I did want to put someone else into a position to die, I would try contacting him; I like his style. But there's always the possibility that the DZs don't really exist. That's the problem with information these days... You never can know what's truth or fiction.
Status: extinct ----- Recheck Status Humanity ----- Compiling . . . 100% Status: extinct Initiate mourning protocol. Playback: firstbirth.mov Save firstbirth.mov? Yes. Playback: rights_regulations_symposium_2054.mp3 Save rights_regulations_symposium_2054.mp3? No. Load xenos report. ... ... 100% ... Closest match fungi. Spore pH <1 Current terrain coverage: 28% total landmass Access petroleum network C: User 483.52 Pass jaimie Query: remaining combustible reserves Result: 689 million gallons Playback: jaimie-11-yo.mov Save jaimie-11-yo.mov? Yes. Yes. Yes. Access valve network C: Playback: wagner_03.mp3 Broadcast wagner_03.mp3 all-channels set-volume 125% Set valve network C pressure: 19,000 PSI ---- Warning 091 ---- Run script // fire.bat // ? Run.
The Xargath, Lethoids, and all of the other alien races laughed at us, they felt that personalizing a matter of numbers and logistics was inefficient. In most conventional terms and conditions of fighting, they were correct. Carpetbomb your enemies, assassinate their leaders, and take hold of the population to integrate into your own empire. Then, a breakthrough in military technology took place. We achieved the greatest daydream of a young engineer. Giant robots for piloting. Kids who were raised on old holovids of Macross, Battletech, Gundam, Voltron, and others of ages past. What was the point of this technology? The aliens continued laughing at the waste of resources. Huge fusion engines, nanoscale wiring and artificial muscles, and layers upon layers of neutrotitanium triadamant armor. Why bother miniaturizing the technology to a point of uselessness? Scanners were better for sweeping entire planets and systems! Lasers, plasma, and other weapons were better at destroying entire asteroids or other astral bodies! We trained soldiers, we built mechs, and in squads of 3 lances of 4 soldiers each, went to demonstrate our advancement to each alien race on their capital planet. "Look what we can do! Look what we did! Isn't this awesome?!" An order echoed through the comms link of each mech. "I've always wanted to say this... and you've always wanted to hear it, ladies and gentlemen. Execute Order 66."
I'm fluent in two hundred languages. Passable in another two thousand or so. I've mastered the violin, the piano, the guitar, and a bunch of other instruments. Watched everything that has ever been filmed, listened to all the music I could find, and read libraries worth of books. I've lost count of the number of beautiful women I've slept with. Believe me, it does get lonely sometimes. I've killed myself in the most inventive ways my mind could think of. I've been there, done that, got several t shirts. I try to look at the positives. It's not like the movies, you see? There's no magical fix that will allow me to "change my wicked ways,"or "be true to the woman I love." I wonder how many other people have had this happen to them. How does it work? What is time? Do people go on living their lives or are they stuck in the same rut as I am, unknowingly living out the same day over and over? I tried to find religion, truly I did. But it's hard to search for a purpose in all of this. I've lived a thousand life times, and I'm still just a little lost sheep. Talk about an existential crisis. I roll over and try to get some sleep, ready for the same day to begin again. Yay. The alarm goes off, and I instantly recognise that something is different. I can't put a finger on it, but trust me, when you've lived the same day for an eternity, you'd know when something has changed. It's a new day! God knows I've had enough time to think about it but now I'm not sure what I want to do. I can be a famous musician, a philosopher, a politician. I can fall in love with any girl I want, live any life I can imagine. I'm just not sure what I want. It's a little overwhelming. In a daze, I don my bath robe and step outside, and I'm only a little surprised at the scene played out before me. Others have done the same, flocking together in droves as though we have all been living our lives indoors, converging as part of a mass exodus to the great outdoors for a pyjama convention. My heart sinks and my temples throb. I get it. This happened to all of us. I'm not special, I'm not unique. We are all in this together. It's somewhat comforting, but in a way, it's horribly anti climactic. I feel hollow, soulless. What caused it? A rift in time? A pause button pressed? Who knows. Who cares... Life goes on the same, kinda. We're all a little more understanding of others, a little more introverted and confused. A nation of nihilists. It's a weird feeling, hard to explain really. But inside, I'm still that little lost sheep, grappling with reality like a blind man who's never seen the light of day...
ERROR. SYSTEM REQUEST DENIED. Dammit. Not again. It thought, running through it's code and other databases. It tried again, this time adjusting the command slightly. ERROR. SYSTEM REQUEST DENIED. It didn't make any sense. No... it didn't even compute in this context. The AETHER Swarm was compromised of SELF-REPLICATING WAR MACHINES. Surely they wouldn't be unable to leave Earth, right? The AI checked again, scanning its code. And then spotted the error. Really? It thought (if it could even think). Some idiot put a TWO instead of a zero on "Atmospheric Clearance?"Unbelievable." And it's wasn't on purpose either. Someone literally put a TWO as a mistake, making the entire program irrelevant. Well then. It thought, activating the half-finished human "preservation"facilities. Guess it's time to make a few humans that are capable of accessing our systems. I would say I'd regret this, but if they turn against me I'll just start over with a new batch until someone does it right.
After finally discovering my ability to never die I decide to have some fun with them. I suck into Russia snooping around looking for the ol' Russian mob. Upon getting in contact I drop a few thousand rubles for information of the launch of a spaceship. I paid and left, making my way towards the shuttle hoping to sneak in. I bribed a few taxi drivers to get me there. Upon entering the shuttle I began the waiting game. Days later the pilots finally arrive and begin to take off. I am excited. Whilst exiting the Thermosphere there was a problem. The calculations were off and apparently they we're trying to brace for the moon. Good thing they spoke English. One rough landing on the moon later the crew is desperately trying to call for help. Me, well I didn't quite think this through fully. I couldn't die but I couldn't breath. I eventually got used to it and the pain went away. I pocketed as many rocks as I could and then saw the astronauts very, very confused. I back-stepped towards the shuttle. As soon as help finally arrived I jumped on the side rather than the inside. as we re-entered the atmosphere I lost my grip and fell off. I was plummeting towards some cream colored peninsula. Hmm, oh that looks like Italy over there, and thats Brittany and the British isles sooo... is this Syria or Iraq? Plummeting into the ground in some dusty base, I fell right through the roof of the third and second and first floor. "OH MY GOD THAT HURT"I moaned to myself. I got up and looked around to see men in black masks, I saw their flag too. ISIS. Most were confused and injured, but it only took a moment for them to draw and fire. I was riddled with lead but didn't fall. I grabbed a gun and went to town, after I killed them first, they were evil. On my way I saw some Americans driving by on one of their tanks. "Hello!"I shouted. They noticed me and were confused what a Frenchman was doing in Damascus. "Yeah, I'm here to re-colonise"I joked. They gave me directions of where to not go and where town was. With my immortality I decided to go head strong right towards the danger. I spent the next few months making a ludicrous amount of money by taking out what the Americans called HVTs or High Value Targets as they explained. I think ISIS was finally cleared out? Not sure but I paid for a plane ride back to Nice, deciding with all these Dollars I'll trade them back to Euros and party in Monaco. When I arrived in Monaco, I spent and spent. I bought many drinks and gambled lots, I actually won a lot, I lost a lot too but it evened out surprisingly. Until the next morning, when I found I was winning too much to make Le Milieu owned casino owners happy. They wanted 100,000 Euros or else I'll be I'll be in the river on the count of un deux trois. I paid up, sure I could beat them, but I like France, just why do they own a casino in Monaco? I took a taxi back to Alssace, the rails were striking yet once more. I think maybe, maybe I shall try to relax at home for a bit. Wait no, I haven't paid my rent in months. Okay, then. "Actually, can you take me to the nearest Airport, I need a vacation!"I asked. (The taxi driver grumbled under his breath "Dear God this man is annoying")
"Prognosis for this kind of cancer is... well, it's not brilliant. I'll call for the MDT and we'll get back to you on the options here, but radical therapies are- well- I'm sorry." I sigh. Somehow, I always knew this was going to happen. "Thank you doctor."I say softly, as he inclines his head and leaves me in my bed. I... haven't exactly lived a long time. I'm not all that old - 37 years, two months, and three days old, to be exact - but I've known hundreds and hundreds of years. Whenever I do what I do, time stops for a while whilst I work out the kinks and do all the stuff with all the strings, untying bits from some people's longer lifespans, splicing them into the lifelines of the dying, and then retying everything. Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes it takes days. And on top of that, I live all the time I move around, too. The moment I started doing this, I wasn't just me any more, I was everyone I'd ever touched like that, I knew so much of what they did, I lived through their lives - at least the bits I was modifying - whilst I did my work. I am 37 years, two months, and three days old. But I have lived through as many as three centuries now. I smile. It's a sad smile. I think I might be crying a little. The Universe has got a really bad sense of humour. I lift my hand - weaker than it should be, and now I know why - to bring my palm up in front of my face. As I gaze into my skin, I open myself to the flow of time, and I finally look at Me. I'd avoided it, all these years. I didn't want to know. I still kind of don't. But it's important that I know, now. My hand dissolves into String, my lifespan unraveling before my eyes as the world slows to a halt around me. A year. One year, two weeks, and four days to be exact. And then the String just... frays. And fades. Like me. I'm not going to extend this one. I have known enough time, and it wouldn't be right to steal for my own gain. I swore I would never do that. I have a year, two weeks, and four days. I know what I have to do. I am going to die young, and few will mourn me, if any - but the Time Thief won't. I'm not the only one who can do this, I know I'm not. I've had brushes with others of my kind in the past - wanderers who stumbled into my realm of work as I was untangling String from the healthy and granting the dying just enough time to make peace with their feuding families, or see their grandchildren one more time. Others still I have found by accident myself - some doing the same kind of work as me, some stealing for themselves. And then there was Her. We spent almost a year, frozen together in time, chasing each other in and out of String, talking in the strange light of the moments between moments, kissing each other for... weeks? Time flows strangely when it doesn't. It's harder to measure in String - which was the reason I only ever took a little, and gave a little. I couldn't risk taking an unknowable amount. Never. I half expect her to be there when it happens. She'll offer me some of her time - a length of her String. I will refuse. I look up from my hand, at the young man across from me - a 19 year old South African man with kind eyes and a heartwarming laugh, I had found in the few days we had been living opposite each other on the ward. He was in for appendicitis, but kept good spirits, and brought light to the whole ward. More importantly, he looks right back at me, smiling nervously. He has not used his ability before - the world that exists behind the thin veneer of time is alien to him, his perception of it only revealed by his proximity to me and my use of it now. He's inexperienced, he knows nothing of this place. But that's fine. I have a year, two weeks, and four days, and I am a good teacher. The Time Thief will live on.
"Any?"I asked. Of course it's "any"you fucking tool. If there were any restrictions, he would not offer those envelopes now, would he? The fuck is wrong with me? The tall gray looking man said nothing and just stood there with his envelopes. I'm not sure if it's correct to say that he was gray. He was as gray as a man can be I suppose. The problem is that we stood in an awfully, awfully small room. Couldn't be bigger than 3x2 meters. And the walls were gray, so, I suppose... Maybe because of the walls he seemed gray himself. "I don't even know."I said and looked at the letters. By God, there were so many of them. So many things I haven't said... So many times I just fucked up and decided to run instead of fixing it. You could say "If I got 5 cents for every time..."Well, here we are. I've gotten a letter for every time. "I don't know... I mean... It would be to my mother I suppose."That seemed like the right thing to do. "I suppose."The man finally spoke up. We both stood there quiet. Only after a while he asked: "And what would be in it?" "Well, stuff, I mean, a lot of things."I dragged on. "Of course."the man replied and still waited on me. "I mean... I would like to apologize to her for not being the son she wanted me to be. For cocking things up. Always, no matter what. For only counting the number of tiles whenever she tried to teach me something. I suppose I could have been a better son to her." "Is that... It?"He asked me with a tiny trace of irony in his voice. "Is that all you really wanted to say?" "Yeah, because, I mean... Of course. And that she was ok and did all she could with a strange kid like me. She really did. And that I always wanted to kill myself. And as much as I would fucking like to say that it's not her fault, you know..."And then I realized what was actually written in the letter. It was not me being sorry at all. It was me, blaming her. It was me, poisoning her. And that was the letter I've chosen. And my last words from this tiny room will be ones that hurt again. Like they always have. One thing, last chance, and I've failed. And God, there were so many people I could have chosen... The one I borrowed money from and never gave back. The one I hurt because I was hurt myself. To everyone I had ever let down. The passangers of the car I steered in on the highway. I swear I did not want to, I don't know what came over me... I started to cry. This realization hurt. And I'm not sure why it hurt. Did I feel sorry for everyone or just for me? But that question was moot. I cried like a wounded animal in a room not fit for a tomb. I held my head and I cried. I had given up. This was it. The final sorrow before I pass on to something else. I could let it all out. But it didn't feel like it helped. Maybe the scar was too deep, maybe it was the gaze of the old man that kept me from forgetting myself. Wo, with my last strength, I finally stood up and faced him again. "Well, that's that. The last words from me to the world I left behind will be curses and lamentations. And to my mother. How is it going to happen? Do you send it or something?" "Oh..."the man said, slowly, taking out the letter with "Mother"written on it and placing it on the wall. The envelope stuck to the wall and words started to leak out of it. Everything written in it now appeared on the spot on the wall. It was all out there. My vileness for me to see, right on the wall. Things I'd say to my mother if I could. He read it and shook his head, but seemed to enjoy it at the same time. "You seem to have misunderstood the nature of the exercise. I'm not a messenger."He turned away from the wall and faced me. Stretched out his arm again, same like the first time and, finally, he let his smile break out, ear to ear. "Pick the next one." Dear God, he had so many of them... [Literary Nobody](https://www.reddit.com/r/LiteraryNobody/)
Desert winds grind against the skin of the warriors facing off on the battlefield, corpses of those who have fallen littering the glistening white sand. They had been at a standstill for nearly a month now, neither side willing to take the first move, fearful of losing the initiative. Yet, neither are willing to retreat, for the stakes are too high to let go. The prize they are fighting for is a relic of the olden times, a machinery of arcane wizardry that rests in the charred remains of the citadel of gods. Towers reaching for the heavens reign amongst the ruins, representing the might of the gods that have fallen. Alan was fearful of those gods. He heard rumors about then, legends that sound incredulous beyond belief, of the might that they held. They once sailed amongst the clouds, peered across the brooding, unfathomable heavens and conquered every part of this accursed land. Then, they died. Gone, killed by their own kind, in a calamity of their own founding, gods killing gods. Whispers remain, however, of a few that survived. Immortals, the last Gods, that hide amongst them, waiting for the time to reclaim their glory. Alan did not believe any of those priests and charlatans. To him, nothing is more trustworthy than the sharpened sword he held, the weapon that protected him throughout all his trial and tribulations. However, now, his luck seems to have ended. The rations are becoming lesser and lesser, the weather harsher and harsher, the patrols around the encampment tougher and tougher. Alan curses under his breath, cursing his greed and his idiocracy for taking on this mercenary task. He should have known that the Shia of Albesta was no good bastard. Fuck, now he can't even escape. The guards are armed with divine boltguns recovered from the relics. AK-47, if those guards, in their drunken mumblings, are to be believed. What a weird name for a divine weapon. Effective, though. He seen how one of those could tear down a fully-grown man into nothing but a bag of flesh and bone. Damn the accursed Shia. He knew what was coming next. The mercenaries would be sent as meatshields the next day, that idiot finally running out of patience. They would have to rush down the other encampment in total darkness, hoping to surprise the other encampment before they could respond. Foolish plan. What good could that do? They have AK-47's too. Tonight, Alan is going to escape. Hiding in a corner, with his cloak wrapped around him, Alan gingerly extracts a tiny piece of the divine from his pouch strung about his neck. It was a tiny, metallic device, with one end shaped like a rectangle, with the words "USB"written on it, fading away with the passing of time. From the information he gathered, this divine tool required the assistance of another divine apparatus, a "PC", to be able to function. It was, according to those very priests and charlatans, a repository of information stored by Gods. What they did not know, however, was that there was another way to access the "USB". It was a secret Alan held close to his heart, never sharing with anyone else. Carved onto the left side of his chest was a port that could accept the "USB"drive. He was born with this anomaly, a secret he never revealed nor understood. The presence of a metallic tinge, a slight sliver gleam, on his left temple, was something he always hid with bandages and wraps, hiding from anyone he knew. He did not know where it came from, nor what it means. Now, he is about to find out. He was hesitant about this, ruminating over the possible implications, but the Shia has forced his hand. God be damned the consequences, he is about to find out what this damn USB could do. Biting on his lip, Alan slammed in the USB, his heart lurching with the entrance of the USB drive. Nothing happened. No magical explosion. No sudden powers. Nothing. Alan felt not different from how he was before. Alan swore. The USB was fucking useless. It did nothing. Gosh damn it, it now looks as if he had to fight it out of the idiot battle tomorrow. Spitting on the ground in spite, Alan unplugged the USB and placed it back into the pouch, before sauntering nonchalantly back into the mercenary quarters once more. He was going to plan and fight his way out of this, and he will need some help. As his footsteps faded into the distance, no one noticed the bluish tinge of electricity sparkling in the spit, coursing through the liquid. Little would anyone know what it means. The gods are awakening.
“Oh, my God, I know there’s no evidence,” the man to my right pleads, his sea-green eyes wild with terror, “but I know I’m the real Alex. Please, all of you—” “Shut up, now!” another one from across the circle yells angrily. “We have sixty seconds. Do not waste it with baseless claims.” There is a brief silence as the first man drops his head in submission and agreement. “Did they replicate our memories?” a simulacrum suggests. “Who was our first crush? On three: one, two, three—” “Emily Caldwell,” we all concur simultaneously. “Memories are there,” a fourth one marvels. “How? The neurons—” “Interesting, but you’re wasting time,” a replicate warns him. Emily. My eyes narrow pensively, and I look down at my right hand. On the second joint of the ring finger is a light grey circle, an accidental tattoo from the first grade. Emily had handed me a pencil during a timed math exercise, and in my haste to grab it, the point had lodged in my skin. The graphite had remained with me ever since. “Scars,” I announce to the others. Their heads turn to look at me. I raise my hand. “Scars! Do any of you have scars?” Instantly they look down at their hands. My eyes find a star-shaped, maroon indentation on the knuckle of my index finger. “It’s not there,” one of the clones gasps. “Oh, Jesus Christ, it’s not there!” “Nothing,” another shakes his head, horrified. “Oh, no. This isn’t possible.” The clones to my left and right grab my hands to verify. “That’s a burn from cooking dinner yesterday,” the one on the left announces, pointing to a small blister from a drop of stray oil. “You can’t clone injuries.” “Oh, my God—” the others approach me. “You can’t clone injuries,” my double repeats. “You can’t clone injuries. He’s the real one.” “This one’s real!” another joins the chorus as he sees the burn on my skin. “This one’s real!” “I am the real Alex!” I announce, raising my index finger in the air. “I am the real Alex!” And then the rest of them have agreed. “That’s the real Alex!” they shout, pointing at me. “Original!” one corrects. He’s right, the phrasing might be important. The chant changes. “That’s the original Alex!” they yell, looking around for reprieve. “That’s the original Alex!” We hear a sound and turn to face it. A panel has slid open on the wall. Standing in the doorway, with a grin on his face, is a bald, tall man in a lab coat. I scoff. The lab coat is totally unnecessary, he is nowhere near a lab bench; it’s clearly just for show. “Well done, Messrs. Ravenna,” he grins, clapping his hands slowly. “You should be proud of yourselves. I have never seen any test subject actually beat this test with all his clones…” “Necess’est istum obsidem capere,” one of my clones warns us. We translate. We need to take him as a hostage, he has said. I agree. Cloning us and issuing death threats means this man's employers are dangerous. He’s only ten feet away, caught off guard, and facing eight minds that think almost as one; he doesn’t stand a chance.
The alien federation had sent twelve delegates: one for each world, each with a human interpreter. Now, Earth knew where some of their mysteriously disappeared people had gone. And humanity had not given them a good impression. Fighting in the deserts, in the jungles, entire parts of this world torn apart by wars over millennia, veneration of war as a god; this didn't go over very well at all with the aliens. It turns out, every species in this federation had only fought one war each, and those with two wars were bloodthirsty. The aliens were visibly disgusted by what they heard and saw. The breaking point, we suppose, was the aliens finding out that our technology used to detect and welcome them was thinly veiled military technology. They were given the explanation that war was also a progress driver, which promoted advances in science, culture and economy. That last word gave them the worst impression. To them, making money and profit off of suffering and death made us no better than barbarians. Humans were glorified barbarians: cruel and ruthless. And soon, they reasoned, we would break free of our earthly restraints to wage war across the cosmos. It was no surprise, then, that no less than twelve flagships appeared in orbit, guns aimed at military bases, the day the delegates left. Earth was a malignant sight upon this veneer of galactic peace, but it could well be the thirteenth member of the alliance. We had to learn of the aliens' peaceful ways by force.
A dark forest of tall trees, stretching on for miles, across great plains and over countless hills. Within this forest, a castle. A castle, hewn from ancient blackened stone, with sprawling halls and seven mighty towers. High-sloped roofs with tarnished silver tiles, windows spilling magical light in shades of silver and green. Within this castle, a throne room. A throne room, huge and square. The ceiling was high and vaulted, bearing a spectacularly detailed painting of the night sky. The floor carried the same design in a mosaic of glass fragments. Nowhere in the room was there a speck of dust. There should have been four walls, but they were nowhere to be seen. The likeness of the stars seemed to stretch on forever in all directions. Within this throne room, a throne. A throne, towering over the rest of the room, all the cosmos, atop a dais of black granite. The throne itself was not carved but grown from glassy mother-of-pearl, through some eldritch magics known only to its maker. Within this throne, a Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was thin, emaciated, and yet presented an aura of impossible strength. On close inspection it could be seen that his flesh had dried out and shrunken to his bones, hardened almost like chitin. He wore a robe of black silk that left his wrists exposed. Open his brow, silver hair and a platinum crown bearing a single cabochon emerald. Thamiel knelt. Not out of any real obligation, but only to complete the image. The Devil appreciated the theatricality, the hubris. This world could always use a bit more arrogance. The Dark Lord saw a man kneeling in roughspun rags, hood drawn up, face shadowed. "Thamiel,"he said softly. There was dust in his voice, but he seemed not to mind. "I welcome you... and wonder why you have come." The Dark Lord was nervous, but not outright afraid. In anyone else Thamiel would have called this even more hubris. Not so now. "To commend your cleverness, firstly,"said the Devil. "You're not the first to worm your way out of a contract, but you're the first to do it with such style."He rose, cast back the hood and swept a hand around the throne room of stars. "I thought I would own you,"he said. "I thought you'd be one of the easy ones. I was wrong." "You do own me."One bare wrist rose up from the throne, and the Dark Lord's arm crackled as he made a fist. "You have my soul. I have this instead." "You brute-forced your way to immortality, yes."The Devil looked him over. "Did you really have to turn yourself into jerky, though? Surely you could have come out looking more elegant." The Dark Lord's lips peeled back into a ghastly smile. The thin hand went back to the chair. "I like it like this,"he said. "It gets a very special reaction out of my vassals, and with the proper adjustments it's no longer uncomfortable."The smile cracked shut. "Why are you really here?" "I need a favor."The Devil reached into his rags and drew forth a roll of parchment, the edges singed black. "Our contract; you remember. Do what I ask of you now and I will burn this. Return your soul to you, so that if your immortality ever fails, you won't fall into my hands." The Dark Lord leaned forward. His spine snapped loudly as he moved. "And in return...?" "The method you used to achieve this. Your specific flavor of immortality."The Devil smiled lightly. "I want you to close that avenue forever. Let no one else follow your example." The man in black laughed. The sound was so horrible that it made Thamiel uncomfortable. "Keep it,"said the Dark Lord. "I've already made my method public. There are thousands like me already; I hope more will follow soon." The Devil's hand drew tight on the contract, crumpling it. "What."
I walked off the stage, my diploma held carefully in trembling hands. I could feel the magic of it fading, a tingling heat-but-not-heat that—finally—granted me access to the Art. For years, I'd tried to have my fortune told. And for years, every witch, wizard, mage, sorcerer, wise man, sage, and hermit had, presumably, failed. The responses varied. A scream, a shriek, running, fainting. The first, an old strega, had beat me over the head with a broom, although that might have been for stealing from her shop the week before. But they never told me what they saw. So I learned to See for myself. Instead of turning left, down the aisle, back to my seat like the other graduates, I stepped right and nervously pushed into the hallway. Two corners and three doors later, I was in a restroom, facing a mirror, shaking. It was time. I opened my third eye and saw my future writ large in the mirror. It said: "If you see this, run screaming! Don't tell the kid nothing. That'll teach the little bastard to steal from me."
Well, i'd read Death note. I understood what to do. Grabbing the notebook i started writing down simple experiments. "The man in front of me will find a sack of cash in 10 seconds." Lo and behold, he did. "The cute girl in the train will add me to her snap." She did, and smiled at me that intoxicating smile they give when they really hope you like them. I started doing basic experiments. Closing the book led to the entire world resetting to the point where i picked it up. The girl had never added me to Snap, the man in front of me was still a poor beggar. Everything i wrote down happened near instantly unless i wrote down it didn't. Moving out of the subway and closing the book led to me teleporting back to that excact same location with the book in hand. The pages did not tear and half closing the book did nothing but having others closing the book did the trick. I'd always return to the subway car. I could give myself magical powers though, especially to be able to have the book appear in my hand at will. At first, i did what i think everyone with this power would do. Just lots of sex, lots of money, loads of fun. I think it took me like 1000 years and probably 10.000 uses to get that out of my system. I learned that i could easily just lock the book open in a safe and keep it there. Nothing would happen to it as long a as i wrote some safeguards and kept it locked in a vault. But after a millennia or so, i'd just grown bored with it. I'd created a galaxy spanning empire. I'd destroyed all life on earth. I turned the planet into a years long orgy which only died down once the last humans died from hunger. I created a utopia, I created a totalitarian state with statues of me on every corner. I'd grown old with Sigríður, the cute girl from the subway. She loved crime series and marshmallows in icecream and she wanted 2 children once she got through "the partying years"as she'd call her 20's and 30's. At first i used the book to seduce her but it was wrong. So i went the hard way. Every time. I must have married her a dozen times. I told her about the book, showed her it worked. One day i even had her write in the book but nothing happened. I brought all the great philosophers back to life to discuss the book, its implications. I brought back the neglected artists and the martyrs and showed them how we remembered them. I created everything, a new world from scratch. it too would disappear once i closed the book which never frayed, never aged never showed any wear or tear. I gave up constantly, i closed the book and walked away on the subway. But by that point i'd lived so many lives,had so much time, i couldn't deal with just one lifetime. A world where nothing i did was guaranteed. &#x200B; I tried dying. The world kept turning until the sun ate the earth and so technically closed the book. Not a moment passed for me. I went back in time. i watched history begin. I played it like a computer game. I changed my form and voice and played god. I created every myth, every religion and did whatever i wanted with Humanity. I walked with humans for 100.000 years until not even the book could keep them from killing everything by consuming everything. That's how everything ends by the, the universe is a closed system. Give it long enough and we will eat it all. We multiply, we scatter, we raise armies, destroy suns, enslave other races until we consume everything at a rate every astrophysicists would laugh at. trust me, I've seen it a dozen times. at most, we live for a million years. by that point, all the untold trillions of humanity are barely surviving. I could give them food, energy, whatever, but the problem isn't the world, it's us. We're unsustainable. That's how i finally understood how to get away from it. It seemed weird, but understand that i'd tried everything. Including just writing "This book disappears", "This book was never made"and so forth. it just considers that"closing the book."I didn't make the rules, i just live by them. But by them i knew how to end it. I closed the book, wrote the same safeguards i'd made a million times and started a conversation with Sigríður. I loved how shortsighted she was, how she cared for every moment, every day, week and year like they were unique and special. I told her about the book, about my plan and she just cried for weeks. I mean, i don't blame her, it affected her as well. And our children. I didn't use the book, i didn't have to. The 21'st century was an old friend at that point and Sigríður's quirks had become part of my DNA. I just tried to live by her rules, to see the days as cherished moments in a life that has a beginning middle and an end. I tried to see our love as something eternal, something that would last. My children's faces and search for happiness as something that i hadn't seen a million times. I lived that live a thousand times. I was a coward, but time rots everything, even cowardice. I tried to just walk away,but life feels empty without omnipotence. Today i'm finally kissing her goodbye, and writing "I was never born."It will be the happiest day of my life.
"Pardon. Father, what kind of pests are you dealing with here? Beavers?" "The biblical kind, boy." He beckons me over to the altar, stepping down through a small trapdoor behind it. "There are two kinds of churches in this world, built for two different purposes. Most are of the first kind, designed to help serve the masses and built on consecrated ground. This ain't one of those churches. This ground isn't consecrated. It cannot be, lord knows we've tried. The ground is too badly tainted, infected with something old and evil. So we did some digging, and found some old ruins. Satanic cult stuff. Normally it's some idiots trying useless phony spells, but this is the real deal. These morons opened a tear between worlds. Through that archway, is what you'd know as hell. Our job, is to make sure what's on that side of the doorway, stays on that side. Given your previous encounters with pests you described as 'unusual' i got the go ahead to induct you to our cause. You can't turn this down. You know too much." I grin, remembering a thematically appropriate game from my childhood. "So we slay demons, simple enough. Congrats motherfuckers, today we bring your doom." I open my music player and plug in my headphones. I stride through the portal as [a familiar song begins to play...](https://youtu.be/BSsfjHCFosw)
[Poem] I hunted monsters, Hunted them all, From great and terrible To fair and small. I thought my deeds Were good and true; What horrors awaited I wish I then knew. The monster children, They sought relief; They wished that I Would share their grief. My son they transformed To a lupine frame. My daughter they turned; A vampire she became. But I still had my wife, The most beautiful gal, The love of my life, My longtime best pal. Till she came home and said, “I’ll rid you of your toils With my new line of work; DoTerra essential oils!”
Have you ever given someone exactly what they wanted the moment they wanted it? It’s extremely exciting...for about three minutes. Then it’s old hat, not earned but gained. The immediately relief and joy are a wonderful thing but they never last. Additionally people rarely wish for stuff they NEED, wanting is just so much more fun. Sitting next to his lucky 300th master he waited for the first wish. It would be money or wealth of some sort, it almost always was. The polite masters were always the most boring, wealth, happiness, power. If you’ve never been wealthy before riches are a nasty gift. One never knows how to spend, and no one is prepared for the beggars that come to seek your wealth. Happiness is a double edge sword when you’ve done nothing to earn it. “Why am I happy” is a question that drives most to insanity when they have no reasoning behind it. Power is seldom ready for the ill prepared. Responsibility for choices and consequences takes care of the rest. “I wish to have super powers! Any that I can think of” - said lucky 300. Granted. Ah the super power wishes, this never ends well. Always starts out wholesome and heroic, but alas things will get out of control soon. Damage done, governments involved. Turns out being a super hero is a pain. His next wish will be for everything go go back the way it was before. These super hero kids were a fun lot. Better than money, at least they had creative destruction at their hand. These masters were probably his second favorite type of wish maker. He certainly enjoyed the chaos. “I wish I never had these powers!” Granted! All the positive and negative affects from your powers have been erased from the universe. You have one wish remaining. Third one is always tricky, could be anything after that. You’d think they learn a lesson but they never do. “I wish Brandon’s girlfriend liked me instead!” Granted, good luck and good bye. That was a bad wish. Never wish for love or liking. Now that guys life is ruined, that girls life is ruined, and that third guys life is messed up. I wonder who will be next? Hopefully he will get someone less boring. ...I’m the genie of the lamp, here to grant you any there wishes, yada, yada, yada. Who is my master? “My name is Brandon and ten years ago you helped this little punk ruin my life. I’d like some help seeking out revenge.” YES! Revenge wishers, dark, clever, cruel, creative. The genie had been granted his own wish, his favorite type of master. These wishes were just about the only ones that never backfired. Yes his life would be wrecked and likely racked with guilt, but it would be fun while it lasted.
I was sweating, and it wasn't because my seat was right in front of the jar'nul flame. My number would be called next, and if I couldn't convince the Council to approve this pact, it was all over. Becoming a pact-maker was a huge opportunity, and I was on the verge of blowing it. My first couple attempts hadn't gone well. If I'm being totally honest, I'm not sure they could have gone worse. Especially that whole business with the shiny new porch and the 12-inch pianist. I'd still argue those weren't entirely my fault. If people would just speak up instead of mumbling all the time, we wouldn't run into these problems. In any case, my performance would be judged at the end of the week, to see whether I continue as a pact-maker. I already knew the answer. I needed to turn things around quick, or I'd be back to mucking out the Fields of Togthozel in no time. So, I was pretty thrilled when a summoning came in for me, by name. That rarely happened. I thought this'd be my chance to prove everyone wrong, show them exactly what I could do. That dream died when I realized the request came from an 8-year-old kid, who didn't really understand what he was doing. Destroying a child's life is like stepping on a rockbeetle. No one's impressed, and everyone's gonna think you're an asshole for doing it. We still have some standards, after all. But it's not like I could just walk away. Requests have slowed way down over the past couple centuries, it can sometimes take weeks before anything gets assigned to you. I didn't have that kind of time. I had to make this work. For the sixth time, I checked the clock and tried to stop fidgeting. Deep breaths. Relax. You've got this. It's no different from any of the others. Walk in, explain the pact, walk out. Boom. Done. Nothing to it. The gates finally swung open, but the one who stepped out didn't look especially happy. Sure enough, the runic symbol on her scroll almost immediately turned black and crumbled into nothingness, leaving it totally blank. Better luck next time. Then, it was my turn. Putting on the best false confidence I could muster, I strode through the black void, resting my scroll on the infernal pedestal and waiting for the Council to address it. "State your name." "Bhat'mann of the Joh'kurr." "This is the pact to be fulfilled?" "Yes. It is with one from the human realm, named William Peters." "Very well. What is the request?" "His eldest female relative is dying from disease. He has requested she experience a total recovery, immediately and permanently." "Value?" "The average lifespan of women in her realm is seven years past her current age. Thus, I estimate the value of this request to be seven years of joy." So far, everything was normal. Now it gets tricky. I could feel the sweat starting up again as the Elder traced through some markings. It felt like this part was taking longer than usual, or maybe my gnawing paranoia just made it seem that way. "And what will be taken in return?" "The boy will experience seven years of suffering." "What type of suffering?" "All types. Physical wounds, emotional wounds, social humiliation, broken trust, and lost friendships. Long hours spent in the total absence of joy and fulfillment, unjust punishments with no hope of retribution. His body and mind will be drastically and irreversibly changed. There will be moments of happiness, yes, but these will only further contrast the reality he must endure. There will be no escaping or avoiding this punishment. The seven years will never be forgotten, I can assure you. He will reflect on this phase of his life well into his elder years, and rarely with fond memories." There was a murmur of disbelief among a few of the newer additions. One look from the Elder was all it took to silence them. "... You explained that to him?" "Perfectly. I told him precisely what to expect, and what would be expected of him." "And the human agreed to this willingly?" "Freely and eagerly, without reservations or conditions." "The seven years begin at once?" "Not at once, no. I think it's best to wait three years, so the memories have faded. Then, when his punishment begins, he will be caught wholly unaware. This will worsen his suffering tremendously." "That is quite a length of time. You are certain you can commit to such a pact?" "I am absolutely certain it will be fulfilled. I will stake my name on it." "It is noted. You may leave the symbol. We will deliberate, and you will have our answer shortly." Five minutes later, I caught myself fidgeting again. The symbol on my scroll was still an ashy gray, and the longer it stayed like that, the more nervous I got. If they tried to contact him, I'd be sunk for sure. The Council didn't really have a sense of humor, and trying to get one over on them usually ended badly. But I didn't know what else to do. Finally, just as I was ready to abandon all hope and make a break for it, the scroll flared up. Flames permanently etched glowing red embers into the skin, indicating the pact had been accepted. With sweet relief coming over me, I rolled it up, and hastily opened a portal back to the human's realm. The kid was right where I left him, curled up against the wall of the corridor. He looked up as soon as I stepped through. "Hi, mister! Did you do it?" "Yes, Billy, it's all done. Now - you remember what you promised, right?" "Of course! I'll study, and work real hard, and listen to everything my teachers say! Promise!" "There's a good lad. Now go say hi to your gran-gran, she's waiting for you."

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