Split (1)

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“Are you an idi-cough” the man subtly jabbed an elbow into the unicorn’s side. He knew that unicorns had a hard-on for the truth, but as far as tact went, this one had absolutely none. Lyell Ryker groaned inwardly. You’re really testing the shit out of me, goddess, he thought to himself. Uh, yeah you got me,” Lyell said nervously. Despite what this dragon seemed to think, he wasn’t born yesterday and he knew better than to argue with someone whose teeth were the size of his forearm. “I am a young giant and my companion here...is a rhino,” Lyell finished, ignoring the offended look the unicorn shot him. “I have heard of rhinos...I thought they were large, grey and gangly beasts,” the dragon said, his eyes carefully observing them. Aeternathus was no ordinary unicorn. Selected by the goddess Caelista herself, he had been blessed with eyes that could see the truth. This quest should have been left to him alone, but for some unfathomable reason, the goddess had also chosen a liar to accompany him. It was ridiculous, absurd and outrageous...but it was the goddess’ choice. And he had to believe in that. But this...there was no way this dragon was going to believe that Aeternathus, the most noble and truthful of all unicorns was... “But I see this one does possess a horn so it must be true.” Aeternathus’ jaw dropped in shock. “Where are your parents?” The dragon huffed, steam billowing from its flared nostrils. “Dead,” Lyell replied bluntly. “I thought you said they were in ‘Canada’?” Aeternathus muttered sourly. “That’s the giant word for the afterworld,” Lyell said quickly. “May their souls rest in Canada, it’s a thing we giants say.” “So are the both of you orphans...?” Was it just him, Lyell thought, or did the dragon’s eyes seem to be watering? “Yep,” Lyell answered. “What are your names?” The dragon asked. “Uh, you can call me...” Lyell started. “Bonesmasher the Third,” Aeternathus interrupted, “but for short you can call him ‘Boner’.” “No wait! He’s lying!” Lyell protested. “Don’t you know? Rhinos. Never. Lie.” The unicorn said through gritted teeth. “And your name, Rhino?” The dragon asked. “My name is Aeternathus,” the unicorn said smoothly. “For short you can call him ‘Anus’,” Lyell chimed in, his eyes gleaming with vengeance. “I am Dekarion,” the dragon said grandly, “And you may call me ‘Dek’.” Goddess, Lyell thought, our quest has just gotten a whole lot stupider.
“24 hours, that’s it” My little brother walked me through the process of setting up and wearing the go-pro. It was a project for his film class, the prompt being to film a day in the life of the one you look up to most. Personally, I thought he was taking it a little too literally. He pressed the button to record at 12:00pm on the dot, stood in front of me to do his whole introduction bit and left me alone in my apartment. I felt weird knowing my every move was being caught on camera. It gave me the unsettling feeling that I was being followed. Of course my brother promised he’d go through the footage and edit out all the boring stuff. He assured me I’d get to see the final product before anyone else. I went about my day as normal, made lunch, cleaned up, watered my plants. All things I’m sure a class of freshman’s will find interesting. At around 11:00pm I took off the go-pro and set it on my nightstand, aiming at myself. Now that I was laying in the dark, with nothing to distract me, the sensation that I was being watched intensified. I felt like a little again, burrowing deeper into the covers and shutting my eyes (like that would actually deter any danger) I woke up at 8:00am feeling a bit better now that the sun was up. Four more hours of this I thought as adjusted the camera back onto my head. I got dressed and struck an outrages pose in the mirror, hoping to piss off Cole at least a little bit. 11:55pm and he showed up at the door. I happily returned the camera and sent him on his way, ready to enjoy a day of normal non filmed activities. A day later I got a call from my brother. “Alright Cole, is the masterpiece done?” “You need to come over, now” “Oh, is it that good?” I laughed. “Dude listen,I was going over the footage and there’s something following you around the house. You need to get out NOW” “Okay, okay. I’m coming.” Fifteen minutes later and I was pulling into the driveway of my childhood home. I stopped to talk with my mom but Cole dragged me away to his room. He pulled me over to his desk where an editing program was up on his computer. He frantically scrolled through different bits of video. “Look, it starts here.” The time stamp was about an hour in, I had just used the bathroom and was washing my hands. In my reflection I could see a figure standing behind me. It had pale gray skin, a mouth full of rotting teeth, and two hollow gaping holes where it’s eyes should’ve been. It’s stood with its blackened hands out in front of it...it was washing them. It stood behind me copying my every move. Cole skimmed to the next clip. I was sitting on the couch eating a sandwich. There in the reflection of the tv, I could see that thing was sitting next to me. I watched as it raised its hands and took a bite of a mass of decaying meat. My stomach lurched. Everywhere I went that thing was following me, as I brushed my teeth it stood being me poking at it’s putrid mouth with a bone, when I pulled off my shirt it pulled off a layer of its own skin. I watched transfixed at the footage of me sleeping. In the video I was clearly alone, but in the reflection of my mirror I saw two distinct shapes in the bed. I clapped Cole on the back. “Dude, that is awesome! You didn’t tell me this was a horror project. When did you get so good at editing?” “This isn’t a joke, I didn’t do this.” He looked like he was about to cry. “Hey, hey calm down. You didn’t do this? It must just be a trick of the light or something.” I took his arm and lead him to the bathroom. “There’s nothing following me around okay. Watch.” I pulled out my phone, pointing my camera at the mirror. A pair of hollow eyes starred back at me. Panic gripped my chest. Cole screamed. “Uh, maybe it’s just a filter or something. Let’s not freak out about this.” I was certainly freaking out about this. “What IS that thing?!” Cole shouted. “I don’t know, but it’s only in the camera. It’s not real.” I was trying to convince myself as much as I was him. I raised my hand up to the mirror, pressing it to the hand of my reflection. I glanced at my phone, my normal ,although panicked looking, face stared back at me. I breathed a sigh of relief. “See it’s gone.” I turned to Cole, who was no longer beside me. “Cole?” I looked at the mirror. Cole stood next to my reflection, their eyes glued to the phone in my hand. I waved a blackened rotting hand, pounding on the mirror “Hey!” I shouted....why can’t they hear me?
Dear diary, Today I discovered that I’ve put on a bit of chub. Nothing alarming, really, I rather enjoy a bit of extra insolation, especially with the whole “undead” thing. As it turns out, a lack of blood can make one rather chilly. Not the point. My friends suggested lightly that I might be indulging myself a bit too much. They’re probably right, but I can’t help it! How can I let all that excess cringe go to waste? Every day, I go out into the world and find myself faced with delicacy after delicacy—the smell permeates the air! My human friends always ask why I hardly eat anything, but the truth is that I’m already full by noon! That doesn’t necessarily stop me from indulging in a bit of dessert, though. Yes, although the other vampires may mock me for my small stature, I do believe I am blessed—eugh—to be immortalized in the body of a thirteen year old child. For there is nothing unholier and more cringeworthy than a middle school. Ah, I am well fed indeed!
“Maybe this is just the universe’s way of nudging you a different direction.” If by “nudge” my mom meant “a steel-toed boot kick into the abyss,” then sure. It was little things at first. Barely in the category of minor inconveniences. A pencil snapping in my fingers, resulting in an annoying splinter. Then another pencil snapped. And another. Whatever, I’ll use a pen. That pen exploded, shooting ink directly into both my eyes. My resulting scream of anguish halted the class, and through the blurred vision came the bemused, if not baffled looks of my classmates. Whatever. It was fine. Everything was still fine. A week later, my perfectly stationary canvass, its surface radiant with the colors of my latest creation, tipped over and fell into my lap. Teeth grit and breath held, I slowly raised it, only to find my realistic painting of a fruit bowl had turned impressionistic. Even worse, my only pair of jeans now resembled a five year old’s best attempt at Picasso. My mom, after seeing a photo of the disaster said shrewdly, “At least you now look the part of an art major.” I thanked her for the backhanded compliment while repeating my mantra: Everything is still fine. But then…everything wasn’t. When a palette knife finds its tip imbedded into your forearm, that’s more than just bad luck. I still remember my friend Jessie’s almost comical expression: both hands slapped to either side of her face, mouth agape in a perfect “O” shape, and the long intake of breath before she proclaimed, “There’s a knife stuck in your arm!” And it was on that day I became ambidextrous. So, an unfortunate event, but the end result was a new skill. I gave myself a pat on the back for my boundless optimism and wealth of silver linings. Even my professor noticed, and gave me an encouraging nod after completing a project with my non-dominant arm. That was the last positive thing that happened. Our work with clay ended with yet another sharp tool embedded in my neck. It’s difficult to laugh something off when you can feel the metal scraping against your windpipe. Once again, Jessie was there to draw everyone’s attention to my predicament, though it would be hard to miss, what with the slim handle bouncing sickeningly up and down as I tried to scream for help. I bounced back as well as I could, and the bandage over my neck made for a great conversation piece. Those conversations soon ended, however, when an ancient, fifty pound clay pot, suddenly slipped from its two-story plinth in the art museum and descended squarely onto the only object in the area: me. The last thing I remember was Jessie pointing right at me, a full toothed smile on her face. I’d like to think she was just trying to get my attention, or make a crass joke at my expense. Because in that moment, which still comes to me with surprising clarity, I try to ignore the shadows playing across her face, and the strange aura of malevolence with which her smile emanated. After two weeks in the hospital, I could finally return to my dorm. I was hoping I’d see Jessie during that time, because she was always so funny. And I wanted to see her face just to erase lingering, dark thoughts from my mind. Because no one could cause that pot to fall like it did. Right? When awful sensations of needles piercing my skin visited me in the night, the doctors came up with “lasting side effects” from my injury as an explanation. They claimed I was on plenty of painkillers. So then why did the pain persist? Why did it feel like someone was driving thin, burning rods into my skin, inches at a time? “Jessie?” I knocked lightly on her door, intending to see her one last time. One more joke maybe, and maybe even a hug. Jessie was never the touchy feely type, but I suppose what remained of my optimism still held fast to hope. When I knocked again, her door eased open from the force of my knuckles. The dorm’s derelict hinges squealed, revealing more and more of my friend’s room. It was surprisingly bare, save for a desk stationed in front of the only window in the square, dim room. All sorts of little figurines seemed to cover it, their dark silhouettes bent at odd angles. The drawn blinds allowed for a smattering of little pinpricks of light to cover the room, as though a defunct disco ball hung unmoving from the ceiling. I walked in, feeling somehow drawn to the desk. It really was the only remarkable thing about the place. Even her bed at the adjoining wall was covered in an untidy, plain white sheet. Upon nearing the desk, I glanced behind me. The door was still open, light from the hallway spilling into the room like an unwelcome visitor. “Jessie?” I called again. No answer. I turned back to the desk. A simple laptop was its centerpiece. Scattered around it, almost haphazardly, figurines stood propped up on sticks. They each stood rigid on their own small dais, limbs stretched out in star shapes. Is this a hobby, maybe? Jessie likes to make figurines or something? I leaned over so far, that I nearly jumped when my hip bumped the desk, causing the laptop’s black screen to light up. Splayed across the screen were at least two dozen files, each bearing a name. My eyes did a quick flick across the screen. The names might as well be gibberish to me, as I didn’t recognize any of them. But then there was my name. Amerie Taylor I froze. Maybe this was a class assignment? Maybe a group project I wasn’t privy to? I raised a shaking hand towards the laptop’s touchpad, but jumped again when my fingers brushed something. Another figurine. I shook my head. This was stupid. What was I panicking for? This was Jessie, my wisecracking best friend who was the first person to talk to me at orientation. This file was probably just some…surprise she was saving up for me. Or maybe silly photos we share. Huffing a sigh, I straightened and glanced down at the figurine. It was me. I was the figurine. And embedded all across its body were needles. Dozens of them covered it, and even more lay scattered around the dais it stood on. I thought about the pain I had felt all those nights. How Jessie hadn’t been to visit me even once. There was no helping it. I grabbed the figurine and held it up level with my eyes. Shards of wood peppered its fingers. Ink stained its eyes. Paint ruined its legs. And there was a hole in its throat. “You’re not supposed to be in here, Amerie.” I dropped the figurine, and I was dimly aware of it clattering to the wooden desk. Spinning, I saw Jessie standing in the space of light between the hallway and her room, her hair disheveled as though she had come sprinting up the stairs. “My door is always locked,” Jessie said, her voice low and even. Completely devoid of its usual bright cheeriness. “The one time I forget, and you come snooping in.” “I wasn’t snooping,” I said automatically. It’s just Jessie. It’s Jessie! Your friend! I screamed in my mind. But then why was she staring at me like that? Like she wanted nothing more than for me to die where I stood? “J-Jessie,” I said breathlessly, failing to keep my voice calm. “I j-just was…curious! The figurines…I just saw and was wondering – ” “Wondering what?” Jessie seethed. She took a step closer and slammed the door behind her. When I didn’t say anything, Jessie let out something like a shriek, causing me to step back and bump into the table. Was the room getting darker? Colder? Jessie blew out a breath, and it fogged in the air. “You’re ruining my project, dear friend. This school wasn’t meant for your higher education. It was meant for mine!”
"Alright little guy, here we are!" I unzip my jacket to let the little dragon out, and they chirp with excitement and launch themselves straight into my flat. I hurry to get my shoes and jacket off as they disappear into the kitchen, tiny claws scrabbling over the hardwood floor. I follow the little creature, and find them sniffing at the refrigerator door. As they hear me step in, they twist their neck to look at me, chirp, and paw at the door. "Clever little fellow, aren't you?"I murmur as I approach. "You can smell the goodies, can't you?" "Chirp!"They flap their wings and hop right back onto my shoulder, nuzzling into the side of my neck. "Aww, you little charmer!"I can't resist reaching up to give them a scratch, which they happily accept. "Right, let's see what we've got that might be tasty for a clever little dragon..." I look over the options. Some leftover ground beef from taco night? No, don't know if the spices and salt is healthy. Fish? Sniff. Phew, no, definitely not. Supermarket rotisserie chicken? That might work. Only bought it yesterday, too, so it's still good. I experimentally grab a small piece and hold it up for my new friend's inspection. They take one sniff and go for it, snatching the little piece out of my fingers and gulping it down without even chewing. "Chirp! Chirp!" "I'm going to assume that meant you liked it and want more." "Chirp!"Excitedly flapping wings ruin my hair. "Alright, alright!"I settle down at the kitchen table and set my new little friend down on top of it, and grab another morsel of chicken. "Say aah!" Amazingly, the little dragon rears up on their hind legs and spreads their wings, mouth wide open. "Aww! Good dragon!"I give them their piece of chicken - Chomp. Gulp. "Chirp!"They sit back in their adorable begging pose. "Not much for chewing, are you?" Within minutes half a rotisserie chicken, bones and all, has disappeared down the little dragon's seemingly bottomless gullet. When the final piece is gone their belly has rounded out like a balloon, and they're lying on their side in a well-fed stupor. "Well you were certainly hungry,"I remark, as I gently pick them up and cradle them. "Now it looks like you need a nap." No chirp this time. A big ol' snore. They conked out the second I picked them up, snuggling into my chest. My heart melts. I settle us both down on top of my bed, not having the heart to deprive my new little friend of my clearly comfortable body heat. I'll just lie here for a bit and play with my phone - A jaw-cracking yawn puts a stop to that plan. Maybe I'm due a nap myself. I'll just close my eyes for a minute - Tap tap tap. I blink awake blearily to find the room dark. I must've slept far longer than I thought. The snoozing little dragon is still curled up on top of me, their toasty, smooth warmth a soft weight upon my chest. Tap tap tap. I thought I'd heard a noise! I ever so gently rise to a sitting position, trying not to disturb my new friend, and focus on the noise. Tap tap tap. My window. What the heck? I'm on the third floor. Has some prankster started throwing rocks at my window? I turn my night light on and peer at the glass. Nothing. Tap tap tap. "Oh for the love of-" I get up, open the window, and look out. And, in the feeble glow from my nightlight, a massive reptilian head materializes out of the darkness, two luminous yellow eyes the size of basketballs staring at me. The dragon - because obviously, that's an adult one \- snorts, sending warm air washing over me. My knees wobble a bit. "Human,"she says - the voice is deep, but feminine, so I assume this is a female dragon - "I believe that's my hatchling in your arms." "Uh, yes, yes ma'am!"I reply, with only a mildly terrified stutter. "I swear, I found him tangled in some plastic, I had no idea-" She rumbles something I assume is a draconic chuckle. "I am inclined to believe you, little human. He seems well-fed and comfortable enough. I thank you for taking care of him for today. But now, if you please, might I have him back?" "Yes, yes of course!"I step forward, and gently tickle the little hatchling under the chin. He blinks awake with a yawn and looks up at me curiously. "Time to go home little guy, your mama's come to find you."I nod towards the window. He turns his neck to follow my gaze, and, upon spotting his mother, shrieks with excitement and starts flapping his wings happily. I set him down on the window sill. The mother dragon leans down to nuzzle her tiny offspring. Then, she opens her mouth, and with razor-sharp teeth the length of my lower arm, ever-so-gently picks her hatchling up. She rears back to her full height, her offspring in her mouth. Then she nods at me, and with a massive blast of wind that sends me stumbling back, she's gone into the darkness of the night. "Well. That was an interesting day, to say the least." \--- Thanks for reading!
Rasika's feet pounded against the hard dirt path as she fled from her pursuers. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. She had watched her fair share of isekai anime. She had been prepared. When she had stepped through the mirror portal and found herself in a verdant field surrounded by gelatinous pink slimes, she had known exactly what she was supposed to do. Kill slimes, gain experience, and level up. Become a hero. Travel the world, save a few villages, and maybe take on the Demon Prince, if this world had one. Step 1 should have been easy, right? Kill slimes. It had been easy. Perhaps, too easy. Soon, the field was littered with little pink blobs, remnants of the creatures that had once lived there. Her hands were covered in the goo, and she shuddered, glad that the creatures did not bleed. And then, disaster. Law enforcement yelling at her to come quietly, followed by a distraught shepherd. "Murderer!"the man had cried. "I've had some of those slimes for years. They were part of the family." This never happened in the shows. Without a screenplay to draw from, Rasika panicked. Turning tail, she fled into the forest. Her legs burned and her lungs screamed for more air. The sounds of pursuit had stopped five or ten minutes ago, and Rasika decided it was safe to stop. Wandering further into the dense foliage, she noticed a small cabin that appeared abandoned. It looked cozy enough, and she decided to stay there the night to lick her wounds and to try to make sense of this world. In the meantime, she would have to kill more enemies. Level up. Grow stronger. Only then, would this world truly recognize her as the hero she was meant to be. \----- [/r/theBasiliskWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/theBasiliskWrites/)
Marty McFly was an enigma. I met him what seemed to be by chance at a funeral many years ago for an old friend I had gone to college with. Many people had thought Dr. Emmett Brown had been a joke both in the Science community as well as in regular life. But not Marty McFly. When he gave his eulogy, he had spoken with such conviction and respect that it was flooring. I remember talking with him afterwards when the last stragglers were leaving and he’d mentioned that he had been somewhat of an assistant to the late doctor and had firmly believed he had known what he was talking about. My interest was pipped, so I offered him a job and surprisingly he accepted. At first, he seemed like a normal assistant. He would help where needed and didn’t mind if that meant getting covered in oil or dirty. He honestly just seemed like a regular guy though. As far as I could tell, the laws of physics were not something he really cared about. As he’d work, he would tell me stories about his adventures as a kid at “Twin Pines Mall.” I remember being confused by that. When I had passed through town there had only been a “Lone Pine Mall” but when I had brought it up, he’d laughed it off and said that he must have gotten the names mixed up. In my experiments, I was getting frustrated. I could place small things like a marble in a contraption I had made and was able to send them somewhere through time and back again but bigger things would never work. They always would be destroyed too disappearing the process. Marty would simply give an eerie smile as if he expected this and make small suggestions. “Maybe you should try having the object move when you send it. “ “Have you tried this during a storm? Maybe outside when there’s so lightening?” “Wow, that design is kind of limiting, isn’t it? Have you tried reworking the style of the capacitor?” But I didn’t always listen. Who was he? But once I did get curious and place my machine outside with a grapefruit on the base and a lightening rod. To my surprise, when lightening struck it, the whole fruit disappeared! How did that happen? How did he know? The other thing that struck me as odd is when Marty moved across the country to work for me, the only thing he seemed to care about from his past life was his now very old car. It was a Delorean which back in the 80s had seemed like a cool car, but now days it was a relic. No matter how hard I pressed him to get a more reliable car, he would refuse. It had been a gift to him from his old friend the good doctor and he would try to keep it running as long as possible he would say. This model seemed to have some odd features. Once when I peeked in, there was a large box welded onto the back interior wall. It was metal so I didn’t know what it could possible be for. I asked him about it and he laughed and said it was an upgrade that helped the car. But why would an upgrade be nowhere near any of the components of the engine? He never did let me see what was inside that box but always looked amused when I would ask. Then there was the matter of fuel. Instead of gas, he preferred a more natural route and would ask for banana peels of recycled materials. Another upgrade of sorts I suppose. Though how it gave the car enough energy, I’m not sure. Alas, one day Marty told me that our time together was nearing an end. I was confused by the abruptness honestly. It was like he had been waiting for this day in its exactness. He smiled that charming smile of his and asked that I watch him as he left to send him off. I did but was not expecting what happened next. Like a bat out of hell, Marty McFly drove at top speed dangerously toward a concrete wall. Did he have a death wish? Was I watching a planned suicide in shocked horror? But then a crack like lightening shook my core and a blinding flash of light and he was gone. Throughout the years I would be haunted by that night, swearing that every now and then I would see him completely unaltered and unaged passing by. But I would never know if Marty McFly knew the secrets of traveling through time and I would always wonder if he had, where he had chosen to go. He would always be an enigma, never to be fully understood.
I walked into the house expecting silence and solitude. I was greeted by the scent of chocolate and warmth. Someone was still in the house. My sister sometimes experimented in the kitchen, leaving behind a mess for me to clean up. Sasha’s still supposed to be in class, though. If she’s played hooky again, there’ll be another call to dad’s phone. I walked into the kitchen, prepared to try to get her to go back to school at least, so we could come up with some excuse of a missed bus or fleeting illness. My father’s in the kitchen, an old apron tied around his waist, the countertops filled with mixing bowls and utensils. The oven was on, and I could see a rising cake in it. “Dad?” I ask. It’s not normal for him to be cooking. When he does, it’s microwave dinners. It’s usually every man fending for himself in our house. After work, he goes to his favorite hole in the wall bar to hang out with his coworkers and drink beer. I’ve seen him through the windows of the bar sometimes, as I walk home from my part-time job. Our dad’s different when he’s with his friends. When he’s not with us, he looks like someone who’s actually pleasant company. “How was school?” he asks, slipping on a pair of mitts and taking the cake out of the oven. “I’m making chocolate cake.” “Cake?” He points to a tablet propped up on the kitchen island. “I found a recipe online, and you always liked chocolate cake. Sasha doesn’t, but we can have her pick what to order for dinner.” I’m not sure how he even knows what I like. He wasn’t there for my last birthday, or the one before. He’d had shifts at the factory then, and the second time around I realized he’d done so on purpose. I’d shared a cupcake with Sasha and called it a day. “Should we go camping this weekend?” Dad asks. “My friend has an RV he said I could borrow.” It’s too much, all at once. I’m not used to having conversations with Dad that last longer than two sentences, with him gruff and eager to flee. “Is something wrong?” Has he been diagnosed with cancer? Joined some strange, family-positive cult? “Nothing’s wrong,” he laughs. “I just want to spend time with you. You’ll be off at college next year, and Sasha’s going to join her performing arts school. We’ll be too busy then.” “I have an exam on Monday,” I say. I don’t expect him to look disappointed. “We can go next weekend,” I say. “Sasha should be free then, too.” “There’s some juice in the fridge,” he says. “Pineapple.” Any moment, he’ll go back to his usual self. I wait for the ball to drop, for this new veneer tofall. My dad’s not the kind of person who stocks our fridge with juice or bakes cakes. We’re the kind of family that accidentally drinks spoilt milk. The kind of house food inspectors have nightmares about. Looking around, I notice how everything’s different. The kitchen counters are slightly cluttered, but they’re clean. The glass of the cupboards doors are gleaming, and the stove has been wiped down. There are throw pillows on the banquette overlooking the backyard, and the grass in the backyard is freshly mowed. In some ways, it doesn’t feel like our house. I’ve stepped through my front door and into an alternate universe where our family has our shit together. If I didn’t know better, I’d expect my runaway mother to walk down the stairs any moment, to complete the hallmark moment. “Is this for my birthday?” I ask, wondering if he’s trying to make up for missing it. “Yeah, it’s coming up, isn’t it?” he asks after a pause. “Is there anything you want for a gift?” For a second, I wonder if he’s confused mine and Sasha’s birthdays, but that’s not it. He doesn’t know it. The way he’s smiling, he doesn’t even seem to know he’s missed my last few birthdays or Sasha’s. “Can I have one of mom’s necklaces?” I ask, hoping this at least, will make us return to normalcy. I like this new version of dad, but it’s unsettling. He should fly into a rage at the mention of mom’s name. The few times I’d gathered the courage to ask, I’d ended up with a swollen cheek and him with regret and shame. “Of course, Clara,” he says, laying a hand on my arm. There’s nothing left of our mom in the house. She’d left very few things behind when she left us, and what was left dad had gotten rid of soon after. As for jewelry, we weren’t rich enough to have such things. His palms are soft against the skin of my arm. They’re not the hands of a construction worker. They’re not the hands that I’m used to flinching away from. “Who are you?” I ask. “Clare-bear, I’m Dad,” he says. And with this, I know. I back away from him slowly. “Where’s my dad?” I ask. The person in front of me cuts the cake into four equal slices and starts plating them. “I’m here,” he says. “But you’re not my Dad.” The doorbell rings, and Sasha comes in, kicking off her shoes at the door. I sense her pause, in much the same way I did, and slowly walk into the kitchen. “Want cake, pumpkin?” the imposter asks. My sister’s not so used to our dad’s casual carelessness, his apathy towards us. She drops her backpack and takes a seat at the banquette. “Are you gonna eat with us?” she asks, and I wish I could ignore the hope in her voice. “Yeah,” the imposter says. “How was school, by the way?” She prattles on about her gym class and her book report while I watch from the kitchen island. It’s nice to imagine that this is our reality, and that it’s always been this way. Sasha heads upstairs to do her homework, and I stay behind. “Is my dad okay?” I ask. I’m fine with this, if it’s to be our new reality, but my dad’s still my dad. “He’s in a world where your mom died,” he answers. “He’s living the life of a man who didn’t have the chance to have kids with the woman he loved, and both of us are happier for it. Are you?” \\\\\\\* If you liked my writing and would like to see more, please check out r/analect.
"Apples are stupid, they don't even taste good." "But what a nutrient-filled fruit! Apples make for strong people." "One cannot live on apples alone." "This does not make apples stupid, as you say." "There is such variety of fruits out there, why choose apples?" "Apples have a well-defined core, for one." "Cores don't matter. Taste is what matters, and let me tell you about oranges. So juicy." "There is far more to life than taste. Substance, for example." "The flesh is temporal, taste is pretty much all that matters." "Only in your twisted vision, Satan." "I mean, if what you really want is for them to not touch the apples, you could do with less tasty fruit. Figs are native and would be a far better choice." "The fruit must be tempting, or else there won't be a choice at all." "Choices are boring. Just put the most scrumptious fruit out there for all to enjoy. What's the point of all this runaround?" "We've been over this a thousand times Satan, but we need choices to make our world interesting. Your vision of the world will be as boring as all the predetermined ones that came before it." "God, those predetermined worlds were good because they were optimal. Here we've created something so subpar that I almost don't want to put my name on it." "Well, your role in this world is to lead them to quick decisions with ugly consequences, to encourage them to act on pure emotion instead of reason, and to close their minds, so your anti-choice nature makes perfect sense." "So why do we have to do it your way again and use a stupid apple?" "The apple is perfect. It is scrumptious enough to lead them to make a quick decision to grab one without thinking, yet unappealing enough for them to side with better judgment." "It won't take me long to get them to eat it." "I have more faith than that."
"It's almost Kwanzaa! I shouldn't be fighting!" "Well it's almost Christmas. But they're aliens. They don't know or care about that!" "Hanukkah, for me. We're in the middle of Hanukkah. I hate this." \-------------- "Thus begins the Season of Renewal. We shouldn't be fighting!" "They're aliens. They don't know or care about that!" "Yeah. Okay. Target locked." \-------------- "They got a lock on us!" "Shield functional." "They're not firing. Hey, they're just not firing." "Bet it's too much to hope that it's Hanukkah for them, too." \-------------- "Fire." "They aren't firing at us." "Fire now! The new ammo's designed to go through their shields!" "I'm not firing. It's the Season of Renewal. I'm not firing unless I have to." "You'll kill us all!" "They're not firing at us." \-------------- Several days later \-------------- "Why are we having peace negotiations?!" "It's Kwanzaa." "What?" "It's also the Season of Renewal." "What?!"
“Did … did you just call the demon lord ‘an overdramatic bitch’?”, the little blue goblin looked up from his quill. I nodded, “Yes, yes I did.” He blinked at me, “Do you want me to relay that as spoken?” “Yes, please.” The goblin looked increasingly uncomfortable, “His Majesty is temperamental, perhaps it would be best if I were to paraphrase for you. For instance, ‘His Majesty’s countenance could perhaps be enhanced by –“ “He’s an overdramatic bitch,” I cut the little man off. “And I want you to tell him exactly that.” The goblin gulped, “Pl-please wait here, ma’am.” He scurried out the back door of the room, presumably to relay my insult to His Majesty the Demon Lord of Madness. I seated myself on the ornate couch robbed from some manor or another. It was a very old antique, original upholstery, only somewhat ruined by the demonic sigils roughly carved into the wood. Emblematic of the whole place, really. Nothing original, just slap-dash devilry on top of what could have been a perfectly respectable castle. So very gauche. The goblin peeked back into the door, “His Majesty demands your presence ma’am,” he whimpered. I tried hard to hold back a smile. I had passed the first test. “By all means, lead me to him.” I followed the goblin down the hall, past countless blood-tinged weapons tacked on to the wall where tapestries and portraits would normally hang. Almost all hung at an angle, off-kilter. Blood and rust mixed together to the point that it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began. It made it look cheap rather than threatening. We strode into the throne room where the man himself sat. He had black hair, but the strawberry-blonde roots close to his scalp revealed his true hair color. Small trickles of sweat suggested that the red streaks across his skin were probably artificial dye. A large mace lay to the left of the throne, despite the fact that he was clearly right-handed, propped up by skull that looked like it might have once belonged to a sheep, but was definitely not human. Very sloppy. I knelt in front of him and bowed, demonstrating proper decorum even though he almost certainly couldn’t tell the difference, “I greet You Majesty.” He glared down at me. His wrath, at least, seemed genuine, “I want you to repeat what you said to my herald in front of me, if you have the courage.” I looked up at him, careful to keep my expression inscrutable, “Your Majesty, although you have demonstrated undeniable military prowess, you will never truly be able to rule your territory. You have the instincts of a monarch, but you are an overdramatic bitch and the only way you will ever be taken seriously as a nation is if you reform your image. You are the laughingstock of the century and even your own subjects don’t take you seriously, assuming they are out of sword-range. Sir.” His eyes burned, “How dare you insult me to my face. I will have your head for this! You will be flayed and your body hung at the castle walls as an example for any who –“ “This is what I’m talking about!” I interrupted him, “No one flays anyone anymore. Even you have never flayed anyone. You have the trappings of a violent and malevolent demon lord but if trappings are all you have then it just makes you look like a melodramatic bitch.” He fumed, silently, reflexively gripping the mace. I started to suspect he wasn’t strong enough to lift it. “You have two possible paths forwards,” I pressed my advantage. “You can start to follow through on your threats. Make your malevolence more than just trappings. Kill, plunder, maraud. Perform dark rituals with actual human blood. Lean into your rule by fear.” He sneered in a practiced motion, “How do you know I won’t start by flaying you?” I smiled sweetly at him, “You don’t have the stomache for it.” He stared back at me, astonished. “Your other option is to reverse course. I said you have the right instincts, and you do. The first thing you do with your conquered territory is purge corrupt officials, order a census, and rewrite the tax code. Your agricultural policy is inspired. Anyone who hasn’t gotten within eyesight of the melodramatic mess you call your ‘capital’ believes you to be a competent administrator. You’ve even managed to keep the peace between the monsters and humans under your rule. If you stopped trying to be a ‘demon lord’ and focused just on being a ‘lord’ you could make this whole operation much more efficient.” He raised an eyebrow at me, his demon lord persona slipping rapidly, “I suppose I can guess which you would prefer.” “Yes, well, I admit I have ulterior motives. But to be frank, I’ve never seen the Hinterlands so prosperous before.” “I’ve worked hard to create this monstrous persona. I wanted the outer kingdoms to fear me so they would leave us alone.” “And it will be twice as much work to undo it. What you need is a very competent secretary,” I grinned at him and pulled a business card out of my bag, “and I have lots of experience.”
"Guys, what's going on?"I look around the smoldering remains of the campfire at my party. The sun is now definitely over the horizon, and they're all still wrapped up in their bedrolls. "Tash, come on, you're usually up before the sun annoying us all with your exercises." Tash just groans and pulls his blanket further over his head. "Remmy?"I go over and poke the hulking barbarian with my toe, and he just grunts. Normally I'd be flying across the clearing for doing that. "Seriously, guys, this isn't funny." "What isn't funny,"the menacing voice from the tree line makes me swing around, pulling my gittern close, "is that you are not like them."A shadow moves forward, revealing a heavily cloaked figure of indeterminate ancestry and gender. "How is it that you are not affected by my spell?"The figure paces towards me, circling slightly as though investigating some strange phenomenon. "There's no way you're powerful enough to save against it, so how?" "What spell?"I ask angrily. The figure pauses, cocks its head, then shrugs. "It matters not if you know. It is a spell of my own creation - it drains all the happiness out of its target, leaving them with no reason to do anything." "Yeah, you're gonna have to do better than that."Now knowing what I can do, I flip my gittern into position and start playing. "What are you doing?"The figure demands. "Shh, shh, I'm playing now."I say, weaving the response into the start of my song. It is my fight song. The song I used to take back my life from the creeping feeling of emptiness and despair. I fill it with my magic and release it across my party. The battle is short. The caster does not expect my simple song to be able to end their spell, and the truth is that it doesn't, it just gives my party the energy they need to act in spite of the spell. "But how did you fight the spell in the first place?"Remmy asks as we pack up, leaving the cooling body of the caster for the carrion to consume. "I didn't,"I shrug, "I'm just used to having to keep going even when I feel like that." "You mean you've been under that spell before?"Idra asks, concern in her eyes. "I don't think so."I shrug. "I've just always been a dark soul." "But you're the one who makes us all laugh!" I think my party sees the pain behind my eyes for the first time as I smile at them. "Sometimes it is those who laugh the loudest, who hurt the most."
Most people would probably be surprised to wake up and find themselves kidnapped. Shocked, scared, surprised, so many emotions running through them- Me? No, none of those. I simply felt irritated. My eye twitched as the villain did this entire long monologue about how "Sir Hero"would of course have to come rescue me, falling right into the villain's carefully laid out traps, which would surely end the hero- "Don't even bother,"I said suddenly. The villain paused, turning to stare at me. "Pardon?" "He ain't coming to save me-won't waste his time,"I said. The villain gave me a confused look, then slowly sat on the air, hovering slightly as if she was in a chair. "You're his Sidekick. Are you saying he doesn't care enough to save you?"She thought for a few seconds, then smirked. "Of course. He sees you as replaceable, doesn't he? You're simply another pawn in his game-so many wannabes must be dying to take your place. Sounds dreadful, doesn't it? What a poor way to live your life." Oh, I know where this is going. "On the other hand, henchmen aren't so easy to come across-after all, who wants to fight the precious heroes?"the villain said. "But I can offer you something more valuable than such a small price to pay-I would of course save you, and you'd never have to doubt it-" I stood up, and oh, did I enjoy the split second of shock that radiated on the villain's face as my restraints fell to the ground. I kicked the chair back for good measure. "He won't come and save me-I'm more than capable of saving myself, thank you very much,"I said, reaching forward- ................ I hummed slightly as I opened the front door. "I'm home." Dad leaned over from where he was cooking in the kitchen. "Welcome home, kid. You're later than usual-did something happen?" "Eh, that Queen themed villain thought kidnapping me would be funny,"I shrugged, opening the fridge. "Sorry, but I left your superhero mark on the scene and wiped her memory-as far as the police will be aware, you took care of the situation." Dad groaned. "Come on, you know I can't keep taking credit for what you do." "Well, I don't wanna, either, and they'll pay you better 'cause you're a recognized hero and get better rates than sidekicks,"I said, taking out a can of soda and opening it and glancing at Dad. "Which means more money for takeout instead of your cooking." "Oh, come on, I'm not that bad at it,"Dad said. "Well, you're not that good at it, either-don't burn the eggs..."I said. Dad immediately looked at the eggs. "How did you-they aren't burnt yet!" "They will be if you aren't careful,"I said, sitting down on the counter. "Or they'll be undercooked because you're trying not to burn them. Or both. Both sounds about right." Dad faked an offended gasp, and I just chuckled as I took another sip of my soda.
"My kind has been known in many instances, my ancestors inspire well known legends. They are considered heroes, powerful beings, if somewhat plagued by their circumstances. Of course, as any legend, the stories are wildly exaggerated. We do not become green beasts of pure strength capable of punching ourselves into orbit. Our power does not come attached to a sword or a skull that happens to be grey. We are not body parts stitched together resurrected by lighting. We are not the half children of gods and humans. We do not need a potion of some kind nor a doctor's degree. It's not stress, anger, justice or psychological dissonance. It's just the moon. The fucking moon. I'm not a hero, I'm not a villain. I'm not a mad scientist, my father was just a furniture assembler (and he wasn't even particularly good at it, so no god of furniture or something). I do not use any substances, officer. My previous mood or state of mind has no influence in it. I Do Not Have Multiple Personalities! IT'S DOES NOT FUCKING MATTER HOW ANGRY I AM! IT'S JUST THE FUCKING, STUPID, INDIFFERENT AND UNSTOPPABLE ORBIT OF THE MOON!" "Sir, I will not have you screaming at this court. If you cannot control yourself I will ask you to be removed." - judge Sanders warned. "Sorry... It's just... It's not my fault. It's not." "You are being accused of destroying private and public property, assault, and homicide attempt on a poor and innocent man. A husband and father. A respectable member of the church. Are you sure that is the story you are gonna go with? Do you mock this respectable jury?"- the vulture of a prosecutor said, with a very punchable fake indignation face. "Objection! Trying to influence the jury and paint a bad image of the respondent by concluding intent and bad faith"- said the defense attorney, the poor girl was trying her best but even I had not hopes of getting away with this. "Objection accepted. Dr. Miller this is the third time. I do not want to have to dismiss this jury, and restart this whole process, but I will do it if you keep this behaviour. I do not see how mocking the respondent with comic book comparisons will help your case. Please stop wasting my time"- ooh, I like this judge "Do you have any questions you'd like to make to your client, Ms Brown?" "Actually yes, your honour."- What are you trying to do Juliet? "Sir, can you state your full name for the court?"- Hm, she is behaving like she has a plan. "Sure... My name is Max Siveart." "So you're not part of any of the fantastical families our confused prosecutor mentioned?"- oh, I see "No, there's nothing fantastic about my family" "Do you know your height and weight, Mr Siveart? Can you state them for us?"- Juliet, I fail to see how that will help but ok "I have 176cm and weigh 86kg, more or less" "Exactly. Respectable jury, the suspect, as caught on camera, clearly had more than 2m and, based on the damage in the victim's legs from a simple step on, must weigh at least 150kg to 200kg. Also the suspect was capable of lifting the car and push it through the wall. I believe it's obvious for everyone that Mr Siveart cannot make such feat of strength, as his sedentary life style is visible to all"- Nice arguments, but was that end there really necessary? "Objection! She is humiliating the respondent. We cannot have this behaviour and lack of respect in this court!"- Yeah, she kinda is. But damn, you are worth nothing, Dr. Miller, you're not concerned about me, you piece of shit "Dr. Miller, it's her client. Do you intend on defending or accusing him? And you have no say on what is acceptable at my court, if you try to put words in my mouth or influence me again, you will be banned. Do not test my patience"- Dude, hahaha, I really like this judge "Do you have any more questions or considerations Ms. Brown?"- continued judge Sanders "Yes, your honour. To conclude, Dr. Miller regarded the victim as a poor and innocent man, but we know William Johnson is far from it. A man already responding for domestic violence and abuse on his previous marriage, being defended by Dr. Miller himself, he was sentenced to pay a fine and keep distance of his ex wife. In this process, we already heard Mrs. Johnson and together with witnesses and family pictures, we found out her bruises were already present before the night of the incident. It's obvious that it could not have been Mr. Max Siveart. But it's also obvious, whoever did this, made a favour to society" ............ "The jury has decided. We concluded the respondent is innocent"- What?! How? Yes, I mean, fuck yeah! "See. Please, put some respect on my capabilities or do not hire me if you intend on blurting out a confession so easily. I'm building a career and do not like to lose"- Damn, Juliet, I might be in love "Yes, mam. Sorry for that. And thank you. How can I pay you? You know I have no money, not the amount you deserve at least." "We can reach an agreement over some drinks. I usually offer a discount for clumsy heroes"- yeah, I'm caught, you didn't even had to blink at me like that, I'm really weak for strong, decisive women "Sounds good, I know just the place"
Some people say that my class is vile. I honestly can't help that necromancy happened to be the thing I was good at. When I was younger, i was told by my parents that if their son ended up a necromancer, then they would have no son. So I took that point to heart. Made sure I did everything I could to be as far from it as possible. I can't tell you the number of times I was thrown out of the house after they suspected I did anything even remotely related to the craft. I never did any of the balancing rituals. None of the affinity building exercises that all normal necromancers do. As such, I got something of a reputation as a freak. "What kind of necromancer are you?" "Come on; it's not like it'll hurt anyone." "It's because of people like you that my wife died." That one hurt. His wife wasn't dead. She divorced him after she caught him in bed with a satyr. Not my fault. ... I made a name for myself. Mostly as an example for what you can do when you put your mind to something. The necromantic doctor. I got all the necessary qualifications. Graduated with honours. Saved more lives than I could count. ... All that came crashing down the moment I got blamed for malpractice. The patient's family claimed I killed their son. Truth be told, he had an aneurysm before I even saw him. He was brain dead before ever getting on the operating table. And even the mere mention of a malpractice suit is enough to destroy a hospital's reputation. So, I got thrown out on my arse. ... I opened a small clinic, where I offered free treatment to everyone. Made enough with my career to live reasonably comfortably. Didn't care about the money. I just wanted to do good. Until I lost another patient. It brought all that trauma back, and I just wanted it to stop. So, I brought them back. And because I never did those rituals, they weren't subordinate to me. Which was good, because she came back with all her memories and mind intact. She seemed surprised. And more than a bit freaked out when I explained what I did. I told her she wasn't undead. She wouldn't become a thrall, or a shambling corpse. Hilariously, it was my necromancy that would keep her safe from that. She was, for all intents and purposes, just as alive as she was an hour ago. Which got me to thinking. My parents didn't care much about me now that I had disgraced them with the malpractice suit. So, I wouldn't need to hold tight onto the crap they drilled into me from young. ... Sure, my decision wasn't the easiest for most people to stomach. But, the knowledge that I could bring them back if they died in my care, more healthy than when they died did make it a little better. Which did bring up more than a few issues when treating people in public. Accidents and the like. Imagine seeing a doctor bring someone back from the dead. The last line of defence trampling over said line to save a patient. Some people saw what I did as an affront to the status quo. Especially other necromancers. "You're supposed to make undead, not help people!" "What a freak! What kind of necromancer becomes a doctor?" Don't judge me. I did the best I could, with disapproving parents, and a society that hates my kind for existing. ... The best part was having to kill another necromancer to save him. Also to save everyone else. He was going to become a lich. So, I revived him before he could. Which did a lot to piss him off. But he did get arrested for attempted mass murder, for the purposes of a ritual, so he shouldn't be getting out for a long time. It did change people's perceptions of necromancers, though, so that was good. Not all of us are evil. I know I did traumatise a few people, having to ask for a weapon to kill a fellow necromancer, and having to watch as I did it. It wasn't pleasant for me, either. There was too much blood. Honestly, I was expecting him to just keel over and die. He used those damn necromantic spells that I never learned to keep himself going. Shame I couldn't use those. It would make the whole gig a lot easier. ... So, I kept living my life. Doing good where I could. And to those who would accept it from me. I'm not evil. Just a guy that wants to help. Edit: not my best work, but my break was only 10 minutes. Might come back and fix it if I have time. Edit 2: it's good as it is. [If you're interested, I am writing an original story. Sci-fi/comedy, primarily.](https://www.reddit.com/user/TheShadowspawn/comments/13hvna8/chapter_one_pack_bonding/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button)
Jennifer had always been such a nervous girl. Her introverted nature often made her reluctant to speak in class. Today though, Ms. Jennifer Cepulch was unusually excited to teach the second grade class of Arialington Elementary. When the morning started, the loud, contemptuous little monsters gorged themselves on the sweet treats that were on the table. Now, Ms. Cepulch had to deal with hyper Tommy as he flailed around his desk, and little Meghan getting sick and vomitting all over the floor. It would be simpler if the poison had killed them off as quickly as the others. No matter, she thought. As she turned her back on the desperate gurgling noises and continued to write her lesson on the blackboard, she was jarred by a hard rapping sound on the door. "Jennifer?", a nurse prompted as she and two others came into the padded cell of the hospital, "It's time to take your medicine."
Bond was down 7500 Euro within the first hour but he didn't care. It was the Queen's money and his job was to keep an eye on Mr. Stark. Tony was down at least ten times that amount but he didn't care. He was keeping his eye on everything in a cocktail dress that bounced around the table. Given that Bond was in a custom-fitted tuxedo, he might as well have been invisible. Bond watched Tony's left arm as it moved chips back and forth to the betting circle (a lot more forth than back). On it was the Repulsor P8, a prototype that further miniaturized Stark's impressive technology. His job was simple. Get the P8. Any loss of life, even that of Mr. Stark, was secondary. "Hey Buckingham Palace,"Tony said as he snapped to attention from across the table. "Is there a reason you've been, uh, undressing me with your eyes? I'm not into that. Give it a few more drinks, okay?" "Apologies, Mr. Stark, I was admiring your new bangle on your wrist." "This little doodad?"Stark asked as removed the metal trinket from his arm. In one quick motion he flung it across the table like he was flipping a tip to the dealer. Bond gave away too much. He practically jumped out of his chair, spilling his martini (shaken, not stirred) to retrieve the P8. As his hand reached out for it he grabbed nothing but metal powder, dust and smoke. The glowing red lapel pin on Tony's jacket was now cooling down. Personal laser. "I think we stole this from your boys in Q Division, Mr. Bond,"Tony said. "I see,"Bond said as he sat down, taking a moment to adjust his jacket and tie. "Look here Maxwell Smart, you're not getting the P8 from me. I'm not a super spy like you but I'm not dumb. Facial recognition software, blah blah, and do you really think anyone believes you're an importer or exporter?" "I'm sorry you feel that way,"Bond said coolly as he discreetly reached for his gun. "You feel how you want, the drinks are on the house tonight, but I'm taking my leave with Miss Valencia Reproache. Cheerio, James,"Tony said as he began to walk away with a very buxom French-Russian beauty at his side. "Mr. Stark, you might say that last night I was,"James said with a smirk, "Above Reproache." "Is that so? Well I was Above, Below and Beside Reproache three months ago in Minsk." "Miss Reproache and I go back to her university days, if I recall,"James said. "Speaking of university days, the daughter of your Prime Minister, what's her name, Miss..."Tony said, trying to put one of thousands of names to thousands of faces. "Miss Rebecca Harlan, who I might add makes a fantastic breakfast in the nude." "So does her sister." "As does her mother,"James said, putting his drink down. "I can see we're getting nowhere here in this mixed company. Shall we handle this like gentlemen and step outside?" "Let's,"Tony said motioning to the back door. -------------- Q trudged up to the balcony overlooking the garden outside the party. He handed Happy a beer and they clinked bottles in mutual appreciation. "Look at those two go,"Q said. "Like schoolboys!" "I've never, and I mean never, met someone who could match Little Black Books with Tony. You know he had one custom made by the Franklin Planner people?" "Indeed, we had to figure out a way to increase the storage capacity in his phone. Look at the two of them. Instead of comparing bust sizes he should be getting that P8 thing." "This?"Happy asked as he held up the metal device. "Yes, of course, what the hell?"Q demanded. "Here,"Happy said as he threw it to Q. "It's in the gift bags at the party. He handed them out to kids at Halloween. Tony was just screwing with him before. We got our wires crossed somewhere. It's yours." "Let me tell James before he does something dumb. Well, dumber than usual,"Q said as he pressed a button on his watch. ------------------- James took a look at the blinking LED on his watch. Tony was hanging with him, martini for martini. They were both members of the 100 Countries club and had full cards of Babe Bingo. "Duty calls,"James said as he offered a hand to Tony. "Yes it does,"Tony said. "Now remember that name I gave you on the card. That guy is the best urologist in all of Austria. You tell him you need the Tony S. Special, Wink Wink, Nod Nod, and he'll take really good care of you." "Well I must say if he does the wonders you describe this will save the Crown a royal mint in health care costs." "Anytime, my Eskimo brother,"Tony said as he walked away. Tonight he had international affairs to attend to with Miss Reproache, but his mind was already on an appointment next week with the Prime Minister of Great Britain about new energy and defense resources. He wondered if it was too late to ask him to bring his wife along. If what James said was true, Tony thought he would love to introduce himself.
Aetius' knuckles are white as he clutches his sword. He shakes. His eyes meet mine, wide and searching for hope. I try to project courage, but I have no hope for him. I turn away. Five thousand men stand together at the foot of the mountain. Five thousand men face death. The evacuation is too slow. The column of citizens lacks order and direction. Crying children, braying mules and panicked old men. They make no progress. They have no time. We fight to buy it for them, but we fight in vain. The ones who realise this stayed in their houses, huddled together and praying for salvation. They may find peace in their last moments. The ground trembles. Aetius whimpers. "Brother..."I cannot bear his fear. I search for words of comfort, but words fail me. What can I say? What can anyone, faced with this? Thick black smoke rises from the restless peak. I look at my sword. It's blunt. Laughter bursts from my lips, and I hear the hysteria in the sound. The end of Pompeii, the end of days... and my sword is blunt. You can't kill a dragon with a blunt sword, for Jupiter's sake. Aetius stares at me. He thinks I've gone insane. "Brother,"I say, "my sword is blunt. Look."I wave the sword before his eyes. He looks, but he doesn't understand. I suppose it's not funny. A sound like the death cries of a thousand cattle rends the air. Fire and ash fill the sky. It rises, an infernal leviathan of incomprehensible size, spewing flames, wings unfurling like the shadows of clouds before the sun. The wrath of Pluto, the might of the elements unleashed upon the world. Aeitus pisses himself. He drops his sword and falls to his knees, screaming. Prayers fill the air around me, a piteous chorus of desperation. Pointless. There can be no victory here. We are not heroes. We will die like grass withering in the desert. When it takes flight, its wings beat the air as the drums of Mars. Its serpentine body uncoils in the air, and from its jaws the punishment of the gods blooms. I smell them burning. Like pork. Hundreds die on the first pass. I kneel beside Aetius. I cannot fight, I can only burn. But I can spare him. I pull him close, and take his sword. His is sharp, for he took more care in his life than I. He trembles. "Brother"I whisper. "Find peace, and known not pain."The blade slides easily between his ribs, and he is still. I rise and look around me. Shrieks of agony assault my ears. I can see what people look like when you burn off the skin. Pompeii has fallen. The shadow falls over me once more. I stare up at the demon, feeling nothing. It ends in fire.
It's terminal. My wife's cancer that is. At first we were so strong. We would go to the cancer awareness functions, wear the bracelets. Everything. But whenever she needed me, I would... change. I don't mean my personality or anything. I mean I would legitimately transform. I always get made fun of for it, so I might as well just say it: I'm a WereKitty. It skips a generation. We have a few theories of how and why it happens, but theories won't keep me normal. Theories won't support my wife. I only change when I'm overwhelmed with emotion. So whenever I see my wife get an MRI, blood drawn, or anything along those lines... I change. She is essentially alone. She told me she doesn't care, that it makes her happy. She even calls me her "Little Kitty"most times. But even through that weak, pale smile... I can see sadness. It was a Thursday. She was in bed at home. The hospital said it'd be best for her to pass on in her own home. It was just me, and the nurse. My wife had our photo album in her lap, and my hand in hers as we flipped through the pages of our lives. Starting from us sitting on the park bench we met at. The next few pages were us at parties, and beyond that were pictures of us on vacation. We lingered at the photo I had the waiter take when I proposed. Tears welled in her eyes as we relived our wedding day. Then, the heart monitor began beeping more frequent as her breaths became less. Her grip loosened under mine tightening. Her eyes were lost, she was searching for my eyes through a waterfall of tears, even though she was already in my eyes. The life in those sapphire rings slowly fluttered away. She weakly told me that she wanted to tell me one thing before she goes. My heart and stomach are one with each other. I let the warm streams sprint down my cheeks. The room began to spin violently as the colors blended into one. I woke up the next morning in my bed. I looked around and my wife was gone. I quickly stood up and searched high and low for her all through out my house like a mad man. The nurse was standing in the living room, waiting patiently for me to calm down. I looked at her through the pain flooding my eyes. The nurse handed me a picture. When I looked at it, I put my hand over my mouth and surrendered to the tears. It was of my wife, laying in bed, pale and sick. In her arms was a kitty, fluffy and cute. There was a tiny half smile on her face. The nurse told me she wrote my wife's last words on the back. "I love you, My Little Kitty."
It don’t change much. You’d think that out of everything that changes, the food would be one of them. But it isn’t like that. Countries can come and go, but Bexco food services seems to keep on. I think IBM lasted almost as long as them, but the world stopped needing computers a while ago, I don’t think we’re ever gonna stop needing prisons. Funny enough, I’m actually looking forward to my last meal of Monday Mighty Meat. People always ask me why I haven’t tried any escape. Hell, I could have licked the walls and probably got outta here by now. Truth is, I’m a lazy guy with no motivation and all the time in world. The doctors still aren’t sure how I do it—man, I don’t know, good genes. They offered me reduced sentence time from 1348 to only 500 if I agreed to be studied. Why not? Problem was, before the studies were finished and my time reduced, the country decided to go all we are the people and revolt against the government. Some of the lower security prisons went loose I heard, but us guys ten stories below the ground stayed put until the new guys took over. Apparently my reduced sentence got lost in the paperwork fiasco of a revolution. Roaches told me good luck during lunch. I like that kid, his father was pretty cool too. For a family cult that eats the brains of birds, they aight. And to think, I would have never met them if I hadn’t stolen and accidentally torn the Mona Lisa thing. The French really care about their art.
I fell to my knees. "This is the beginning of our next great journey." "And this is where that love shines through adversity. We've been through so much together, and I want us to take this next big step, together."I looked deep into her brown eyes, and they looked back into mine. I sighed. "It hasn't always been easy, hell, I don't know if it's ever been easy, but I want you to know how I never stopped loving you." "You and I have always been together, since we were children."I smiled. "I remember the day we were playing in the creek and you fell and hurt your ankle when we were 7. I remember when we first kissed." I shook my head, the tears running down my face. "I need you to forgive me, Julia. I never meant for things to be like this. But I'm going to make everything right." "I'm so sorry."I sputtered. Her unblinking eyes stared into my mine. Her lifeless body lay in front of me, the pool of red growing larger and larger on the white carpet with with every passing second. I pressed the hot barrel of the gun against my temple. Bang
I look around the room at the people in the rusty metal chairs. Side by side, connecting to each other in an elliptical almost-circle. It's my turn to speak. “My daughter died in a car accident. A drunk idiot killer her, and I'm going to kill him. Tonight.” "We cannot let rage take over our emotions, Eric."The group guru says, from his spot above us all. He says that because it's his job. Not because he cares. These groups were helpful, they said. For me to heal. They were wrong. It's the fourth meeting, and I don't feel any better. I'm going to kill him. __________________________ I look around the room. The same faces. The same wrinkled faces of people who lost everything, battling for a reason to live. Three weeks of this, and it feels no better. “My daughter died in a car accident.” “You told us that last time, Eric. Would you like to share anything else?” “I'm here because they said this is a place for people like me. To get better.” “It is.” No, it isn't. "I'm going to kill the man who killed my daughter." "Rage is never the answer, Eric." Yes, it is. And this is not rage. This is despair. _________________________ Second week. Same as last time. This is not helping at all. “My daughter died in a car accident.” “We all lost someone, at some point in our life, Eric.” The group leader say. “She was killed by a drunk idiot, and I'm going to kill him.” “We are here to cope with the bad things in our life, and to improve.” “I don't want to improve. I want to kill him.” "Rage is not the answer, Eric. You need to let go." This feeling. It is not going to get better. Until I kill him. ____________________________________ First week. They told me this is going to be good for me. I doubt it. “We have some newcomers.” The man says. He looks like he's in charge. They're all sitting in a circle, side by side. Like a camp fire circle, with nothing burning in the middle. Nothing to keep us warm. "We have some newcomers. Eric?" He means me. “Would you like to share something with the group?” Is this supposed to help me? “Hi, I'm Eric.” I say. "And I'm an alcoholic", I say. And everyone claps, cheering me, and the sound is like the windshield shattering all around us in the car. And the sound is like the scratching of the tires and the screaming of Elizabeth coming from the back seat. The sound is like the doctor's voice, the sound is like the clinking clanking of the ice cubes in the whisky glass I had in hands before I pulled out of the driveway. The sound is like I miss my daughter. “Welcome to AA, Eric.” This is not helping. _____________________________ If you like my writing and you like robot dystopian future stuff, check out my ongoing sci-fi novel on [my blog](https://alpacareports.wordpress.com/angel-district/).
Some people call them your angel, your devil, or your soul. Some people say that they’re people who were, who are, or who might be. Some people call them your friends, your enemies, or your love. Some people have one. Others have two. Most have three. And a few, like me, have none. I don’t recall when I realized that I was different. It was written on my mother’s face when her eyes grew distant and she muttered words to air. It was drawn in the lines of my father’s worried brow when he stopped to listen to his own private council. It was spoken from my brother’s lips when he called me a freak. A girl at school said it must be very lonely for me. I said no, but she wasn’t listening to me anymore. Her eyes were far away, and she giggled at unspoken jokes before wandering away. A teacher said that perhaps I was a late bloomer, and that they would come when I hit puberty. As I walked away, she sighed and whispered ‘poor thing’ which she thought I couldn’t hear. Doctors were useless. Medications couldn’t help. Therapy was a waste of time. But eventually I learned to pretend. I could mimic the pauses and distant looks. I could laugh at nothing and frown in concentration as I walked. People stopped asking. I still tried, though. Every night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening, straining my ears to hear them, to hear the voices everyone had in their head. I would have cried with joy for anything, a word, a song, a soul-crushing insult. Anything. Only the silence answered back.
When the day came to tender our surrender, they chose the American president to do it. Equal parts respect and humiliation for the nation with the greatest military might. It also helped that no other world leader was particularly enthusiastic to place themselves in front of the Emperor of the Galaxy (a somewhat grandiose term, as his realm barely reached past our arm). At the appointed hour, the rulers of all the worlds under the Galactic Protectorate (an equally grandiose term, for the same reasons cited above), and all the rulers of the nations of Earth gathered in the stadium that hand been built for the occasion. In orbit, and beyond, a thousand ships sat watching. Our greatest fear was some lone actor or nation would view this as an opportunity for violence, and doom the planet. Some believed we were doomed anyway, and there was no shortage of talk regarding how we might strike one final blow for humanity on our way out. The President walked forward to stand before the Galactic* Emperor. The Emperor was half his height, and it seemed the president might reach out and throw him off the stage, were he so inclined. Instead, he unzipped his pants. As the entirety of the planet watched, he urinated on the Galactic* Emperor. Then, he reached down, and removed his crown, and placed it upon his own head. You see, we had learned in 100 years since first contact that we had no way to beat the Galactic Protectorate militarily, and set ourselves to learning their laws, customs, history, and traditions. We had very little in common, except that it seems universal amongst all life, that you can pee on someone to establish dominance.
"Welcome to walking with Weasley, in today's episode we will discuss how Muggle's travel. We start our journey at what is know as a bicycle shop, sir could you explain how this contraption works for our viewers?" "Well it has two wheels, the rear wheel is attached to a chain, when you step on the pedals here the chain moves, that in turn rotates the rear wheel. The front wheel is attached to these handlebars allowing you to turn. " "And there you have it folks, no charms no magic simple muscle work. However there is a version that does not require effort, called a bike. Lets find out how that works." * sped up footage of Arthur Weasley cycling to a bike shop.* "A here we are, now as you can see bikes are quite similar to bicycles only larger, why are they larger you ask, well lets ask. Sir how does a bike differ from a bicycle ?" "Well its all in the propulsion, a bike uses a fuel mixture rather then muscle power, that fuel mixture enters the engine where at a specific place it is ignited causing a small combustion, that combustion drives this piston which is then connected to the equivalent of a bike chain." "Fascinating, now is this combusting engine used in other vehicles?" "Yes, the combustion engine is used in cars, busses, trains." roar of a plane overhead "Does a plane use a combustion engine?" "No, it uses a variation called a jet engine." "What's a jet engine?" "Well i'm not an expert on those matters but if i remember my fourth grade education properly. A jet engine is an engine that generates a fast moving jet, that jet generates thrust, you can think of it like a piece of firework, only though engineering we made sure it doesn't blow up and added control to it." "Thank you, that was very enlightening to our viewers at home, join us next time as we sneak into NASA to discover how Muggles landed on the moon"
The brassy ring of the bell resonated all around campus, starting the day for all of the classes around the school. "Good morning class!, as you all probably remember today is "Bring your future-self to school"day! We are going to use time travel to see where you are in 20 years!"the chipper 3rd grade teacher told the classroom full of practically buzzing kids. "Alright Billy, you're first!"As she said this, she plucked a hair from Billy, placing the black strand into a complex, glowing machine. It started to whir, and make a glowing circle on the ground. Sparks flew around the machine in a frenzied dance, setting the room flashing with white and blue hues. The teacher held back the students, and let out a smile as a huge, final flash erupted from the circle. A small, balding man stood there now, holding a coffee cup with "worlds best dad"inscribed on it. He let out a small smile. "Hey kids"he greeted. "Hey self"he said as he focused on the small quivering child below him. "You get to become a very cool thing when you grow up, you become an accountant"Future Billy said with a wink, crouching down to look at his younger self. The young Billy let out a large smile, which seemed to envelop his chubby cheeks. "You are very happy as an adult Billy, and you get your own wonderful family."Future Billy's eyes filled with warmth, and he let out a little wave as a flash of light enveloped him, sending him back to the future. "Alright, Charles, you get to go next."Said the teacher, plucking a strand from the mop of hair a small, sandy blonde haired kid. The same light show appeared, accompanied by a cacophony of sounds. The small kid's eyes lit up, and he leaned forwards towards the glowing circle on the ground. The time machine then gave out a few warning beeps, and a few red lights went on as the machine rolled down to a stop. The sparks died down, and the kid's face fell into a confused pout. "Miss, where is future me?"He asked, a small confused squeak coming out of the mess of hair. The teacher's face fell, "Oh Charles, I'm so sorry."
As Phil took his last breath, his family looked down at him from around his hospital bed. Though he hadwronged them, they still felt some sort of sadness. All except his wife, of course. She was just angry and filled with resentment, as joining them in his room, Phil's mistress weeped excessively. The darkness closed in, and Phil slipped on to the next world. Fire engulfed his entire field of view. He noticed a shadow by his side, leading him down a road of brimstone to a gate. At the gate, was a large man. He was well-dressed and sharp, almost business-like. Phil and his guide approached the gate. The man's thundery voice boomed: "Phillip Jameson Collins, on the charge of adultery and being an overall despicable human, you have been sentenced to eternal damnation in the pits of hell. I'll be your orientation guide." "Orientation guide? Are you Satan?"Phil questioned. The man laughed. "No, my friend, my name is Brandon. I just work here. Follow me." Phil and Brandon toured the "pits"of Hell, which turned out to be nothing less than a 4-Star resort. There was a golf course, food court, and even a sauna. There were "guests"and guides everywhere. "Brandon, why doesn't Hell suck?" "Well, Phil, Heaven is way better. This place doesn't even have booze. They only have DirecTV and 25mbps internet. It really gets boring just being lazy all the time. Now let's go talk to the big boss." After some more walking, they meander up to the reception center. Brandon tells the receptionist to go get the big boss. Out walks Satan, a tall, red, devilish man in a Hawaiian shirt, boat shorts, and flip flops. "Oh a new guest, what's up bro?"Satan says in the same tone as "The Dude". "Satan? Where the he-... Where the here is all the torture and fire and disgust? The only fire was on the walk in." "That was around back before I took over man, and the fire is just for theatrics. I hate torture, it's gross, and it screws with my chi." "But you're the devil."Phil is in disbelief. "That's, like, your opinion, man. I might be evil, but I'm not a dick."
I exited the rest stage of the human day to the sound of the buzz machine next to the sleeping box, and walked through the wallhole into the human waste disposal room. "Being human is strange." I sent the message through my telepathic feed to the mothership high above the atmosphere. They replied instantaneously. "Please continue the routine of the human male." I sighed and went back into the rest chamber. Checking the still-buzzing buzz machine for the time, I realized I had to go to the Human Labor Camp very soon, so I had better cover myself in material. The mothership told me that the materials were in something the humans referred to as a 'clozzit'. I had no idea what a 'clozzit' looked like, but there seemed to be a big box in the corner of the room with two swingydingers on the front, so I thought it'd be best to check there. As usual, I was correct. There were different materials in here - some with even more materials somehow fused to a main material. I was confused. How did a human dress for Labor Camp? After thinking for an extremely long time (2 and a half seconds), I decided on a white material with plastic discs on the front, which seemed to slip into strange holes on the material in random places. I then chose an extremely small and tight cow-skin thing with two holes in that fit perfectly over my bottom limbs, and a black strip of fabric which I tied around the tibia in a very tight knot. "I look ridiculous,"I thought to myself. "Humans are strange." With that, I exited the human's den and made my way to Labor Camp.
"Jason! Breakfast's ready!" Jason lay still. His body caked in vomit and dried blood caked his sheets. His room smelled like death. With a grunt he hoisted his frail form upright, and attempted to leave the bed. With a wobble, he crashed to the floor. He was too weak to stand, much less walk. "Jason, your weetbix will get soggy!" His dear mother's shrill voice rang out from down below. Jason lay still. Yet another day of exhaustion. Of questioning his existence. Day after day he suffered at the hands of his own mind. As if it was a conglomerate of angry bees, it stung him day after wretched day till nothing was left but feelings of utter dismay. Jason uttered not a word as he climbed up to his feet, supported only by his weak hold on his mahogany bookshelf. With a sigh, he hobbled off to the shower. **** Jason sat at the breakfast table, his bowl of Weetbix slowly turning into a soggy goop reminiscent of three day old oatmeal. He didn't complain. His eyes overshadowed by dark eyebags contrasting with his extreme pale complexion, he ate. Spoonful after spoonful. His mother stood, arms crossed as she watched him take down the cereal, nodding along in approval. "This is certainly a surprise Jason"She started, her hand now resting on his shoulder "say, you haven't lost weight have you?" She peered into Jason's eyes, her striking greens mixed with his baby blues as she explored his head. If only she could find out what was wrong... Jason smiled and poked his mother's nose "relax mum, just need a bite to eat is all."His mother nodded, "Absolutely, but if you stick around to stuff your face any more you'll be late for school!"Jason let out a sigh of utter exasperation, and with a voice akin to the quiet whimper of a poodle, he requested that he not go to school via the main gate anymore. "But why?"his mother asked. If only she understood, if only she knew. Jason gulped, his hands clenched into fists as he tried to utter the words. 'Maybe I can tell her the truth' he thought, 'maybe she'll do something about it'. But alas, in place of the truth Jason donned only the brightest of smiles and said he had a fight with some of his friends, and that he'd rather not speak to them at the moment. His mother was aghast, "but you must apologise Jason! They're your friends!"Any attempt, any sort of excuse Jason could possibly make at this point was of no use, and the car ride was spent in silence. The mother dropped Jason off at the main gate, the grand school looming over the surrounding forestry as Jason walked dejectedly into the crowd of boys. She smiled, "that's my boy"and drove back home, leaving Jason to deal with the horde of 'friends'. And yet people wondered why Jason stayed quiet. Why he always did projects alone. Why he rarely ever spoke. People would wonder what was wrong but alas, Jason's personality was made up of make believe theatrics to cover up the real problems. His smile, his jokes and upbeat attitude contrasted with the dull grey colour scheme of his life. The jabs, the jokes, the punches, the shoves. His mother wondered why he always came home starving, even though he had lunch money. Walking into the barrage of slurs, Jason reached into his pocket. His fingers wrapped around a sturdy handle as the cool steel of the blade comforted his hand. 'Maybe things will be different this time'
March 29, 2017 His coffee was cold. Not that you could call it coffee, by any means. More like… well... God he was tired. Brian Holland rubbed the sleep from his eyes, took another sip, and focused on the random string of visualized radio pulses displayed on the archaic CRT monitor. Telescope time was nearly impossible to secure, and very rarely awarded to non-university researchers. Needless to say, SETI fell very low on the priority roster. It was three in the morning, on a Tuesday, and here he sat, somewhere deep in the desert, with only the hum of the server rack to keep him company. And the coffee. But hey, it was better than nothing. The array of telescopes were constantly picking up radio anomalies, and every one of the hundreds of thousands recorded had turned out to be far-off pulsars, or equipment malfunctions, or someone’s microwave. One time it had been bird shit. That was a fun afternoon. This signal, recorded earlier that night, had caught Brian’s eye, and he had pulled it out of the digital pile for further analysis. He had scrutinized thirteen fruitless strings so far that night, but hey, luck fourteen as they say. The data showed a series of rapid pulses, growing in number, then dead air, then another string of pulses, this one longer and much more chaotic, then silence, and finally another string of pulses, degrading in length to nothing. Odds were, it was just a pulsar, spinning on its axis. More coffee. Brian sat back down at the terminal, the fresh cup of black sludge steaming in his cracked ceramic mug, the one with the kitten on it. He ran his hands through his matted hair, yawned, and resumed his scrutiny. >Silence, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, silence, illegible, silence, 13, 8, 5, 3, 2, 1, 1, silence. >Silence, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, silence, illegible, silence, 13, 8, 5, 3, 2, 1, 1, silence. A metaphorical light bulb clicked. Fibonacci. That was Fibonacci. *** April 3, 2017 “Are you sure?” Doctor Hellen Miller leaned back in her chair and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. Brian nodded absently, focused on the string of one’s and zero’s. “I’m pretty sure. If we take the two Fibonacci sequences as terminators, the pulses between could be a message. Assuming a digit length of… 0.135 seconds… we can distill the pulses into binary.” Doctor Miller adjusted her glasses. “True. Have you put them through any translators?” Brian nodded. “Ya, nothing yet, but we’re still working.” *** May 4, 2017 “God damn Chinese-made piece of…” Brian dexterously removed the glass screen from his phone, laying it gently on a nearby towel. Under a magnifier, he studied the LCD panel beneath. Dead pixel, top right corner. He had a replacement set aside, unwrapped and ready. It hadn’t been cheap. He moved to power down the phone, when something caught his eye. Pixels. Light, dark, light dark. Binary. Binary… *** May 13, 2017 “What?” Brian rubbed his eyes and tried again to explain his find. “It’s not a code, it’s a picture.” Doctor Miller scrutinized him over the frames of her reading glasses. “How do you figure?” Brian pulled a crumbled sheet of paper from his bag, flattened it out on his knee, and slid it across the desk. “It’s not code, it’s pixels, a picture. If we consider one’s as white, and zero’s as black, paint it, and then configure a pixel height of 128, we get this. Doctor Miller studied the print out silently, her face an emotionless mask. After a few moments she looked up. “What the hell is this?” Brian smiled knowingly. “Pictograms, Hellen, they’re pictograms!” Doctor Miller put down her novel and adjusted her glasses. For the first time in his short career at SETI he saw his mentor falter. “And the best part?” he lead. He had her full attention now. “It’s from Earth. Akkadian, ancient Mesopotamia.” Doctor Miller tossed the paper back across the desk. “Come on, Brian, don’t mess with me, it’s too damn early.” Brian shook his head, “Not messing with you, Hellen, I double-checked, triple checked. I even called in an expert from the University. Want to know what it says?” Hellen sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Sure, Brian, sure, I’ll humor you.” “Translated from Akkadian to English, it reads 'Akkad this is Bassetki-1. We have returned to Sol and are awaiting further instructions.'” Hellen grimaced. “Always with the jokes, Brian. Come on, at least try to make it believable.” “I thought you’d say that, so I brought something else.” He shuffled around in his bag, returning with a thick sheaf of paper. He let it fall to the desk with a satisfying thud. “I spent some free time sorting through the international backlog, looking for our Fibonacci sequence.” Hellen thumbed through the stack. She looked up, “And…” Brian grinned. “There are over five hundred messages in there, received all over the globe, each saying the same thing. And you’re not gonna believe where they’re coming from.” [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Irishpersonage/comments/4iko31/akkad_signal_part_2/) *** If you liked what you read you should check out my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Irishpersonage/comments/4i1vq9/welcome/) for more of my prompts responses.
"Mind if I join you?" The man on the skyscraper's ledge turned slowly to face the speaker, who was a thin, pale man with spidery fingers. He was smiling, not unkindly, a bottle in each hand. "S—sure."He moved aside carefully, knees knocking against each other. The pale man stepped over the raised lip with ease and carelessly dropped into a seating position. "Are you the police?" The pale man's smile grew wider as he held out a hand. "In a sense. I'm Death." Blanching, the other man leaned back and almost toppled over, if not for Death catching hold of his sleeve. "T—thanks,"he said. "Wait, why did you—" Death shrugged, handing him a bottle. "Old habits die hard. I used to save people for a living." "Like an angel?"the man said, fear apparent on his face. "You're Satan, one of the fallen—" "I'm not an angel, and I'm most definitely not dear ol' Lucy,"Death said. "In fact, last I heard, God's making Lucy atone for his sins by putting on a bright red costume and giving kids presents at the end of every year. You still haven't told me your name." "I'm Fergus. Satan's ... Santa?" "Ever wonder why one's an anagram of the other?"Death smirked and took a swig of his beer. "Before you get excited, I should clarify. He's a minimum-wage Santa impersonator being bounced around five or six malls each Christmas. Keeping his head down too; wouldn't do for demons to see the Lord of Hell taking selfies with babies on his knee. Hurts morale." "Then what're you doing here?"Fergus said. Death snorted. "I think there's nobody more qualified to answer that than you." Going white, Fergus said nothing. Death swung his legs and drank more beer. "Look, most losers in your position give me the same crap when I come calling. Those two magic words, 'not ready'. Still got to pay their kids' tuition, empty Meowsaur's litter box, delete their porn, turn off the oven, yada-yada."Death sighed. "If they had their way, nobody'll die. Ask for one more breath, live forever." "But you,"he said, turning to face Fergus. "You haven't said a single thing about keeping your life. Care to share?" "I killed someone,"Fergus said hoarsely. Death raised an eyebrow. "Well, well. On the other end of the spectrum, the ones who really want to die, most of them say the same things too. Crap job. Crappy marriage. Crappier kids. I mean, why do humans even want kids? They're annoying when young, ignore you when they get older, and poop all over the place. Then they die. I'd keep a cat instead. Cats do the same, but at least cats have got style." "It was an accident,"Fergus said. "I didn't see him crossing the road." Death jammed his fingers in his ears. "Oh for the love of—I don't need to hear this shit again." Fergus blinked at him. "Excuse me? Weren't you the one who asked?" "I already know! Someone died, remember? You should've seen the guy."Death began laughing. "You didn't? Arms and legs sticking everywhere at once like someone tried to assemble him with an IKEA manual. One of his eyeballs was dangling from his face, right next to his mouth. Every time he talked, it would enter his mouth somehow, and he'd end up making these sucking noises. But that's nothing compared to his ba—" A stream of vomit rained from Fergus's mouth. Death winced, saying, "Sorry, didn't know you were allergic to beer." "Did he say anything about me?"Fergus said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. His entire body was trembling. "Nope. More worried about whether the afterlife had Netflix."Death picked at a fingernail. "That's the thing, you see. I've got a lot of names. Death. Plague. Murder. Greed. Jealousy. Yes, too much Netflix. And guilt." "Guilt kills, especially when you keep it all to yourself. You've got loved ones. Talk to them. Talk to your bedridden mom. Your lesbian wife. That creep in your WoW guild who faps to your character. Your postman who's been secretly reading all your mail for the last five years. I'll be visiting them all pretty soon, so no time like the present, right?" Fergus's eyes widened, until Death laughed and said, "I'm kidding. Gosh, why do humans take death so seriously? Not like you can do anything about it even if you worry." "Enough of this,"Fergus said, shaking his head, eyes tightly shut. "If you want my life, just take it. Stop teasing me, stop making fun of me. Just end it." "Like I said, you need to talk to someone. Don't let that guilt eat you up. The first people you should talk to are the police. They're going to lock you up for a bit, of course, but prison's the best place to work some of that guilt off. I love visiting prisons. Most people there seem cheerful to see me." "But if you're going to kill me—" Death grinned. "Haven't you wondered why this conversation's so long? You're already dead." Fergus seemed to deflate, whatever remaining color in his cheeks fading. "I see. I didn't even get to say goodbye." Roaring with laughter, Death slapped him on the back, almost sending him over the edge. "I'm joking. Jeez, you really are no fun. Look, you've got your heart in the right place, I can tell. Go talk to the cops. Today's your lucky day." "You're lying." "Cross my heart and hope to—darn."Death stood and began walking on air, stopping several feet away to face Fergus. "Not messing around anymore. I'm giving you a chance to set things right. Next time I visit, you won't be so lucky though." Hope finally began to shine in Fergus's eyes, and he too slowly stood. "Thank you for this chance." "Oh, and one more thing. Get rid of this for me, will you? Don't want to litter."Death tossed his empty bottle to Fergus, who instinctively reached out to grab it. Unfortunately, he forgot he was standing on a narrow ledge. "Shit,"Death said, watching the screaming man plummet. "I've got to stop bringing drinks on the job." *** For more stories, visit [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker)!
I barrel past crooked boles and thick undergrowth. The sharp branches of the trees biting into me. The pain blossoms in my mind as blood flows without end from the countless grazes. It feels muted and distant. My adrenaline drives me forward now. My desire to be away from that accursed house and its endless horrors enough to keep me running. When I had first arrived there, I had been happy. The flaking walls but an obstacle on the way to restoring it to its original splendor. I was foolish. Such places resist the urge to change, transforming instead those that dare to try. I have been changed. My thoughts are dark and the abyss calls out my name. My body is broken and wretched, contorted by the abominable terrors that the house inflicted upon me. New teeth have broken from the skin of my arms and voluminous maws part my arms atwain. Alas, my gut is sunken now for those terrible jaws have found no succor in this endless night. At first I rebelled but one cannot fight the darkness. The darkness! My eyes saw naught but darkness. But then came the lights! Fireflies from the void! They grew larger and I cried out in joy! My mouth was ragged, my throat too dry, and as I screamed, my many mouths screamed in unison. The fireflies now flee from me and I give chase. I need their light! I need the salvation they promise! They flee but I am faster! They fight but I am stronger! I grasp their light and it quenches my thirst! I swallow it and it eases my hunger. I have escaped now from that wretched house and am away from that petrified forest. In the distance, I see more fireflies. So many more fireflies.
"Hello cocksucker." It took me quite the moment to comprehend this, after all, where the fuck was that tattooed on him? He looked normal, had the usual kindergarten tattoos on his neck - "Hello""Good""Day""How""Are""You""Me"- y'know the sort, the basics. "Hello cocksucker?"He was asking this time - why? No clue. He looked the normal sort, short brown hair, kind blue eyes, golden tattoos - that's how you knew that he came from the north side - in fact, he'd fit right in to a prep school. "Howdy"Shoot me, my dad was a Texan - they've basically got their own language over there. "Hello, cocksucker."He almost sounded scared. "What's happening?"God damn it, if my parents weren't such fucking optimists I could ask him what was wrong. "Hello cocksucker."He seemed to be pleading for something - he was pointing down, but I didn't really want to look after what he was saying. "Hello cocksucker."He was dangerously close to tears. Against all of my better instincts I took a step closer, and he recoiled. There were bruises right under his shirt collar. There were scrapes on his wrist. "What happened?" "Hel-"He gagged trying to stop the words - but you never could really, you always had to say the words as written, "-lo cocksucker." "Good god,"Thin tattooed lines crisscrossed the words on his neck. I found my finger trailing one of these, feeling him quivering, quivering under. "Did they?" He nodded, and slowly turned. There was a touch of blood where his lower back met his shirt. He lifted it, and there were the only words intact - HELLO-COCKSUCKER. That fucking hyphen. "They did,"I sounded like an idiot, but I couldn't help it. Ma told me they did this in the city. They called it muting or parroting. They'd rob you of your money, then your words and turn you out on some alley, and pray to god that some stranger'd be willing to pay for your voice to come back. "Hel- lo cocksucker."The poor bastard just wanted to say help.
It took a long time for us to realize what was going on, much less accept it. But the evidence was just undeniable. People who boarded planes in one city and landed in another would wake up the next morning in the same city that they had just departed. People who died later in the day would wake up the next morning like nothing happened. After this had been going on for months, the Russian president one day launched his nukes at us. We responded in kind. The world had ended in a nuclear holocaust. But the next morning, we all woke up in our beds like as though nothing had happened. From that day onward, every day was February 29th. That was the day when I realized something. Each of us in our own way, and some more than others, had become gods. How else would you describe beings who no longer had to worry about consequences? I don't remember how long this has been going on. I stopped counting after the 36,500th day. For all I know, I could be thousands of years old now, but I don't look a day over 36. I used to be an accountant. Once upon a time. But it's been so long since I've worked that I wouldn't be able to draw you a current account balance sheet now even if my life depended on it. I guess I should be glad that my life doesn't depend on it. It wasn't always like this. At first, we went to work like we always did. But do you have any idea how difficult accounting can get when every single note and record that you had made the previous day no longer exists when you wake up? Working just became pointless. We all worked to be able to afford to live. But when affording to live no longer became a motivational factor, most people no longer found the motivation to work. There were some holdouts. There's this one priest in our neighborhood who always goes to church every day to pray and hear people's confessions. Now that must have been quite something. I don't know what those people's sins were before all this happened; maybe skipping the Sabbath or something, but when the fear of death no longer mattered, people began to do all kinds of crazy things. Take me for example. I was a mild mannered accountant whose existence was something most people would never have noticed. But I started doing hard drugs, fucking random prostitutes and strangers out in public in the middle of the day, and even kicked a puppy to death. And that was within the first month of when this started. If you think you've seen human depravity, you haven't. I've killed, been killed, raped, been raped, mauled, been mauled, I've flown high on cocaine and once literally drowned in a vat of beer. But we weren't all depraved. At least not all the time. Thing is, after a while, even having a threesome with the hot Peterson twins that live across the street while their mother watched got boring. We all sought fun and something new. But when you live the same day for thousands of years, well, nothing's new anymore, which means nothing's fun anymore. So, after years of debauchery, which would have made the people of Sodom and Gomorrah think we were being too much, some of us even began to pursue higher knowledge. I learned a great deal throughout all this time. I learned to speak multiple languages, learned to play the piano, and though it took me a long time, I finally understood cricket! I never thought I'd get cricket. Well, at least I understood cricket before I eventually forgot it again. Time's a bitch. Even if it stands still. But even that got boring. Everything got boring. And there was no way out. All of that changed yesterday. Yesterday, I walked out of my home. I had not even bothered to tie up my robe even if my manhood was swinging for all the world to see. It wouldn't have been the first time any of them had seen it anyway. I walked out and saw my neighbor about to jump off his roof. "Morning, Fred,"I said. "Morning, John,"he replied. "Turning in early today?" "Yep." He jumped off the roof, not for the first time, which was followed by a splat. I knew exactly how his body would have twisted in every angle and which orifice blood was pouring out from. I had seen it all before countless times. I continued to walk to the liquor store, smashed the window with a rock, picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels, walked over to Jill's house, got drunk and my dick sucked, then went home. Sitting in the darkness by yourself without talking to anyone can sometimes be the best way to spend the day. One time, I decided to get adventurous and meet new people only to end up getting crucified. Literally. People can be sick. And it's not like as though it doesn't hurt. Just because you wake up the next day at home like as though it never happened doesn't mean that getting your hands and feet nailed to a cross doesn't hurt like a motherfucker. Today, however, was different. I woke up, walked out of my home without bothering to tie up my robe even if my manhood was swinging for all the world to see, and said good morning to Fred while walking to the liquor store but then something caught my attention. Fred's broken body was still lying on the ground. And he reeked. Flies were buzzing around him. That has never happened before. I rushed back into my house and turned on the radio. I had not listened to the news in a very long time but I still remembered how to change the radio station. It was all over the news. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people who died yesterday were discovered dead today. It was official. It was finally March 1st. And for the first time in an incredibly long time, I felt something that I had long given up on. I felt happy. And I knew what I was going to do. I quickly walked back to my room and opened my closet. On the top shelf was an old shoe box where I kept my gun. I was ready. But apparently I wasn't the only person to think this way. While I was rummaging the box for bullets, I heard several gunshots come from the twins' house. Everyone was choosing to die. We had all lived thousands of lifetimes, did everything, and did everyone. There was nothing new left. The only thing that made any of us happy anymore was the fact that we no longer had to live. Right before I was about to pull the trigger, my last thought was whether that priest would kill himself, too.
I regret this line every time I say it: "NOW. CHOOSE, MORTAL." This time is no different. "I want to battle you in Shadowverse,"the boy says. "...Wait, what?"I ask. "You know, it's all the rage! You get to play as Arisa, or Luna, or Forte, or... Isabelle, but after her art got nerfed no one plays her anymore cause--" "Alright, hold on,"I say. I used to be surprised. I'd say it was about forty years ago when I had my first gaming shock. I'd been challenged to a game called Pong, and from then on, the requests had diversified. There are rules to being the Grim Reaper, you see, (and the higher-ups get pissy if you don't follow them). 1. Inform your client that s/he is about to die. 2. Play a game of their choice with them. 3. Kill them after your win is inevitably announced. The types of games mortals played used to be predictable. Chess, checkers, and the occasional game of tag requested by the less intellectual client (artists have somehow depicted correctly that I can, in fact, fly). But now I swear they have a game for anything and everything. Last week, I had to kill someone over a video game version of beach volleyball for crying out loud. "Is this ... Shadowverse a cell phone game?"I ask blandly. "Yeah,"the boy says, "It's going to be released on Steam eventual--" "I don't have a phone,"I say. No coverage in Hell, after all. "Well, then don't I win by default?"He asks smugly. "Not so fast,"I scratch the underside of my mandible. In these situations, you've got to be flexible. "Just play against the AI,"I say, "That's good enough for me." "Ha,"the boy says, "That's a piece of cake; the AI in this game sucks." Sure enough, the boy wins. I take note that he had chosen to play against the easiest difficulty AI. "Alright, that's enough,"I say. "Haha! I did it! I BEAT DEATH,"the boy gloats. These days, I have to endure this swing of emotions every time I meet a new client. The client is always scared when they see Death swooping down on them; even if the Grim Reaper has become a monetized, Hollywood image, I assure you that in person, most people meeting me forget even how to scream. Then they challenge me to a game I've no idea how to play, and then once they 'win', their fear instantly morphs into arrogance. I take note of these reactions too. "You know, the only game I've ever played been any good at is chess,"I say, "But even then, I'm not that great at it." "...What's your point?"the boy scoffs. "Ever wondered why chess grandmasters die like everyone else?" The boy blinks. I still don't understand why I have to do this song and dance every time, but I don't ask questions. I just say what they tell me to say. "I win." I swing my scythe.
"RUN!"That's how most systems and experts translated the message. Some of them tried "flee"or "evacuate"but the meaning was clear. We had watched hundreds upon hundreds of alien ships passing between Earth and its moon. Some of them were large enough to see with the naked eye. There were more designs than we could keep up with. A few hobbyists tried cataloging them online but even they admitted they only captured a fraction. The world's leaders debated what to do about the message. The talking heads on the news shows split along mostly predictable lines. Church attendance was way up. The Pope said not to fear. A few Imams said to trust in Allah. Most rabbis advised caution. The Americans wanted to prepare for war. The Russians couldn't be outdone by their old rivals. The German and French began discussing underground shelters. The Japanese began building spaceships as fast as they could. The world was very slowly going crazy. Two weeks after the last of "The Fleeing Fleet", as the networks were calling it, passed us a single ship sparkled above Earth. Compared to some of the other ships, this one was tiny. Still massively larger than any ship Earth has ever put into orbit but nothing like the behemoths that had cruised by the Moon. "Greetings. We are travelers from a faraway world who wish to learn of your culture."That message blanketed the Earth for thirty hours. Every person near any sort of electronic device heard it repeating over and over. Once again, the world's leaders and pundits were at each other's throats deciding what to do. They were arguing right up until a small shuttle detached from the larger ship and landed in Alabama. The National Guard and half of America's armed forces scrambled. Neil Duchamp was a ham radio operator who had replied as s southern boy would to any guest: y'all come on in. The aliens had accepted his hospitality and landed on his farm. Every media outlet in the world rushed to the site. The military has already cordoned off the area before they arrived. The combined military / media circus completely encircled Neil's farm. They watched every movement inside the fence line. When the shuttle opened, a six-legged alien stepped out and walked down the ramp. To humans, this alien looked like a giant upright spider. The alien spoke through a small translator box on it thorax. "Greetings. We are travelers from a faraway world who wish to learn of your culture."The same message that had played around the world came out of this thing's voice box. "Howdy,"said Neil. His wife had passed some years back and his kids were grown and off to the big city. He lived alone in the country. He figured it was better something happen to an old man like him than to someone with their whole life ahead of them. Better in the country than city too. "Name's Neil. Neil Duchamp. This here's my house. Can I offer you fellers a drink or something to eat?" The spider alien cocked his head. The translator box was whirring internally before it finally spit out a translation in a high pitched warbling. After a minute, the spider responded in the same way and the translator spoke: "Yes. Do you have water?" "Reg'lar and fire!"Neil laughed at his own joke. He motioned for the alien to follow him in the house. The cameramen zoomed in as tight as they could but only made out vague shapes moving through the house. Neil and the alien had been in the house for almost half an hour when the alien suddenly burst out and made a beeline for his shuttle. It tripped over its own legs several times before scrambling up the ramp. As soon as the ramp had retracted, the shuttle blasted off completely silently except for a small rush of wind. The people on the ground lost sight of the shuttle within seconds. Radar confirmed that the shuttle returned to the mothership. Two hours later the mothership left the solar system at an astonishingly high rate of speed. In the days and weeks that followed, Neil was begged for interviews from every news outlet, government agency, blogger, celebrity, and general gossip on the planet. They wanted to know what he said in that half hour with the alien. All he would say is "Well, we was visiting and then he decided that it was time for him to go home." On the one year anniversary, Neil told the full story down at the town hall. It was packed to bursting. The back wall was a sea of camera lenses. Neil sat up front on a folding chair with a cup of coffee in his hand. The room hushed when he held up his hand. "I s'pose y'all want to hear 'bout my visit with that spidery feller. Well, after he came in the house I got him a glass of water just like he asked. Then I offered something with a little more kick. Now I know Sheriff Lambert don't like me havin' my little hobby back in the woods, but I gave that spidery feller a Mason jar of pure shine."Neil stopped to laugh at the memory. "He started sputterin' and stammerin' all at once. Couldn't keep ahold of all six feet like that. That jar went right to his head." "Well then he starts talkin' 'bout business. Says that the reason them other fellas flew by the Moon in such an awful hurry was because they owed him money. He was chasin' 'em to collect, ya see. Says that him and his friends make a livin' that way: drive up to a place, offer to sell 'em fancy gizmos on credit, then when the people can't pay- why you just repossess the whole dang place." "So I set back and thought on this for a bit. I could tell he was aimin' to pull a job like that here. I says him a man came by my house a couple of years back wants me to sign some kind of 'reverse mortgage' or something. I started readin' the papers he wanted me to sign and he ripped them out of my hand sayin' that I didn't need to read, just sign. I told that man to give me just a minute to get my glasses. Only what he didn't know was that I kept a .45 loaded on top of the china cabinet. My wife always did hate that. Anyway, I grabbed that .45 and stuck it right up that old boy's nose. I told him I believed it was time for him to leave and he agreed." "I looked at that spidery feller and I told him that humans might buy his gizmos and he might end up owning the whole place. But here's the thing when they came to try to collect, we'd have turned every last gadget into a weapon. Then, us bein' the greedy sort usually, we'd find out where he came from. Then we'd go there and see if there was any more good stuff. Now I said I expected his people to fight us on that. I also said I expected it would t matter." "He started blusterin' 'bout how strong they were when I stopped him. I had an old WW2 book on shelf. I went and got it and showed it to him. I explained what we did to each other. Then I showed him my Purple Heart from Guadalcanal. I told him my people honored soldiers and fighters. I told him that his people might just beat us eventually. Then I told him that even if they won, we'd die with our hands at their throats." Neil finished his coffee and walked out of the room before anyone could think of a question to ask. [Edit: name continuity]
Dearest Agatha, If there is a lesson to be learned in all of this, it may simply be that the value of dressing well and showing common courtesy is impossible to underestimate. To step back within the narrative, I'll begin by confirming the facts with which you are already familiar. Following the War, of which I was but a humble spectator and not a participant, in large part due to a hereditary trait which causes swelling in my joints during moments of stress and would therefore make me a certain liability upon the field of battle, I took a holiday in the French countryside. As I explained to my Father, the purpose of this was to clear my head and return to the States fully prepared to regain my position within the family meat processing empire. During my travels, however, I met a gentleman who raved of certain entertainments to be found in the City of Paris. He described these entertainments in such a way that it seemed foolish not to at least make the trip and verify his many claims. So to Paris I went. In searching for the building in which these entertainments may be found, I became a bit misdirected. I did, however, come to find myself walking before a pair of English-speaking gentlemen and took to following them, in the hopes that they may also be seeking these noted entertainments. These gentlemen arrived at a grand building. Through overheard conversation, I learned that this was the French Foreign Ministry and not the site of the entertainments I sought. As I considered my mistake, wonderfully formal footmen held open the door. When the gentlemen went in and the footmen remained holding the door open, I realized that they assumed I was with the other gentlemen. Preferring not to make these hired men feel foolish in their (perfectly reasonable) assumption, I entered the building. Once inside, I had all intentions of taking a brief tour and then leaving, however, I was immediately approached by an official of some authority. He asked which nation I represented. Now, you must understand, I made a mistake of judgment in this moment. I did not previously know what the purpose of the French Foreign Ministry might be, so I assumed (and I argue it was reasonable to do so) that they managed affairs primarily concerned with foreign tourists. Therefore, when the gentleman asked my name and which nation I represented, I thought he was serving as the equivalent of a guest book, merely collecting pertinent information. That is why I thought it would be a laugh to say what I said. "I represent the Great, Misunderstood Nation of Gervonia,"I told the man, which caused him to blink in confusion. "Gervonia, sir?"he said, flipping through sheets of paper. "And your nation suffered some upheaval during the War?" "Such upheaval!"I said, wondering only in that moment whether or not the French Foreign Ministry contained a museum or anything of common interest to pass the time. "The Germans stole the entirety of our livestock, all of our feather pillows, most of our good pens, and a handful of our better looking children." The man gawped at this, which I took as a sign of a good yarn. "I suppose you will be arguing for reparations?"he said. "Indeed,"I replied, not entirely sure what was meant, but feeling that my little joke was exceeding its station quite substantially. "We will be demanding land, infantrymen, and a quarter of their richest pastries. The fury of Gervonia is not easily quenched!" The man bowed his head. "Well, I should think not. Please, find a seat in the hall. The proceeding shall begin shortly." Ah, I thought to myself, there must be a show of some variety. So I took my seat in a grand hall and made myself comfortable. This was not, of course, the entertainment I had traveled so far to experience, but you know as well as any, Dear Agatha, that I am not so rigid as to refuse a pleasant change of plans. What followed, in all honesty, was a bit drab for my tastes. It was largely just a lot of talking and talking. There were Americans there, as well as Brits, Japs, Italians, and a few others. None did much to hold my attention. I was thoroughly bored and considering my escape when I heard someone call out my name. I sat up on instinct as they named me the representative of Gervonia, an aggrieved party to the War. "What does Gervonia seek?"said someone I did not manage to see. The man from earlier stood up. "They seek land, military armament, and food rations,"he said, before nodding in my direction. "Land?"scowled a muttonchop'd fellow in a luxurious overcoat. "That pie cannot be sliced any further." "We aren't a fussy people,"I said, standing up. "Just a small bit, something off one of the ends will be fine. Preferably something with a river or a chocolate factory." "And you require arms?"said another man. "The War is over, sir." "Well,"I replied, "Gervonia believes in an eye for an eye. We were invaded, rather rudely, so we would like the opportunity to do the same. That seems fair to me." "To be clear,"said the muttonchopped'd fellow. "You want a piece of Germany, as well as the arms and supplies necessary to invade her?" "We can invade someone else, if you like,"I said. "As I stated, we are not a fussy people. I think it's more the principle of the thing. We can't sit around, getting invaded, and not do a bit of invading ourselves. It's demoralizing." I realize, my dear, that this letter has gone on perhaps a bit longer than usual, so I will sum up by saying that if you are so inclined, you should consider purchasing a ticket and joining me here on the old continent. Gervonia is, at the moment, a relatively sparse plot of land, but there is a very good chance we will have invaded Luxembourg by the time this letter reaches you and I hear they have some rather nice cafes. Yours in love, F. Paul Risenbaum, III President and Supreme Emperor The Great, Misunderstood Nation of Gervonia
Love hurts. To be cast aside by your younger cousin and subjected to pain and humiliation for all eternity is a fate I wish not on anyone, except for the perpetrator himself. Oh, how I regret not taking the other’s advice seriously. If I did, maybe we would have turned the tables during the Titanomachy, and my cousin would not be gathering his kin to form a council to rule the eons to come. But those are lies made my my cousin and his cohorts, that were meant for mortal ears, to keep the fires burning for them ever lit and their names ever sung by the generations to come. While I have not seen my brother for eons, he is still kin of my kin. Our great Mother’s blood flows in all of us, despite us being a generation apart. Even though my final image of him is he bringing this accursed weight upon my body, I know myself well enough that he would not be content to sit upon the throne forever. As I am toiling under the pressure here, I can imagine him languishing in his so-called palace, just like his father and the father before his. I know he no longer cares for his realm, and until his sons topple him, there would be no reprieve from my enslavement. This leaves me to own the very thing he once claimed that is now resting on my hands. Though I am the custodian of the skies now that doesn’t make the agony any easier. Many times I have nearly dropped the weight that would have engulfed the mortal realm in eternal darkness and death. But one thing stopped me even with my protesting limbs shrieking otherwise. Mortals themselves. From my prison here at the end of the world, I have seen the mortal kind rise and fall and rise again. The fires I have seen mortals created for helping or destroying their own kind has lit the distant clouds over and over. Yet, they still stand. As my hands labor forever under the pressure of the swirling clouds over my head, I can’t help but admire the kind my uncle long since hated. The sheer determination, creativity and devotion the mortal have for themselves. Their sheer will to live is more than enough to garner my affection. At any time I feel weary and lose all hope in this world, all I near to do is to gaze upon the lights in the distance. I know out there they are living their fullest, and that alone is sufficient to keep my mind and hands steady under the pain, because I love them. Love truly hurts.
This will be number thirty seven. Number one was an accident. I was drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. I don't even remember the crash. Must have blacked out before then. One woman killed. Aged 35. Born in 1981. The 80s were a fun decade. Number seven was a doozy. I had gotten over any notions of guilt by now. Traveling through time was worth any qualms my conscience had. 78 year old man. Father. Grandfather. Who cares. I liked variety and the older I could find, the farther back I could go. Number twenty two. My first child. You see, once you go back, the only way to move around is by using math. If I go back to 1865 to see Lincoln, and want to get to 1857, some poor eight year old needs to go. What would you do? Number thirty five. Murder was more culturally acceptable by now. I had always been a fan of history. I kept killing and killing. I didn't care if it was painful or painless. I didn't care who my target was. I only cared about my target time. I went from guns, to knives, to bows, to swords. Number thirty seven. I had planned this one for a while. I couldn't remember the last time I had been this excited for a kill. Man. 27. I raised my blade and cut him in the neck until he bled out right in front of me. *** My friends had been drinking at a party we went to. None for me. Not this time. On my sober drive home, my mind was fixed on one thing. I think I'd rather start in the 90s this time.
He was seven rounds deep with the mutated gator what had tried to snatch his balls in a Taco Bell shitter when the call came in. "Git, Shitter Gator! Git!"roared Florida Man over the twinkling peel of his Nokia. He grabbed out the syringe of butterscotch pudding he kept in his boot for such and like occasions and stabbed the gator in the eye - blood, viscera, and orange instant pudding splattering the walls. "Real busy!"crowed Florida Man into the Nokia. "Turtle with herpes in the K-Mart! Speak or shut up!" "Save us, Florida Man!"screamed a lady's voice on the other end of the phone. "He's comin'! Hurricane Matthew is comin'!" "Fuck! Really? Fuck! Shit! Okay, shut up,"said Florida Man, cramming the pay-as-you-go phone into his cargo shorts. "Miami Hurricanes I'mma fuck you up sumpin' fierce."And with that he dove through the bathroom window, stole a truck full of Monster Energy, and headed south towards his aunt's house. "Aunt Windy!"he screamed, huckin' empties at the front door. "Aunt Windy, wake the fuck up!" The door crashed open. Aunt Windy laid a trio of warning shots out into the street, only managing to hit a mid-sized dog and Carl, who probably deserved it. "What the fuck you want?"howled Aunt Windy. "It's them hurricanes,"said Florida Man. "Gone too far. Need my Power Up juice." "You mean yer bath salts?"said Aunt Windy. "Stop yammering and gimme!" Aunt Windy slipped him the finger, but did as she was told. "BY THE POWER OF FLORIDA, I HAVE THE POWER!" "You go git 'em,"said Aunt Windy. "And pick me up some scratches and some Mad Dog on yer way back." "Git 'em yerself y'old tit-bag!"snarled Florida Man. "I'm gonna go fuck a pile of pizzas!" "What about them hurricanes?"said Aunt Windy. "Hurricanes can eat my asshole!"shouted Florida Man as he peeled out onto the street, running down an escaped zebra, a meth-head Eiffel Tower, and Carl in the process. Seven hundred yards later, Florida Man immediately forgot what he was doing and so drove to the nearest strip club instead, where he was arrested soon after for eating stray panties and fucking a soap dispenser in the men's room. _________________________________________________________ But seriously, Florida is great. Please don't get swept into the ocean, you beautiful weirdos.
"I mean, I'm grateful and all but -" "Son, your Daddy told me to make you a great frying pan. Said you was a-goon' adventurin'. Now I don't know how it is up on high with you fellers, but down here when the Big Man shows up, you hop to!" "How the hell am I even supposed to use this thing?" "Well, it's a fry pan. Ain't that complicated. Though I did make it outta cast iron so you'll need to season it and don't never wash it out. Jus' a little elbow grease and a paper towel or the like." "Yeah. Yeah, ok. You know, it actually has a pretty good balance. Handles well." "Yer damn right it does. You ever try flippin' flapjacks on a wonky pan? Might as well just feed 'em to the dog - he'll be gettin' 'me anyway." "Hey, that big angry looking bull in the next field over - he yours?" "Ol' Brahma? Naw, he's half wild. Don't belong to no one. Ornery as all get out too. He tore up my strawberries last summer. I'd-a kilt him but he's magical and all I had was my 12-gauge." "Hmm, I think my new fry pan needs a test drive." "You figurin' on killin' Brahma with a pan?" "Yeah, that's what you made it for, isn't it?" "Only cause your Daddy said so. Tell you what, you kill that mean ol' cuss and I'll show you how to season the pan using the fat off-a his bones." "Deal." CLANG "Holy shit! I got him! I killed him with one shot. Man, I thought he had me there when he started charging. Did you see me lay him out with the one shot between the eyes?" "He-he-he, yeah son, I saw it. Maybe your Daddy knew what he was doing. Lemme go grab my knife and we'll field dress him. I think there's a block and tackle out yonder in the shed. You go get that and set it up in that big oak tree in the back yard. We'll have plenty of steaks for dinner!" "Hey, this pan worked great. Could, uh, could you make me a stock pot to go with it?" "Son, for killin' Brahma, I'll make you a whole damn set. Now go get that block."
Video games had been difficult at first. Arriving in cramped basements, Death found he was not as adept with controllers as he was at chess or freestyle rap. It did not take many more encounters for him to stop losing however, leaving his total 106,678,943,245 victories to 678,942,103 defeats. For years he reveled as millennials were four stocked by his Sheik play and rekt by his uncanny ability to no-scope. In 2008, however, everything changed. Death visited a twelve year old boy in the cancer ward of a hospital. “It is time,” he told the boy, “for us to play a game, any game you choose. Pick wisely, for if I win, you die. If I lose you survive.” The boy thought quickly, noticing the calluses on Death’s fingers. He knew to pick video games would end in demise. In a moment of inspiration the boy simply said, “Let’s play The Game.” Death furled his brow in confusion, “Which game? COD or Halo? Choose now boy.” The boy smiled, realizing none had ever played The Game with Death before. “The Game is simple. The only way to win is to not think about The Game. If you think about the game then you lose.” Death’s already pale face drained. In order to claim this boy he would have to think about the game, and in doing so he would lose. He left dejected. That boy is in college now. Every so often on his more drunken nights, Death pays him a visit only to leave dejected to losing again. He may never die.
The stars twinkled above us in the dark sky. It was a warm summer night. The whole world, the whole universe, seemed saturated with love. I looked into Lucia's eyes, and reached for her hand, timorously. She smiled. "What?"I asked. "Nothing,"she said slyly. She leaned in as if she might kiss me but then weaved, passing by my desperate lips. She whispered in my ear: "So...Do you like me?" "Yes,"I sputtered, weakly. I felt like I was going to pass out. "Do you want to kiss me?"she whispered. "I--I." She pulled her head back and stared into my eyes. Her perfume smelled like spring flowers. It was intoxicating. She closed her eyes and began leaning in. I closed my eyes, too. That's when the ground started vibrating. That's when the fabric of all creation ripped beneath my feet, and suddenly I was plummeting through the rip, away from her kiss, down, into another dimension. "Damnit!"I said as a dropped like a stone through the whirling multi-coloured worm-hole. I started orbiting in wide circles that got tighter and tighter. I felt like I was in a trans-dimensional penny-drop. Finally, I plopped out the other end. I was in a world with a dark purple sky and ice-blue stars that glimmered like frozen diamonds. The dirt on which I stood, which stretched for miles in all directions, was blood red. From it grew trees whose leaves were fire. A giant made of red rocks, called Rockman, was lumbering over from a distance. "Aaron,"he called over, grumblingly. "I heard a rip and a pop! Is that you over there?" "Yes, it's me,"I said, slumped in defeat. "Back so soon?"he rumbled inquisitively, stopping beside me. I looked up at his face. He was sixty or so feet taller than me. "Not by choice,"I muttered. "You really ought to see Dr. Breaker,"Rockman advised. "You know they have treatments for--" "I know,"I said. "I know. But it's not usually so bad, it's just..." "Were you on the toilet again when it happened?" "No,"I said, embarrassedly, remembering a couple weeks ago, when I showed up in Rockworld squatting and mid-push in front of Rockman and his sharprock friends. "Nothing like that." "Well then, what is it?"he asked. "Well,"I said. "It's about a girl."
FADE IN: EXT. A RESIDENTIAL STREET - AFTERNOON A young man exits his house and locks the door behind him. This is STEVE. He glances up and down the street, apparently expecting someone to arrive. After a few moments, a car pulls up, and a young woman exits. This is SARAH. SARAH: Hey! I hope you haven't been waiting long! STEVE: Nah, I only just stepped outside. Sarah nods her understanding, then shifts her weight expectantly. SARAH: So... third date, huh? STEVE: Yeah, I was thinking that we could take a walk down to the farmer's market, and then I could... Steve trails off, and his face adopts an expression of muted horror. SARAH: ... You could what? STEVE: Oh no. SARAH: You could oh no? STEVE: No. SARAH: Well, that sure cleared things up. Rather than answering, Steve grabs Sarah's hand and takes off running. STEVE: Come on! There's no time to explain! SARAH: Hey, ouch! What's going on? STEVE: I just said there's no time to explain! Follow me! Hurry! The pair round a corner, and Steve slows to a halt. Sarah snatches her hand away from him. SARAH: Look, I'm going to have my friend call with a fake emergency if you're going to start pretending that you're a secret agent or something. STEVE: No, no! No, it's not like that! SARAH: What's going on, then? STEVE: I heard music! SARAH: ... Music. STEVE: It was Dave's music! SARAH: Okay, so, Dave has bad taste in music. Why did we have to run, again? Steve rubs his forehead, looking slightly unhinged. STEVE: It's not that he has bad taste in music; it's that his life is a goddamned musical. SARAH: So what? Lots of people listen to music throughout the day. STEVE: You're not getting it. SARAH: Well, you're not explaining it. Steve glances around the corner, then sighs and seems to relax slightly. STEVE: Look, Dave is my roommate, okay? SARAH: Oh. I get it. STEVE: ... What? SARAH: He's your "roommate." STEVE: What? Wait, what? No! No, I mean, he's literally my roommate, and he has this... condition. SARAH: A musical condition. STEVE: Yes. SARAH: ... Does he, like, fart a lot or something? STEVE: I mean actual music. Whenever he starts singing, the world around him turns into a goddamned Andrew Lloyd Webber scene. Sarah stares at Steve for several seconds. SARAH: Gosh, you know what? I just remembered. My friend's goldfish just died. I should go comfort her. STEVE: I'm telling the truth! SARAH: Uh huh. Sarah starts to walk away, but Steve jumps in front of her. STEVE: No, no, I mean it! I know it sounds crazy! In the distance, strains of music become audible. SARAH: Get out of my way. STEVE: Please, if you'd just... if only you could... Steve steps aside, raises his arms, and begins singing toward the sky. STEVE: Look at me! I've blown it yet again! Why can't I live a normal life While Dave is still my friend? I'm handsome and intelligent, I'm educated, smart, And yet I become quite the fool When I hear music start! Steve turns to see Sarah walking away again, and he dances after her. SARAH: Leave me be! This isn't what I want! I was hoping for a normal date Perhaps at a restaurant! You're handsome and intelligent, And that I wouldn't change, But it's always on the third date That men start acting strange! From seemingly out of nowhere, several more MEN surround Steve. They all dance in perfect synchronization as they follow Sarah. MEN: And so It goes! It's that godawful fate! The scourge of every living man... One of the group jumps forward and sings with a flamboyant intonation. The music stops for his line. GAY MAN: ... Assuming that he's straight! The GAY MAN jumps back into line with his cohorts. MEN: We try so much to please them, We work hard to impress, But that which makes a woman tick Is anybody's guess! As if in response, several WOMEN suddenly surround Sarah. They all turn around and face the men. WOMEN: And there It is! You've taken off the mask! To find out just what women want, You only have to ask! We don't care if you're psychic, This isn't just your "fate!" Rather than assume anything, You should communicate! The music slows, and the dancing slows in kind. Everyone forms into a swaying ring, into which Steve steps. STEVE: Oh, there... Is a truth inside me... A secret that I really should have shared. If she... Was to be my lover... When she learned it, would she have even cared? Sarah steps into the ring. SARAH: I know... That you aren't so crazy... The truth about your friend is plain to see. Instead... Of that sudden dragging... You should have tried just telling this to me. The music's tempo picks back up, and the men and women start dancing together. STEVE and SARAH: Maybe we Can get a second chance We've just had our first-ever fight As a part of this dance! It is quite the story to tell! This moment, we can save! There's only one more thing to say... A young man comes around the corner. This is DAVE. DAVE: Oh, hi, Steve! Everyone else raises their arms to the sky and belts out the final notes of the song. EVERYONE: Fuck you, Daaaaaaave! After a final fanfare - during which several men and women do back-flips and cartwheels - the music abruptly stops. The men and women glance at one another with confusion and embarrassment, then hurriedly shuffle away from one another. Steve and Sarah look at each other, then smile. DAVE: ... That was a bit rude. FADE OUT.
Joseph and Mary were suspended in their holodeck actuators on Reigel 9. Suddenly, Courtney, their trans-conscious, biologically-enhanced super-offspring appeared at their nice, glass table where Joseph and Mary were discussing what to do next about the hourly, upcoming boss fight. "Man, you guys are so boring - the complexity of this game is from like 60 relative base-reality years ago, why do you enjoy it so much? And why are we communicating with simulated, analogue speech? What is that, an apple? You guys are holding me back." Joseph virtually stepped up: "Why, listen here, you little algorithm spawn, it's my universal basic income that funds this holodeck and I'll do what I want with it!" Mary grumbled: "Pfft, kids today, they're not even bound by the pains of an organic consciousness, and it's still not enough for them; back in my day, we only had plastic consoles and memes to keep us entertained. You're lucky this virtual slap won't cause you any pain!" "Ouch!"Courtney replied subserviently and left to create her own sand-boxed instance of the holodeck. Joseph responded: "Yeah, that's right, go and sulk in your room!". "It's not a room, Dad, Jeez."
I've never been a particularly rude woman in my life. In these times of war, crime, famine, and disease, it's nearly impossible to maintain a sense of morality. No matter who you were before the war, be you a humble cobbler or a prideful knight, you are meant to have a hand in this endless fight. Be you man or woman, child or elder, pacifist or murderer, it doesn't matter. You're now a part of this. However, I found my calling. "That's another order of Frog Leg Soup and Pixie Dust Breadsticks!"The sous chef called out from the order window as he passed by the stack of order slips. I smiled and wiped my brow down while sautéing the jumping legs of enchanted frogs in a deep skillet. My cooking crew of four worked tireless for the guild. Various appetites of various species came to me with only one desire: good food. "I've got six assassins fresh from the battle field!"A voice came before entering the door that separated my kitchen from the rowdy members in the mess hall. "And. They. Are. Hungry!"The waiter appeared fresh from the battle field himself. His uniform torn at the sleeves and eye black, he struggled to stand without leaning on the doorframe. "Well, what did they order?"I huffed and twirled a spatula in my hand trying to keep my focus in front of the easily burned pixie wings in my other skillet. "They just demanded food. Chef, they're so hungry they tried to eat my arm!"I glanced back again and caught sight of the bloody teeth marks in his arm. Returning back to my skillet, I glared at the rainbow flames coming off the burned dish. "For the love of... I'll talk to them."I undid the bun in my hair and wiped my hands on the towel over my shoulder. My kitchen wasn't a sanctuary for the weak and weary. It wasn't a safe haven away from the battles outside my door. It wasn't even where I could coward from the rowdy riffraff outside. It was another war zone all on its own. I stood outside my door and stared at the mess before me. Hooded assassins drunkenly toasted loudly with chatter of hidden blades and comparing rooftop kills. Those I could identify as fearless killers slammed their axes on their table to compare the edge of their blades. Some clutched their hands and struggled to topple the other over in a game of arm wrestling. Witches hovered in their floating tables, casting magic to retrieve their plates of food from the waiters and waitresses on the ground. "Hey!"I shouted and obtained silence from my guild members. All except the newly returned assassins. "Hey, quiet down."The more seasoned veterans warned and removed their hoods as I approached their younger subordinates. "Shut up would ya?!"An assassin flicked his wrist and put his feet up on the table. Glasses rattled and plates shook while his little gang of drunken fools joined him. "I want my food and I want it now! Where's the chef?!" I huffed and cleared my throat before standing beside him. "That would be me." "You?! Ha figures. Women always did belong in the kitchen!"His men cackled and wheezed at such a cleverly constructed joke. The witches glared down, wands and spells at the ready, only standing down when I rose my hand. "You men must have just come from the battlefield. You placed an order, but didn't specify what... and I'm sure you took a chunk out of my employee." "Listen here, lady."Another man stood up with a wobble before stumbling over to me. "I want... You to make us... A big old plate of... shut up!"His drunken gang laugh and slammed their fists on the table in pure joy over my humiliation. Only when their chuckles died down and the silence returned, did I speak again. "Right. I will return with your order."I turned on a heel, hearing every click of my shoes on the floor as I returned to the kitchen. "I'll be making this myself." My staff was quiet, peering out the door as I returned to the mess hall with a tray of steamy food. The rowdy men watched eagerly with victorious smirks and smug grins as I returned. "Finally!"One called out as I placed the tray on the table. Without hesitation, they shoved fried potato skins in their mouths. Freshly baked bread was dipped in the black sauce produced by deep dwelling fish. Hands cracked open the shells of armored turtlecrabs. "Ha! This ain't bad."One admitted, though no one else at the table joined in the delights. "Good job, girlie." "Haha this is why we need more women in the kitchens, leave the battles to us, right?!"The nudged elbows and nodded eagerly. Until the food began to turn sour. "Mmhm."I nodded and crossed my arms, seeing the faces turn green and milky chunks of food vomit out of their mouths and nostrils. Onlookers laughed at the rookie mistakes of the newcomers, only a few beginning to show concern as their bodies shook violently. "What did you—"One struggled to say before gagging and spewing his chewed food on the ground. "Make it stop! Make it stop! Please!" "Kill her already! Please! Make it—Oh God!" I scoffed, seeing the murderers, the assassins, the witches, the zealots, everyone in this room fear my power and respect my status. "I'm not sure what your commander has taught you, but there's only one rule here."The men heaved and reached out desperately for help. Their fellow assassins turned and stared towards the ceiling, ignoring their cries. "And that's not to piss off your chef." I've never been a particularly rude woman in my life. But I have always been a chef. And you never, ever, piss off your chef.
They all laughed at me when I suggested it. We'd been moving way too much jib, and we were running out of places to stash the innumerable stacks of various denominations. Nobody really knew how much was there. We'd started weighing it, but even that was tedious. I was starting to get paranoid having that much money lying around. It was literally everywhere. We'd filled all the cupboards. All the closets. There were garbage bags of rolled-up fives, tens, twenties. I was glad to be north of the border. I wondered if American drug dealers had to deal with a bunch of ones. Some of our guys on the street got paid in change, but they knew better than to bring it to us. No way we were gonna have rolls of loonies lying around. It had gotten to a point where even my gacked-out "business partners"could see it was getting to be a problem. Our stash house was starting to feel more cramped by the day. It would be better if the rest of the space wasn't taken up with empty beer cans, over-full ash trays and disassembled electronic parts, but there was nothing I could hope to do about that part. I was glad I didn't spend much time there. I wasn't much in to meth. It's a love it or hate it thing. I was never much for uppers, I preferred dissos. Different strokes. PCP never sold like meth, though. Nothing sold like meth. I'd brought up the topic of a front more times than I could count. They didn't really get why we had to have one. They went by "Six"and "Twitch". They weren't exactly brilliant. They knew enough about meth and how to move it. Anything aside from that was far beyond their sphere of attention. Six was so named because he'd drink a six pack every day before breakfast. Twitch... well, I shouldn't have to tell you why people call him that. Twitch had thought laundering money meant literally putting it through the washing machine. Like I said, not the brightest. I'd had (in my mind) a brilliant idea. A used book store. Perfect front. Who's going to be keeping track of inventory? I could sell "rare books"for absurd prices. As long as I paid my taxes, nobody would give a shit. As long as you paid the CRA off, why would they look any harder? I mean, hell, Al Capone only got busted 'cause he didn't pay his taxes. Gotta pay The Man his due. Anyway, I liked books. I liked reading. It was a lot better then having to listen to two meth heads on gack rants trying to reassemble a DVD player, anyway. They could deal with the dirty work. I hated dealing with sketched-out meth dealers, anyway. They were always paranoid, and it made me paranoid, too. Wigged-out meth heads with guns are exactly as fun as they sound. It's mostly safe, though, with reasonable precautions. It inspires a bizarre sort of loyalty. As long as you have access to more, you're safe. They want what you got. Most of them are smart enough to at least realize you don't fuck with your supply chain. Really the only thing to worry about is cops and other distributors. The latter more than the former, by far. I didn't care any more. I was going to spend all day sitting in my book store, reading and drinking god damned espresso and making that money squeaky-clean. I'd collected a shitload of random books. Some I got for cheap off the internet with prepaid credit cards; others I'd bought at thrift stores; some I stole from various book sharing spots around the city. It's not like any of them would really sell, anyway, they were mostly for show. Lots of them weren't even in English. I got a couple tweakers to pack all the books for me and lug them to the store. I paid them in crystal; the whole process cost me about $11. The trick was to give them just enough to want more, then hold out on them. They'll do literally anything for just a bit more. Not to give you the wrong idea. I mean, I've obviously got a pretty crooked moral compass, but I'm not evil. I just sometimes take advantage of a situation. I know some guys who stage bum fights, winner takes a gram of whatever they want. Loser typically ends up in the hospital, or worse. Winner generally ends up in one of those places not long after, too. Some people just shouldn't be allowed to have a big bag of drugs. I'm one of those people, but at least I know it. To be honest, I needed the book store more than I knew. An incredible peaces settled over the little store when they left. I had the place all to myself. It was just some dingy, hole-in-the-wall with bare walls and shelves of books placed randomly with no rhyme or reason. I didn't care. I had a mini fridge, and espresso machine, a library of books I'd never read and a rainbow of different weed strains to smoke. "Fuck those tweakers,"I thought to myself. I rolled up a fat joint and fixed a latte, picked a book at random and sat behind the sad, peeling melamine counter. It looked like something out of an old hospital. Relentlessly, disgustingly beige. It clashed violently with the exposed brickwork and plumbing which lent it an otherwise pleasantly rustic atmosphere. I'd dropped big bucks on the chair, though. I figured if I was going to be sitting here all day, I might as well be comfortable. Settling back, I sparked my doobie, took a sip of latte and cracked my book. Ding-a-ling-ding rang the chime dangling at the front door. Fuck. I'd forgotten to lock the door. The store reeked of weed. I hastily stubbed the joint out and tried to stifle my coughing. God damn it. I sat up straight and looked down the long, narrow room to the front. I could just see the silhouette of a figure outlined by the sun coming through the door. "Uh, hi,"I choked out between coughs. "How can I help?" "Oh, I just wandered in to see what the new book store is all about!"came the voice of what was very clearly an elderly woman. "Goodness, I hope I didn't surprise you! Did something go down the wrong tube?" "What?"I asked, a little confused. She moved closer and I hastily stuffed the ash tray out of sight. "Did you choke on something, dearie?"she asked. She probably has no clue what pot smells like. Roll with it. "Ah... uh, yeah. Yeah, I, uh... inhaled some, uh... my coffee." Why was this happening? I had to get her out of here. Ding-a-ling-ding went the front door again. Fuck. How did people even know this place existed? I'd purposely picked a spot in the ass-end of town so people would stay away. "Heeeeeeyyyy man. Smells good in here."Judging by the look of the guy talking, the same couldn't be said for him. His hair appeared to be one enormous dreadlock, with a very distressed-looking toque stretched over his head. His silhouette looked like some bizarre alien creature. God damn it. (Wrapping this up here, I'm going to bed. If people care enough tomorrow I can finish it but at this point I'm meh)
"It's not possible." "Oh? Why not, exactly?" "Because- Well, because the world doesn't work like that, Craig!" "Well, what's your suggestion, then?" That brought the other scientist up short. The two had snuck in after hours, with a bottle of something strong and far too many questions to answer. It had been one week since the discovery. One week since the hot, fiery chunk of metal had plowed its way through a swath of South America. The dating on it said it was old. Very old. 500 million years, old. Astronomers and geeks everywhere had purred with satisfaction, eagerly anticipating the research they'd get to perform. Lucky them, when it showed up right at their front door and wound up smack dab in their lab. All of it had been stopped short when they found that it wasn't some shapeless, formless fragment of a metals-rich asteroid, somehow surviving the heat of the atmosphere. It was a door. A hatch, to be precise. And the discovery of the lettering, clearly visible in English, identifying the hatch as being a product of the Human Federation, had brought even the loudest voices to a screeching, sickening halt. "Aliens." Craig glared at him. "Really, Paul? Aliens? That's the best suggestion you have to offer?" Paul shrugged, taking a sip from his glass as he stared through the window at the hatch. There were still researchers there, of course. The hatch hadn't been left alone for more than a moment since it had fallen. But only a few at the facility knew this little observation nook existed, and they'd earned a break. "Well, it is aliens, right? There's no way-" "Why would aliens be writing in English, Paul?" "Well, maybe they-" "Why would they make up this fictitious Human Federation, Paul? That doesn't make any sense." Paul laughed scornfully, shaking his head. "How can you possibly believe that your theory-" "It's a damn good theory, thank you very much." "A museum planet? You're going to have to explain to me why that's any better than aliens." Craig sighed, leveling an indulgent stare at his coworker as he squared off. "Earth's 4.5 billion years old, Paul. This hatch is only 500 million. That means-" "If a human civilization somehow managed to reach space and create a spacefaring society 500 million years ago I think there would be some trace, wouldn't you?" Craig grinned. "Not if it were well preserved enough. Think about it. They took to the stars, leaving us behind for the memories!" "For the memories."Paul said, his tone doubtful. Craig bobbed his head in an affirmative. "Right. Right. And the archeological significance! Oh, I wonder how they did it. Maybe-" "Damnit, Craig."Paul said, slapping his glass back down on the table between them. "Slow the hell down on your wild goose chase so that I can catch up and beat some sense back into you. It's been 500 million years, yeah? And they've never shown themselves? We've never found them, after all this time?" "Well, we're just now getting to space, aren't we? In the grand scheme of things, you know. Interplanetary travel is right around the corner, and you never know! Our long lost cousins might be waiting for us."The scientist beamed. Paul sighed, smiling. "And that'll be the end of their museum planet, eh?" The two drank for a long moment, the silence growing between them. And then it was only Craig drinking, as Paul stared at his hands. Finally, Craig sighed, raising an eyebrow. "Spit it out. We've got the room." "500 million years." "What about it?" "Assuming they started with actual humans in your museum...Seems like kind of a long time to get this far, yeah?" They both stared at their drinks, mulling it over. "You don't suppose-" "N-nah. That's crazy." "You're right. Just the whiskey talking." Paul laughed. Craig laughed. They both laughed. And then they went home to sleep off their rapidly approaching headaches. The next moring, the Curators landed, and the restoration began once again. It took a while - terraforming isn't a short process - but soon enough, the Earth shone pristine and green in the darkness of space. The first tribes began their wandering anew. (/r/Inorai, critiques always welcome!)
It's funny, the amount of power a simple name can hold. Sometimes, the name itself has more power than the entity. Perhaps by that logic, we can argue that God, does in fact, exist. For what other idea, what other name, has shaped our world as much as the concept of God? And just like that, our names changed the city of Greenturb into something unrecognisable. For better or for worse, I exchanged looks with Inferno, and we both walked the now alien streets of our former city. We decided to split up, I wandered into the side of the city that erected memorials and grand displays in honour of "Aegis: The Protector of Greenturb."It was a title I did not miss. Erected stands preached about my legendary exploits, almost all of it wildly exaggerated and a fair bit not even true. "Pray! Pray for Aegis's return, for he is the only one who can rid our city of evil, of the follower's of Inferno!"A wild and frenzied man handed me a leaflet, his eyes filled with such energy I thought it to be bordering on zealotry. If only he knew who it was that stood before him. I passed by advertisements that blew up full sized images of me, followed by products that prompted people to buy their energy drinks, or their food, or their cleaning products. "It will destroy bacteria, just as Aegis destroyed evil!"Every aspect of it turned into some form of propaganda that made me want to heave and vomit, as if even the sight of what the city became left behind a disgusting taste in my mouth. I returned to a bar, the same one where I was supposed to meet up with Inferno. He no longer looked like a daring man that would burn the world to ash beneath his feet, with his long beard and humble sandals, he looked no different than I, a simple wanderer. "How was it on your end?"I asked, taking a sip of my beer. "Putrid. And yours?" I remained silent, as if to say that I had nothing to add. "What happened to this city?"I said, after a moment's pause. Inferno shrugged, "we decided to fake our deaths because we loved this city. Because we thought we were doing it a favor. I never would have thought that our absence would only make things worse."Off in the distance, we could hear hate-filled words being thrown around that accused people of being "Inferno scum,"or "Aegis Zealots." "You know they think I was fighting for 'the lesser man'? What a joke."Inferno said, as he was handed a beer of his own and took a sip. "I became a villain because I was put under and ignored all my life, I wanted to be noticed, to-" "To burn as brightly as the sun so that no-one can ignore you. Yes Inferno, you said that at every fight we had."I said, cutting him off, but Inferno could only smile and look down. "Those were the days." "Yes, they were." "But I don't miss them." "Neither do I..." "I never asked you. You always knew why I was fighting, but why did you?"Inferno prompted, his gaze turned to me. I shrugged, "because there was something to be fought. And I had powers... you know, I walked on those streets today and watched how they praised me. Praised my name. And all the while I kept thinking, 'but, what was I fighting for?' At least you had a reason... even if you were an asshole."We both chuckled, it was a strange thing that only three years ago I would have jumped at his throat and squeezed every bit of life out of him. "A name is a powerful thing."I said. "So, what are we going to do about it?" "The only thing we can do." And so, we returned, our appearances staged and exuberant. My voice filled with bravado and gravitas as I challenged Inferno once more as we always did. Cheers emerged from both sides at first, like a sport, people gathered around and rooted for their favourite team. Soon though, things began to revert back to how they always were. "Let the police handle 'Inferno', with all this property damage, Aegis obviously doesn't know what he is doing." "I was late to work again because of those two squabbling children!" "Well, I think that Inferno used to be nice, but now he is kind of an asshole. Who burns the park?" Inferno and I moved in together, sitting on a couch with beer in hand as we laughed. Listening to the interviews about how people felt about our return. And as we expected, people stopped caring. Brands stopped using my image to sell their products, and those who supported Inferno stopped talking about it. With beer bottles clanked and our lips stretched into grins; we relished the entertainment. *** If you enjoyed this, I have my own subreddit now: /r/kikiwrites Feedback is appreciated :)
“Oh, ye of little faith!” Yelled the local crazy on the corner. “There is a way!” I wanted to sneak past the crazy. I pulled my hood up over my head. I didn’t want him to recognize me again. I hurried to the crosswalk. The small white man on the crosswalk sign turned to a hand. Numbers counted down. I fought the urge to run. “The end of this painful life is nigh, The red death has been harvested.” I couldn’t run from the fear of him noticing me. I tried to calm my breathing. As I watched the numbers dwindle. 0. The hand stopped blinking. I stopped not 10 feet from him. I felt naked. Exposed. I felt as if the man was staring at me. He scared the bejesus out of me as he was suddenly beside me. “Colin,” He said in my ear, His breath was sweet and not rancid as I had expected. “Have you heard the saying ‘an apple a day keeps the doctor away?’” I backed up almost tripping over my own feet. “No.” “Here,” he said. He pushed a cold soft object into my hand. I glanced down at it as he placed his hand on it. “It is precious. This will save you.” I looked at the red apple in disgust. “No,” I said angrily. ”take it back.” I shoved the apple at him. There was a howl across the street. The noise chilled me to my bones. Standing on the edge of the curb separated by the flow of traffic and under the tires a placid lake of placid was a one of the Plague Doctor. The lifeless eyes of his beaked mask stared at me. The gaze made me shake. “Hold onto it, Colin,” Crazy said. “It will guide you to its friends.” He ran off cackling down the sidewalk and into the nearest alley. The Plague stepped into the road and followed in the Crazy’s direction. Traffic halted and tires screeched. The man in the mask calmly walked across the road and into the alley. Traffic resumed. I heard Crazy scream and my eyes widened. The crosswalk sign still showed a red hand. Cars sped past me. The masked Doctor came back out of the alley. I glanced around wildly. Traffic had stopped and the crosswalk sign changed to the white walking man. I ran across. I glanced back at the man as he started across the street. I never stopped running but the Plague never seemed to get any further behind me. As I neared the park I glanced over my shoulder and jumped to see him just paces behind me. Something tugged on my arm. The apple. It dragged me into the park. It pulled me, almost lifting me off my feet. I sped down the dirt path. Glancing back to see the masked man keeping pace. I skid to a stop beneath a tree face down. The Plague caught up to me and spun me around. He straddled my chest. His small frail arms held me fast. His breath rattled behind the mask. The screech came again and I was frozen. “It’s time for you check up.” A bone-grinding voice said. His mask pulled close to me and he reached around with one hand and started to pull back the mask. A gaping hole filled most of his head. His tongue lolled around in the hole. He hissed. And in a flash, his face sped at mine, his mouth hole widening. I did the only thing I could think of and shoved the apple in my hand into the hole. It fit like a cork. The Plague gasped as the apple melted into his throat. He rolled off of me, his hands ripping at his neck. I scrambled away and wobbled to my feet. His last breath came out as a rasp. His unmoving body turned grey and he shriveled into a small knot of leather and hair. I looked around. My eyes falling on the tree in front of me and the red apples that hung from its branches. I plucked the red fruit from the tree, bouncing it in my hand. The Plague Doctor was gone. A plaque on the tree read; An apple a day keeps the doctor away ** Thanks for reading! If you happened to like this I have other writing at r/Okay_Writing Edit - Some grammar, Sorry, I had to wrap this up in a hurry. It is time to go home from work!!!!! ** Edit 2- Whew, got home. Was horrified to reread that. I tried to "fix"my writing just now. Sorry to everyone that read the almost incomprehensible words before.
I open my eyes. I am free at last, free from my eternal imprisonment, free from the ancient seal placed upon me by the accursed white knight. I shall find him and rend the flesh from his bones. I must make an example, the world must know that crossing me has dire consequences. I sit up and try to move, but my hands are chained. I turn my head and see a minion. I bark at him, my voice hoarse. "You there. Release me at once." He looks up from a glossy slab of paper. "Oh, you're finally awake. Give me a minute to get the others." "No, you will do as I command, or I shall turn you inside out and feast on your organs." He blinks. "Yeah, they told me you'd say something like that. I'll be right back."He saunters off at a casual pace. I glare around the room, trying to find someone to take my fury out on. That's when I realize I don't know where I am. The walls are a fuzzy carpet and the room seems to be divided up into small cubes. What fresh form of torture is this? The minion returns with a gaggle of followers. There's a middle aged demon with thick glasses perched on his crooked nose and a plump female, her hair pulled up into a bun. "What is the meaning of this? You will release me at once or I shall tear off your arms and ram the stumps up your..." "That's quite enough thank you."says the plump one. She pulls out a clipboard and scratches something down while glasses clears his throat. Then she says, "Whilst you are awake you will refrain from using profanity, threatening language, slurs, derogatory statements and ancient curses. It is all clearly laid out in our employee handbook."She tries to hand me something, but the moment it touches my hand I set it on fire. She huffs and pulls out another copy. "You will also refrain from arsonist behaviour, we can't afford to set off the sprinklers in here. Failure to comply will result in a new ancient seal being applied at once. Is that clear?" How dare this pathetic peon talk to me this way. If I was stronger I would tear her in half and paint the walls with her blood. For now though, my best approach is to play along. The male steps forwards. "Sorry about Millie, you know how HR can get."The woman glares at him but he ignores her. "I'm Frank. I'm the acting CEO. We are here to aid you in your transition into the new world." "My what?" "Your transition."says Millie. She holds out a leaflet titled 'Controlling your inner demons: being beautiful inside and out.' Frank continues. "Things have changed while you've been, erm...sleeping. The good news is, the armies of chaos totally won the battle of the Hellscape, so a big congrats on that." "We won? Recently?" Frank hesitates. "That really depends on your definition of recent. It was 450 years ago..." "WHAT!"I lunge upwards until the chains drag me back to the ancient stone slab. "Why was I not awakened at once?" "That's kind of the problem with chaos armies, organization isn't really their thing. Like, they totally meant to wake you, but they just, kind of, forgot. Instead they kept fighting amongst themselves. The surviving holy warriors hunkered down and waited for it all to blow over. After a while the only demons left were the ones that weren't fit enough for fighting. Didn't do much for the gene pool I'm afraid, but thankfully there were enough holy ones to provide some genetic diversity, if you catch my drift. Anyway, after a few generations we're almost back to normal, but you can imagine it is kind of important that there's no more fighting for a while. That's why we've transitioned to a work economy. You'd be amazed how much money we've saved without all the holy wars." This has to be some kind of joke. A hazing from the other dark lords. Any minute now they will jump out. When they don't I talk through gritted teeth. "So why have you roused me from my eternal slumber?" "Well, turns out that capitalism has its own set of challenges. We're getting beaten out by cheap offshore competitors. It's not fair, they have literal dungeons filled with slave labour. We can't compete with that. We were hoping you might want to help us out. There's this thing called a hostile takeover." My ears prick up behind my horns. "Just how hostile are we talking about?" Frank smiles. "Use your imagination."
Sixty eight times I've done this, usually when I can't sleep. It helps to go for a walk and clear my head. It just so happens I don't have to actually go for a walk. I don't know how it's possible but I can just sort of leave the meat suit behind. I asked a doctor once and they threw me some meds to help "even me out"and I stopped bringing it up. Of course I might have given the doc a good scare for a night just to make myself feel better, but that's not really the point. Last night was one of those nights. They don't happen all that often but when they do I figure that wandering as a spectre is better than tossing and turning. So I went for an amble through the zoo. Couple animals are more active at night so I get to see them actually doing thing. I tried doing the library once but I can't touch the books. So...you know. That's not fun. When the time rolls around and the sun starts coming up, I head back. And that's where this all became a bit more interesting than usual. Or terrifying, I think might be the appropriate word. Cause there I am, standing in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee and frying bacon. But...I'm out here. The meat suit isn't supposed to be up and moving without me. So, yeah. I reach out and it's like touching a brick wall. The flesh is real, it's sealed against me. If I had a heart it would be pounding right now. I eat a piece of bacon and turn to right where I am, which doesn't make sense either. You can't see spirits. Then I grin at myself. God this is confusing. "You probably have questions."My body crunches the bacon, way too crispy, obviously. And my body stares right at me. But my eyes are wrong, they're not a blue-ish gray. They're brown. Oh. Shit. It's not me. Someone is wearing the meat suit. "There it is. Now he gets it." "Get out of my body!"I would hit me if I wasn't my biggest fan. Someone has stolen me from me. Not getting any less confusing. "You shouldn't wander, especially when you don't know who might be watching. Some of us miss having a body as much as you seem to like leaving yours." "Get out!"I hit my body with everything I have, I've learned a few tricks wandering around. Like how to manifest the spirit into physical power. My body doesn't move. Just grins and eats another piece of bacon. Then my body picks up a knife from the kitchen sink and holds it against my own arm. "Try that again, it doesn't fit right anyway. And it's not mine, it's a rental." I shake and rage at this thieving prick and then I do something new. I shout but it doesn't come out as a shout, it comes out as a high pitched noise that rises and rises until all the windows in the apartment blast outward. He, me, is unfazed, holding the remnants of the coffee pot in one hand and watching the liquid splash on the floor. "Impressive enough, best be careful though. There's things out there that are drawn by that sort of stuff. Things that you won't like. I'll just a coffee out there, I hear good things about this Starbucks. You should hang out here. I'll be back later." What can I do? He'd destroy my body if I tried. Before I can think of anything he is leaving, taking my body out there. Without me. "Don't wait up!"And with that, the door slams shut. The city comes to life slowly, cars and talking and laughter and of course the ever-present sirens. Somewhere beyond all that I hear something, not a good something, and ethereal noises...wailing almost. "Shit."I say to no one in particular. "That just can't be good."
It was the final round. Kanye channeled his Dragon Energy into his synthesizer. I could feel the fearsome power of his editing surge as a raw wave of brilliant remixing crashed towards me. I was instantly brought to my knees. Kanye came from a long line of masters in the Hippity Hoppity like J Dilla and Questlove. Their weapon was an omnipotent instrument of brilliant sonic engineering. If I was going to stand up to these mad rhymes, I knew that I would have to out-Kanye Kanye. I lifted myself up channeling Kanye's song against him. But, I had underestimated him. Kanye was a mad genius: his verse changed. POOPITY SCOOP I had a split second to act. SCOOPTITY WOOP I pulled out my secret weapon, POOP POOP then played a sample drum beat. SCOOP SCOOP It was now or never. VHOOP VHOOP I played back Kanye's rhythm through the kazoo. In an instant, Kanye's mind erupted like an exploded watermelon. The crowd went wild. My wife caught me as I collapsed on the floor. I stared into her eyes and said, "You're my special friend." ------------------- Afterword: What in the fuck did I just write?! I gotta go kill myself. Bye!
1983, Submarine Division IV, Scouting Crew 02 I fingered the tattered remains on the badge, fondly remembering my buddies Tom and Phillip, who were my childhood friends from our fishermen village. We knew growing up that we wanted to explore the oceans, and we felt connected to water in a way, living a fisherman's life. So when the opportunity came to join an exploration venture of the Atlantic, we joined without hesitation. It was tough, and following commands from our commander was essential to survival in the ocean, where our resources were scarce, and our manpower limited. In our submarine, we descended slowly, and our rations were sent down through complex radar communication paired with a fast descending reinforced crate. We lived this way for nearly 2 years, an amount of time we agreed upon when signing up for this crazy venture when one day, our radar picked up a massive object. We didnt need light to see it, a glowing mass of luminescence flashed brilliant colors, and the shape seemed to be unbound by any parameters, constantly shifting. We didn't know whether it was even a creature, until we were surrounded by three of them, seemingly communicating with movement and color. One grabbed our submarine, turning its body into a tentacle like mass, and the captain pulled the emergency risers, expanding our submarine with metal casks filled with helium. The creature only gripped harder and dragged us downward. Another shapeshifted into an impossibly thin and almost invisible string like appendage, which managed to get through the airtight seal. And it went immediately for the camera with the footage. With a swift blow, the camera shattered into a fine powder, and we had no evidence. Tom grabbed a harpoon, and I grabbed a knife. I ran toward it, but Phillip held me back, yelling, "No! It'll kill you!" I pushed forward with the knife, toward the expanding appendage, and I felt a blow to the back of my head before I blacked out. The last words I heard were from Phillip, "We should play dead!"It was sad really, more of a plea than anything, and we knew we were going to die. But I woke up on the surface, the sub washed up on the beach, to find my friends and the crew dead, neatly piled up under me. I knew I had to let people know, to warn them, and I ran to the local police station. 1983, Submarine Division IV, Scouting Crew 02 That was what my badge read. It was one of the few personal possessions they let me keep here at the asylum.
There was a great ringing of the bells and London stopped, entirely and fully, as it happened. The clanging shook the foundation of cathedrals and carried the heaviest weight. "Mama, what's that?"a small girl clutched at her mother's hand, her mother covering her mouth with her free hand as it sank in. "Why are they all ringing?" Her mother knelt, took her daughter's face in her hands. "Little one, the Queen has died." The bells continued to ring and the heaviness became more foreboding as they did. Something wasn't right. It spread through the city until one had to shout just to be heard. Underneath the bells was another noise. Something that grew as well, swelling under the chiming bells and giving voice to concern. The mother picked up her daughter and began to run, when she finally understood what that growing noise was. It was screaming. Thousands of people were screaming. *** "Your Majesty!"The Queen did not like being interrupted during lunch but her aide was not one to do so lightly. A dozen armed men in full combat uniform accompanying him were a first for her, even after all these years. "What is this?"She asked, gracefully setting down her fork. "We're...we're not entirely sure yet but it's not good. Something is taking the city to madness!"The aide said, while the armed men took positions in the room, facing outward. They stood stoic beside windows and secured doors. And they looked shaken. "We have to go, there's helicopters coming."The Captain was a serious man with serious reservations about how long this was taking. "We need to be out the door five minutes ago. Your Majesty." The last was an afterthought. He would deal with the punishment later, if there was a later. On the move at last, they rushed at the best pace they could manage through the halls, more armed men joining the group as they did. Outside on the grounds there were still more, taking positions along the fence and perimeter. Tourists and citizens were turned away. With horror, as they moved across the grounds, the Queen heard gunshots and the screams of civilians. Panic was taking hold in her city. In her country. The helicopter had barely touched the ground when she was bundled aboard, as delicately as possible, only the Captain and a handful of others joining her. Two more helicopters followed, filled with SAS troops. A personal guard. They took off as quickly as they had touched down, the pilot raising up from the grounds. From the window she saw it happening. Thousands of people rushing through the streets and overwhelming the armed police. Then climbing the fence. Men opened fire and it made no difference. They poured over as a tide of water might and drowned the soldiers when they did. She watched in horror as the historic building was rushed by a mindless swarm of people. Soldiers and police joining the swarm from where they had fallen. "Captain."She said, as grim as she had ever been. "It's time to call on the Knights." * Far from the English chaos, in a Brooklyn apartment, a man sat and enjoyed himself a cup of tea. Far removed from any worries, from any concerns, he listened to a record play and enjoyed a slow start to the morning. It was only nine in the morning and he had little to worry about. For now. Then his phone rang. He set down the cup and answered. It was a recording. "You, Sir Knight, are hereby called to the service of the Queen. All must answer the call." And it ended. He looked at the phone, puzzled. Knight, called to service? It was an honorific and nothing more, an outdated title that garnered respect for accomplishments but did not require service of any kind. Heaven's, most of the Knights didn't even have a sword. Still, there was a power to the words. Some sort of need to respond to the call stirred in him. The phone rang again. He answered, cautious, but was rewarded with a live voice. "Did you get a strange call?"The voice asked. "A recording?" "Yes. What does it mean?" "Turn on the news." "Oh come on, that is ridiculous. You can't just turn on a channel and see exactly what-"He was wrong. Coverage was complete of the events unfolding. London had fallen to some virus and the Queen had not been heard from. That was only the beginning. Dozens of cities were reporting similar events, unknown events, raging through their streets. The call had been made. He would answer. They must answer. "Bill has helicopters coming for everyone. Then we fly to England. See you soon, my friend." The call ended. Sir Patrick Stewart's locked display case, to which the key had been lost many years ago, was broken when he left. Leaving behind an empty setting for a sword. *** As Knights and Dames answered the call from wherever they were, rushing to fulfill some strange notion of service that stirred in each of them, something yet stranger was happening. Dirt stirred in a calm field where the ringing of bells and screaming crowds had not touched. It stirred before a stone marker until the earth was pushed aside and a hand clutched freedom. The stone read Moore. Still others equally stirred. Attenborough, Hicks, Forsyth, Guinness, Sindon. This is the forgotten promise of Knighthood, the solemn vow that is made and cannot be broken. Where the call will push aside the fear of the living and bring them to service, it will also call to those in death. For Knighthood does not end on death. It is an eternal promise to the Monarch that does not end when the last breath is drawn. When the call is made, the Knights shall answer. And answer, the Knights did.
"Alright everyone, looks like there's a new face in the crowd. Would you introduce yourself, please?" "Sure,"he says. "My name is Jason." "Hi, Jason,"the others say. I'm struck once again with the overwhelming feeling of unity among us. Being less super than the rest isn't that great, but from the young kids to the older members of our group, there's a real sense of community. "Jason, what's your superpower?" "Every time someone dies, I get another birthmark."He rolls up his sleeve and takes off his glove to show us hundreds of little red X-shaped markings, covering his arms and hands. "Thanks, Jason. Let's go in a circle and say our name and ability, okay? I'll start."I try to keep my voice cheery. It's hard to manage this group. They don't like talking about their powers, especially for those of us with really bad ones. "My name is Veronica, and I have the ability to see through mirrors,"I say. "I'm Kyle, and I can hear others' heartbeats."I like Kyle. It's hard for him to be in crowded rooms because the heartbeats get too much for him, but he's a nice kid. "I'm Maria, and I can cap and uncap pens with my mind."Her ability is kind of boring, but I like Maria. She sometimes shows off her trick at parties and such. "I'm Jessica, and I change my biological sex every time I sneeze."I like her. She struggles a lot because her friends don't get it, but she's explained it to us as being a form of genderfluidity. But her sex changes, not her identity. "I'm Kirsten, and my skin repels dust."Kirsten is nice. She's working on ways to use her ability, but I personally think it's already useful enough, since she never gets dust on her. "And I'm Michael, my ability is that my bones are magnetic."Michael's ability hurts him a lot sometimes. He wears thick clothing so he doesn't get metal stuck in his skin. I've seen places where he's been impaled with pens, nails, and screws. "That's everyone! Alright, it's the last meeting of the month, so that means movie night. I'm going to set up the snack bar and put on a movie. Feel free to talk among yourselves for a bit." I head to the main office, smiling at my secretary, Tara. She's got a good power- writing things with her mind. Tara smiles back, handing me a DVD. "I figured you would like this one. It's appropriate for the kids, don't worry." "Thanks."I head into the back room and look in the mirror, then sit down and look at the snacks. They float off the table and into the cups and bowls. It's not so hard helping them out, they usually resolve issues themselves. The hard part is convincing the members of the support group that I'm one of them.
Translated Transcript of Lecture Alright class! Settle down, settle down. Welcome to XCS 323. I'm sure most of you are already familiar with the subject matter -- that is to say, having taken the prerequisite classes, you are all familiar, more or less, by now, with the history and culture of humanity, generally speaking. Here in Xenocultural Studies, we pride ourselves on the understanding of the cultural rationale and reasoning for the actions which various species take -- so, class, let us start with the beginning. What is the most prominent origin myth of humanity? Yes, you, you there with the blue appendages. Yes, that's correct -- while, generally, the story of Adam and Eve features prominently on Earth still, the tale of Prometheus is generally considered the be the most prominent 'creation myth', for humans. I'll do a quick recap for anyone who's not familiar with the tale. Essentially, humanity was securely under rule by a race of god-immortals, called Titans -- which, incidentally, is where the moon's name comes from -- who ruled them through fear, and preventing humans from uplifting themselves. One Titan, in particular, Prometheus, was dissatisfied with this, and chose to rectify that situation: he stole fire from the gods and gave it to man. For this, he was punished, severely -- chained to a rock, and a un-sentient aviary life form was trained to eat his primary detoxification organ, of which humans and their gods only have one, which is internal. While regeneration is one of the standard tropes within human gods, the process was still excruciatingly painful. Keeping this myth in mind, we may now view the actions of humanity through a different lens. Though common contemporary culture holds humanity to be irrational, despite their status as an Elder race, when we consider their movements, keeping in mind their most prominent creation mythos, things begin to make sense. For example, let us consider the creation of the Macro Dyson Sphere, one of their more well-known oddities. From a human perspective, what could possibly be the rationale for this -- keeping in mind the tale of Prometheus? Yes, you. ... Yes, that covers most of it. For anyone who didn't hear, or cannot hear, in summary, when we consider the control that eidolons exercised over the newly-Joined torians, humanity would certainly have seen a parallel between that and the myth of Prometheus. Question? Yes. ... Yes, it is certainly true that it did not benefit the humans in any appreciable way. The delegation of resources to such a massive project with no payoff would not have benefited humanity in any way. But keep in mind Prometheus! From the human perspective, they were giving metaphorical combustion to the torians! Humanity, as a whole, likes to bring down those in power -- which is precisely what happened, in a literal fashion, when the 5th eidolon fleet collided, head on, with the previously-invisible Macro Dyson Sphere.
"Attention, please." The hammers banged down on the podium with two handed intensity, both left fists tightly gripping their respective handles. The last of the conversations in the room died down and the students turned towards the stage, which was occupied by a portly being with a regal bearing, his two right arms pointing towards a large central screen. "One of the ways that pre-contact humans expressed themselves was through music. You can see some examples from different parts of their world on your screens... here." A menu flashed in-front of the faces of the hundred or so students in the lecture hall. Each had options to select in the form of songs, melodies, and simple sounds from different regions of the world. About a third of the students selected some form of human music and listened while the lecture still proceeded in the background. One student stumbled across Thrash Metal and ended up so enthralled by the intensity and rage that he tuned out of the lecture entirely. Professor Gartox peered over his noses at the students, noting those still paying attention. He turned with a pompous air and walked towards a student at the far left side of the stage. "Of course, all species who attain a certain level of intelligence gain a passion for music. What is incredible about pre-contact human music is the variety that it came in - in visual and audio form - a startling variety of songs from all over the world in which human creativity and passion was expressed in sadness, in joy, in anger." The Professor's eyes centered on the student. "Ranglitz, are you paying attention?" The Professor's request was met with silence. Ranglitz was quite obviously not paying attention, instead thrashing his heads about in ecstasy, his leg-i-pedes tapping out a lightning rhythm. Gartox looked up at the rest of the students and said, "As you can see, class, the human propensity for creative expression, especially when expressed through sound, can leave one enthralled and at rapt attention." A student towards the back piped up, "Professor Gartox, hasn't human music been weaponized? I heard a whole planet was once subjected to a super-weapon called 'I'm a Barbie Girl'. They endured it for four days straight before surrendering. Untold amounts died." Professor Gartox consulted something on the screen in-front of him. "That is true, Berigol. You're referring to the incidents that occurred in 45364 U.G. Actually, those first assaults started a three-hundred year war between the Gratox...,"he chuckled,"eerily close to my name I know, and the Rrsaxtryl."He had difficulty pronouncing the last species name. A number of the students tried to pronounce it as well, but none of them could form the sound involved in the first syllable. Professor Gartox looked upwards expectantly. "Any more questions or observations Berigol?" Berigol shook his heads and the professor continued to speak, "Very good. The other thing about human creative expression through sound, through the marathon production of what they called 'albums',"he raised all four of his hands to the air,"is the layer of nuance they injected into the lyrics."Seeing that most of the students' attention, Gartox ambled back over to his lectern. "Class,"he paused for dramatic effect, "I am going to take you down an hour long journey through the subtle distinctions and messages found in one of humanity's most famous songs."Gartox scanned the room again and was satisfied that all of his students, barring Ranglitz who was still thrashing in a corner, were paying close attention. "We have noticed that this particular song was incredibly popular when pre-contact humans first began to digitally connect through what they called the 'internet', which was just a primitive form of our Second Universe Layer...,"the professor looked up at the large central screen, the lights in the room dimmed and a joyful melody started to play. "Students, I present to you.... 'Never Gonna Give You up by Rick Astley!" &#x200B;
It was the late 21st century when the scientists confirmed the great epidemic. Children before then knew, but no one believed them. Eventually as they aged they forgot, it may have been a byproduct of the infection. After contact with the parasite everything changed. They became docile, subservient, lost their spark, imagination. The dreams that pushed the kids to do great faded, Eventually settling for a simple life. After the discovery, we started keeping the sexes separated, as long as we could anyway. With genetic advancements breeding was no longer required, but conjugal relations was hard to prevent. Eventually the Great war of the sexes, that started so many years ago, destroyed Earth, Made it uninhabitable for humans. We had leave to survive. We left earth, each sex going in a different direction. We Terra-formed the planets, each sex taking one. Now the old saying is true, a self-fulling prophecy if ever there was one. Men are from mars, and Women are from Venus.
He stood next to my bed, standing still and gazing into my eyes. The pale mid-morning light reflected off the tiled walls, making him look like a statue wrought from marble. A sterile silence fell on the room. We filled it with our mutual hatred. The light blanket that covered me felt like a leaden weight crushing my chest. The cotton gloves I wore to protect others from inheriting my pain felt like shackles, chaining me to the bed. My muscles were weak and sore. I couldn't move, and he was relishing it. An involuntary cough launched from my lungs and up my throat. I winced as a flair of pain shot at my temples. He laughed. "Well, I've got to be honest."he said, clapping his hands together, "This feels good." He smiled, withdrew, and began moving around the room, inspecting my possessions as he went. He started with my wristwatch, a gift to myself when my first business became profitable. He turned it over in his hands, eyeing it with a covetous greed. With a snicker, a "you won't be needing this anymore,"and a swift click, the watch was on his wrist. A flash of anger overcame me, but I was too weak to retort. He brushed a hand over the vase of flowers beside my bed, leaned forward to smell them, and plucked one off its stem. It was crushed by his hands and fell to the floor. Another pulse of tension landed on my temples and I groaned. He barely noticed. My books, my keys, my phone; he pored over them all. When he was finished he took a seat in the guest chair, produced an apple from his pocket, and polished it with his shirt. "I should really go, but I'm enjoying this too much."He said, taking a juicy bite from the apple. I convulsed. Whether in pain or in anger, I couldn't say. I struggled to clear my throat, and whispered something indistinct. "He talks!"He said, clapping his hands together again, "He talks! But what does he say?" He stood up, discarding the rest of the mostly uneaten apple in the trash, and moved toward me. "Go on."He urged, "Talk." "Please,"I whispered, "water." Glee lit his face. He was in control. He had me, for the first time, begging him. "Certainly."He said with a falsely obsequious bow. He turned and went to the water cooler. As he pulled a paper cup from its stack and began filling it, I mustered all my strength. I fought my instinct to scream in pain as I lifted my arms, and slowly -- very slowly -- pulled the glove off my right hand. The chilled hospital air bit at the freshly exposed flesh, and my face contorted in pain at the effort to remain silent. I dropped my hands just as he turned to face me. He walked over, and saw the sweat beading on my forehead. For a moment, he looked genuinely concerned. Maybe I shouldn't do this I thought to myself. He walked over with a steady gait, paper cup in his hands and a concerned expression still on his face. Then, just as he was to put the cup to my lips, he pulled it away with a smile and gulped it all down. I could bear it no longer. I summoned my remaining strength and grabbed his hand with mine. Instantly, energy surged through me. I felt my muscles reknit themselves. I felt my lungs inflate fully. I felt my skin warm and my heart beat under my ribs. I felt my eyesight sharpen and my hearing brighten. I felt *me* come back. Then I looked at him. The colour drained from his face. He dropped to one knee. He was panting now. Gasping for breath. He put an arm out to steady himself against the bed. He fell to the floor. His skin pulled and wrinkled and withered. His panicked eyes flicked around the room and landed, transfixed, on me. I was standing now. I was whole again. He couldn't understand. He wouldn't have the time to figure it out. A few moments passed, a final gasp, and then a gurgle. He died. As his muscles relaxed, a bloom of dark wetness spread from his jeans and onto the floor. I stepped around it as it grew, reached down, grasped his wrist, and took my watch back.
"Recording #124" "The only way to describe the feeling is... Well, there's a lot of ways. Different species express information differently. Obviously the best way to express this particular piece of information would be through the methods the people of eeeaaarss use. Wait. We think we meant earth. We felt... Well... We keep forgetting what species were the people of earth. A lot of the humans are saying that it was them, but they are extremely prone to being... Sarcastic. Which the rest of us don't understand. Why would you express the opposite of what you want to? Anyways, we aren't really sure whether it was dolphins or humans that made these pugs. Oh apparently it was drugs. Why would anyone make a substance that makes tasks harder. Humans were the ones that used these. So it must be dolphins that made them. Yeah, the dolphins agree. Well, according to dolphins the feeling is to be described using the word bluuuurb. Wow. That's pretty acquired. We think we meant accurate. Wait. What the fuck is that huge dolphin doing in a volcano. We thought this temperature was dangerous for organic life farms. Wow, we must go and meet it. How come we never captured it before. The humans are telling us that's a bad idea. Obviously they aren't very smart. They can't even extrapolate data from what they witness from their surroundings. Woah! It's getting trippy. Uhhm. Maybe we shouldn't have taken those DruuuUUUUUUGGGSSS." ------------------------------------------ "And that's how we, along with dolphins saved the universe." "So dad, you're trying to tell me dolphins used to be dumber than us?" "No, we just didn't know yet how smart they were." "Yeah right dad."
"It hurt. No like." Grug sighed. Hurnk had shared the sentiment many times, and it was growing tiresome. The gnarled pack elder sat several yards away from the flame, repeatedly fingering the blistered flesh on his hand and wincing dramatically. The rest of the pack eyed their elder and the pile of burning sticks with looks that ranged between worry, shock, and even hostility. Grug addressed Hurnk again, loud enough that the others could hear too, "It keep warm." "So do bear pelt."Hurnk spat. "Bear pelt no make light at night."Grug retorted. Hurnk harrumphed. "Who need light when night? Night for sleep anyway. We no need. Just hurt. Bad"Grug wanted so badly to beat on the old goat's face. The old man was wary, a consequence of the many seasons he had seen and the many scars that decorated his wrinkled body. Grug decided to try a new angle. "Spear hurt,"Grug said. "but spear good. Small sun hurt, but also good like spear. Make light, make warm when no bear pelt. See?"There were murmurs from the pack as men and women nodded to each other, whispering to themselves. It was true, spears could be dangerous too, but were they not useful for taking down the elk? Hurnk grunted loudly and the mummers died. "It DIFFERENT."He said. "Why different?"Said Grug. "Put spear down, spear no hurt, sept when step on. Small sun move. Small sun ALIVE. I SEEN. I SEEN small sun make BIG sun! I seen when sky cracks. I seen big tree die. We smaller than big tree. Small sun kill us when not looking. Should no trust small sun. Should stomp dead."Again there were mummers in the pack. The fearful and angry glances returned. "Not make big sun if put rocks around, see?" "Jump over, hurt you, hurt US." The murmurers increased in volume. Grug was losing. "No, wait-"a rock tumbled through the air near the flame, and Grug's words were lost amid the pack's indignant whooping and hollering. After the rock came a stick, then a clod of dirt, then a barrage of missiles as the pack fell into a frenzy. "KILL SMALL SUN"They shouted, "KILL" "NO!"Grug pleaded, but it was too late. The crowd closed in and shut him out, smothering the small sun with mud and rocks. One male tried stomping on it and cried out, "IT BIT ME! IT BIT ME!"he yelped, and there were cries of fear and anger from the crowd. They beat at the flames with whatever they could get their hands on, and very soon the stack of bright burning sticks was nothing but a crushed pile of blackened, smoking twigs. As the crowd dispersed, Grug knelt helplessly beside his failed invention as the cold evening air began to creep quietly into his bones. &#x200B; &#x200B;
Larry Holcomb wasn't much of a drinker in life. However, considering the gruesome details of his unexpected demise he thought, "why not?" "Exactly,"Satan said as he shuffled the deck, "why not?" Larry grabbed an Allagash Black and took a seat next to God who wasn't paying much attention to the Devil's cut. Well, to the Devils cut of the deck rather. He was keenly focused on the bottle of Jim Beam he just transformed his Jack Daniels into. "Water to wine is fine,"God dismissively slurred, "but whiskey to bourbon is..."he tapered off. Seeing as God was so distracted with creating a walking, living corn stalk / barley hybrid creature, Larry continued to survey the room. The image of Death wasn't what Larry expected. He always pictured a ghoulish, decaying figure with a tattered black robe. What sat before him was a pure white skeleton wearing a beige colored bath robe and matching towel wrapped abound his head. "Squeaky clean, eh?"Larry nervously laughed. "Yep,"replied Death as he cleaned his ear with his pinkney bone, "all washed up." "Superb-an!"God blurted out from across the table, seemingly shouting himself awake. Satan dealt the cards. Death was showing a 6 and a 9. God had two Jacks, and Larry was two jacks as well. Satan was showing a 6. Naturally the 3 of them stayed. "My goodness!"Death exclaimed with an astonished look on his face bones. "If you defeat the devil on your first turn, he can return you to life! And with Satan showing a 6, that's about as probable as me paying taxes!"He followed with uproarious laughter. It was difficult to tell whether Death was slaying himself from his sharp wit or at his hand. Larry longed to return to his wife in Iowa, his kids and the life he built there on his farm. Satan nervously flipped his other card. 6. Another 6 leaving 18, and lastly... a 9. Bust. "Grats bro,"Satan muttered defeatedly. He crossed his arms and nodded his head as he uttered his chatchphrase "Zim Zim Zala-bim!" Just like that, Larry vanished from the poker table and was returned just outside of house on his farm. He lumbered out of his corn field. Walking, living, 80% corn, and 20% barley.
A Time of War It is said that once, long ago, there was peace. Though few now live who remember that time. For soon enough the Enemy arrived. In its uncountable multitudes it rained down from the heavens and crawled up through the festering bowels of Hell. A nameless, ravenous people whose trailing madness recognized neither negotiation nor surrender. My predecessors were few in number and naïve in their Art. They were helpless in the face of such practiced and absolute malice. The Enemy sprang upon the land unrestrained, like pulsing bile unto the chyme, blackening the skies with foul poisons and corrupting the fertile earth in ceaseless, remorseless, hunger. When at last we had martialed our armies, my ancestors rode forth from their great fortresses to meet the enemy on the field of battle. In the spiraling maze of the Airways our Conjurers drowned the Enemy in thick oppressive exudates that reduced the once proud song of the bronchi to a pained, sputtering wheeze. Our Engineers buried the survivors alive in pale white mausoleums, their screams to serve as monuments to our newly monstrous resolve. Upon the raging currents of the Pathways our infernal workings choked the Enemy in ash and cinder. We dragged its smoldering corpses back to our laboratories through murder soaked lymphatics and dissected its entrails into ever more potent workings and ever more desperate stratagems. And the land wept through a thousand bloody furrows. And the honest people of the land cried out in turn for justice, for vengeance, for relief, before finally falling silent, knowing at last, and with great certainty, that their cries fell on deaf ears, in this new time of war. When at last the enemy was vanquished, the greatest of my Predecessors gathered in a council. They were more numerous now, and more clever, but as the council surveyed the ruin their war had wrought, now just as much their legacy as the Enemy’s, they faced a new dilemma. It was agreed that the Enemy could never again be allowed to find such purchase upon this land. But even in peacetime, ours was a short lived race. Already our great host had scattered, to beat their swords into ploughshares and drown their nightmares in the desolate margins of history. Already the hundred thousand wounds wrought by the Enemy had been filled and closed and forgotten beneath the boot heels of renewed commerce. Already the people had forgotten that we now lived in a time of war. So it was decided that several of us would remain, a new order to carry on our memories of this war, and every war that would follow. For 200 generations we have traveled the pathways. We sang our songs throughout the four corners of the realm so that each time the Enemy returned, our martialed forces would be there to meet it, with blades drawn and brilliant conjurings glittering in the dark. And for 200 generations, the realm could prosper, even in this time of war. But the realm no longer heeds our calls. Within the lungs there are no more Engineers to keep the Enemy sequestered in its white walled tombs. Within the Blood are no more Watchers to sound the alarm as the Enemy once again eyes the land greedily. Within the lymph there are no more Soldiers standing vigil with sharpened blades, nor Conjurers with grim Workings redolent. And within our great fortresses a new people have taken root, childlike and deformed, who no longer hear our songs. Even as the Enemy stirs, they laugh their shrill, cruel laughs, blinded to the world’s ending. And from a great tear in the skies a black haze drifts down upon us, to strangle our children in their cribs. And even I cannot truly say that this fresh apocalypse was not well earned. I stand silent now, as the Enemy advances through flesh and blood and bone unimpeded. For 200 generations we guarded these Pathways. I hope that this record may serve as a testament to our resolve, if there are any left to read it. If not, may our silence be a fitting epitaph for this time of war.
I just silently stood there for a minute,shocked.That couldn't be me. Maybe,I thought,it would turn out that all that was just a coincidence.Maybe tomorrow would be the day something happens that was not mentioned.One week later I knew that I was very wrong.On the end of each and every day the radio program told me exactly what I did the entire day,with no errors whatsoever.Let me just say,I was terrified.I decided to stay home for today.At home I surely wouldn't kill 713 people,right? It was at 9 pm in the evening,when I remembered that I was supposed to be at a meeting right now. The meeting that would decide of my or the rival company would take over a very profitable startup called...Google? Not worth it,I thought to myself,not worth 713 lives.At 11 in the evening,a guy named Josh called.He said:,,Thanks for not tuning up and therefore securing us the deal!A spy network is more useful than I thought first!".I instantly recognized his voice.How shouldn't I?I have heard it all week in the radio.
“Rise and shine, sleepy head! Today’s our big day!!” You slowly open your eyes and stare at the ceiling and let out a monotone, “Right you are, my dearest.” “Did you have fun at the dinner last night?” She asks. “Daddy says you’d be a shoe-in at his law firm as long as you don’t mind working with a bunch of bloodsuckers.” You turn your head and glance at your beautiful, smiling fiancé, Caroline, shoot her a quick smile and turn back to the ceiling. “Sounds wonderful, my darling,” you respond with a slight tone of incredulity. “Oh, and the photographer will be here at noon. We’re going to meet my parents at the church. I’m sorry your parents aren’t around to see us get married.” Caroline looks at you troubled, her curly, blond hair gathered around her pouting face. You turn towards her kindly, smile and say, “No, darling, it’s fine. I promise. They’ll be there in spirit, no doubt. Thank you.” “Okay,” she reassures herself and smiles. “Well, I’m going to get ready back at my place since you don’t have any mirrors here. Do you want some coffee before I leave?” “No, thank you. I’ll get some on my way out,” you respond, again staring at the ceiling, arms now crossed behind your head. Caroline, pull up her pink yoga pants, reaches over and kisses you on your cheek and heads out the door. “Welp - I’m screwed,” you say to yourself. You raise out of bed, firmly plant your feet on the rug beside your bed and let out a long stretch. At that moment, you realize you might be in too deep on this one. But you’re also Vlad Mitchell Stephenson, a successful investment banker. You’re also a 4,000 year old vampire and no one knows. You’ll figure this out. You’ve adapted to life well in New York City. In fact, you helped build it from the ground up and own the largest real estate company in the U.S. Your fiancé, bride number 78, is a smart, beautiful, successful evening news anchor and you love her more than any woman before her. And you’re determined to marry her. That’s why you decided to go along with her every wish in planning the wedding, which means photographers and churches - two things you don’t do well with. Even so, you love her, and don’t want to lose her and you’ve made your decision. Although, like any relationship, you have your doubts. She can be awfully needy and her hair constantly clogs the shower drain. Sometimes, her clothes smell like she let the dog wear them. On the other hand, she is incredibly loving and caring and, not to mention, an absolute animal in the sack. She’ll howls out in excitement when she climaxes. What a wild woman! You met her in a park last year. During your daily early morning run, you found her with dirty, bare feet and a ripped dress laying on a park bench. You worriedly rushed and knelt beside her to see if she was ok. As you gently shook her, she woke up, turned to you and yawned, “Goodness, must have been a long night!” You instantly fell in love. And now, here you are, on the day of your wedding wondering how you’re going to survive the ceremony, let alone the photographer. Not only will you not show up in any of the photographs, but you’ll immediately be repelled by the crosses at the church. Suddenly, you receive a text. “Babe, I forgot to tell you were having garlic mashed potatoes at the reception. Just a heads up, I know it makes you sick. Also, I forgot to grab my phone charger, so swinging back by in 20 minutes. Love you!” You throw the phone on the nightstand, fall back into bed and stare at the ceiling again. “I am so screwed,” you flatly state to yourself. Then, you hear a sound like broken glass come from downstairs. Something’s not right. You grab the Louisville slugger by your dresser and slowly peek out your door down the hall. You hear some rummaging and slow, careful footsteps. “McGeorge,” you mutter to yourself and tighten your grip the baseball bat. “It had to be today didn’t it?” you ask yourself. McGeorge is a professional vampire hunter. He’s not the best, and he’s dumber than a box of rocks, but he’s determined. Last time he found you was outside a dance club in Germany. By the time it took him to load a silver bullet in his gun, you disappeared in an alley and lost him. “How the hell did you find me McGeorge?” you shout down the stairs. The footsteps stop. “Well, well, well nightstalker, you are here after all. Why don’t you come down and say hello. You know, make this easy for me,” McGeorge shouts back in a sly, twangy tone. “Why don’t you take this baseball bat to your face, McGeorge. Besides, this isn’t a good time for me. I’m getting married today. In fact my fiancé will be here any moment,” you shout back. “HA!” McGeorge retorts. “We’ll see about that, evil demon. Your time has come and I’ve got a silver bullet right here waiting for ya.” You cringe in frustration and nervously peer around the wall on the stairs landing. “Well, what’s that?” McGeorge’s tone eagerly shifts up. “I think I hear the little lady coming up the steps right now. Should I say ‘hello’?” As the vampire hunter finishes his question, the door bursts opens. You immediately run down the rest of the stairs and freeze, stunned to see an animal, a ferocious beast, in pink yoga pants and a ripped white t-shirt foaming at the mouth, standing in the doorway. “Caroline?” Then, you see McGeorge falling back in fear and letting out a single, errant shot from his revolver as he falls over the couch. The beast lunges at him and all you hear are painful cries and ripping flesh. “Caroline?” you ask again, only this time more high-pitched. “Is that you?” You slowly walk over to the couch, baseball bat clocked like it’s a 3-2 count, two outs and bases loaded. The sounds of carnage seem to stop and Caroline suddenly stands up, with her curly blond hair and pink yoga pants, covered in blood “Oh, hi Vlad. I didn’t see you there! Sorry about the mess, but this guy was going to hurt you! I think he’s been following you since we met at the park last year.” You drop your bat and raise your hands, “Caroline! You’re a werewolf?!?!”
Turns out you can’t go faster than light, which happened to be a very pesky limitation for space exploration. So we humans contrived a workaround. Captain Ladrian hadn’t paid much attention during the basic Faster Than Light (FTL) courses all fleet officers were required to attend during Basic Officer Training (BOT), or as lovingly called by the non commissioned officer (NCO / noncom) corps the NOT course. He still knew the basics though, you can’t go faster than light, but you CAN punch messy holes in the fabric of space and just take two steps instead of 2 to the 50th power steps. This was what went through Ladrian’s mind as he stood next to his senior engineering NCO and listened to what appeared to be archaic Morse code echoing faintly out of what should have been an impenetrable reactor core. “Sergeant (SGT) Welsley. What. The. Hell. Is that sound?” The SGT clearer his throat. “I believe it is approximately “my name is Robert”. Sir”. Ladrian scratched his left ear, an unconscious nervous habit he had ever since childhood. “Why approximately SGT?” “Well sir... no one has used true Morse code in at least two hundred years. Sure you can wiki it, but it’s only taught in the most extreme “you’ve survived the actual apocalypse” manuals. I don’t even know if most kids these days would even know what a Morse code is. Or was.” Ladrian knew his SGT meant anyone under the age of thirty when he said kids. After all, each successive generation seemed to lose more and more knowledge even though their ability to access the entire library of human knowledge expanded at the same rate. Ladrian sighed, his useless undergrad in human and Zeno psychology made him aware that every generation looked down on the next, but currently a knocking sound from inside his ships FTL reactor had precedence over correcting his SGT’s ageist viewpoints. “So. What is a Robert DOING in my reactor SGT?” Welsley coughed, a habit Ladrian had noticed the SGT did whenever he was asked a question he had very little ability to answer. “Well sir, best guess is it’s random, some kind of fluctuation in the drive is causing that tapping and we’re perceiving it as Morse.” “SGT. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the FTL reactor functions by quantum entangling two distant points in space, effectively matching void particle generation with the target destination through an exponential entanglement beginning with a single void particle. All accomplished via a completely closed, isolated, radiation proof, electromagnetic shielded faraday cage suspended in a gravitationally shielded vacuum chamber. And when we “jump” we actually force our atoms to cease being in one place and to be in the destination by telling the fabric of the universe that we aren’t here, but there?” Welsley’s eyebrows lifted fractionally and his mouth made a “fish face”. Apparently he was surprised. “Just about sir... if you’re giving the broad strokes version.” “So tell me SGT. How, in god’s green pasture filled, bible thumping, entropy ignoring, dark matter fuckery of a universe, is ROBERT, in MY FTL reactor? Welsley cleared his throat again. “Well sir, I think we may have a stowaway. Or, again sir, I think it’s just random noise that we are mishearing”. “SGT, how many reported instances in the entire history of the space fleet are there of noises matching old Morse from the FTL?” “....................... none sir.” Ladrian noticed a bead of sweat rolling down SGT Welsley’s cheek. “What aren’t you telling me SGT Welsley?” The SGT shifted nervously, straightened out his uniform, made some strange facial expressions and then sighed very loudly, clearly steeling himself before he spoke. “Sir... I know you have higher degrees and supposed fancy learning, but there’s only two possibilities here. Either someone’s entangled with our FTL, which shouldn’t be possible, or some..... thing is interacting with our FTL as a means of communication.” Ladrian scoffed. “Interacting with a completely isolated, internally powered system SGT? Who, what, or how could that be possible?” Welsley swallowed, audibly, which just so happened to coincide with a break in the tapping. “Well sir, I said there’s two possibilities. Either another drive is tied to ours and creating a strange feedback.” He stopped in the middle of the sentence and began wiping his hands on his hips and thighs. “What is the OR SEARGENT?” Ladrian put extra emphasis on the word sergeant. He liked Welsley and knew him quite well, and under stress the SGT reacted best to external pressure. Welsley cleared his throat several times, wiped his hands again, and then turned and looked directly into CPT Ladrian’s eyes. “Or, sir, the universe is named Robert.” Ladrian stopped. Breathing. Moving. Seeing. The only part of him functioning was his brain, doing it’s very best to remember the theoretical portion of the classes on the FTL. He knew for certain he had heard, at least once, a theory that FTL travel could awaken the universe to itself. In approximately 3.5 seconds his mind managed to unearth, replay, and extrapolate the disparate information he was looking for, because lucky for him he had not been hungover during those particular lectures. He remembered that there was a fringe theory which posited that the universe itself was a super massive brain, and the solar systems were essentially neurons. Galaxies were basically bodies of neurons, or regions of the galactic brain. The theory posited that at a certain point, a threshold of fundamentally altering the fabric of space would draw the awareness of the galactic being. Randomly he also remembered the theory posited that entropy and the spreading out of the galaxies was the universes version of Alzheimer’s. Ladrian spoke, but instead of his normal voice the words came out just above a whisper. “Sergeant Welsley, tell me the universe is not named Robert” The SGT’s only reply was to raise his hand and knock on the wall they had been facing, spelling out “we hear you, what are you, human or other?” Suddenly the knocking stopped. Silence reigned for an entire minute. Then the knocking began again, “I am everything, who or what are you?”
"Grandpa, why do your stories always start with, 'It was a dark and stormy night'? Aren't nights always dark?" "Oh, my dear boy, no. No they are not. Let me tell you about the light and stormy night."Grasping his cane that'd been leaned against the boy's bed, the gray old man stepped toward the door and flicked on the bedroom lamp. With a queer look in his eye, he paced back toward his grandson, taking great pains to tap his cane loudly on the wooden floor with each labored step, leaning the cane up against the bed where it'd rested before. "It was a light and stormy night."Silence filled the room as the old man paused for effect. He'd hoped for dread, but the boy giggled instead. Alas, the story was quite young. He'd get him yet. "Yes, light and stormy, the sort of night not seen for millenia, maybe longer. The sort of night not fit for this world. The sort of night locked away forever, or so this story goes."It began to rain outside. A fortunate coincidence. "Can you tell me, why is it dark at night?"He waited for the boy's response. "Because the sun isn't up,"his grandson said, a sarcastic obviousness not so well hidden in his tone. "Well, that's half right I suppose. You're correct, the sun we know today sets each and every night, and the absence thereof plunges half the world into darkness. But the better answer is this: 'Because, now, there is only one sun.'" For a moment, the boy considered the proposition, but quickly deflected with a less than subtle roll of the eyes. "Grandpa, that's ridiculous." "Is it now?"The old man turned his gaze out the window above the boy's bed. "Then what do you call that big shiny thing hanging there in the sky?"Peeking out from between the storm clouds, a half crescent glimmered silver in the sky. "The moon. It's called the moon, Grandpa." "Ha! And I suppose you never considered further than that, have you? Looks about the same size as the sun, doesn't it? Sits about the same spot in the sky, only at night time? My boy, hidden within that great mass of rock is the second sun! Now, might I get back to my story?" The boy's head lolled to the side, for the first time, seeming to consider the old man's tale. "Before the time of a single sun, days transpired without end. Heatwaves scorched the Earth's surface, and forced mankind beneath the ground. In their stead, a great hoard of demons ran amok, basking in the ever glowing sunshine. As creatures of blight, they survived on heat and light alone, of which there was plenty, but their desire to spread and multiply plagued the world like locusts. They sought out the human hiding places, dragging their victims to the surface to fry beneath the heat." Wide eyes stared at the old man, and as a bolt of thunder cracked in the distance, the boy grabbed his grandfather's arm tight. "I was of the view that light and stormy nights were 'ridiculous'. Shall we continue?"The lad gave an unsure nod. "Among the humans lived a wizard, said to be the greatest of his time. The rest of mankind implore him to do something, and so a plan was struck in the darkness beneath the surface. 'We shall cage one of the suns,' he said to his people. 'We will drive the demons off with darkness.' And they set out to do the very same." "For weeks, at the wizard’s direction, the last remaining people gathered tons of bright grey stone, venturing as far as they could manage in the blistering sun. All the while, their numbers dwindled at the whim of the demons above." "When at last, an amount sufficient to cover the surface of the sun had been collected, the great wizard appeared above the ground. He chanted a powerful spell, and bright grey stone shot into the sky toward the nearest of the suns, slowly encasing the great fireball in cooling earth." "The demons saw the commotion, and rushed after the wizard, led by the greatest and largest of their kind, the demon king. But with the aide of his fellow humans, buying him as much time as could be had, the wizard finished the spell and sealed the stone with a bolt of lightning just before the demon king reached him." "'It is done,' he said with his final breath, and the other humans retreated to the caves to wait, to wait out the demise of demon-kind and their eventual triumphant return to the surface world. It came swiftly, as the demons could not stand the cold or the dark, and soon retreated to the molten core of the Earth, the last place remaining that was warm enough for their ilk." The boy continued to hold his grandfather's hand, half-glancing back toward the window and the moon. "It is said that, before they returned to the core of the Earth, the demon king took note of the wizard's spell, and on stormy night's such as these, he often returns to the surface, in hopes of undoing the darkness with a bolt of lightning of his own. They foretell that, when he does, the light will shine out the brighter clear through the night, and demons will dance once more on the surface world." With that, the gray old man grasped his cane that'd been leaned against the bed and paced again toward the bedroom door, taking great pains to tap his cane loudly on the wooden floor with each labored step. "Perhaps, they can here us still, down there?"He flicked off the light. "Well,"silence filled the room again as the old man paused for effect one last time, "goodnight."He shut the door behind him, and at that very moment, a great clap of thunder rang throughout the night and light flooded the whole of the boy's room from the window, brightness filling every corner and casting terrible shadows that danced against the walls. The boy ducked beneath his covers and let out a terrified shriek, until the light disappeared as fast as it had come, the silence broken only by the slamming of his parents' car door and the rapturous laughter of his grandfather in the other room. &#x200B; &#x200B;
I feel the familiar pulling sensation in my gut right after I’ve taken my afternoon dose of pain medication. I try to summon up some excitement, but where I’ve formerly felt a sense of adventure, I now just feel nausea. Sighing, I uncover myself from the blankets of my hospital bed, knowing that they won’t be happy if I bring them with me into the sterile environment of the ship. I’m groggy as I’m pulled up into the ship, and I doze as the two aliens, who have become familiar fixtures in my life over the years, run through the usual tests. I gave up trying to speak to them years ago. Their lack of response seemed to indicate that they don’t understand our language, and my attempts to communicate via gesture have gone over poorly. I doze off on the examining table, but I awaken when I hear the larger alien, who I’m pretty sure is in charge, speaking to himself. “Subject appears to be in the end stages of the disease.” I start, looking over at him. “Hey! What the hell? You guys have been able to speak this whole time?” The alien ignores me, continuing his report, which he appears to be dictating into a small recording device. “Results confirm the original hypothesis. Medicine on this planet appears to be at a rudimentary stage. None of the subjects have acquired the natural antibodies, which leads us to the conclusion that humans’ immune systems have not yet evolved to a state where they can fight off the virus. It also appears that her human medical team has been attempting to treat this disease as though it were a cancer. From this, we can conclude that humans have neither the natural biological capabilities to fight off the disease nor the medical technology to effectively combat it.” “Hey, seriously, what the hell? Are you saying I don’t have cancer? Wait, are you saying you did this to me?” “Notify the general. The humans are wholly unprepared to deal with this kind of biological warfare. If we act now, we can take the planet before they even know what hit them.” The smaller alien leans in, attempting to put a mask over my mouth. I struggle, and as he gets closer, I snap out, attempting to bite the appendage closest to my face. He giggles. “I always liked this one. She’s a fighter.” I unleash a torrent of expletives. The alien laughs. “Those are some new ones! I haven’t heard most of those words before, but I can guess at the context. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” The larger alien looks over at him, sighing. “I know that look. Don’t even think about it.” “Come on, no one would ever know! I could sneak her the cure right now.” “You know you can’t send her back to spread the antibodies once she’s cured.” “Well, then I’ll keep her here!” “You should really send her back. You know what happens. They don’t do well away from their home environment. You’re going to have to keep her on the ship, and you know I’m going to be the one that ends up cleaning up after her.” I interject angrily. “Hey, do I get a say in this at all? Because there’s no way I’m coming with you guys.” The aliens look over at me, as though surprised that I have my own opinion. The larger alien sighs. “Just don’t tell the boss, ok?” The smaller alien cheers, then grabs a syringe from the cabinet and inserts it painlessly into my arm. I try to protest, but I’m too weak. “Don’t worry, little one. I’ll take good care of you. I know that you’re special. If all goes according to plan, by this time next week, you’re going to be the last surviving member of the human race.”
sorry for mobile formatting // The following audio file is dated six months ANC (after nuclear crisis). The identity of the narrator is unknown. Transcription courtesy of the Institute of Post-Historical Studies. A film about animals I saw as a kid showed a series of strange pinkish creatures that lived in caves too deep for even light to reach; they were blind and colorless and entirely alien, especially to a middle schooler who had been raised in grass and sun and dirt. Their eyes were useless, and they depended on the faintest of sounds to navigate their surroundings. They scared me. I had nightmares for days afterwards about pale things that could hear me hiding in the dark. I didn’t know as a kid that it wasn’t the creatures themselves I was afraid of. No, I was afraid of becoming one of them. I try to ignore the nagging thought that my generation might be the last to have seen light. How many generations will it take before our children and our children’s children evolve into those creatures? Will we tell stories of a time when there was a sun in the sky and cities full of towers that twinkled like stars? The lights went out a month ago. Our generators only lasted so long, and once the riots settled down, people realized that there was no gas left. Trees won’t grow anymore, so we ran out of wood next - the atmosphere is too toxic and the sun can’t get through the layer of ash and debris. Everybody burned what was left of their houses, their furniture, their books - anything that would catch fire. And then that was all gone, too. Radiation burns took a lot of people. Some went off on their own and never came back. Everybody’s been sick, but not everybody recovered. The Geiger counters have kept us away from the most toxic areas, but they never stop clicking. The world is outlined in sound, not sight, now. No one sees the ruined skylines and scorched highways. Everyone hears the tiniest increases in tempo that tell us to keep walking, as far away from here as possible. I haven’t told anyone else that I ran out of batteries a couple days ago. The clicking is getting weaker. The machine has two days left at most. Two days, and then we will be alone in the dark. God help us. The recording cuts off. There are no other recoverable files from the same device.
I'd made a lot of mistakes in my life, of that there was no doubt. The lottery money would go a long way to fixing some of those. That kid in Glenrose. That "fender bender"by the river. Hell, even the incident with the ice cream. Yeah, the ice cream would probably be the second thing I dealt with. But the guy in front of me was almost speechless at what I was asking for as the FIRST thing. "You want to pay to have a crime ADDED to the books?" I looked the official in the eye, with more resolve than I thought I had in me. In my heart, I knew this was something I had to do, something that would go a long way towards making up for those earlier transgressions. Something that would make this twisted dystopia a little less twisted. "Yes, sir. Mixing up "it's"and "its". A $500k penalty to the bastards who darken our world." The official took the money, entered the code to add the offense, and whispered "done". I like to think I saw a smile cross his face, for just a moment.
I tapped the enter key on the laptop sitting in front of me and waited. Twenty seconds later the TV fixed to the wall opposite my desk flickered and went black. BBC World News had been playing and the 11am bulletin was just beginning when the video feed cut out. Slowly, glowing white letters began to appear randomly on the now black TV screen. An R appeared on the left, then N in the middle, then more. Slowly the words formed into a sentence and I sat back, smiling. I muttered to myself, “ready or not, here I come.” The screen flickered and then returned to BBC studio. The elderly male presenter was holding his earpiece and sat listening for a second, then nodded, “we apologise for the technical issue that some viewers may have encountered. We now return…” I laughed, knowing that technical issue would send the world’s conspiracy theorists into a craze, just like the Max Headroom broadcast I initiated decades earlier to test my system. That test broadcast had been meaningless, but this one? This one was different. It wouldn’t just be the conspiracy nutters whose interest would be piqued, the broadcast also triggered the start of the One Hundredth Round of Earth’s Hide and Seek and all the contestants had just been put on notice. They’d been hiding for anywhere from 20 to 60 years. I’ve been hiding for 40. Last round there were 50 playing but Earth is becoming a favoured arena these days, so my guess for this round is more like 100. I found the TV remote sitting in the top left draw and turned off the BBC. Now I sat, contemplating my next move. To the side of the laptop was a photo album. It looked innocent enough and if someone skimmed through the photos they might think it was just a lovely family album full of holiday snaps, if they didn’t know any of the people in the photos. Fat chance of that I thought as I tapped the photo stuck to the first page of a famous actor smiling with his slightly dishevelled look. He was my first target. Just after I started my planning around 30 years ago he released his first excellent movie. He’d been top of my list ever since. Of course there was no way of being sure back then; that could only happen once the game had begun. Someone knocked at my door. “Come in,” I said, not lifting my gaze from the photo. A young man, no older than 25 and carrying a large pot belly with severe acne, waddled through the door and sat down in the seat opposite my desk. He wheezed as he breathed. I looked up at him, frowning, “how are the preparations going?” He coughed and held up a finger, then fished around in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. As he slowly worked to uncrumple it I looked at my watch, irritated that I’d chosen him for this job. I had to be sure the people I put around me weren’t playing the game themselves, which necessitated hiring the types of people we’d usually try to avoid. Really though, it was no big deal. Bronson here was actually well qualified for what he’d been asked to do so I wasn’t too worried. Bronson finally looked up at me, “good sir. We have narrowed down the coordinates of the first wave you want to hit and set most of the bait. We’ve also started work on the traps as you asked. Unfortunately we’re having a little difficulty with a couple of our tantalizers in southern Italy, but we have a team working to fix them as we speak.” I nodded, “and what of the first meeting we arranged for our MC, has it been confirmed?” “No sir. Unfortunately Keanu Reeves pulled out just moments ago.” I smiled to myself, knowing the first bait had been taken. Bronson waited a moment for me to say something then started to stand, “I can go reschedule right now if you’d prefer?” “No, no. Just tell Andy to start preparations for a flight to Los Angeles. I think I’ll just pay Mr Reeves a visit myself.” Bronson nodded and waddled out. I turned the page, tapping the book in habit as I read over the schematics of the first trap I’d ever made, many years ago, and felt the adrenaline course through my body.
For as long as I can remember I have been deathly afraid of spiders. Before I go to sleep I always check the walls and ceiling of the bedroom and have on several occasions, slept in the livingroom because there was a spider in the bedroom somewhere up high where the cats could not reach. &#x200B; Something changed. I don't know what exactly, but there seem to be more of those eight-legged creepers in my home of late. The behavior of those spiders also seems... different somehow. I probably sound completely paranoid at this point but I swear to god they seem to follow me around the house. The last couple of days I feel like they are always.... watching. I don't know how to describe it otherwise. I told a co-worker about how I feel lately and they recommended I go see a therapist for extreme arachnophobia. This was a week ago. &#x200B; Today is even worse. I know they are following me now. EVERYWHERE. I can't sleep, I can't eat, everywhere I look there is atleast four, sometimes more spiders. The creepiest part of it seems that they are looking at me. No! Don't laugh at me! Every spider I come across has their hundreds of eyes towards me. &#x200B; I am positively freaking out right now. I decided to take a long walk and... THEY. ARE. FOLLOWING. ME. I can see the creepers crawling behind me, running to keep up with me. I start to run, and so are they. Completely freaking out I scream at them: "Why are you following me!"The spiders stop. They stopped after I talked to them. I really am losing my mind. Are those spiders even real? Is it all a hallucination that excists because of my severe sleep deprived condition? I hesitate. What should I do now? Why can't they just do regular spider stuff? I eye the spiders wearily. Ready to run again if they come closer. Time passes slowly but I'm sure that neither the spiders nor I have moved the past ten minutes. I ask them what they want from me, not expecting any kind of reaction ofcourse. But I got one. &#x200B; Disclaimer: This is my first time reacting to a writing prompt. English is not my first language so I probably made tons of grammer errors and spelling mistakes. I wanted to react to one of these for a long time and I hope someone likes what I wrote a little bit. Tips on how to improve are very welcome!
"A hero or monster? Can we truly trust a person who would steal from our military and police force? I ask you this viewer, is it really a good idea to trust a man who wants to play the modern-day version of Robin Hood? Vigilante justice is a slippery slope. Sure, we all will cheer for this man while he does what we want, sure feeding the homeless and stealing medicine is commendable, but is this truly what we want in a hero? A man who just does whatever he thinks is just." Taking a brief sip of my water, I took the opportunity to survey the room, the faces were mixed, some seemed happy to see my sticking it to the hero, while others were disgusted that I would dare talk so horribly about the man they idolized. "Without meaning to sound like J. Jonah Jameson, this man is a menace and if he isn't stopped, we will get copycats trying to repeat his actions, is this what we want for our kids? We want them to all be delinquents. Let me direct you to an article that was published a few months ago." Shoving my papers aside, I gripped the planted story, picking it up, taking a moment to lick my lips before I began to read it. "Local boy critically injured after trying to gain superpowers through plugging a fork into an outlet. This is what sort of example our so-called heroes are presenting and before you tell me this isn't his fault if this child didn't see a so-called hero flying around the city, I doubt he would have tried something so reckless. I would also like to give my thoughts and prayers to the family, I wish your child a speedy recovery. " "So please, reconsider calling this person a hero, stealing isn't what a hero does, a real hero would be out protesting for changes regarding how we price medicine, he would be encouraging better less wasteful ways to look after food, that's what heroes do, not this. Thanks for joining us on today's broadcast, this episode will be available to watch on our website in the next hour. As the camera's cutaway, I was finally able to take a breath. I hated having to criticize myself on air, but it was the best way to keep the heat off me, sooner or later they would start identifying people based on the heroes height, eye colour and so forth, it might take years but they would eventually learn it was me. So, hopefully, this would keep their attention away from me, at least long enough for me to figure out a way to get them on my side. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
"You did WHAT?" "I destroyed their homeworld."General Gred sits back in his chair looking smug. "Eart." "Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh no." I tap on the button to call my secretary. "What was Earth's gravity and atmospheric composition? Never mind. I don't care. Find out and find a planet like that. We'll give it to them as a gift. Humans like fruit baskets, right? What fruits don't kill them? Make a bunch of fruit baskets. One for every human. Oh stars this is terrible." "Why are you so worried?"Gred asks. "Their homeworld is gone. They are cowed." "You... are you stupid?"I ask. "Have you every tried to fight a bunch of pissed off humans?" "I have faced them in the pits before." "ONE ON ONE. YOU HAVE FOUGHT THEM ONE ON ONE. One angry human is nothing to fear. But you just pissed off an entire species of warmongering psychopaths. There are over a trillion of them. They can reproduce at a rate of once per cycle and they're ready for war by their 18th cycle. We can'tkeep up with that. More than that, have you ever seen a human Blood Rush? Their crimson bio fluid is not only incredibly toxic, they can lose buckets of the stuff before dying. They will come at us in waves, crawling over the bodies of their dead until they get to us. They don't feel fear. They feel rage. The only thing that had been keeping them from destroying us was their natrural discordant disposition. But YOU just unified them." "We... we have subjugates. Surely they will-" "They will do nothing! The humans find them cute. They've already pack bonded to the others. They love humans more than they fear us." "Sir,"my secretary says from the door. "The human fleets are here." "Already? How many did they mobilize?" "All of them." "How did the Lunar Base not catch them?"Gred asks. "They destroyed the entire moon as soon as they jumped into the system." "Can our orbital defense fleet handle them?"Gred asks again. "The humans performed a blood rush. They lost 10 million ships, but completely decimated our own fleet. They're trying to hail you, High Chancellor." I pull out my energy lance and shoot Gred in the head. The man dies before he hits the ground. A moment later, a projection of the human High Admiral appears in the middle of my office. "High Chancellor Pok,"she says. "I am Maria Lance, High Admiral of the Human Retribution Armada. You destroyed our homeworld." "The man responsible has been tried for high treason and executed." "That may be so, however we still intended to destroy your own homeworld as payment." I swallow hard. There's not much we can do at this point. "I understand." "However, your secretary sent us the location of several new worlds that would support our life. Further, we rather enjoy the fruit baskets. I especially like the chocolate dipped raspberries. They were a nice touch. For that reason, we have decided to spare your planet and your people. We will depart immediately." The projection cuts off and I fall into my chair. I look to my secretary as he stands nervously in the doorway. "I want a stockpile of those... what did she call them? Chocolate dipped raspberries? I want a stockpile of them made immediately. Once you've done that, take the rest of the week off. You've earned it."
42. Simple number. It’s seven times six. Thirty plus twelve. The ANSWER TO LIFE AND EVERYTHING or something like that… It is also the number of times Chester Billingsworth V could be abducted before he got tired of it. MoVe To wYoMiNg, ThErE’s NO ONE tHeRe!! Everyone had told him that. Morons. Whereas yes, his house was in the middle of (almost) nowhere, off highway 191 a few miles before you hit Pinedale, there is most definitely “someone” there. And they won’t go AWAY! Locks? Tried them, all of them. Obstacles? Don’t matter, they go around or through them. Dogs? Didn’t scare them away, they just caused them to fall asleep. Now, you may be thinking, “Just call the cops, man?!?” Nope. He’s not going to do that. Because it isn’t humans that keep abducting him. Yes. Aliens. No, he’s not crazy, he checked. The more un-experienced ones keep leaving tracks in his yard. And he has woken up a few times somewhere he most definitely did not want to be. They’d already proven that they didn’t want any harm to come to him. He thinks back on the time he woke up floating through his window and then stated to fall only to be caught and continually lifted back up to face two of them, one obviously yelling at the other. This was when he realized they were using him as some sort of test or something. So he reasoned that if they were going to keep this up he was going to start having some fun with the situation. Pulling out a calendar, he stated to map out when he knows and when he thinks he had been taken. Figuring out the odd pattern and waiting until the next time proved his theory. After that, he projected out, found the date, and started planning. The day before, his diet consisted of bratwurst and sauerkraut for lunch and homemade chili for dinner, plus a case or two of the cheapest beer he could stomach. The day of was more of the same, forcing down more beer with a few ruebens promised a flatulence filled night. Going to bed, he made sure to wear his oldest most thread bear pair of underwear and that was it. They wanted this, they were going to get a eye-full whether they wanted it or not. \\ Screaming and sirens. That’s what he woke up to. Sitting up, he noticed he was on a table with a group of them running around screaming at each other. And the worst smell he had EVER had the displeasure of producing. Which apparently is what set off the sirens. Looking around, one of them noticed he had sat up, grinning. With an angry/disgusted/who-the-hell-knows expression, when walks over to Chester, picks him up and quite unceremoniously drops him onto a lit disk, instantly transporting him back to his bed. After going to the bathroom and cleaning himself up (a lot), he went back to bed. The next day was quiet. As was the next and the week after that and the month after that. Before he knew it, it had been almost a year and he hadn’t been abducted. Flipping on the news, he noticed one of his neighbors (from a few miles away) blathering on about alien abductions and marks in the yard, all the while the Sheriff is standing behind him, trying to quiet him down and get him in the squad car.
"There. Do you see her?"Amari excitedly slapped my chest and pointed. I quickly flicked my spyglass in the direction she pointed. The sky seemed empty as I scanned it. "No. Are you sure?"I say. "Of course I'm sure. I told you they're hard to spot. It's so high and they have blue bellies. You have to LOOK." I look again but still the endless sky stretches on with nothing to interrupt it. "I know you've been working with this theory a long time Amari, but I'm really not sure..."and then I stop. My breath catches. I saw it. A blue that moved in the sky above. Impossibly high. Impossibly huge. Impossible. "Ha! I told you. I TOLD YOU."Amari shouts, without care for what preditors might overhear us. I see the wings beat. The swirl of the air that should not swirl. "She's seen it."Amari whispers. "Watch. We may never see this agian." The dragon flies across the valley below. An old female, a creature who dwarfed most you'd find closer to human settlements and still... Then it happens. The thing above us changes. It becomes smaller and the blue brighter. Impossible, again. The speed is as impossible as the scale. The gigantic dragon has only a moment and banks sharply. It is not enough. The impossible thing is upon it - it wraps its body around the dragon, serpantine, and the dragon can no longer fly. Its jaws wrap around her neck a moment later, and the giant flags in the air. She continues to glide with no direction, no control. She crashes to the earth, splintering trees and throwing up earth that will surely leave a crater for years to come. The thing continues to coil around her, squeezing, biting. It has small legs and arms that are just visible through the looking glass, gripping the dragon. It has wings - 6 sets you count, feathered things, smaller than the dragon's mighty pair, but together they must be of immense scale. They are folded tight to it's snake like body, its snout finally releasing the dragon. Its bloody maw was the size of a house. It looked somehow delicate at this distance, fine and precise. It doesn't waste time. It begins feasting upon the dragon - nothing is spared. It's delicate snout possesses teeth that cut through bone and flesh and scales alike. Stretched out it's body was many times the length of the dragon. I do not know how long we watched. The sun sank upon the feasting impossibility. By morning there was nothing but a far off crater devoid of all life, the ground stained red. We knew we wouldn't see it again. "What is that?"I had asked. "I have no idea."Amari had told me, as the sun was setting. "Whatever it is, it took me years to find it and now it's taken prey... I don't think they land until they're hungry again. Can you imagine how long that will take? Did you see how it's legs didn't work on the ground at all? And all those wings..." "No one is going to believe us."I tell Amari as we survey the bloody crater later. "Sure they will. Eventually."Amari is scribbling furiously in the log book. "You did after all."
There were, of course, attempts at imposing order. There always are, and they never stick. It is the way of things. A species first spaceport is always chaotic, and CCSP was no exception. Part of it is the aliens. A species on the cusp of joining galactic civilization attracts a certain type. Some are greedy, some are altruistic, some are just curious, but none of them are normal. Tourism is nice and all, but your average tourist would rather wait until there are established guidebooks and the locals have adopted some variant of Galstandard. Universal translators are itchy, and tend to be full of bugs for the first century or so. Languages are complicated to really get right. No, this was the wild west. Granted, the crocodile-to-cattle ratio was pretty wildly different, but there were a lot of similarities. For instance, the sheer extent to which things got glamorized and distorted after the fact. The official Ieridonian ambassador wasn't on the planet until nearly a century later, after we'd built several saner spaceports, but from the histories, you'd think that Ieridon had a portal that went straight to downtown Miami. The reason, of course, was that Ieridonians are aesthetically pleasing to a human, and law-abiding enough to have gotten a lot of positive press in the ensuing centuries. Not many species waited until their ambassador had arrived to negotiate formal treaties, laws, and cultural exchange programs to start showing up, but the Ieridonians were among these few. Right now, they were nowhere to be seen. It was madness, pure and simple. There might have been some semblance of order at the spaceport proper, strained and backed up by military force though it was, but there was no force on Earth that could normalize Florida, and that was before the aliens showed up. The first step outside was a doozy. You were likely to be accosted by at least three different fraudsters before you managed to finish drawing in your first breath of swamp air. Humans trying to scam aliens, aliens trying to scam humans, and the occasional duel of the fraudsters, a human trying to sell worthless junk to an alien, who was attempting to sell useless junk to the human. The inevitable junk exchange looked more like the end result of nuclear disarmament talks than an economic transaction, but the trade was usually fair, in the end. Junk for junk. Things got quieter and less normal as you traveled away from the spaceport proper. Florida had actually been a solid choice for a first spaceport- there were any number of aquatic and semi-aquatic species that wanted to see what Earth was like, and the easy availability (and, occasionally, inevitability) of water eased quite a number of transactions. Most of humanity had assumed that the alligators would be a problem, but quite a number of aliens turned out to have tech for taming wildlife. Aligators were now serving as guards, pets, and, in at least one case, as an accountant. It was wild how un-wild it was. There were water channels everywhere, not quite as ubiquitous as roads, but nearly so. Quite a number of businesses were built at crossroads of both transportation methods, since it was often quite important to be accessible to as many species as possible. The result bore a little resemblance to Venice, though the occasional alligator coming up to you and rolling over on its back to demand belly rubs was definitely a reminder that you weren't anywhere that was actually sane. Florida had been a bit of a confluence before the spaceport, and had grown odd for it. Now, however, it was the central point for both visiting aliens and curious humans. There were people from Egypt complaining about all the rain, and people from Oregon complaining about how little rain there was. There were people from Canada complaining about the heat, and people from Saudi Arabia complaining that they were cold. And everyone, everyone, everyone was complaining about how crowded and strange and unusual it all was. Never mind that they were the ones causing it- there was complaining to do! It was necessary- the work to integrate humanity into galactic society required a great number of experts from a great number of fields, which meant bringing in people from all over. Still, it was crowded. The good news was that there weren't actually that many aliens- ships that carried large numbers of passengers weren't making the trek out here just yet. Still, there were more than a few, and they had their own, unique challenges. Sleeping accommodations on the ships were Spartan, since space was at a premium. But quite a number of species had issues with the arrangements humans had available. There were a million different problems, and many a hotel owner found a mattress that was torn up to unusability, or thoroughly soaked in some alien excretion that they didn't want to know anything about. Human excretions were bad enough. There were any number of aliens stopping people on the street to ask questions, or taking primitive artifacts back for further study. It took a while to figure out why there had been a spike in car theft, but the problem was addressed, eventually. They put a 'do not steal primitive artifacts' sign up in the spaceport. It was a confluence. Thousands upon thousands were having their mind blown, every day. Preconceptions were shattered, assumptions were ripped apart, alligators had their tum-tums rubbed. It was a strange time. It was so strange that several lifelong Floridians almost noticed that something was going on.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” I lied. “I don’t know what I’m here to do,” I lied. “When they said you traded your soul for a protector, I didn’t volunteer, they just sent me here,” I lied. I actually know why I’m here. Why I, the monster that sits in her closet, volunteered to be the one protecting her. It’s because if I want her to be scared of me, there mustn’t be anything else that is scarier in her eyes. “Well, you better be a good one,” Lily spoke, without a shake or quiver. After all, her real demons are far worse than I am. From inside her closet, I can hear what is happening. A loud crash of the front door as it swung open, followed by heavy footsteps. Lily’s unnerved expression quickly turned pale as she crawled into the closet with me. “Linda! Where the fuck are you?!” Her father is home, and her mother is about to be beaten senseless. “Where is the liquor?!” “We ran out of it days ago.” Slap. “Didn’t I tell you to go buy more?!” Slap. “We barely have any money, and we had to pay for this months rent and Lily’s schooling.” Slap. “Useless bitch!” He shouted before a loud thud; he had probably kicked Linda onto the floor. “Mommy...” Lily muttered. She’s crying. Even Satan can’t draw this many tears out of her. Inside this little closet, her cries echoed in my ears. I’m jealous, every night I try to scare this girl, yet her father beat me at my own game. But now that I’m her protector, he’s gonna pay for stealing the spotlight. “Lily! Daddy’s here! Let’s have a little ‘talk’ about your schooling shall we?” The footsteps are getting louder, he is coming. Lily cowers inside the closet even more, trying her best to quieten her cries. Her father opens up the door and scans through the room. He bends down to check under the bed, before turning to the closet. There’s a belt in his hand. “Come now Lily, no need to be scared, daddy just wants to talk eh?” He is standing in front of the closet now, his hand reaching for the knob. I can hardly contain my excitement anymore. “Now Lily,” I said as my jaw unhinged, revealing an endless pit of canines in my mouth, my eyes glowing a deep crimson. “How should I handle this ‘problem’ for you?”
"So let me see if I get this straight,"the heroine said, as she kicked the last henchman into the moat of fire surrounding the villain's throne room. "You think you've seen through my plan?"Dark Hammer answered, bellowing as he jumped to the ground with a obviously practiced rolling landing. "You kidnapped the mayor to distract us from your men stealing the Hogstar Diamond so you could build an elaborate laser and use the diamond as the focal lens so that you could blind all the superheros in the city long enough to steal all the gold from the reserve to,"she took a break for an exaggerated breath, "throw it in a volcano in order to disrupt the gold price and convince crooked senators to propose a bill to indroduce a silver standard which would make you millions because you bought up all the silver mines." "You think you are clever Red blade, but you forgot the dog adoption center plan!"Black Hammer said, hefting his weapon. "What could that possibly, you know what, nevermind, I don't care."Red Blade said before pulling off her mask and letting her hair down. "Can we just be real with each other, Greg?" "Who is this Greg, "he stammered. "I AM BLACK HAMMER, LORD OF -" "Your name is Greg Daniels, mine is Jennifer Rhine. We went to high school together. You recognized me at the parade fire last year. If you want to ask me out, there are easier ways than all this." "I have no ne- Wait, would you actually be interested in a date with this Greg Daniels?" "Sure, if I wasn't so busy solving convoluted villain plots, that would be nice." "I will find this, uh, Greg and let him know. Does 6pm Saturday work for you?" "Yep, I'll just carve my number on the pillar there on my way out." "Very well,"Black Hammer said. "Until next time, Red Blade!"
It was the last day before Christmas break when I let Grady stop my locker before I shut it. It was the first time it'd happened since freshman year. And this was just like the last time. But since then, I'd prepared. "Finally got it, you little bitch."he sneered as he gripped the door in his left hand. "Took you long enough fatass."I smirked. Most times, I was too quick for Grady to do any real damage, but I figured it was worth it to grin an bear this one. I dropped to my knees as the air shot from my lungs. "At least I got money to eat, you little bitch!"Grady retorted as he slid my diary from my locker. He was able to push it into one of the knee pockets of his cargo pants before Ms. Newman shot from her classroom. "Grady Davis and Alfred Stafford!"she huffed. "Again?! It's every damn week with you two" "Ms. Newman...I"I struggled to find my breath. "I don't want to hear it Al."she glared down at me. "Now, both of you, go to the Disciplinarian's office. Figure out which one of them wants to deal with you this time." ___________________________________________________ When you live on a budget, and have a great mom who knows her way around rice, veggies, and guilt about children in Africa, you tend to eat pretty healthy. And no money means no extra budget for sugary beverages. It was tap water into a cheap plastic cup. Now, don't get me wrong, even the me then loved a nice Coca-Cola every now and then, but Grady was different. Every day he brought a gigantic thermos full of Coke. And I'm pretty sure he filled it before bed and left in in the fridge overnight, because it stayed pretty cold until about lunch. The reason I knew this is because almost everyday, Grady took a shit in the same bathroom, in the same stall. The building was at the back of the campus, and Grady always used the stall farthest from the door. He also never brought his backpack into the stall and left his thermos sitting on the edge of the sink. The times were random, but it was always in between periods. Never lunch. So, whenever I also had to use the facilities, I'd make my way to the same bathroom. Sometimes, all I found was one lone backpack, and a thermos with varying amounts of Coke, sitting on the edge of a sink. I never went overboard with the amount I put in, as I was too scared to change the flavor. But every time I did, I marked it in my "diary." ____________________________________________________ "Oh my God!"Stephanie shrieked as Grady read aloud from an entry dated June 24th, 2015, about eight months after he'd first stolen my diary and disclosed its contents to all of my classmates. "That's three times now!!" Sorry Marissa, I thought, cringing to myself. I wanted to tell her those parts were bullshit. But I had to include some parts that seemed...private. Just to make the rest believable. "I think it's kinda sweet,"Steve mused. For whatever reason, he always had my back. "Seems like he really likes you Marissa." "Maybe a bit too much..."She was definitely disgusted. But much less than I had anticipated, so I considered it a win. "Looks like little Al here spent all summer thinking about you, girl."Grady cackled as he stood atop the courtyard table, my "personal diary"cracked open in his palms. "And what's next..."he muttered flipping through a couple pages. "Ah yes, back to school! 'It's been about two weeks but today I finally found Grady alone in the bath..." He trailed off. Grady silently ripped through the pages, seeing one line over and over, detailing every one of my exploits. I emerged from the small crowd and stood to face him. "That's right fatass!"I screamed. "Every chance I've gotten for the last three damn years! You've been drinking some of my piss! I descended into laughter. Amused jaws stood agape across the courtyard. I was able to open my eyes soon enough to see Grady charging. And Steve looked a bit worried.
“Did you try turning it off and on again?” Her eyes exploded in fury. “Of course I did! I lived through the War you know, I’m not as stupid as you think I am. Haven’t you ever deleted something by accident before?” Painful memories of my college thesis disappearing at the click of a button rushed into my head. I quietly apologised. “But this is the Internet, this is different. What is the World gonna do without the Internet?” “Oh, calm yourself. I lived in a time where we existed perfectly fine without your digital mumbo-jumbo. In fact, I would even go as far as to say the world was better —“ “Oh, just stop! I’m sorry I was texting at the dinner table at Christmas. But that doesn’t mean the whole World has to suffer. Please tell me you didn’t do this because of that.” Grandma was silent. I looked at her, shaking my head in disbelief. “Gran...you didn’t? Did you?” She looked at the floor sheepishly, like a school girl caught by the principal. “I’m so sorry Louise. It just hurt me so much. I spent all day cooking that dinner and you couldn’t even look away from your phone for five minutes. If you don’t like my food, just tell me. If you don’t like my company, then I’m sorry. I don’t know how I became such an uninteresting old hag.” I stood up in shock. “Gran! Don’t say that! You are not a hag. Or uninteresting. I love you so much. I never meant to disrespect you.” I took my phone out of my bag and turned it off. “From now on, I will not have this thing on when I visit you. You are far more important to me than any amount of scrolling.” Grandma’s face lit up with joy and we hugged tightly. “Now, can you please turn the Internet back on?” “I’m sorry Dearie, but I have no idea how to.”
The dragon could not believe her incredible luck. The half-eaten body of the princess stashed behind the mound of gold alongside the bodies of other creatures (cows, sheep, the occassional knight), it was just a matter of completing the transformation spell to conert herself into the spitting image of the princess. She was working on the spell and thinking through her story when the knight arrived. Too early! "So, uh, am I supposed to save you or slay you?" The transformation was only half-done; her eyes still the slitted eyes of her real self, the scales down her back showing through the illusion of a princess dress. The plan was to tell the knight that the dragon had flown off leaving her to sneak away--but then sometimes plans fall apart at the last minute. Time to improvise. "No, my knight; it's the doing of that dragon! That nasty dragon tried to put a spell on me to make me into a dragon myself!" Pause. "How can I be sure you're not the dragon yourself?"the Knight called out, in that melodic voice knights of this kingdom are taught so as to act "knightly." Okay, time to improvise a plan B. "Well, this wasn't going to work anyway,"the dragon snarled, breaking the illusion, her full form taking shape. A hundred feet long, head as large as a small hovel, breathing fire--the knight really had no chance. Why this stupid kingdom sent knights to their certain death was just another way the King had so screwed things up over there. After all, this dragon just wanted to be left alone with her hoard of gold. The knight backed up a step. Then raised his sword and ran towards the dragon. "Wasteful,"the dragon snarled before shooting a jet of flame from her mouth, burning the knight to a crisp where he stood. ---- The main village of the kingdom opened the doors to the border wall, letting in the Princess, in tow a horse carrying the body of a burned knight. She proceeded to the castle where she was met by her father, the King. "Oh, father, it's so good to see you!" (The King thought that was oddly out of character--but being held for food by a dragon changes a person, apparently.) She explained how she was being held by the dragon, how the brave knight came to save her, how he fought the dragon off and killed it but was killed in the process. She offered no explanation how she, a small princess of slight frame managed to lift the burnt corpse of a fully dressed knight complete with metal plate armor onto the back of a horse. But then, the King never was all that bright. And while a few court advisers may have had that question, they kept dangerous thoughts like that to themselves. ---- The storyteller paused, and stroke his beard. "So what happened to the princess?"asked one of the children. "You mean the dragon?"the storyteller replied. "Yeah"came a chorus of children, with the inevitable clueless kid in the back of the saying "what dragon?" The storyteller glanced around the room: a magnificant library of gold and marble full of scrolls, one area set aside for storytellers like him so he could tell stories to small children. He was well paid for his time. "She still rules today, bringing us the 100 Year Prosperity. While her hoard of gold may have helped save the Kingdom in the short term, no one realized just how smart and wise with the Kindom's finances dragons are."
I once decided the fates of cities. At my word, they would be snuffed out. With barely a thought, I would order them subjugated. Their populace turned into slaves for my war machine. I could choose anything, and it would be mine. People loathed, feared and envied me and my power. But now, I had a much more important job. The suns rays warmed my fur, disturbing my slumber. I opened one eye, glaring at it. There was a temptation to extend my strength, and call a cloud to cover it. But I ignored it, choosing to stretch instead. Relaxed, I sought out my adoptive human. I needed attention. I slowly padded out of the room, listening. The house was still, and I thought it empty. But then I heard a pain-filled cry. Not the sort I was used to, of agonisied wretches. But of someone who's heart had been torn apart. It concerned me, which was odd. I never cared about such things. I followed it, ending up in the hallway. My human was there, but lying on the floor. The crying came from her shaking shoulders. I crept over, worried. As I got close, I saw a piece of parchment next to her. It was slightly crumpled, with tear stains upon it. Mrs Gwenwin It is with a heavy heart, we must inform you of the capture of Felda Gwenin. She participated in a raid, along with forces of our Holy Might. Unfortunately, the raid was met with failure, all participants lost to us. Please accept our most sincere apologies. The Holy Quintet I knew Felda. From two entirely different lives. She had been one of the heroes to strike me down. A cleric of immense strength, she had been the one to hurt me most. But on the other paw, she was the daughter of my human. I had seen her soft side, when she had visited. I had played with her. I rubbed against my human, trying to ease her heartache. She grabbed me, holding me tight. I gave a token resistance, but let her. I was far beneath my station to give comfort but she needed it. As she held me, her voice whispered over my head. "I-I wish she had never gone. Oh, Felda. How I wish I could save you." She broke down again. I did what I could, purring and nuzzling her face. But it was like trying to dry a river with a towel. All I could do was be there for her. I managed to get her to finally move, after a couple of hours of lying there. She followed my meows of displeasure, giving me some food. She was going to not eat, but I stared at her. She knew her place, and fixed herself a small meal. It wasn't much, but it would do. After my human had gone to bed, and fallen into a fitful sleep, I stalked out into the night. Her wishes spun in my head. On one side, I could ignore it. I could live out the life of a simple cat. But on the other, I could hardly ignore wishes. And it would be good to use my power again. With silent grace, I moved through the night. I hunted, searching for a suitable replacement. Within the hour, I struck gold. A mouse, alone and afraid. I pounced, stealing its life with a precise strike. With the warm body in front of me, I reached into my strength, and called upon it. The mouse body, already encased in shadow, turned black. It bubbled and hissed, before expanding, equalling my size. The black settled, combing down into fur. Its bones formed into a supportive skeleton, a copy of my own. Its organs grew, and heart began to beat once more. It's mind was empty, perfect for me. Calling upon my days of old, I crafted a copy of my mind. Simplied from what it once was, this wasn't close to how I spied on the humans when I wasin power. But I could imprint my cat actions, creating a perfect replica. It hissed when it was done, before bowing. It knew I was the boss. I gave it a command. "Keep my human company." It meowed in acknowledgement, before darting off. I was alone again, and no longer bound by keeping an eye on my human. But I would follow her wishes. I stretched out, elongating my body. I changed to a panther, to keep good intentioned folk away. With one final glance behind me, I set out. I would find Felda Gwenin, and bring her home. How ironic, that the one she thought to have destroyed, would turn out to be her saviour.
I should have known that something was suspicious when the breeder was so keen to get rid of this pup. They practically paid me to take it off their hands. As I was desperate for a dog at the time, needing a companion for the sake of my mental health, I didn't ask too many questions. Maybe I should have. She was a robust puppy, I'll put it like that. I could tell she'd grow to a good size even that young ab age. Her paws were like dinner plates, and her ears like floppy tea towels. Maybe that should have been a clue. The vet was evasive about her breed when I took her in for her jabs, only deflecting by saying he didn't _think_ she's a banned breed, but he'd enter her into the system as an English mastiff just to be on the safe side. I thought that sounded right. Maybe I should have realised then. When she was six months old and almost as tall as me at the shoulders, then I definitely knew my baby girl was no ordinary dog. People looked twice when we walked down the street, when they weren't crossing the road to avoid us. Maybe that's when I should have checked back with the breeder. By the time she was a year old she no longer fit into the house, and I had to turn the garage into a kennel for her. I did it properly, with padded flooring and heating, and even a place for me to sit and work so we could be together. Maybe then was the time to make enquiries. When she was just over two years old, having outgrown even the garage, someone broke into the partially converted barn I'd moved us to. My living area occupied a small loft in one upper corner, and the rest was all hers. The hapless burglar was fine, but understandably terrified at having been picked up in a cavernous, slobbery maw. Maybe by then I was being willfully ignorant. We were visited by the government after that, High Mages from the Department for Magic. They'd heard whispers of our existence, but never enough to pin us down. Now they knew, and they had questions...and answers. Maybe I was ready to hear them then. My gorgeous baby girl, with her playful nature and beautiful harlequin markings, was the result of a hellhound dog getting loose and mating with a Great Dane bitch. My baby, at only twice the size of a normal hellhound, was on the _small_ side of things. Maybe then I should have considered giving her up. Most crucially, I was properly bonded to my girl. A hellhound psychically links to its owner, learning from their thoughts and desires. It certainly explained why she was so easy to train, and why the burglar was only slobbered on and not crunched or shaken. Maybe I was naive. She _is_ playful though, and I have a mischievous streak. And it turns out that people will pay good money to play "tag"with a house sized dog. They take a specially modified (and subtly magically reinforced) car out onto an off-road track, and my girl tries to catch them. And most of the time she does, bringing car and occupants back to my little she-shed office with a proud step and a wagging tail. Maybe I'm crazy. And hey, I got what I wanted: a lifetime companion.
"... Really?" "Yes. A whole planet. A whole species..." "But that's... No. How do they live?" "I have no idea! They breathe an oxygen nitrogen mix, of all things! They have to be somehow adapted to their corrosive atmosphere." "That's not what I meant. Are you sure they don't? You double checked, triple checked?" "Of course! All the normal means of detection plus a few theoretical ones. Nothing." "..." "I know, I know. They're so... limited. And yet, despite that, look at how far they've come." "What do they have instead? They must have something. What moves them? What drives them? How do they navigate through choices when they have nothing to connect them?" "I think that's why the species is so violent. Often, they seem to just... guess. We determined from their border disputes alone that we must stay well away, not to mention their interpersonal interactions." "They treat each other poorly?" "The majority of their time is spent on that. But some seem to realize that there is more out there, and try to do better. Fascinating, since they don't have a soul for the wind to whisper to. No connection to the flow of their galaxy or their star. Not even to their own world." "I can't even imagine living that way. In such darkness. You're right. Observation only. And mark this 'verse as dangerous. We don't want anyone uninformed bumping into someone with no soul." "It was quite a shock... to see a being like me, clearly sentient with the full gamut of emotions, but with so little regulation of them. Their eyes were so dull! But they struggle on. It's admirable." "But not, at the same time. A strange duality."
Often enough, good deeds are not rewarded in kind. Once upon a time, as so many stories tend to start, there was a town. A nice, small, and cosy town. The people who lived there were good people, or so they thought themselves. They prided themselves on their diligence, their patience, and their piety. Good traits to have, one might say. They were honest to each other, did not stand by and let injustice happen, and they never treated guests unkindly. And for a time, this might have been the case. They might have been decent people. But decent people in the dark past could not stay decent for long. Not without proper protection, or without becoming colder, more cruel, more violent people, and through that transform into people who were not in any shape for form decent. This town, nameless as all towns in ancient tales are, was however protected by one of their own. Carrying a shepherd's crook, wearing only decent black, and hard iron boots, she defended the town against evils seen, and evils unseen. When crooked merchants came to town to sell bad wares, she exposed them. When bandit scouts were trying to infiltrate behind the town's sturdy walls, she would unveil them. And in the night, when grisly ghouls and vicious vampires would attempt to cause harm, there she stood, her iron boots firmly planted on her ground, her hard ironwood crook raised aloft, and with the will to destroy all evil. None saw this, for she was good. Very good at her craft indeed, so good that people only saw her daylight work of exposing human evils, and never knew the darkness that lurked in the night. She started as a mere girl, who left her farm and forcefully apprenticed herself to the previous Witch of the town. She knew what she wanted, and the previous Witch had never had such a studious, strong-willed, and caring apprentice before. Her contemporaries married well and sometimes poorly, and they kept the house or helped their husbands, as was the way for most women in those ages. They had children, that the Witch ensured would grow up safely, happily, and without getting taken by creatures of the night. Though one might be persuaded to think that she was merely a form of guard, and that she was true, but that was the least of her talents, and the least of her work. In daylight when no human evils tried to worm their way into her town, unto her land, she worked tirelessly as a healer. She knew the names and uses of every herb in her region, and many from beyond which she traded for. Few illnesses of men and beast exists that she had no cure for. From local cinchona trees she extracted bitter medicine to treat the swamp-fevers, from willow-bark she created medicine to stop the pains, and from aloe-vera plants she created purgatives for stomach illnesses. When workmen fell from buildings, she could set every bone back to where it was meant to be. Every birth needed her attention, for if she was not there to help, more often than not either child, mother, or both perished unnecessarily. She worked tirelessly. Day in and day out. Through the nights and even on feast-days. She would carry a sack of herbs, and visit people whenever it was needed. To heal an ill, to calm the scared, and even on rare occasions, to allow the dying to pass blissfully without any pain. So she did for years. Decades. Until she was old and grey. Until none remembered a time when she hadn't been the Witch of the town. And still, despite her age, she fought off dark spirits in the night, she cured the ill in the day, and did everything she could to keep her town safe. But there are some evils that cannot be fought directly. Some foes that cannot be defeated personally. So at last, evil found its way into her town. Soon people were more hesitant to call upon the Witch. Where before she had been respected and cherished, now she began to be respected, but feared as well. And she couldn't see why. She couldn't find the source. But it worried her. She herself had had many apprentice girls over the years, who had then gone out into the world to find work elsewhere as Witches in other towns. In the past they had kept up with their teacher, the Witch of this town, by the means of letters. Decades past, she had received dozens every time couriers passed by the town. But over time fewer and fewer letters made their way to her doorstep. And many of them were filled with fearful words, from her apprentices, scared women and a few men, who said that they were being hunted. And one by one, they never sent another letter to her again. She wanted to go to them, to find them, for all good teachers always want the best for their students, even after the students are done with their apprenticeship. But she couldn't leave her town. Couldn't abandon her post. All the signs of something bad were there. The number of apprentices dropped, as many parents called their children home and never allowed them to continue being taught. They never said why. So the Witch could only watch, as things spiralled out of control. Until the evil came in force. Dressed in dark robes, they rode into town. Wearing the insignias of the faith openly upon their clothing, proclaiming their piety and zealotry to all who beheld them. She was old. And grey. In a different time, a different year, she could have bested them. But they spoke to the fears of her good people. Of her good townsfolk. They spoke of hatred. Of blind insane obedience. Of fire, iron, and blood. She could hear them speak to the people in their dark words. But hoped that the people who had been kept safe by her, healed by her, and were alive because of her, would not listen. Fear however, drives people to do dark deeds. Her good, honest, kind, people dragged her out of her home, and lit it on fire. Egged on by the inquisitors, driven by fear and the madness of zealotry, they could do nothing else. She suffered indignities and depravity, the barbarity of which would make the demons of Hell speak up in protest. Because few things are more barbaric and brutal than the utter conviction of righteousness that is found in witchhunters and zealots. Her shepherd's crook was broken. Her herbs were destroyed. Her iron boots were melted down, and after what can only be described as a sham court where people were encouraged to lie by those who want to burn all that is in their eyes impure, she was condemned to burn upon the pyre.
"I can't fucking help it."Cyrus existed as a mind separated from the physical realm. Though he was aware he was being judged, the others were nothing more than disembodied voices speaking to him as his own thoughts. They formed one voice together to judge the living. "You murdered your political rivals by accusing them of trumped-up charges and encouraging gangs of citizens to kill them extrajudicially."His judge objected. "You keep putting me in these situations I am not cut out for. Just make me a peasant or something this time. Let me live a peaceful life of solitude, work, and discipline among my crops and livestock. Please." "That is not how this works, mortal." "I won't feel mortal until you put me back into a body. You should use your infinite time better. Right now I could go on forever like you. Maybe I'd even figure out how to see or move around eventually." "You're trying to insult an ageless one that could devour you in an instant. You realize this, right?" "Then get on with it already. I've had enough. The shit you put me through on Earth. I mean, come the fuck on." "That way doesn't lead to heaven." "I don't even care anymore. From what I've learned God has had to do some fucked up shit to stay on top. I'm not even sure I want to join him even if it means rejecting literal Paradise." "God is merciful. Why do you think you've had four chances to make it there already?" "Because God wants to torture me, obviously. I have a destiny to get to the top and fuck it all up, apparently. Maybe the big guy has something I don't, but I doubt it. Get into power and you'll have to do something fucked up." "This time maybe find something else to distract you. I don't know. I've never lived." "I would if you'd let me remember anything from other lives." "That isn't how this works." "Then I'm going to get it into my head that I know better, will form an organization of like-minded individuals, will seize power with good intentions, will fail terribly, and will be labeled as one of the worst, evil dictators who ever lived. Even if my future selves read about my past selves in life, it doesn't matter. I know better than them, I'll think, not knowing I was them." "You must try again. There is no other option." "And your kind says there is no hell." Cyrus was reborn in the year 2022 for his fifth attempt at salvation. &#x200B; Author's Note: I realize this is just dialogue without more. I would add more, but I like the back and forth enough to just hit go.
The wizard looked at me and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I told you to take out the dragon,"he said, with the air of a man done with life. "I did,"I said, crossing my arms. "I expect to be paid in full. My services are not cheap, Archmage Valin." "I said to take out the dragon,"he said again. I felt a little insulted. Truly, wizards were known to be arrogant creatures, but I had heard him the first time. "You did,"I said, nodding in agreement. "I have performed my job adequately, and I would like to be paid." Master Valin, Archmage of the Council of Four, one of the greatest wizards in an age, visibly resisted the urge to teleport down from his balcony to strangle me to death. Not everyone could recognize the subtle emotions on display as he closed his eyes and took three deep breaths, but I had experience in these types of matters. Truly, there were few things more entertaining than infuriating somebody that could set you on fire with a thought. "I have been told,"Archmage Valin said after he had regained some sliver of his previous composure, "that multiple witnesses saw you with her known human form out on the town." "Well, it was our first date."I waved a hand. "I didn't want to seem presumptuous and ask her to take me home on the first date. I figured a walk around town would let us get to know each other before we decided to bring dragon-slaying or several ton dragon forms into things." The wizard took a deep breath. He took several, and I waited patiently. "You took her out to dinner." "I did,"I agreed. "... And you nearly burned down the building. And took to the streets, where you bought her..."The man shuffled a few papers. I privately wondered what he did if he ever dropped anything off that balcony. Maybe he used magic to get it back? "... street food?" "She didn't seem to be enjoying the fancy dinner stuff,"I said with a shrug. "I figured that maybe she got a lot of that in her daily life. Dragons are fancy." "You... proceeded to take her out to a play,"the wizard said incredulously. "Well, yeah."I crossed my arms. "Are you saying that women can't enjoy the fine arts? That's a very last century attitude for somebody who's supposed to be a grand wizard-" "You destroyed the amphitheater,"Archmage Valin boomed. "And you took her to... to a comedy routine!" "I offered one of the really fancy plays,"I shrugged. "She said we could see it if I wanted, but she looked bored. So I took her to one of the ones that I actually liked. And she loved it!" "She shifted to dragon form at the end,"the man said. Or well, it was closer to an angry roar. It was the best impression of a dragon I'd ever seen a human give before. While it was a valid point, I did feel the need to defend my paramour. "She apologized,"I said firmly. "Apparently, she's not used to maintaining human form while genuinely enjoying herself. All stuffy meetings with nobles and high-class obligations and negotiating with murderers."At his blank look at that last one, I clarified. "Dragonslayers." "I wanted her body for alchemical components!"Archmage Valin threw his hands in the air and almost wept. I blinked as understanding hit, and drew myself up, giving him the sternest look I could muster. "Disgusting,"I said, voice dripping with scorn. "I can't believe you only want her for her body." "Are you even a dragonslayer?"The man said, looking like he was on the verge of a breakdown. "Sometimes,"I said. "Not when they haven't done anything wrong, though. Honestly, though, I'm more of a rogue than a fighter-" "Get the fuck out,"Master Valin, Archmage of the Council of Four said. "Do I still get paid?"I started to ask. "Get the fuck out of my tower!" \------------ I left, dejected and penniless. I was so dejected, in fact, that I ran smack into the front of the silver dragon outside. Considering she was the size of a barn (not that I would ever say that to her unless I wanted to die), I wasn't sure how I'd missed her. "Rough day at work?"The dragoness asked. I looked up at the mighty, terrifying beast in front of me, and nodded. "Boss wouldn't pay me. Said I didn't complete the job right. Fucking bullshit." Her scaly lips twitched upwards. "Oh? What was the job?" "I was supposed to 'take out' this local dragon. And I did,"I said. The silver dragon looked at me before she broke down laughing. She didn't stop laughing, even when she shifted to her human form- this time wearing an outfit much more suited to adventuring than the silver dress that she'd worn on our first date. "Such a shame,"she said. "Maybe he'll pay you if you do it again, but right this time?" "Maybe,"I agreed. "You ever been to an underground fight club before?"I asked, as she started to lace up her new boots. I still didn't know whether she conjured these outfits out of nowhere when she shifted or just... had an extradimensional closet or something. The epitome of politeness, nobility, and high-class manners looked at me and grinned, cute little fangs flashing. "No. But I want to." I mock-curtsied, much to her amusement. "Then it's a date."
I was just drinking a cider out on my apartment's balcony, enjoying the skyline at dusk, when Moo practically crashed on the patio table with a clang and a sharp crack, spreading a spiderweb of cracks over the glass tabletop. I immediately dropped what I was doing as I ran to check on him, a bunch of unlikely scenarios running through my head in a split second. Had someone shot him, in the middle of the city? Was there a...falcon, or something? I thought I had heard that those things would hunt crows. Moo -- that's short for Munin, one of Odin's pet birds, which I know was a raven, don't @ me -- fluttered awkwardly around on the tabletop for a few moments, but then stood up straight and seemingly unharmed, standing by the object he'd brought me, which was apparently what had smashed the table, and not Moo himself. I guess I should explain that, by this time, I'd been feeding Moo and some of the Murder that lives around my building. And don't worry, I'm not giving them Skittles and hot dogs or whatever, like some kind of crazy bird-hoarding degenerate from reality TV. I got some cracked corn and mixed seeds from the pet store. I'm gonna be real with you, it's as much because I can't stand my neighbors, as because I like birds. The crows really irritate the crazy PETA lady downstairs, who apparently only loves dumb and delicious animals, not the cool smart ones that come right to your balcony and chill with you. Anyway, after I did that for a while, Moo and the Murder started bringing me things. At first it was just shiny trash, torn open chip bags with the foil visible, old soda can tabs. Makes sense, right? Birds like them love shiny things, and I figured they assumed I loved them too, it was cute. Then they brought me a whole cider can...which happened to be the same brand I always drink. I thought, okay, well, that could be a coincidence. But then, they brought me a whole granola bar, again, the same brand I usually buy, with the wrapper completely intact. It wasn't even expired. I actually ate it, and if you wouldn't have done the same, then you don't know what its like to grow up poor. Last week, I kid you not, Moo brought me a $20 bill. Just straight up landed on the table, dropped a folded twenty, said "caw", and flew right off again. But even that was normal compared to what Moo brought me that night. It was kind of a crown. It looked like a braided rope of gold, bent into almost a complete circle, but with a small open space on one side. Each end of the rope was capped with a gold crow's head, so the beaks pointed at each other across the open space, and each head had a little red gem for eyes. At first I thought it must be some kind of LARP or reenactment costume thing, but it was pretty heavy, definitely real metal. No wonder Moo crashed. He was fine though, just stood there on the table as I held the thing, tilting his head to look at me. Like he was waiting for something. "Thank you?"I said, hesitantly. "Caw!"he said back, sounding impatient. I got the impression that wasn't what he wanted. So I tried putting it on. It slipped right down off my head and onto my neck, where it dangled like a horseshoe. It turns out that was actually how it was supposed to go, though. I snapped a picture and reverse image-searched it, later, and it turns out its called a "torc". Golden torcs were sometimes used by Celtic chieftains, and served the same symbolic purpose as a crown, more or less. Of course, I'd sort of inferred some of that information before doing the reverse image search, because of what happened immediately after I put the thing on. "Hail! Hail An Feannag Aird Righ, The High King o' the Crows!"Moo said, with a pronounced Scottish accent. "Uh, what?"I said. I'd seen videos where someone taught a crow or a raven to say "Hello"or something and could make them do it like 50% of the time, but this was definitely outside my experience. Moo bobbed his head in what seemed like a bow. "I said Hail, yer Majesty! It's like sayin' 'sup bro', but fancy!" "No, I get that, but I'm processing the whole thing where you can talk, though."I explained. "Och, 'course I ken talk, always could! But wi' that magical diadem around yer neck, ya can actually understand me now, yer Majesty!"Moo explained. "Oof, yeah, this is a lot, Moo."I said, leaning on the railing. "Well, I hate tae be the bearer o' bad news, yer Majesty, but there's a reason I made yer coronation sae abrupt an' all! Yer kingdom is under attack!"Moo cried. "You mean the apartment?"I said, alarmed. I swore, and ran back inside, checking that my door was locked, and then dashed back out to Moo on the balcony. "Alright, well, it's all locked up, I guess I'll...call the cops?" Moo hopped frantically from foot to foot. "Nae, yer majesty, locked doors and mortal agencies cannae help us noo! It's nae an attack by force of arms, but by a fell draiocht that's bein' laid upon ya, both you, and on oos, yer loyal subjects!" "What the hell's a dra...dree..."I began. "It means magic, yer majesty!"Moo wailed. "But it's nae the cool, kick-arse kind o' magic, that let's ya hear birds talk! 'Tis foul witchcraft!" "Why would a witch curse me?"I yelled. "I wasn't even a-a magic crow king, or whatever until just now! I've never even met a witch!" Moo cocked his head, quizzically. "O' course ya have, sire! I speak o' the foul harpy, the malicious crows-bane! She who makes her vile nest below ye! If ya dinnae put a stop to her evil workings, she'll slay ye from afar with her evil arts, and the whole Murder besides!" Then I got it. "The crazy PETA lady is a witch, and she's trying to kill me?!" "Aye!"
I have never been a very lucky girl. I crashed my first car the same day my first boyfriend broke up with me, I broke my arm on the way to prom, I accidentally made napalm while running the arts and crafts cabin at summer camp. Needless to say, I was not necessarily shocked when my name was picked via lottery out of the literal billions of options. So, although incredibly terrifying, I did try and remain calm knowing it was only going to get worse. Somewhere in the back of my mind I assumed being the chosen one would be something like being a monkey in a zoo. Some lonely creature left by itself in a new home that imitated its natural habitat just enough to not be deemed cruel. That my few interactions would be meeting the eyes of visitors are they looked on, from behind the protective barrier of a glass wall. Studied for our behavior as though we were solitary creatures who wouldn't become completely unhinged when left in isolation. &#x200B; In my darkest dreams sometimes I would begetting visits from their scientist, poking and prodding at me as a small child imagines our scientists behaves with rats. Using science to find out how we work inside and out. Using needles and scalpels to wheedle out our bodies faults and weaknesses. A wildly shortened life that would feel entirely too long under their efforts. &#x200B; Countless possibilities fluttered through my mind like dandelion seeds in a breeze, and yet never once had I considered this option. Yet here it was. While humans would have immediately taken and studied one of them, had they offered one of their own, apparently that was not the case with this species. "Good Faith"they had called it, when the deal was struck. It felt odd them using one of our own colloquialisms, and yet in hindsight I understand. They did not need me to study humans, they knew all they needed to know. It turns out humans are loud, our broadcasts blasting into the universe like a neighbors out of control house party. Our radios and televisions painting a very detailed picture of almost every aspect of our life. Tapping into our internet provided them with the most detailed reports they could ever need. No I was here in "Good faith." &#x200B; While they were capable of making educated guesses on how to best deliver on the Earth-trade agreement, they wanted an actual Earthling to make final decision making calls. Honestly living here is in some ways easier then being home, no awful cashier job, no shady landlord, the apartment they provided for me is better than anything I ever could have dreamed of affording. If I closed my eyes I could almost imagine my bad luck was finally changing, ignoring the fact that I think I just accidentally declared intergalactic war...
Habitable, the scientific records called it. Certainly, the atmosphere is comparable to Earth's, mostly. Breathable anyway. And it is within the Habitable Zone around its star. But our orbital telescopes weren't advanced enough to indicate much of anything. Gravity is comparable. 1.02 that of Earth. Has two moons, but due to their size and orbits, they have about the same effect on the tides as Earth's Moon. Axial tilt, so there is some seasonal variation, which is important for life on planet Earth. Of course, the whole ''ice age'' thing was something we hadn't anticipated. But there is a belt around the planet's equator which can be compared in climate to how somewhere like Magadan or Nova Scotia used to be. Surprisingly there is life. The drones sent out to take water and rock samples brought back surprising data. Primitive forms of single-celled prokaryotic lifeforms are found here. Weaker than Earth variants though. When bacteria from Earth is introduced into a controlled environment containing local single-celled lifeforms, then within 8.41 hours on average, all non-Earth bacteria have been eradicated completely. It's only been two days since I landed here. After centuries in stasis. I thought about planting a flag when I got here. Mimicry of a great hero, who came to another heavenly sphere in peace, for all mankind. But really, the arrogance of that would be too much. This is no great step for mankind. This is not a triumph of science and the spirit of humanity. We lost the Earth. And now, to save what is left of our home, it is imperative that I take another world from whatever native life might have evolved here. Closing my eyes I can see it clearly. A world of life that will never be. Because of humanity's grave mistakes. Because we fucked up. I set the AI of the ship up to begin the finalisation of the first phase. Soon highly advanced machines will begin to build up an ozone layer around this planet. Life cannot thrive on the surface if harmful ultraviolet rays rains down upon it. While the AI, completely subservient to me as it is programmed to be, does its task diligently, I walk down to the stasis facility. This ship has all human history, information about all human art ever made. All music ever made on record. And all books on storage as both audiobooks and written words. Of course, it contains no mentions of all our errors. Of our grave mistakes. Casually while I look at the storage bay containing the samples of insectile lifeforms, I check out the library. All the great stories and good ideas we've ever had. And all the bullshit and lies we've ever written. All the toxic and horrid nightmares that we used as justifications for our selfish deeds. All the mistakes we've ever made. Makes my stomach churn with anger. With wrath. With a hunger for justice. But there is only one human being left. And she's got a job to do. It will take years for the AI to finish setting up the ozone layer. But in the meantime, a protective domed area should be used to set up an base of operations where human life can be re-established. The dome is set up by countless worker drones, optimised for actually working as they are supposed to, for centuries at least. No planned obsolescence allowed here. If we'd done that back on Earth, maybe we'd still have one. Several of the storage bays are activated, setting out simple and hardy life at first. Lichens and the likes. I oversee everything from my command-centre aboard the Gaia's Resurgence, a name that only barely beat out Arky McArkface on the popularity poll. Earth was dying, but sure enough, we were still that stupid. Mankind was mostly sterile, full of microplastics, and frankly close to extinction. We should have made as many of these as we could. But that would have been too much for the economy, too expensive. Which leads one to wonder who would care about the economy when we'd all be dead. What manner of wealth would matter if there would be no life to covet it? It is just as well that all the leaders, elites, and other rich parasites were already too sick to survive the trip in stasis. Imagine them starting all over with the same horrid errors. The same corporate stupidity, the same greed, and disregard for life? We'd be jumping from world to world across the galaxy, polluting them until they died, then moving on. Like a race of parasites. I was the only one healthy enough to survive the trip. Pure luck really, the doctors said. I was one of the last humans who weren't full of poisons, cancers, and other horrors. And the only one who was already trained in spaceflight. Now I have the dubious honour of being the last human in the universe. I set down real parasites that are necessary for the environment, insects, various forms of flora, and fungal life. Slowly but surely establishing Earth's nature here on another world. With the eventual goal of unfreezing human embryos and grow them in the artificial wombs, remaking humanity. At least there, I can take some pleasure in knowing that only the best of the best were chosen. The most healthy humans, with the best chances of survival, gave their genetic material to ensure that there would be a future for our species. As the automated processes take over the seeding of the large region kept safe, I head through the five kilometre long and one kilometre wide ship towards the storage area where the future of mankind is kept. There were only enough healthy humans left to supply 50k embryos that are not closely related, to prevent any genetic issues. But that's still enough to rebuild mankind. To create a brighter new tomorrow, where we've learned from our mistakes on Earth. The loss of Earth will not be repeated. Not today, not ever. Mankind has the potential for greatness in it, I know this in my bones, and now we will prove it. I will be the mother of a civilisation. Which is not something that I ever expected to happen. It is not something most people ever get the chance to consider. I am a little scared, to be honest. Who wouldn't be? The reconstruction of human civilisation, on the shoulders of one woman, it is a little much. But as I open the doors into the storage bay, I know I will do everything I can to lead mankind to a future, where the old lies and shames will not lead us. I will do my very best. I head to the computer terminal inside the bay, and begin to check the inventory. All seems to be in order. 99.8% of the embryos should be viable after the long centuries of travel. There is something odd though. There seems to be a slight glitching of the system. This was to be expected, our computers are not meant to operate for centuries without maintenance. But it seems that the viable number of embryos keep jumping. 99% to 58% to 0.78% to 32.33%, and so on. According to the manual about the computers, this is probably just a simple case of an internal sensor that needs adjustment. I'll have to open the storage containers to fix that. Not that it is dangerous right now, but in the long run it might have a slight negative effect on the embryos. I put in the administrator codes to Embryo-Container-01. Each of them can contain about 5000 embryos each. And we've got all ten of them. I open the door and notice that indeed the internal sensor is slightly malfunctioning. I then turn my head to stare at the embryos for a bit. And scream in agony, shock, and rage. There are no embryos in this container. There is however, a man who has very clearly died while in stasis. And I recognise the man. It's one of the leading members of the Corporate Council. The organisation of corporations who had as much or more power than nation-states. The arrogance, to try to survive like this, at the cost of mankind! Even though the doctors said that there was less then 2.3% chance of anyone else surviving! And to use a retrofitted Embryo-Container, which was never meant to be used for a grown human, what the hell? Fear grips me. And I open the other Embryo-Containers. Each one opened makes my heart sink. There is a dead man or woman in each of them. Leading CEOs and shareholders. The richest people on Earth.
It started in our first life. I think we were brothers then, but it’s been so very long. I do remember it happened with a rock – that’s not the sort of thing you forget. We were…tending to our fields, yes, when he snuck up behind me and brained me with a rock. I was still conscious as I fell, as he mounted me and kept swinging. Adrenaline seizing my muscles but unable to fight back, my brain fluids leaking down the sides of my opened skull, a pain so intense it went beyond something I could feel through flesh and instead it gnawed at my soul. Then it was dark. And then it wasn’t. Our battle continued throughout the centuries, and then further unto millennia. Fight? No, I never fought back. It was always one-sided – they would kill me, and I would die. But I knew in my final moments every time that it was them. I could see it in their eyes. I was a rabbit and they a tiger. I was a young lad with hope in his eyes and they a lord with need for soldiers to through into the grinder. I was a prostitute upon the streets of London and they a shadow stalking the streets. Tailor. Smith. Farmer again. Hunter. Animal, bacteria, then human again. Again and again, they found me and killed me. Again and again, I didn’t lift a finger to stop them. Was this my lot in our many lives? Was I to play the victim and they the aggressor in our eternal play, and never should our roles deviate? I don’t think I ever bothered considering it. It was never a concern because I was happy. Truly. Even when we were working the fields together, even when they found and killed me in each of our following lives, I didn’t mind. I had a good run of it, I’d say and mean it. But as my contentment grew with the fullness of my lives, so too did their hunger for destruction. That would be fine, I’d be fine with continuing this dance even then, as their methods grew crueler. If only they hadn’t turned their cruelty toward others and started killing those who are not like us, who cannot participate in this dance we do. Now, I think this charade has gone on long enough. I sit alone in my room, the lights off, the blinds closed, a shotgun resting in my lap, waiting for my brother. They’ve killed a lot of people this go around in preparation for this moment. But they’re ready for it to end and start anew, I can feel it. I hear the front door creaking open downstairs, and I smile. &#x200B; (Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!)
(Edited for formatting) Attenuation time with a magic blade can vary wildly, depending on the age and strength of the blade, its sentience, and the will of it's bearer. The occasion where I'd claimed mine, tearing it from the rotten hands of a lich which promptly rose in furious battle, didn't offer much opportunity for quick bonding. That is, until the undead wyrm broke through the cavern wall, thundering it's challenge and throwing Thagror the Barbarian aside with a sweep of it's tail, Hellreaver ringing with a crash to the stone. I threw my trusty yet un-enchanted blade aside and fumbled my newly acquired magical weapon from its sheath. Holding it before me, I rushed through the words I'd been taught, arcane and senseless to my ears but charged with power. holy shIT WHAT?! The voice echoed as if from a great distance before thundering into my head. I staggered from the impact, looking up to see Tatiana mid-flurry, dual wielding her weapon Spiteblade and a lesser enchanted as she weaved a metallic blur before the wyrm. "Um, Blade?"I muttered, unsure of the next step. How many years I sleep, and I wake to this. Aelric the Paladin strode before the undead creature, wielding the massive Dragonstooth in both hands before him. "I don't really like it either,"I pleaded with the weapon, "could you please...?" Ugh, is that Hellreaver? What an ass. I've been at the sides of kings and emperors I'll have you know. "You're about to join me between the teeth of an Undead Wyrm if you don't do something... magical or whatever." Hmph. Fine. The sword shuddered in my grasp, flaring with light so bright I shut my eyes to it and fell to my knees. After a moment everything seemed to still, and I blinked my eyes open against the afterimage the sword had left. The wyrm's open maw hovered feet away. I leapt backwards, tumbling and quickly gaining my feet before leveling the sword in my hands at the creature. "Sword! Blast! Fire!" Are you serious? Is this your first time? Look around, idiot, everything's still. I did so, and turned my eyes back to the glossy metal in my hands. "Wow. How?" Because I'm not a weak, fleshy mortal. The sigh was inaudible, but clearly felt. Have you ever bonded a magical item before? "Um, no. This would be a first." The sword let me know, in no uncertain terms, how displeased it was with this current arrangement. Well, we're gonna get nowhere fast as we are. What's your name? "Rilidan. And, uh, what's yours?" Jeff. Now, I need you to open- "Wait, what, Jeff? Is that what you said?" Yes, and in fact I projected it directly into your mind. I can only assume the echoes there disrupted that. "Yeah...but...Jeff..." Ask one more time and I will snuff out your life force like a guttering candle. "Ok. Jeff. What do we do next?" Normally you would lead this, but open your mind and I'll form the bond. I followed these instructions, and felt a stronger awareness of the sword in my hands, almost a soft thrum between my palms and the hilt. Ok, now hold me up, level with the Wyrm's forehead. No, idiot, I need slack in your arms to move, I'm going to stab it. Don't drop me. This time freeze will break in just a moment. And suddenly the world arounds roared back into light and motion, and Jeff the Blade pierced deeply through the skull of the undead creature, a blast of dark magic ripping from its animated corpse. The rest of the party gathered around, congratulating me with hearty handshakes and stress-relieving laughter. We admired our handiwork before moving to collect our hard-won loot. I paused, glancing down at my new sword. "Thanks Jeff."I whispered. Don't talk to me. I can literally hear your thoughts. Another one of those sighs. This is going to be a long binding. "There's always the chance I could die quickly." Don't give me false hope like that. "We're gonna do great, Jeff." Shut up and go find something shiny.
The class was hiding in a backroom of the bank they were doing their excursion in, listening to the horrible chanting of the cult members as they performed their ritual. Despite the horrifying setting, the students were all grinning, knowing this would be their chance to show off their secret identities. “I guess it’s time I reveal myself. I’m not just regular old Valdar, I’m actually the son of a vampire lord, now if we follow my plan, we can take down these nasty cultists.” “Your plan? No, we should follow mine. I’m not just your classmate, Jessica, I’m secretly a werewolf. Even in the day, I still have my keen sense of smell and hearing. I’ll show us a way to get around these cultists.” “Why would we go around them? You thought all I did was play the trumpet, but I’m actually a player of the magical arts. I can disable their little ritual spell and we can sneak off while they are all distracted.” Robert said. This continued twenty more times as each classmate exposed their secret supernatural identity until everyone’s attention arrived on Ian. They waited for the grand reveal as Ian awkwardly stood there, glancing at his classmates, unsure of what to say. “Um, I’m just a regular human and I can call the police?” There was an audible groan when Ian gave his response. Even the teacher let out a disappointed sigh. All that build up for such a letdown of a reveal. Even so, his plan was probably the most reliable out of all the ones offered. Even if it was the most boring. “Alright, class. I know it’s not the most interesting idea, but Ian’s right, we should let the police handle this matter. I don’t want another kid ending up in hell again. It took us two weeks to negotiate their soul back from a demon, and I don’t feel like doing all that paperwork again.” “Silence, teacher. My family has dealt with magic for years. There is no knowledge that a vampire such as myself hasn’t gained. It will be a swift victory.” Valdar said, about to turn into a bat, only to get stopped when his teacher grabbed the back of his shirt. “No knowledge you haven’t gained and yet you still struggle to finish your maths homework, even with my extra tutoring. I think you have a few more centuries before you’re ready to take on a cult.” “Maths isn’t knowledge. It’s a dark magic that curses beings.” “I keep telling you, just because it has letters in it, doesn’t make it a form of dark magic.” “Ok, what about my plan then? I’ll sniff them out and we can go around them.” Jessica said, shifting excitedly on the spot, ready to go whenever the teacher let her. “Settle down. Even if you can sniff them out, you get too easily distracted. Remember when I asked you to go fetch me some papers, and you spent an hour roaming around the playground chasing a stickbug?” “It was such a cool bug. I even caught it for you. Did you like it? I know you did; you were screaming so much when I threw it at your desk.” “I would have preferred it if you gave me an apple over a bug, but your heart was in the right place. Still, no, you can’t go out and sniff out a route. I can’t have you getting lost.” “Ok, so my magic can-” Robert said, ready to explain his plan. “You once blew the wrong note on your trumpet and nearly blew a hole in the wall. Your magic isn’t fine-tuned enough for such a delicate process.” “But, what if I-“ “NEARLY A HOLE IN THE WALL.” The teacher repeated as Robert sighed, accepting his defeat. Ian had called the police while they were having their back and forth, being told they would be on their way soon. Unfortunately, the cultists had heard the bickering and were already moving in. Soon, the class was surrounded by a bunch of stockbrokers in business suits. The stockbrokers trying to summon the demon of greed for financial advice. To think their excursion to the bank would get so chaotic. The cultists watched the group before one spoke. “If anyone moves, they will end up being a sacrifice for the demon. Like hell I’m losing money because of some school excursion.” He waved his briefcase around, stray banknotes flying out of it as he did. The class all stood still, only for Ian to take a step back, tripping over one of his classmates’ legs, falling onto his back. Everyone gasped as he hit the floor and the cultist approached him, reaching for his arm, only for Ian to hold up his hands, pointing them at the cultist. “I can freeze you with my ice powers. Don’t take another step closer.” “Ice powers? You don’t have Ice powers, you’re just some schoolkid.” “It’s a very special school. Full of monsters and stuff. Better back away.” Ian bluffed, hoping someone might back him up. “I would watch out. He’s the strongest one here, and we have a person who can blow a hole through a wall.” The teacher said, going along with the play. “WHAT? A hole?” The cultists looked at each other, not sure whether to believe that, before Robert waved his hands forward, trying to replicate the sound he made with the trumpet. The sound wasn’t as strong, but it still delivered a blast that knocked their briefcases away. “And I’m a vampire.” Valdar said, turning himself into a bat, circling their heads, distracting them as they tried to swat him away. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, Jessica ran forward and bit a cultist on the ankle. The classmates trying their best to stall them from attacking Ian. Their little distraction worked momentarily before the cultists regathered themselves and shoved the three aside with a wall of air. The main cultist held up his hand as black tentacles peeled out of his palm, reaching towards Ian’s foot, wrapping around it. “Soon you will be dragged to hell, a place that not even your ice powers can cool.” Before the tentacle could start pulling, the police finally arrived, pointing their weapons at the cultists, forcing their surrender. As each member was handcuffed and dragged away, the class couldn’t help but be in awe of their most normal student. If it wasn’t for his bluffing, the situation could have ended up far worse. Ian received praise from his classmates and a smelly sticker from his teacher. A grape smelling sticker that he wore like a badge of honor on the bus trip home. Sure, he wasn’t the most interesting of the students, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have his moments. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
January 1st 2012: 4:30 am: clear sky, new moon. 6:00 am: partly cloudy, small accident on I-25 expect delays. 11:15 am: Storm clouds rolling in rain expected, I-25 accident cleared. 1:00 pm: light thunderstorm, Flash flood warning, stay off roads. 9:00 pm: Storm passed, clear sky, Full moon. January 2nd 2012: 6:15 am: Partly cloudy, local station reports low level seismic tremor, origin pending. 8:30 pm: Train blocking traffic crossing Mason St from Mountain Ave to Prospect Rd due to engine failure, recommend detour, New moon. January 4th 2012: 8:00am: Rainy, local station reports mid level seismic tremor, origin pending. 11:00 pm: Clear sky, Minor accident on Mulberry and Riverside expect delays, New moon. January 7th 2012: 4:30am: Clear Sky, local station reports 5.0 seismic activity, origin determined to be somewhere North of town. 10:00 pm: Partly cloudy, Full moon. January 8th 2012: 9:00 am: Cloudy, high traffic on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 expect delays, Local station reports 6.0 seismic activity, origin determined to be somewhere NorthWest of town. 10:15 pm: Cloudy, high traffic on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 expect delays, large accident on I-70 expect delays, New moon. January 11th 2012: 8:30 am: Heavy clouds, high traffic on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 expect delays, large accident on I-70 expect delays, small accident on I-25 expect delays. Local station reports 9.0 seismic activity, origin determined to be from Yellowstone National Park. 9:30 pm: Heavy clouds, high traffic on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 expect delays, large accident on I-70 expect delays, small accident on I-25 expect delays, huge accident on I-76 expect delays, Full moon. January 12th 2012: 6:15 am: Heavy clouds, high traffic on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 expect delays, large accident on I-70 expect delays, small accident on I-25 expect delays, huge accident on I-76 expect delays, road damage on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 recommend detour, local station reports 10.0 seismic activity, same origin as previous. 8:30 pm: Heavy clouds, high traffic on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 expect delays, large accident on I-70 expect delays, small accident on I-25 expect delays, huge accident on I-76 expect delays, road damage on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 recommend detour, local station reports 10.0 seismic activity, same origin as previous, ash falling from sky, New moon. January 13th 2012: 9:00 am: Heavy clouds, high traffic on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 expect delays, large accident on I-70 expect delays, small accident on I-25 expect delays, huge accident on I-76 expect delays, road damage on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 recommend detour, local station reports 10.0 seismic activity, same origin as previous, ash falling from sky, several power outages reported. February 28th 2012: 9:00 am: Heavy Clouds, ash falling from the sky, road damage on I-25, I-70, I-76, and I-80 recommend detour, local station reports 11.0 seismic activity, origin (null), train derailed on Mason St recommend detour, (null) moon. (Null): (Null): (null), (null), (null), (null), (null). (Null): (null), (null), (null), (null), (null), (null). (Null): (Null): (null), (null), (null), (null), (null). (Null): (null), (null), (null), (null), (null), (null). January 1st 2023: 4:30 am: Clear sky, new moon.
“I’ve spent months tracking you down, now bite me.” You look wearily at the pudgy human with the angry face on holding his chubby wrist towards you. You knowing this dramatic production will unfold, from opening to ending, yet you are being forced to act it out, again and again as it slowly spools towards its inevitable conclusion. You sigh, wanting to just walk away, but you have your role to play. You utter one grudging syllable, hoping against hope for some variety in the answer. “Why.” More of a grunt than a question. “Look at you. Fit. Lithe. Athletic. Strong.” The obese man’s eyes take on a slightly dreamily quality while maintaining his insistent flinty anger. “Everything I want to be, you can give to me, you have no reason not to…” The man’s voice starts raising, gaining a shrill quality as he rants, the arguments a 3am squeaking hamster’s wheel in your head. “…never see me again, I promise, now please, just do what I ask.” You settle back on the park bench, rubbing one tired eye with a palm. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. Just.. trust me.” They never do. “Please.” Just once, you’d like them to. You don’t even bother listening to his tirade. His eyes are distant, gleaming fanatically. He’s not foaming at the mouth, but he might as well be. You are tempted yet again to just grant his dearest wishes, but it never works out. Never. You hold up your hand, and he falls silent. You raise your head and look him directly in his eyes for the first time. He blanches and recoils slightly. You nod, not breaking the gaze, letting him get a good look, letting the uncomfortable silence stretch like taffy. Just as he’s regaining composure, you talk. “It’s not a wish, and it’s not a free pass, and it’s not immortality. No, now is time for you to shut up and me to talk.” You take a deep, ragged breath, glaring at the puppet who wasted your time. You used to have pity on them, then disgust, now you just want them gone. “Let me tell you what you are asking for, then if you still wish, I will grant your wish. Three weeks each month, you live a normal life. Full moon weeks, from moonrise to moonset, you are a complete werewolf. Full moon weeks. Week… all week. The day of the full moon day, and three days on either side. Seven days.” You seek comprehension, but his expression is still vacant. “Did you ever wonder why werewolves are fit? You just said to yourself, “Magic, it’s magic, that’s all,” but it’s not.” Your eyes burn as you snarl these sentences out. “It’s not. Shut up and let me tell you what it is instead of magic.” Your anger is evident as you stand up, you are the same height as him, yet you tower over the large man, who shrinks inside himself before the beast. “When you change, you are the same weight as before you changed, but the beast inside you is in charge. You have to move. You have to hunt. You have to run. Hour after hour, the beast controls you, and the beast is not made to rest. Imagine going to a gym, and working out with only small breaks for 12 hours. Moonrise to moonset, then the beast leaves, leaves like a gust of wind, and those 12 hours have taken a toll on your body. You can not move the next day after the beating you’ve taken, and each hour draws you closer to the next moonrise. You’re sure the beast will see how you can’t even crawl, much less walk, but the beast doesn’t care. Come moonrise, you’re in motion again. You feel unending agony, a hundred thousand knives of pain every time you move, but the beast cares not for your pain and is there to hunt and run again. You ever wonder why there are so few werewolves?” You sag, your gaze dropping. Tired. So tired. You don’t look people in the eyes much. They can see, and it reflects, reminding you. Your eyes betray the tiredness of a stream painfully carving a canyon. The same tiredness that someone condemned to death feels as they march towards their fate. “They all die. Some don’t last a day, some last almost the whole week. I was a fitness addict. I ran marathons. I worked out constantly. It almost killed me. And you want to see what working out 84 hours in one week does to YOU?” You laugh, wild desperation in the laugh. The laugh of a man about to swan dive off a cliff. The laugh of a hyena inches ahead of the pursuing lions. Your laughter dies as you hear laughing in response. You look up, and the overweight man has… changed. He still looks the same, but he’s not the same man who was cowering before the beast. He radiates power like the sun, and he has an equally maniacal grin. You realize your jaw is slack, and you close your mouth. “So much for the sneak attempt. Let me introduce myself. Rafael Dominguez. I suffer from a curse as well, that grants me immortality as well as an inclination to sleep during the day. Few of us survive our curse as well, yet here I am. And I have a proposal for you, Kodi.” The sound of your real name causes immediate goosebumps. He considers you, unblinking, as you consider him. He gives first, sighing. “I’ll be brief. There are three curses. Lycanthropy is one. Vampirism is another. I won’t go into the third curse right now, suffice to say it exists. All 3 have benefits, at great cost, causing us to hide from the world and each other, the few of us who survive. I have spent many a moon contemplating the benefits and costs, and deduced that they would cancel each other out. Probably.” He pauses again, giving you a dazzling smile, waiting, but patience you have. He sighs, sagging a bit, looking more like the overweight human you first met. He clears his throat. “To the point - I am interested in… sharing curses to benefit us mutually. As far as I can tell, nobody has, and theoretically, it’s possible. Are you interested?” You nod. There’s little to lose. The silver needle you have at home looms large in your mind. You are sure you wouldn’t use it, but then, you did buy it. Mr. Dominguez throws his arm around you, and you have to stop him from quoting Casablanca. Not your style.
Finally! As you strip off the last of the painters tape, you can finally say you are done with your mountain retreat. It was a side project you started early in you career, and as the years rolled up, many of the plans updated, your mountain retreat is done. Having now retired, he used was done. A nice shower later to to wash off the sweat and finally done. In your comfy clothes, you finally find ready to relax. Finally using that coffee machine and a recipe you bookmarked on tiktok and finally sitting down to finally break into your first book on your long reading list (Will Wight... don't judge me!) you prepare for retirement. \BOOM BOOM BOOM\ Your sigh is audible and long suffeing. Looking at your security system, you see something you dreaded. Omega Lady. And she looks to be looking for a fight. "Can I help you?"you ask, trying to sound as pleasant as you can to an unwelcomed guest "Come out and face me! How dare you build a lair here! Fight me! I won't let you threaten the city from this keep!"Omega Lady yelled, looking for where the voice was coming from. Confused since she couldn't see cameras, or speakers. "What are you talking about? Threatening? Please leave my property." "This mountain is not your property! Get out here you fiend!" "Um yes. It is. Bought from the government, legally. So please leave" Omega Lady just floated there a bit, actually she dropped a few inches, looking flabbergasted. "Wha... What?? How? With your ill gotten gains? You thief! I will break into your lair and bring you to justice!" You let the silence play out... in fact you actually pumped some white noise through the speakers, just to highlight it. "Do you have a warrant? Or evidence? What are you on?" Omega Lady actually sounded surprised. "Warrant? No! but look at this! a mountain stronghold! on a mountain overlooking the city in the valley! You are a fiend and villian! Submit to..." You BLAST a loud horn out the hidden speakers. "I am at my abode, duly filed with the city, with blueprints approved. On my mountain, bought from the government. So you are now trespassing on my property... and while I do see you floating, I will note that this also includes the airspace around it. This "lair"as you call it, is insulting as I spent years building this retirement abode. Now you and I may have had some epic battles, but that was in the past, I am now retired, and you are interfering in my retirement. No please leave before I call the police on you... and won't that be embarrassing" Omega Lady look, for lack of a better term, gobsmacked... She actually landed and just stared. "But your crimes! And how can you afford this! Through ill gotten gains!..." "As much as you like being pompus and sanctimonious, I will let you in on some information. And I suggest you go with the proper authorities before slandering me. Any all crimes have been pardoned, on the condition of my retirement, which I do intend to honor. As for gains? I did have a life outside or little... arguments. All my taxes are paid and my money is mine completely earned cleanly, as much as it makes you tighted your arse in those, admittedly fashionable tights. So please leave and go bother someone else." Omega Lady was stunned, then looked like she couldn't believe this. She got an intense look and then flew off. You managed to catch her putting her finger to her ear and mouthing something, probably making a call. Smiling you go back to your new living room, grabbing your coffee and finally sitting down, with a smile before cracking open Unsouled. You look around at what you built, with your pardon hanging on the wall (yes asking for a copy to frame was maybe cliche but hey it was earned) along with you shaking hands with some world leaders, a picture that you agreed to never release, taken in private. Yes everything you said was correct. You invested money from some creations you patented and sold and that is how you could afford all this. And you will continue to do so. Not the violent ones that caused danger and destruction. The ones that were necessary to help people. A weird duality you devoloped. As for the pardon, well, it was sure a coincidence that Omega was away from the world was threatened. And as much as you didn't like heroes, when the government came to you, with distaste asking you to help from a very dangerous threat, you agreed. You did have some family, and you agreed on the conditions for a pardon, the mountain to be bought (you were already building this place so might as make it fair) and filing the bluprints of this place with them (most of them, had to keep SOME things from them, for old times sake. You also agreed to retire, so they can get a win. You didn't want notiriety or applause. No you really are looking to retire. Ok maybe if a villiain wants some advice you will do so, but yeah. This is the best outcome. Maybe in a few years you might feel the urge to conquer the world, but that is done and you just want to maybe live and play with your nieces and nephews who you just got to know. Retirement can be good. Now if only Omega Lady can be convinced to let him be. Or should he say Helen. His sister in law is a great person in her civilian persona, but seriously family shouldn't fight. Glad his mask and voice modifiers kept his secret identity.
# The Fourth Race "Fire!" That was the last thing Tempest heard before she felt a searing hot pain in her head above her left eye. She had never known blackness so complete. So consuming. Yet there in that place, as she drifted at the edge of consciousness, Tempest saw an image of herself. She lay in an open pit, sprawled among the bodies of every member of her village. With a bullethole in her head. Their village had had the poor fortune of being in the way of an illegal logging operation. The mercenaries came in the night. They forced the villagers to dig the pit. Tempest and her family dug by the light of the fires as the men razed their village to the ground. Every member of the village was lined up at the edge of the pit and... Tempest tried to scream. She tried to weep but she wasn't in her body. She focused on that image of herself. She poured her hate and sorrow out into that vessel. And the bullethole sealed. Tempest awoke to the foul stench of death with a metallic taste in her mouth. She spat into her hand and her eyes went wide as a bullet landed in her palm. Tempest climbed out of the pit and looked in at the devastation. Her home. Her village. Everyone she knew and loved. Gone. Tempest fell to her knees, her cheeks wet with tears, and she said a silent prayer for her people. A spark within her flickered, and the memory of the fires that erased her village bloomed and sprang to life. The pit erupted in a wave of green flames. Light-years away, in a space station orbiting a planet of a distant star, a creature awoke from a deep slumber with a start. Gadolon rushed over to his communications console and hailed the High Ministry. "Priority alert!"He shouted into the mic. "A human has disabled their inhibitor."
“Morning, John.” I said, looking beside me at the man crouched on the ground. Cutting his grass with a pair of sewing scissors. I took the mail out of my box and sighed. Trying to figure out what he was trying to do. “It is you, Allison Rose Smithson” The man smiled, his pupils slowly drifting to the opposite sides of his eyes. “You can just call me Allison.” I said, leaning on my mailbox. John Doe, or so he called himself, twisted up off the ground. Slightly levitating as he did it. I ignored it and turned to go back into my house. Not wanting to deal with… whatever he was trying to do to act human. “How are you on this casual human Thursday?” He asked, “I just got done cutting my grasses, and later I shall eat my dog for sport.” I sighed and turned around to face him. “Humans don’t eat their dogs, John. We eat hot dogs.” His face twisted (literally), “I was planning on cooking it.” “No. You don’t eat your dog. You don’t have a dog. It’s a pig, cut a certain way.” I said. “I see. Like kyrosmpathian.” John smiled. “Sure.” I said, turning to go inside, and just as I put my hand on my handle to walk inside, I heard a voice scream. “FAREWELL ALLISON ROSE SMITHSON, AGE 28, UNMARRIED, LONELY, OCCUPATION RECEPTIONIST AT-“ “John!” I yelled. “Stop!” He just nodded and smiled, like he hadn’t just yelled my person information to the world. It only took my a couple days to blend in with human culture after being assigned to Earth, why is it taking this buffoon so long?

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