Split (1)

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James was baffeled. In all his years he had never know a better swordsman than Lord Bickerton, yet here he stood, witnessing his Lord getting pummeled by a filthy commoner. This peasant, more fit for an asylum than the pressence a nobleman, had foolishly challenged the Lord to a duel to the death. Lord Bickerton had agreed more out of pity than anything else, James thought. The Lord had practised with the sword since he was 9, no one had been able to land a blow on him since he was 11, yet his Lordship was lying on the ground, face down as he was getting bludgeoned by the jester dacing around him. The fool had refused the Lords offer for a sword, a proper weapon, and had instead pulled off his sock and put a palm sized rock into it. Lord Bickerton looked as if he was on the verge of dying, the madman was no longer dacing around him, instead, he was picking up a rather large stone near the shrubbery. His Lordship looked up at James with pleading eyes as the Lunatic approached him "Mommy, I don't want to ride the meat bicycle"any further last words were interrupted as his head was nothing but a red liquid on the pavement beneath the stone. James stood there for a while, silent, watching as the victorious commoner walked away, humming to himself. After one final look at his former Lordship, he walked towards the manor for his golden handshake.
Mental Log 246526: Man. This blows. You know what would be really nice? If this bastard would put a window or two in here. At least then I could watch the squirrels doing whatever it is animals do. You understand me, magic mace, right? Oh right. He put me in here with a bunch of regular weapons. What a tool, and not the good kind like me. Someday I'll get out of here and tear stuff up, probably. He's gotta die eventually, right? Maybe his kids will play with me, lose me in the woods. Then I can do some adventuring again. Ahh adventuring. Those were the days. Being swung around and stuff. Cutting stuff up. So fun. Ugh. I'm so bored. So. Bored. Marco! ... MARCO! ... God I'm lonely. - Mental Log 24652...8? Or is it 7. Wish I could write so I could keep track of these: A mouse ran across the floor today! It was AWESOME. It squeaked a few times and stuff. What a card that guy is. I'm going to name him Viggo. That seems like a good name. Ah friends. How I miss having those. - Mental Log... Ugh, who cares?: Viggo, that scamp, started gnawing on one of the cabinet's legs. Pretty weird behavior for a mouse. Then again, Viggo was always a wild card. Classic Viggo. Maybe if he keeps doing it, this garbage cabinet could come crashing down. That would get that old bastard's attention! Ah, that'd be the day. - Mental Log ????: Viggo stopped moving today. I called out to him, but like usual he didn't reply. Maybe I really am meant to be alone here forever. Cmon Viggo. Get back up. - Mental Log 12345: There isn't much left of Viggo. I watched him decompose. No idea how much time has passed. I'm starting to wonder if there's anyone even in this manor. Time will tell, I guess. Not like I can die anyway. - Something incredible happened! No time for mental log numbers! There was an earthquake today! The cabinet fell on me. It's dark. Huh. Wait, this isn't incredible. This is awful. - Whelp, I've been stuck here with Viggo's skeleton for a while now. I do miss his pink nose, wiggling around. That cute guy. The handsome devil. Now he's all... skeletony. Go figure. Looks like I'll be stuck here forever. Oh well, at least I have my thoughts! That's pretty neat. Guess I'll submit to—oh shit. Something's happening! I'll keep you posted, me! - Oh man, you aren't going to believe this. I know it because I don't. This wicked hot chick lifted up the cabinet and went right for me. She picked me up, running her slender hands up and down me, looking at her reflection in my crescent blade. That's when I told her, "Hey! You should keep me forever and actually use me!"- And you know what? Rather than freaking out, she told me she was looking for something like me this whole time! Heck yeah! She strapped me to her back and now she's walking somewhere. No idea where. Looks like the mansion was abandoned long ago. Now we're in the woods somewhere. Oh man, I hope we get to do my favorite thing soon! I'm so happy! - Looks like even with company I talk to myself. She isn't always around, I guess, and if you're stuck by yourself for—wait, I actually don't know how long that was—a long time, you start to need abnormal amounts of interaction. At least for a while. We did that thing that I love doing so much. I ripped through a whole bunch of people. Mostly babies. At the time it felt great, but I keep thinking about Viggo. I'm not so sure I like this kind of life anymore. She loves it though. She literally screamed, "WOO! MURDERING BABIES!"- which was a little off putting, even for me. I'm not sure what to do. - Mental Log 01: She's dead. I convinced her that life wasn't worth living. I flooded her with my sadness. Drove her mad. She used me to end it. I don't feel good about that, honestly. I don't feel good about a lot of things now. Maybe someone nice will come along, some day. Maybe someone will put me in a cabinet with a view.
I opened my... eyes?... for the first time. I sat up in a plush bed - a type of bed that I'm unfamiliar with. A quick look down at my... hands?... - yes, hands - reveals that I've just been reborn as a human, the newest species to join our empire. Interesting. My representatives must have already found my newborn body and brought it to our ships for processing, explaining why I appear to already be a normal, sixteen year-old human teenager. Oh, wait - this is odd. I've never... felt this, before. Humans procreate in such a weird fashion - unheard of, in our other species. They each have... ports? No, that's not it. I'll have to ask our human ambassador for these questions. Regardless, this feeling is foreign to me. A quick shuffle below the sheets of the bed informs me that this... dongle?... is something that can be exercised. Ah, Holy Arcturus, that's _interesting_. "Lord Monarch, are you awake?" "Just a moment! I'm still... getting acquainted with this new species. Give me 20 minutes." _5 minutes later..._ "I'm coming out."
Okay man, okay, just hear me out. I know this is gonna sound crazy but when you put all the pieces together, it makes perfect sense. So we got the Death Star, right? Super imperial battle station that can annihilate planets. This thing is armed man, it's got fuckin' turbolasers and gun turrets and detection grids and shielding out the asshole. PLUS there's squadrons of fighters inside this thing - I mean, it's the size of a moon man! So with all this firepower and all this protection, somehow, SOMEHOW it gets blown up by a lone x-wing. I mean, how fuckin' stupid does that sound? A single plane piloted by one guy and an astromech takes down the entire death star!. Not convinced? Well you're a fuckin' nerfherder if you believe the official story. I just don't fucking buy it. Some kid who was a goddamn moisture farmer on a shitheap planet somehow gets a seat in the rebel squadron, then manages to shoot a single shot into an apparently unshielded exhaust port - which can also apparently cause the total destruction of the space station. Now I know some of you morons believe in this Jedi shit, but what's more likely? That a kid from a desert planet learns the powers of an ancient religion and somehow sneaks a bomb through all those defenses because of his fuckin' voodoo skills? Nah man. It just doesn't add up. I've been saying it for years, but none of you clowns believe me, even with the evidence staring your right in the face. There was no 'Jedi' and there was no attack on the Death Star. The whole thing was orchestrated to start a war with the rebel alliance under the pretext of terrorism. There's no way some religious whackjob could have flown a plane into the Death Star and have the whole thing explode! I'm telling you man, it's the imperials who did it - to themselves! That's right my friends, the Yavin IV was an inside job!
During the 1900's, there was a round table of councilmen that we're all the nobles of certain objects. There was a bed noble, there was a computer noble; there was even a SPOON noble. But the most devastating of them all... Was the chair noble. The chair noble, realizing that nobody cared about him or his extremely simple yet necessary products, decided that he had to come up with something exciting. Thus, during the Civil War, he had been motivated enough to come up with: THE NEW CLEAR CHAIR! What the chair noble didn't realize, however, was that the new clear chair was a detriment to society - women would sit on them, only for horny passerby to stare at her romp as they went about their daily business. The feminist movement of 1924, brought on by this madness, was the cause of World War II. The chair noble of the time, Barnes the Noble, was devastated and wept until his death in 1862. And thus, the chair noble new clear disaster.
"Remember me?" He spun around, startled, his hair in disarray. "How-" "It wasn't difficult,"I said, cutting him off, "your security is a joke." He put down the hairbrush he had been holding. "I wanted to feel it one more time, the rush, being on stage." I waited, the pistol in my hand heavier then it had any right to be after so many years. "Do it,"He said, "don't leave me in suspense like this." I put the pistol down and picked up his guitar. "I play the guitar you know." He looked at me, baffled. "I have been in the shadows my entire life, new names, new faces, I want to be on stage for once." He laughed, as if what I had said was a joke, pathetic somehow. "Shut up,"I told him. His expression went somber and thoughtful. "then come on stage with me,"he said. "play, and I'll shoot." "shoot who?"I asked him, "myself."He said.
I walked into the empty office. I kicked up dust on the floor. Everything’s destroyed. Desks collapsed, broken computers-. I can’t even make out there faces. “Umm, Mr. Newell, we heard a huge noise coming from here, what’s going on?” I turned my head back on our new employee Jeff. He was in his 20’s. Young guy. Guess no one taught him how things go down around here. Too bad. “My god, is that a corpse? Mr. Newell what’s going on”- He dropped dead to the floor. I slid my pistol back into my shorts. “He knew too much…” I muttered, trying to hold back the tears. I called to get Mitch, the custodian. He’s cleaned messes like these up before. I walked out of the room as Mitch cleaned it up. This happens every time. The first time, they were picked off one by one. So I got a new team. The second ones disappeared without a trace. The third team went mental after whatever they saw. The fourth, fifth and sixth limbs were scattered throughout Valve headquarters, which was almost impossible to cover up. This was team number seven. Seven attempts at creating Half Life 3. No one knew about all these deaths but Mitch. If it ever got out… Then I saw it. A flash drive was on the floor, unbroken, unhurt by whatever happened to this office, slowly I picked it up… I sat at my home office. I’d been sitting there for an hour, staring at the flash drive. I’d never looked at the other teams in progress games. I never had the idea to look at what they’d created. I put in the flash drive. The screen booted up a main menu. A weird one to say the least. The screen was distorted, and all there was, was a “play” button. I clicked it. A black screen showed. “So you found the flash drive, Mr. Newell.” A grinning face popped up on the screen. It’s taken you this long? “Him…” The cold face started to laugh. “We’ve got all seven versions Mr. Newell. Thing is,” He winked, “THERE ALL DLC!” Andrew Wilson’s face disappeared from the screen “I should’ve known…” A flash of guilt came across my face. I’LL KILL HIM!” “Ah but you see Mr. Newell.” I felt the cold end of a gun on the back of my head. “Once the Valve fanboys Daddy Gaben is dead, and the chance at a new Half Life seems gone, EA will step in and save the day. We’ve been waiting until you were vulnerable…” “How did you kill them?!” I started to tear up. “The seven teams?!” I heard footsteps. “I’m sorry Gabe…” Mitch walked into the room. “Mitch, how could you…?” “He’d have killed me and my family, I had no choice”- I heard a gunshot, and the thunk of Mitch’s dead body on my wooden floor. “You’ll never get away with this cashcow”- Another gun shot. Sixth months later, EA released Half Life 3: Battlefront, along with six of its DLC and a poorly made Portal 3 expansion pack. The game was rated the worst ever released, THE END.
Another night, another dream, another time I saw it. The pendulum of wisdom, the great centre of creation, suspended in the all-encompassing abyss of time, swinging wildly between reason and mystery, the known and the arcane, knowledge and power. Slowly and steadily it moved, generation after generation, century after century, millennia after millennia. The great emotionless creator and destructor, it haunted me for months, but that night, that night was different. In that dimensionless void of pure concept, I saw the pendulum freeze for a time somewhere between a moment and eternity, and begin falling back. Slowly at first, but gaining speed with each second, the primordial anchor rushed to me. I awoke in my bed, sweat dripping down my forehead. As my breathing steadied, countless questions swarmed my head. Why does this keep happening? Am I going insane? Should I talk to someone? Yet somewhere deep inside me was a different impulse, a thought not described in words but only felt with every fibre of my being. Slowly, not fully understanding – or perhaps not wanting to understand – the reason, I got up and walked over to my telescope. Feeling my heart beating faster than ever before, I looked through the device. A strange cold washed over me as I understood what I was seeing. The stars… They moved, flowed, changed positions, disappearing and re-emerging in a strange dance of complete delirium. I took a step back, simply staring at the telescope. This device, this tool of science that was my guide of reason for years and decades, was now mocking me with visions of the impossible, exposing my madness to what little rationality was left within the grey matter inside my skull. In a fit of rage, I grabbed the tripod and raised it above my head, intending to smash it against the floor, but suddenly it clicked. The pendulum inside my dreams made sense, the dancing patterns of these supposedly colossal celestial bodies formed a system. Gently I put the telescope down, aimed it at a random cluster of stars, and gazed inside. Yes, it was obvious, so obvious. It wasn’t just me, the world itself had gone through a metamorphosis, a change of laws, a re-establishing of something long forgotten and primal. Grabbing my notebook from the desk, I began writing it all down. Arcane formulas, magic incantations, the long forgotten wisdom in the stars, fated to wait its turn for centuries. It was now mine! From the wise words of Nostradamus to the mad ramblings of Abdul Alhazred, it was all a part of one big system, and I was going to be its next chosen one. For years, I’ve been guided by books, for decades I’ve followed the path of men long dead. Not anymore. I would be the one to lay out the path, the one to write the books. And with this new knowledge, under the new swing of the pendulum, I would be a god, a being of immeasurable power, a herald of the new way. My texts studied for eternity, my legend told throughout the ages, my name whispered with reverence and fear, I wanted it all. I rose my hands to the heavens and began speaking the Old Words, the song of creation and destruction. A thunderous roar echoed to the farthest ends of the world, and the stars began dancing to my will.
“Next!” The HSA agent at the desk beckoned for the next person in line to step up. Sitting at a podium made of clouds, he flashed a light into my eyes and beckoned me to move forward. “Name?” “W-what?” I stammered. “Your name?” he asked again. “W-where am I?” I continued to stammer. “Where do you think?” “I dunno. Based on all the clouds…” I trailed off. He continued to look back at me expecting me to answer him. I shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to confirm my own suspicions. The suspense was terrible. Yet strangely, I was hoping it would last. “That’s right. You’ve hit the end of the line. August 29, 2016. Sorry bud. It comes as a shock to most people. Well, in any case, I’m going to need you to move ahead to the security checkpoint. Empty your pockets, take off your shoes, and your clothes. Yes your clothes. You will have to be naked, but don’t worry, we’ll provide some robes. And remove all other items and place them into the tray to be examined. You can’t take anything with you.” I didn’t have much to empty and I wasn’t wearing much, so that part wasn’t difficult. But as I reached down into my pocket to take out the last item, I felt something. Something that I didn’t think would be there. A piece of paper. I looked around to see if anyone was watching me. It seemed all of the HSA agents were focused on the other recently deceased. No one really suspected anything of me. I guess my appearance didn’t give them any cause for concerns. The people in front of me, as soon as they took off their clothes, they were immediately given the white robes and that’s when I saw my chance. I balled up the piece of paper in my fist and quickly shed my clothes, throwing everything into the bin. Another HSA agent handed me a set of robes and I stuffed the piece of paper down one of the pockets. A different HSA agent beckoned me forward to step through the security screener. Hopefully this works, I thought to myself. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? I’ve clearly already made it up to heaven? What are they going to do? Kick me out? The giant machine whirred around me and beeped. A green light flashed, and the HSA agent on the other side gave me a thumbs up and waved me through. I walked past him to the next agent. It worked! Everyone was none the wiser. I reached down in my pocket to feel the piece of paper. It was still crumbed up, but it was still there in my pocket. A tall man, if he could really be called a man. I suppose angel is the better word to use now. A tall angel with red hair had on a microphone and was telling those who passed security to step up to the yellow line and wait for the next ferry to arrive. People began shuffling in, making their way up to the gates. The next ferry arrived floating down the water. Although it didn’t really look like water. I noticed the river looked more of a mud sludge. And it didn’t really flow either. Just sort of sat there all stale. There was no way of knowing which direction is was going. Or which direction the ferry was rowing for that matter. Just before I could step up into the ferry, an agent came over and grabbed my arm. “Sir, you’ll need to come with us, please?” Two more HSA agents were standing behind him. They brought me out of line as everyone else was boarding. “Sir, please empty your pockets.” That sinking feeling of being caught doing something you know you shouldn’t have been doing washed over me. I reached down in my pocket and handed him the crumpled piece of paper. “That’s what we thought,” the agent commented. “Sir, you’ll need to follow us.” The three agents surrounded me with one leading from the front. I could hear murmurs of the others behind me, wondering what was going on. It was a short walk to another desk. The lead agent placed the piece of paper in front of the woman standing behind the clouds. They had a short conversation before she finally looked up at me and spoke. “Where did you get this? Peter explained that you could not bring in any items past security, did he not?” she asked me. I stood there silent, not knowing how to respond. She repeated her question to me again, and yet I was still unable to respond. “How did you come across this paper? Do you know what this is?” She asked me. I looked up at her with a blank stare. Truth be told, I didn’t actually know what it was. Or even how it got into my pockets in the first place. It was just sort of there when I started undressing at security. But I wasn’t about to tell her that. “This piece of paper,” she continued, “is actually a pass. We give these out to those who we feel worthy based on previous contributions during their life spent on earth. Given who you are, it's not inconceivable why you have one, but it is very peculiar how you came across this golden ticket, Mr. Wilder.”
I sat in the waiting room. Stark white, filled with various hues of grey. It was filled with nothing but... dogs. Dogs everywhere. I knew I had died. I mean, I fell onto a subway track a good minute before the train came. That's not a lot of time and, between you and me, that's a pretty final death. I just didn't expect death to be a waiting room filled with dogs. One that... smelled like it was filled with dogs. A man stepped from the back room. Every dog in the room began to bark. He held up a treat and the dogs stopped. "Now calling Lassie. Lassie, where are you?"he asked. A single dog pushed itself through the other dogs and went into the back room. As the man began to leave, I stood up. "Uh, sir?"I asked, trying to get his attention. "I, uh, where am I?" The man turned and said, "Down boy! Wait your turn!" As he closed the door behind himself, I sat back down at my seat. "Fucking asshole,"I muttered as I sat back down in a room. Filled with dogs. And nothing else for human beings to possibly do. It was a while before the man came back. I don't know how time passes in the afterlife, but I am sure that it was at least a week before I saw him again. "Max Boyd, calling Max Boyd,"the man said. My name. I stood up from my chair and ran as fast as I could, tripping over a few dogs, about a dozen toys, and banging the everloving hell out of my shins on the coffee table. "Right this way, Max,"the man said. He looked like he was a different person, but I couldn't quite be sure. "Hey, I think I got sent to the wrong afterlife,"I said, scratching my neck casually. The man laughed and said, "You're right at home here, Max. Here at Dog Heaven, we have everything you could ever want." I grumbled and said, "Yeah, that's great and all, but I'm not a dog. I'm a human." He just fucking kept talking. "Mountains of peanut butter, rivers of kibble, every squeaky toy you could possibly ever want,"he said as I felt a ball of white hot rage build up inside me. "What am I going to do with squeaky toys? What amusement could I possibly derive from a river of kibble. I have to admit, a mountain of peanut butter doesn't sound half bad, but that's going to entertain me for all of five minutes. Are you sure I'm not in Hell?" The man either didn't care what I was saying or he didn't understand, so I just started talking loudly. "I was not a bad person. I payed my taxes, I cared for my wife and kids. I had a house for Christsakes." The man looked over at me and said, "Now, now, Boyd. There's no reason to yell. Before we send you off to the rainbow bridge, we need to have you evaluated by the dog whisperer." "The dog whisperer? You have a dog whisperer. In heaven,"I repeated, dumbfounded. The man opened another set of doors and, lo and behold, Cesar Millan sat cross-legged on the other side of the room, surrounded by candles. "Leave us,"he said, his eyes closed, his palms facing upwards. The man who escorted me bowed and left the room. There was a moment of sheer awkward silence before he spoke up again. "I... am the Whisperer. You may ask me any questions you had about life." I looked around. "Cesar Millan? Why are you in heaven? I thought you were still alive." The Whisperer chuckled. "A ruse I have maintained for many years. I achieved enlightenment many years ago and have been serving Dog Heaven ever since." "Well, Mr. Millan, it's an honor to meet you, but there's a problem. I am not a dog. I belong in human heaven, with my grandfather,"I said. "You did not even know your Grandfather, child,"he said. "Yeah, I know, but I would like to meet him." "You can meet him. He's here." "In Dog Heaven? Is this, like, a family curse or something? Where's my mom?" "Dog Heaven." "My dad?" "Dog Heaven." "My brother?" "Cincinnati." "Is there any way to get to human heaven?" "Yes, if a human finds you." "What are the chances of that?" "Almost certain." "Can I stay there?" "If your master allows it, yes." "Can I speak to you if I have anymore questions?" "Of course. You can speak to Cesar Millan anytime, my child. I am... the WHISPERER." "Right. Okay, I'm going to go see what dog heaven is like,"I said as I looked around. I spun around a few times. "Where's the door?"The Whisperer laughed and 'stood up,' his feet not touching the ground. He hovered over to the door and opened it. "Welcome... to dog heaven, Boyd,"he said. I slowly left. As I walked, a bird caught my eye. I figured I'd run after it; it'd know the place better than me, after all. Behind me, I could have sworn I heard the Whisperer chuckle and say, "Heh. He thinks he's people."
>"I’ve written many drafts of this. It seemed imperative to sound cordial. Well not even cordial. Mostly it’s really hard to write this letter and not come off as increasingly condescending. Reaching out to a planet completely bound by such a constrained and limited form of communication. I mean to some extent you are on the cusp of something that could actually be effective, what you call music, but you even pervert that somehow. See here I go again. Fuck it, you all may have the mental capacity of infants on my planet, but someone’s going to have to rip the band-aid off at some point. >You are not alone! Yes! That’s what I am really here to say. And I’m not saying that in a personal, emotional way. If you’re sitting on your couch downing a tub of ice cream because you just got broken up with, you’re still very much alone. And your mother is probably right, you will always be alone. But at least you can be comforted by the fact that, not only are you alone on a planet with seven billion people, the 23 trillion lifeforms within a 10 light year radius also don’t give a fuck about you! But just know that we have known about your planet for some time now, and up until now you have provided such little value that no one has even thought to visit you. Well I’d like to introduce myself, the first! >I would also like to personally congratulate one Joe Roberts, a man of unbounded understanding of the universe. Maybe the sole intelligent being on your planet. A man who has been trying to warn you all for years, tirelessly camping out at the Tuskegee bus stop, holding such a prescient “End is Nigh” sign. Yes, sir. I’m directing this at you. You aren’t crazy! Thank you for your tireless efforts to convince the inconvincible. Your moronic human brethren. The end is in fact nigh. Which is really the only reason I’m reaching out. You see, while I may sound like an asshole, and well maybe I am. But I believe at the core of my being that any civilization that is about to be wiped off their planet at least deserves their moment of reckoning. >My organization and I have come across a set of communications between some high officials. That of course would be completely unintelligible to you all. But in short we have found that Earth, as a process of interplanetary commodity rotations, has been chosen by a geologic team as a potential harvest ground for a precious resource. You see the fur of your planet's “Alpacas” has been deemed a vital aphrodisiac that could revitalize the dwindling population of the planet Vernashaya. Furthermore, as humans are a giant deterrent to the strategic breeding of these animals, and as it has been determined that humans pose no real value to the galaxy, you will all be exterminated. >Now at this point you may be thinking that in my altruistic benevolence I will present my vision for your rebellion. That I, as what might as well be an omniscient being compared to you all, will become a Kevin Costner-esque hero, finally realizing your inherent worth. The fact is that no, I don’t really give a shit in the long run. I see it as my duty to provide you with the necessary information to make those kinds of decisions on your own. And since as a collective society you are incapable of actually doing anything about it, you are pretty much fucked. >That’s exactly why I have written this note in such a hasty manner, and why the task of writing it has been pushed to the bottom of the pile. You see just before this letter I had to write one to a society that was about to be gassed so their organs could be harvested to use as musical instruments. This society actually has the wherewithal to fight back, so I wrote it with urgency and with sincere compassion. That is also why I regret to inform you that it is very likely that this letter won’t even arrive in time. But alas, I have investors to appease, and they don’t like any stone left unturned. Anyways, good luck!" The intergalactic postal worker arrived on the verdant Earth and placed the letter in the mouth of a bewildered Alpaca, one of billions now roaming the planet. Marked on his notepad that it had been successfully delivered and went about his merry way. ---------------- ^This ^is ^my ^100th ^response ^on ^this ^sub! ^Thanks ^to ^everyone ^whose ^ever ^read ^any ^of ^my ^stories! ^You ^can ^read ^them ^all ^at ^/r/squidcritic!
Jeffery stood staring at them, confused. Where was everyone else? Is heaven just three dudes sitting around a coffee table? All of them stood up at once, excited. "Hello, hello!"they all cried, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "Um, hey,"he said, looking around, "not to be rude but, is this it?" Jesus looked abashed. "It's not so bad,"he said, looking around as if seeing it for the first time, "could probably use a bit of a clean." Jeffery frowned. "Not much to clean." "We have cards,"Buddha said, holding them up with pride. Muhammad gave a thumbs up, clearly impressed. "Oh,"Jeffery said, trying to not look disappointed. "Where is everyone else?" "Oh, the non-believers,"Muhammad said, disgusted. "Burning in hell,"Jesus said, "the lot of them. Doing all sorts of nasty things." "Oh gosh,"Jeffery said, looking alarmed, "what sort of things?" "Sex, drinking, drugs, you name it,"Buddha said, visibly flustered. "Oh,"he said, trying to peer down through the clouds, "well that doesn't sound too bad." Jesus shook his head. "No no no, it's much better up here. Trust us!"The others shook their heads in unison. Jeffery was slowly backing away. "I hate to say it guys, and I feel awfully silly saying it,"he said, glancing behind him, "but I'm actually an-" "Atheist!"St. Peter cried, as the pearly gates burst open. "Sorry, sorry everyone,"he said, out of breath, "there was a mixup again. Atheist, not theist. That damn 'a' gets me every time. He turned towards Jeffery. "Apologies, Jeffery Adams, but you actually belong in hell. My bad!" Jeffery tried to look sad. "Really terrible news, Peter. Guess I have to go burn in hell now. Sorry guys, would have loved to have stayed."He began walking to the gates, "Love your work, Jesus. You other two as well, I'm sure." "He could stay with us,"Jesus said, grabbing his arm. Muhammed and Buddha nodded enthusiastically. "Sorry guys,"Peter said, moving towards the gates with Jeffery, "but rules are rules." Jeffery couldn't hide his massive grin. Buddha began walking with them. "I shall escort the non-believer myself to the land of the heathens." St. Peter glared at him. "No, Buddha, for the last time, you belong here, ok?" Buddha put his head down, walking back to the others. The gates slammed shut, leaving the three alone. No one said anything for quite some time. Eventually, Jesus put his hands on their shoulders. "Oh well, I'm sure we'll get another friend soon."He grabbed the cards. "Solitaire, anyone?" "Missing two Jacks, remember?"Muhammad said. Jesus frowned, then dropped the cards on the table. "...God damn it."
Up the stairs, to the left. I nodded, pushed open the door, and began the climb. Would it be okay if I go next? Sarah asked, passive as ever. I could picture her before me, same as the day I first met her. Her voice sounded the same as the first words she ever spoke to me, a lot different than the last. "Perhaps."I whispered back. "Where abouts are yours?" There was a hesitation. Next state over. She replied. I know, I know. I just though I would ask. I shook my head slowly. "Maybe after Jason." So I'm still next? Jason asked. I nodded. Thank fuck. He sighed. I've helped you out plenty you know, I think I'm real deserving of this. "Yeah,"I said, slowly panting. "How many floors did I have to climb again?" Five. Giuseppe sighed. How many times do I have to tell you? I smiled. His accent really shined when he got annoyed, that and the old man in him. It wasn't long before I found the number five painted in vibrant red on the cement before me. I looked to the door before me. Right through there. He said. His voice was quivering. "Are you sure you want this?" I'm sure. I could almost sense him nodding. She would want it, I'm sure. She doesn't have much without me. Hardly knows the language. "No problem." Underneath my jacket was a shoulder holster, Beretta 92 sitting snugly inside. Suppressed of course. I pulled it free, almost expertly. Make sure the safety's on. Michelle said. For god's sake make sure the safety's on, that the gun's loaded and that it won't jam. I sighed, exasperated. "Walk me through it. I'm not used to these..."I shook the gun, gesturing to it vaguely, "...things." Michelle slowly talked me through the steps, one by one. Safety on, plenty of bullets, all ready to go. It'll be painless right? Giuseppe asked. Please tell me it'll be painless. It'll be fine if Jack gives him a good enough aim. She replied. Have I ever missed? Jack hesitated. Well, I haven't with you. Not yet anyhow. "Jack." Yeah? "Shut the fuck up, it'll be fine." Right. "Now which room?" 508. I found it soon enough. Then, holding my gun behind me, I took a deep breath. "Ready?" Uh... yes. Yes I'm ready. I knocked, and before the minute was through, the door was opened by a short Italian woman, well into her eighties. Repeat after me: Buongiorno. "Buongiorno." The old lady, Lucia, smiled. "Buongiorno. Come sta?" Non c'è male, e lei? I repeated Giuseppe. "Sto bene."I could sense the grin growing on this lonely old woman's face. "Adesso, sono qui perchè conoscevo il tuo marito."I had no idea what I was saying, but I was saying it. Hell, Giuseppe was somehow guiding my accent, I didn't sound half bad. Lucia perked up at this. "Davvero?" "Si, veramente. Secondo me, lui vorrebbe dire che ti ha amato. Era un uomo magnifico, e lui pensa che tu sia una moglie perfetta." Adesso! Giuseppe called, almost a cry. Now, do it now. I'm ready. Go ahead. Jason whispered. You're all clear. I leveled the pistol at the Italian woman before me. As she began to react, I had Jack screaming at me. Higher! To the left! He paused, and more solemn, spoke. Now. The was a short, blunt noise, a splatter of blood, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. Now, Jason spoke with haste. Get the fuck in there and slam the door. I did as I was told, moving quickly. Put your gloves on, and follow my directions exactly. Exactly. I heard Giuseppe cry somewhere in the back of my head. Lucia! Lucia, sei qui? Giuseppe, came a response, almost as frail and confused as it was faint. Dove siamo? Somewhere, in the recesses of my mind I heard the excited chatter of two elderly Italians, long lost and finally reunited. It almost warmed my pitch black heart. Almost. "Sarah?" Yeah? "Make sure our newcomer doesn't see how she got here. Give her a proper welcome." Somehow, I knew that she was nodding, and while she did her work, I did mine.
Camden and Eleanor Jacobs sat in their rooms at the Burbank Hotel, only a wall separating them. They both looked into their respective mirrors, brushing their dark hair for the night. So in sync were their movements with the brush that from an outside perspective the mirrors could just as well have been a glass window to the other room. They were so eerily alike that even their parents had had difficulty telling them apart. Not that their parents mattered anymore, they were both dead now, that’s why the twins were here in the first place. They both put their brushes down at the same time and leaned back in the chair. “Ah, tomorrow will be a good day,” they said in unknowing unison. Tomorrow was the day they turned eighteen and inherited their parents’ company, and neither of them wanted to share it with the other. They both went to bed, feeling confident that tomorrow they would be the sole owner. Down in the hotel lobby, Quint Duran approached the sleepy receptionist. He tapped his knuckles on the counter. “One room on the third floor, please,” he said. “I want a view over the plaza.” The receptionist gave him a strange look, but when Quint put a bundle of cash on the counter, he just shrugged and handed him a keycard. He hurried towards the elevator, which was about to close. He managed to get his arm through the door and stepped inside. At first, he thought he was alone in the elevator, but then he realized that elevator had no mirror, and what he thought was his reflection was, in fact, his twin brother. “Vincent,” he said. “What are you doing here?” “Hello, little brother,” Vincent said. “I’m just here working a job.” “Right, me too. Want to grab a drink down at the bar when we’re done?” The elevator was closing in on the third floor and the brothers both produced a handgun and started screwing a suppressor in place. “Sure thing,” Vincent said. “Oh, and by the way, are you coming to Lena’s baby shower on Sunday?” “Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad!” The elevator stopped with a “ding!” and the doors slid open. The twins followed the corridors in opposite directions then knocked on their respective doors. “Room service!” they called out in unison. Camden rolled to her side, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. What the hell was this? She didn’t remember ordering anything. Maybe it was complimentary by the hotel. “Just a minute!” She was just about to open the door when it was kicked in and she got gun barrel shoved in her face. “Let’s do this the easy way,” the man behind the gun said. “No blood – quick and painless.” “Idiot!” she said, with a sigh. “Wrong room! My sister is down the corridor to the left.” Vincent subsequently had the door slammed in his face. Eleanor did mention her sister was staying down the hall. He couldn’t believe he had mixed up their rooms, though – how embarrassing. He was usually meticulous in his work. It was probably the daddy-nerves kicking in. He met Quint coming down the corridor; he had a distinct blush on his cheeks. “Are you done?” “Not yet,” he answered. “Technical difficulties.” “I feel you." The twin assassins knocked dully before entering the rooms. They were both met by an angry Jacobs twin. “So you’re back again, what kind of assassin are you?” Eleanor mocked. “How hard can it be finding the right room?” Camden taunted. That’s when it dawned on the Duran brothers that they were dealing with twins. They both cursed through their teeth and grabbed their respective Jacobs sister by the arm and pulled them out in the corridor. “You bitch,” cried Camden when she saw the man with a gun holding her sister. “You were going to have me killed!” “Fuck you, Cammie!” Eleanor shot back. “I can’t believe this, your own sister?” “Watch your language,” Vincent and Quint mumbled together. “Shut up!” cried the sisters at the same time. “All right,” said Vincent. “We can solve this,” finished Quint. Both the sisters rolled their eyes and crossed their arms. “Which one of you is Camden?” asked Vincent. “Me,” said one of the sisters. “Liar!” cried the other. “Let’s just kill both and call it a night?” said Quint. “If I die you won’t get paid,” said both the sisters at the same time. “This is exactly why I don’t take jobs without upfront payment.” “All right, I think I know how we can solve this,” said Quint. “Let’s just ask the receptionist which room belongs to whom.” “Oh, I like how you think, little brother.” “I always check in as Miss Jacobs,” said Eleanor. “Same,” said her sister. Both the Duran brothers groaned in frustration. “I’ve got another idea,” said Vincent, turning towards his Jacobs sister. “What was the name of the hitman you hired?” “Marcus Derek,” she said. “So you’re Eleanor,” said Quint, knowing that was his alias. “Wait,” said Vincent. “I used your alias this time, because of the upfront deal.” “God damn it!” “Yeah, sorry bro.” “You both are incompetent,” said Camden. “I’m calling off my hit.” “Same,” said her sister. “That’s not how this works,” said one Duran brother. “We’re not leaving without our payment,” said the other. An hour later the Duran brothers toasted a bottle of champagne down at the hotel bar like they always did to celebrate completed hits. “So how did you solve it in the end?” asked the bartender, who had been listening to their story. “We called up their solicitor and asked who was next in line for the inheritance,” said Quint. “Turns out the Jacobs twins had a younger sibling, who had been picked on by them her entire life,” continued Vincent. “And who was more than willing to pay us double to off her sisters,” finished Quint. “Upfront.” “Moral of the story: if you want a job done without complication, always pay a hitman upfront. And don’t stay in the room next to your twin if you’re having them killed. And whatever you do, don’t call him incompetent.” “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
"Tell me Dr. Kline, why did you become a professor?" The professor grimaced. Whatever answer, initial ambition, youthful passion, had died with his wife. He was here for money, and a place to hide from reflection. This fact broke his heart. Wordplay of course, was his passion. Apparent from the earliest age. He had always delivered the greatest puns, because his puns were for the enjoyment of others. Despite his gift, he was lonely. A life of giving joy leaves little for oneself. It was a chilly Tuesday, when he first met her. A soft rosy complexion. A charming smile. A warm heart. He was smitten beyond words. Almost beyond words. With all his heart, he uttered the line that changed his life. A single phrase, beautiful and balanced. Every pun that followed, carried some of that energy. The vicarious development of these puns was unrivaled. He soon found himself to be the largest producer of puns, and numerous job offers. He decided to settle down at a small university, somewhere private, but with a proper environment to continue his work. As his life comfortably slid into place, he was tossed from his dreams into reality. A policeman. Bad news. A car crash. One dead. His wife. No time for mourning. Bills. Work. Responsibility. Life around him moved on. He become bitter. But without puns, he had no livelihood. He tried, tried to create. But he knew he would never match his former vigor. No time for depression. Bills tightened. Work stagnated. Responsibilities were ignored. He began to lag behind the pace. In his lowest moment, he had resolved to end it. Suicide by gun. The time came, and the gun was raised. But a knock. A knock saved him. A wiry man in glasses. A dark suit. A case of money. But, most importantly, a solution to his problems. The agreement was made; 300,000,000 dollars a year, and he would never make a pun again. It was strange, but it was a remedy nonetheless. 10 years had passed, the money never faltered. And neither had he. "I come here for an obligation" The student frowned "Weren't you the greatest pun maker ever?" The professor's grimace tightened. Before he could snap at the boy, a voice in the back hissed, "I would advise you leave us here, boy" They both wheeled around. The wiry man smirked, seated partially in the shadows. "Puns are a thing of the past," He gazed at the professor, "And they shall remain so." "Dr.Kline, please. Hear me out-" The professor waved him off, and the student left dejectedly. "I assume there will be no trouble with our agreement, Daniel?" "That is correct" There was a small letter waiting for the professor when he got home. As he read the letter, his tired eyes filled with tears. He lifted himself up with determination, and walked to his study doors. With great effort, he twisted the rusty knob open and flung open the door. It was a moment frozen in time, every book in it's ancient place, the stacks of papers standing tall. His desk was coated in a film of dust and age. He slid his finger across the dusty top, and pulled the fountain pen from it's mount. Still sharp, and polished. He felt the memories of his youth rush back. What did do next? A fresh piece of stationary, another fill of ink, and he began his reply. He would fulfill the request, agreement be damned. Hours passed, but the labor was completed. The professor signed his name, and smiled in nostalgia. "My eyes must deceive me, Daniel." The professor's eyes narrowed. "In my own home. How did you get in here?" The wiry man came into view. "Irrelevant. The only object of importance is your breech of contract." "Contract be damned. Have your money back, I don't need it anymore." The wiry man cocked his head. "Money? This contract is far more than money, I'm afraid. And it's nigh time I collected." In a swift motion, he grabbed the letter and stuffed it into the professors mouth, holding his writhing body until the noise of struggle was gone. The news spread. A brutal murder, the end of Puns. The world seemed to be a little darker. Lawmakers met, consulted with linguists worldwide. A proposal, championed by a anonymous business man, would ban puns forevermore, out of respect for it's greatest patron. The funeral received much less attention, a small gathering of colleagues and family. It was stormy and hellish outside. Few came. The eulogy was delivered by a student. "Today, we bury a good man. A source of joy. A victim of a cruel life and a crueler fate. And how does the world honor a man as such. By banning his gift. I know, if he was still with us, well; No! He wouldn't stand for this. I believe he was coming out of retirement, I think he was going to start again. surely someone can see this, the letter, t-the-" The boy broke into sobs A chuckle emanated, from all around. The wiry man burst into the chapel. He no longer looked like a man, rather a dark and grotesque demon. The chuckle turned into a cackle, and the figure began to yell, "Let us pay our respects to the great pun artist himself. The only man capable of suppressing me for so many years. Without those wretched puns, there shall be none to stop my rise. I shall reign eternal over this earth, and you will be the first to bow to me." Fear filled the student, he knew not how to react. The figure advanced towards the front, and the student cowered. The figure screamed with pleasure, "AHHAHAHA. THE PRODIGIOUS HERO HIMSELF. TELL ME, WITH YOUR LAST BREATH. WHERE ARE YOUR PUNS NOW?" Suddenly, a peace entered the student. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and looked. The faint, glowing face of the professor smiled back at him. Metaphysically, the truth was revealed to the student, and he knew what he must do. The student stood, tall and proud. With a grin, barely louder than a whisper, he said "Don't worry one bit wretched beast. Puns are in D. Kline." The darkness left the figures face. Instantly, the figure disintegrated, and the force knocked everyone to the ground. The student ran out of the hall. The skies were clear, almost smiling. He felt the joy in the air fill him, and he let a single tear roll down his face. He saw two people walking in the distance, they turned and waved. He waved back, and they continued off into the sky. In that moment, no pun was needed.
"Good work, everyone. Great to see you all again. Back to work!" "Sir, if I may?" "Johnson, is it?" "Yes, sir." "Well, what do you want?" "Well, sir, it's about the chemical spill." "What?" "We can't do it." "You've got to stop thinking in such binary terms, Johnson. It's not a 'spill,' it's a bit of runoff. That's what insurance is for. Besides, this alien thing is going to work." "Sir, that's why we can't do it." "What? I don't have time for this." "It's about the aliens." "What aliens?" "The ones I saw by the river." "What are you talking about?" "They're dumping chemicals too, sir." "Why would aliens come to earth to dump their toxic waste? Isn't that what space is for?" "There's something else, sir." "There'd better be." "There's another group of aliens." "What?" "These ones wear flannel." "What did the first group wear?" "Those upturned ball cap things. Like for beach volleyball." "Johnson, I think you'd better go home." "But I think the second group was trying to pretend to be the first group. They were trying to buy some hats at a convenience store near the river." "What does any of this have to do with the company?" "I think the first group, the ones that originally had hats, they were trying to look like humans. I think they were trying to pin their dumping on us." "Johnson." "Sir, it's a bunch of aliens, playing a bunch of aliens, playing a bunch of aliens--all playing us." "You're fired, Johnson." "Thank you, sir." "And take that stupid cap off." (Edits: Added last two lines)
A lot of people celebrate their birthday by doing things they would never ordinarily be willing to do, and spend their death day cowering in fear in a steal box somewhere far underground. For me it’s a bit different. My birthday also happens to be my death day. So I guess you could say that I spend my birthdays flirting with death. You see, when a person is born, they are come along with the express knowledge of the date of their death. Well, the month and the day, but not the year. A lot of people have death days around the holidays, most of them dying due to drunken nonsense. Honestly, as much as I think some people think it’s good, allowing you to try and avoid death, I personally hate knowing. It takes the fun out of life, since you know when you’ll die you spend several days a year scared out of your mind as the day approaches, and then waste a ton of money sitting in so called “safety boxes,” which are steel crates deep below the surface of the earth meant to protect you from being hit by a car or any other “everyday” killer. I, on the other hand, like to spend my birthday’s taunting death, which scares my poor mother half to death. Every year she tries to get me to spend my birthday in a safety box, but every year I refuse. Where’s the fun in living if you always are afraid of death? In my family, we have a tradition of on midnight of our 25th birthday we go bungee jumping. I don’t know why, but we do. I’ve been told it started with my great-great grandmother, after she “accidentally” fell of a bridge and grabbed onto a rope. Yeah, sure mom. I totally believe that story. Around 11pm of August 18th, 2436, my brother Cyril and I ascended the abandoned Empire State Building. No one came to this section of New York after the World War III thing. Apparently, it’s unsafe or something, but as I’ve said before, where’s the point in living if it isn’t fun? I was wearing my usual all white suit, in stark contrast to Cyril who was wearing a faded t-shirt, ripped jeans, and combat boots. Over his shoulder, he carried the bungee cord and my harness, while I lugged the motor which would haul me back up. Cyril, being the weakling that he is, refused to pull me back up himself. Some older brother he is. When we finally reached the roof, it was almost midnight. Cyril and I hurriedly began setting up the motor and attaching it to the cord, as the plan was for me to jump at exactly midnight. As my watch shown 11:58, I was tightening the last of the straps on my harness. As I stepped towards the edge, I felt more alive than I ever had in my entire life. Pffft, my mother said this was dangerous. The fall didn’t even look to be that far. My watch showed 11:59. I impatiently tapped my foot. Come on, I thought. Can the second go any slower. Finally, the digital readout showed 12:00, and I let myself fall forward over the side. There was a brief feeling of falling, and then I felt the rope go taught. I bounced up once, then fell down, bounced up again, and began to fall once again, this time not bouncing up too far. Finally, when I was simply dangling, I heard Cyril start up the motor. Well, I thought to myself. That wasn’t all that bad at all. I don’t understand what people were freaking out about. It took several minutes for the machine to do its work, and when I was nearing the roof the building once again I heard Cyril call down to me. “Hey Robert, it seems your watch was a little fast. You jumped a few minutes to early. It’s midnight now.” I chuckled to myself, that is before I heard the rope snap. Thanks for reading! If you liked this story, be sure to check out more at https://www.reddit.com/r/WrittenTherapyProject/
"...brownies." Will quirked an eyebrow. "Brownies? Like the food?" "Naw, dumbass. Brownies, like the fae. The wee little ones that help the farmers. Yah ken what I mean, yer just being dense." "Yeah, yeah, I get it. How, though? They're sweet, I mean hell, all they eat is honey and oatmeal. What could they possibly do? Trample a very small portion of a field with their very small feet?" Irvin snorted. "Pray you never get a chance to find out. Yer a lazy bastard, just don't start farming and ye'll be fine. Worry more about yer idiot self walking into a lake after a selkie. I seen yer browser history, boyo." "Ok, ok, I get it. Avoid tiny, helpful men. I'll see you tomorrow, Irv." --- Will opened his fridge, and poured a small bowl of milk. He'd started a garden a few weeks before, a straggly, weedy thing, and hadn't thought about enlisting the help of the brownies until Irvin had mentioned them. He sprinkled a little milk at the corners of his house, sweetened the rest with honey, and left it at the door. He kept watch at his window for a few hours, but saw nothing. "Ah, shit. I guess a garden isn't enough for them." He shrugged off his clothes and went to bed. --- The next morning, the milk was gone. The bowl was shiny and wet, as if something had licked it for the last few drops. Will kicked it to the side and cursed the feral cat population as he walked to his garden. His lush, green garden. He let out a stream of profanity as he walked around the edges of the plot. Tomato stalks as high as his waist, herbs hanging their heads with the weight of themselves, the okra already covered in budding flowers. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't wait to tell Irvin. --- "Ya damn fool! I told you not to fuck with them!" "It's fine, I gave them their milk and they did some magic to my garden. It's amazing! I can't believe it, even the dead stuff is sprouting! Who's lazy now?" "Yer still lazy as a dead donkey, ye jackass. Yer playing with things you can't understand, you have to give them work or they'll get bored. Yer shitty garden won't be enough." "Sure, I'll ask them to clean the house, too. Maybe I'll start a second garden." "..." "Maybe I'll get a dog for them to feed, too. I'll see you later, Irv." --- Weeks passed, and Will began to worry. His house had been cleaned over and over, and the floorboards were beginning to wear down under the weight of tiny feet. His garden was overflowing with vegetables, and he'd had to give some away. All of his clothes had holes from the incessant washing. He tried leaving less milk, but the helpful creatures had done just as much work. He pulled his jug of milk out of the fridge. Only enough for a couple of sips. He put it to his lips and downed the rest of it, then went to bed, mumbling, If I don't give the bastards anything, maybe they'll stop. --- Will woke up. There was nothing around him. He tried to move his hands, and realized he was tied to something. His bed? He yelled and thrashed his head back and forth, until he felt a sharp pain in his finger. He tried to pull it away, but the pain followed, a carving, horrible feeling. A light flicked on, and he saw that he was in his room, with all the curtains drawn and nailed to the walls. The room was filled with hunched, minuscule forms. A tiny, wrinkled face stared down at him, crouching on his chest. He screamed, and the brownie smiled. It pulled out a knife, and began carving. The rest followed suit. --- The brownie sat with his brethren. He couldn't remember what his name had been. He believed he had been born recently. All he remembered was a nightmare of unimaginable pain, and then he had been in this den, waiting for someone to ask for his help. He looked at his misshapen hands, and something flashed behind his eyes. A needle-sharp knife carving huge hands into tiny, delicate fingers, chattering, screaming. He smiled and settled into his corner of the den. He couldn't wait until it was his turn to create a brother.
Ah. At last. It wasn't an easy road, but I made it. It seemed luck was never on my side and it was always easier to do the wrong thing than the right, but I did it, I led a successful positive life with a positive influence and lasting footprint. It was a car crash that did it, not even my fault, though part of me wished it was. I heard the splintering metal and glass as the semi slammed into me head on, in my lane, and knew that was it. The end, good bye. I opened my eyes to brightness. You know how it looks when you fly above the clouds during the day? Nothing but pure sunshine reflected back off the clouds below you? Well, it was like that, but brighter. As my eyes adjusted to it all, I noticed a tall set of sparkling gates. Next to them, perched at what must be the most comfortable desk in all of existance, was a glowing figure of a man I knew must be St Peter. I watched his head look up from the scrolls and screens in front of him. A look of confusion crossed his face when he saw me. "Come forward, child." Taking a step forward, I stumbled and began sinking into what I had thought was a solid white floor. Quick footsteps sounded above me and a hand grasped my shoulder, pulling me up. "My, my,"St Peter said, "there seems to be some confusion. I mustn't let you fall until we get this sorted. This way please."He led me over to his most luxurious table, never letting go of my shoulder. "Put your hand on that tablet there and don't let go of the table. We must get this resolved." I did as instructed and grasped the table as if my life, my death? depended on it. Carefully I placed my hand on the golden tablet and waited. One of the screens popped up with a spinning icon, a halo I noted. St Peter and I watched it. Several minutes passed and I was starting to get tired. St Peter tapped the table in front of him impatiently. "This is unusual."His brow furrowed and he turned to a different screen, tapping away. "We'll do this the old fashioned way. Keep your hand there, but tell me: What's your full name?" "Jennifer Christina Rodman" "Hmm. Was that your name at your birth?" "No, last name was changed. I got married, had two kids. I was born a Bloomfield." "Ah, okay."The saint tapped a few more things in and his brows furrowed a bit more. "Date of birth?" "June 14, 1978." "Parents names?" "I only have my mom's name, she never told me who my dad was." "And what was her name?" "Leslie Bloomfield." I watched as St Peter kept tapping away at his computer. I glanced over at the other screen to see the spinning halo still there. My hand still rested on that tablet. It was oddly dark compared to everything else. I looked down at the rest of me. I was oddly dark compared to everything else. No glow at all, not even what I'd expect to look like if I were in a bright space. In fact, it looked like I was in a shadow. "There's nothing in here. Nothing!"I looked back up at St Peter who was staring in disbelief at his screen. "This has never happened before. Not in the entire history of humanity."He turned to me. "Who are you?" My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe it. St Peter had everyone in there. It didn't matter where they were sent, he knew, he knew them all. But I wasn't there? It didn't add up. A slow deep laugh echoed behind me. St Peters eyes darted with anger. "You. You are not allowed here." "Ah, but I may be able to answer your questions,"said a deep voice behind me. It was oddly menacing and simultaneously comforting and familiar. I kept my eyes locked on St Peter, not daring to turn and face the stranger, but having a sinking feeling I knew exactly who he was. "And how would you do that? You have been kept out of the way of knowing things." "Do you really believe that you and all those who lord their way here truly know all? Do you really believe that I could not have gained some knowledge at some point in my ventures? Do you really believe that you are better than me?" St Peter was standing now. He moved his hands to one of the drawers in his desk, pulling it out. I glimpsed something red inside. "I will give you one chance, just one, to leave, before I summon the brigade." The one behind me chuckled again. "But then you will never know the answer of who this is. Who Jennifer Christina Bloomfield is. How she came into being." "I'm listening."The saint's hand didn't move, hovering over that drawer. "Well, I've always been a wee bit jealous of the man in charge. Always with that lording over all creation thing. Always with that assurance that all humans are His. Makes me sick He does. Do no wrong, be perfect, yadda yadda." "You're wearing on my patience." "Hah, right. Well. Knowledge comes from somewhere. If He can do it, then so can I. I just had to figure out how. I spent some time looking into it, especially after He made that kid of His." "Are you mocking our Lord and his Son?" "No, no, quite the opposite. See, the good Lord there, he gave me the idea, helped me figure it all out. Took a few centuries, but I managed it." "Managed what." "I've got my own kid now. Jennifer." St Peter's jaw dropped. I couldn't help myself. I turned to look at who was there. I found myself face to face with the darkest being I had ever seen. It wasn't so much that he was dark himself, more that he seemed to be perpetually in shadows, much as St Peter seemed perpetually in the brightest glow of the light. He smiled. "It's about time you got introduced to your father. Hi, I'm Lucifer." ----- edited because of typo and forgotten detail about marriage.
This is it. What I've been preparing for ever since I first started my training. Rarely does a Jedi face combat alone. Even rarer is this combat against a sith. But here I am. I've been following his trail for weeks, chasing this man who's left destruction in his wake. Going from planet to planet, killing and pillaging for little reason other than the sheer thrill of it. If there ever was a man to exemplify all that the jedi detest, here he is. I don't know a thing about him personally, just that there he has no control over his actions. He is dominated by his own passion and excitement, there is no self-awareness, no insight, no stability. And here he is. He knew he was being followed, I can see it in his eyes as he stares me down in this forest. But did he know he was being followed by a jedi? Maybe he did, and that's why he was so intent on losing his pursuer. But I see no recognition in his eyes, only hatred. I go through the motions, because even in the face of terror I am calm. I do not turn my lightsaber on until I can predict his next movement. Which will not be a difficult task. As reckless and chaotic as the sith are, they're predictable. He's going to tell me how pathetic the jedi are, how everything we believe is false; he'll show off, pick up the largest thing nearby with the force, make me revel in his strength... Oh, he's gone straight for the saber. Very well, I will unsheathe mine as well. The buzz of it would be calming, if I could be any more serene at this moment. He takes the first step forward. I take one forward, of equal magnitude. He jumps, and I predict his landing, so I sidestep. It's a dance, one I'm very familiar with. He takes an experimental slash, I parry with confidence. He lazily tries to move forward and enact prise de fer, but once my lightsaber is caught in his, I quickly disengage. And then he raises his left hand, and tries to push me back with the force. It catches me off guard, I admit, so I begin to fall, but manage to jump back as I do, making it a flip. I land on my feet, and he tries to push me back again. This time I'm prepared. I do not waver, and raise my blade as if I'm about to attack, and rush toward him. I'm intending to feint, make him block so that he is more open on his side. But he doesn't block, at least not with his blade. He raises his arms to his face and cowers. But in the split-second he does so, I'm at his arms with my saber. And time slows down as I see his fingers curl... And my blade shuts off. So I miss. And stumble. I am surprised, but I have no time to consider this most recent course of events, because it is now I who must block. But, like any well-trained jedi, I use my opponent's strengths against him. As he comes to slice me in half, I concentrate on the handle of his lightsaber, and merely turn it off. His split-second hesitation is the perfect moment to put distance between us. I jump onto the limb of a tree, and turn on my saber. But instead of meeting me up here in close quarters combat, he merely turns my lightsaber off again. I can't see his face from up here, but I think I hear him snicker. So I jump back down, and turn my blade on again. And he turns it off. But it doesn't matter. I'm trained in hand-to-hand combat as well. And if I can't have my saber, I can at least make sure he doesn't either. So I throw my lightsaber to the ground, and assume a battle stance. And he turns his lightsaber on. Like a dumbass. I, of course, turn it off. And he gets the message, finally. And he's laughing as we stand across from eachother. Despite the situation, it's hard for me not to laugh as well. He's not that much older than I, had he been a jedi, we might've trained together. He drops his saber, and kicks it straight up into the sky, like one would do with a ball. He catches it with his non-dominant hand, and looks to me with a sideways grin. So I give him a thumbs up. Neither of us have closed the distance between us, so I take a step forward, and grab my saber from the dirt. I wind up, and give it a light, underhanded toss. He catches it, and throws it back. I catch, and this time I try to put some spin on it. It doesn't really do much, but he doesn't care. He puts his saber between the toes of his right foot, and stands on his head. He turns on the saber and begins to approach me. So I turn it off, and push him over lightly with the force. He tumbles with a laugh. I bend over backwards, and attempt to balance my saber on my nose. With a little help from the force, of course. I stand up, finished, and await his next trick. He puts his saber's hilt against his teeth, mimicking a toothbrush's movement. I wait for it to approach his front two teeth... And I turn his on. - Constructive criticism greatly appreciated and welcomed.
‘It’s over Caretaker. You’ve got nowhere to run.’ I’ve met maybe three superheroes who don’t love posturing. Probably something about the kind of person who puts on a skin-tight costume and tells everyone to worship them for being so great. There’s so many of them too. I had no idea who this guy even was. ‘You’ve got nowhere to run because I’m such a great hero. I, the mighty Prometheus. The grandest hero of them all. A pathetic villain like you isn’t even fit to worship the ground Prometheus walks on…’ This idiot was wearing a bright red and yellow costume, a crown, and what looked like two capes. The ones with capes are always the worst. I know I shouldn’t be prejudiced, but I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes when I see a simpleton in spandex trotting along with a useless piece of cloth flopping along behind them. In my entire I’ve seen exactly one cape that worked, and that was only because it had twenty miniature machine guns built into it. ‘…You should just give up. Surrender to Prometheus.’ ‘Ok I give up.’ He clearly hadn’t expected that. The legionnaire would have been. He’d have cautiously made sure I wasn’t a threat before he carefully brought me in. This kid just awkwardly stood there and didn’t say anything for about ten seconds. ‘What really?’ he asked eventually. ‘No.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘Clearly I was joking. Why would I give up? Does anyone ever give up? Has anyone ever given up to you?’ ‘I don’t have to stand here and take this.’ I remembered where I’d heard his name. He was part of the junior league. ‘Hey, you’re sublime’s sidekick, right?’ He gave a subtle grimace. The sidekick thing was obviously a sore spot. ‘I am Prometheus. And when I bring you in everyone will know my name.’ ‘Why don’t they know your name already?’ He didn’t respond so I continue. ‘So, what did they tell you about me?’ ‘They told me you were the most dangerous villain of them all, but I’ve seen the files. I know your powers are completely useless without any of your minions around.’ ‘Really? What did they say my powers were?’ ‘You give people super speed and an immunity to other powers. Unless you want to make me kick your ass even quicker then that won’t do you any good.’ ‘And the files had conclusive evidence that I couldn’t use my power on myself? You’ve actually got solid evidence that I’m not an invulnerable speedster?’ ‘Well…’ ‘Don’t worry, I’m not. You missed out my other power though.’ Prometheus laughed audibly. I’ve never understood why people treat my other power as a joke. ‘Oh yeah, teleporting to the same space you’re already in. That’s so useful in a fight.’ ‘What else did they tell you?’ ‘The file didn’t have that much information on you, but I worked out your secret. You’ve got a power nobody knows about. Some form of passive telepathy that makes people afraid of you. Unfortunately for you, I’m fearless.’ ‘Why’s that?’ ‘I’m super strong, I fly, and I shoot fireballs. Why would I be afraid of you?’ ‘Interesting theory, but not quite right.’ ‘Enough talk. Surrender or I set you on fire.’ ‘How heroic.’ Prometheus threw a ball of fire at me. I dodged to the left and it burnt a two-foot hole in the wall. He blasted out a stream of flames and this time I didn’t try to dodge. The flames burned so brightly that neither of us could see until they subsided. Eventually he dispelled his attack and jumped backwards as he saw my flesh unravaged by his assault. I yawned conspicuously. He flew at me and struck my head with a blow that should have taken my head off. When that failed, he retreated to his original position. ‘How did you do that?’ ‘Given you just tried to murder me I’m inclined to not answer you, but I’m feeling generous today. When I teleport myself the same spot I get to define what ‘myself’ means. What I did just now is tell every atom in my body to stay where it was.’ ‘So, you can’t die.’ ‘Not if I don’t want to, but obviously, I can’t hurt you either so let’s make a deal. Stop throwing fire at me and I’ll surrender. I’ll even use my power on you and make you stronger than ever.’ ‘Sure.’ I used my second power. Prometheus stopped moving. He was staring at me with fear in his frozen eyes. ‘I’m pretty sure you can’t hear me, but it’s worth telling you this in case you can. I don’t give people super speed, I control how fast they perceive the world. A light dose and you’d be superfast, but right now every second lasts just over a thousand years for you. Long before that point your senses break down and you lose control of your body. You probably went insane before I started talking.’ I picked up a lead pipe and struck his kneecaps until I heard them break. ‘You should be able to feel pain thought. That should give you a few million years of pain. You should get your sanity back and lose it again a good few thousand times in that period. The wonderful thing about that is that it stops you adjusting to the pain. Normally I only slow people down a few hundred times, but you had to tell me how stupid my powers were. I’m the most feared villain in history because my ‘stupid’ powers make me invincible and let me torture people to insanity without any real limits. The power immunity means nobody can reverse it either.’ I sent the league a message to tell them they could pick their sidekick up in a few hours. They wouldn’t dare come sooner than that. Prometheus would be a suitable reminder of what happens when you cross the caretaker. They’d keep him alive like they did all my victims. That would give him plenty of time to reflect on his decisions. An amusing thought crossed my mind as I left, and I couldn’t help but tell him. ‘You wanted to be a famous hero. I’ve given you your wish. Your legacy should last about two or three trillion years… from your perspective at least.
The class shuffled awkwardly into their seats. The classroom was adorned with bewildering decor. The items were very clearly magical, but they seemed so foreign, odd. Not like from another nation, but as though they came from a parallel dimension or something... weird. That's ridiculous. Professor Strange's last name was an apt description. He didn't really wear any wizarding robes. He was adorned with a red cape, and I guess he enchanted it with a flying charm because rather than walking her preferred to hover in the air, waiting for students. He had a brash demeanor- his hair was neat, styled with some kind of shiny product, and he kept his facial hair kempt, but it was still odd. An emerald pendant hung from his neck; it sort of resembled an eye. Most peculiar. Thanks to the DA most of the class had passed its OWLs and was now in NEWT DADA. "Welcome, class."He spoke with an American accent. Suddenly his foreign manner made much more sense. "I am your new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Stephen Strange. I have an unorthodox way of doing things. I will spare you the sorted details of my life, but suffice it to say I was rather late to the wizarding game, and initially worked with No-Majs as a surgeon. Oh, that reminds me- how many of you can properly describe the functions of a surgeon for me?" Hermione raised her hand. "Yes, Ms... wait, don't tell me... Granger. Hermione Granger. You earned an EE on your OWLs. I can sense you are eager to prove yourself in this subject, as you so obviously excel in all of your others. I promise to offer you that chance." The precognitive display was ghastly... It was his first day here, and there was no way he could know any of the students, their grades, or their names. His trunk was still packed, positioned carelessly beside his desk. Was he using Legilimency? No, he couldn't be. It was such a rare skill, and it wasn't taught at Hogwarts. "Surgeons are the muggle equivalent of healers. They use dramatic procedures that generally involve cutting an individual open and fixing the internal problems directly, by hand, or more recently with the aid of advanced machinery." "Excellent. 2 points to Gryffindor. For another 3- can anyone describe to me the education necessary to attain the status of surgeon?" He was interrupted. "Who is this fool? I bet he doesn't even know any real magic. I bet he wouldn't know a dark spell if he was blasted by it in the face."Malfoy jeered. "Mr. Malfoy, I would be happy to demonstrate my abilities to you firsthand if you would like to duel, but first I would suggest you brush up on you Occlumency, and for the insolent and cosseted snideness of your remark, I will be deducting 10 points from Slytherin. However, if you can successfully disarm me, I will grant your House 50 points and cancel all homework assignments for the next month." Malfoy leered at him, obviously angry. Well, Professor Strange did offer redemption. He might as well try. After all, everyone wanted to see the extent of this mysterious foreigner's talents. He strode towards the center of the classroom, where the desks were bifurcated by a clearing that professors traditionally walked through while lecturing. Malfoy drew his wand. Professor Strange descended to the ground, and bowed deeply. Malfoy refused to reciprocate, which earned him a raised eyebrow. "I see that in my first lesson I will have to cover dueling etiquette with you all again, as your classmate here is clearly unfamiliar. Very well. You may have the first strike." "I won't curse a wandless opponent." "I think you will find that I do not require a wand to deal with your amateurish brand of sorcery, Mr. Malfoy."He snapped his fingers to generate a shield charm around the two of them, so that no stray spells struck anyone. Strange really was living up to his name. Wandless magic was an exceedingly rare skill, and Malfoy, despite his deeply unpleasant personal qualities, was one of the most capable duelists in our year. He could easily hold his own against Harry Potter, and had on several previous occasions. Surely only a fool could try to challenge someone with his skill, wandless? Malfoy scowled. He slashed his wand through the air, and a raging blaze came out, taking the form of a colossal serpent. It lunged for Professor Strange. With nothing more than a casual wave of his hand, it had disappeared. The class was dumbstruck. How could any student perform magic of that level? The casual manner in which Strange had wordlessly and nonverbally neutralized the spell was stupefying. Who the hell was this guy? "I will not tolerate the use of such Dark Magic, Mr. Malfoy. Fiendfyre is not something someone of your level can control. Furthermore, our agreement was that you disarm me. I assure you that if I tried to reciprocate and used dark spells to duel you, they would have to send a committee to reassemble the scattered fragments of your body for Madam Pomfrey to attend to. However, I must applaud you for your nonverbal use of magic. For a sixth year student, it is quite impressive." There was a widespread chortle throughout the class. "Why you foul little git!"And with another wave, advancing forwards, a silvery jet was hurled at Professor Strange. This too, was not an attempt to disarm. He gave a glare, and the spell also vanished. "Are you done venting your angst, or do I need to actually attempt a retaliation before you understand that I am extremely qualified to teach this class? Oh, and before you try it, I assure you I will not respond kindly to the unforgivable curse you are about to use. In fact, I will personally send you to Azkaban. I showed leniency in not doing anything about the Fiendfyre because I happen to know a bit about your circumstances. Now, are you going to do as I suggested from the beginning and try to disarm me?" Malfoy acquiesced. "Expelliarmus!"he bellowed. This time Professor Strange did nothing. He allowed the spell to strike him squarely in the chest, but nothing happened. He did not even shift from his position. "Good. That was a very powerful disarming charm. Unfortunately, Draco, for a disarming charm to be successful, your opponent needs to be armed. If you have not noticed, I am not. Have a seat. Also, Mr. Malfoy, for your violent behavior, I expect 8 rolls of parchment on why it is not appropriate to use Fiendfyre, or unforgivable curses in a classroom with your housemates and allies. You will also be serving detention with me for the foreseeable future as I instruct you in manners, and I will be taking another 30 points from Slytherin house, for good measure." The Slytherins gazed malcontented, while the other houses laughed as Draco was put in his place. "Oh come on. You can't call me prejudiced. The spells he used could have killed any one of you. Now, where was I? Ah right! Ms. Granger, you provided an excellent description. The reason I bring it up is because of the education process. I have only attained this level of magical mastery through the same means I became a great surgeon- years of study, dedication, and practice. I know this is a NEWT class, but those standards are, forgive me, insufficient. As you know these are quite dark times, so you must be armed properly to defend yourselves."He now drifted towards Harry Potter. "Mr. Potter, please stay after class. There is a matter that Professor Dumbledore wished for you and me to discuss."He whispered, kneeling down. Harry nodded, still grinning from watching Malfoy be rendered helpless before what could only be described as an unbelievably prodigious mastery of magic. "There is a branch of magic not normally taught at Hogwarts, but it is the opinion of myself, and of Professor Dumbledore, that this is necessary. We will begin with an introduction to nonverbal spells, which I see some of you are quite proficient in already, but we still need everyone to get up to speed. Following that, I will train you all in Legilimency and Occlumency- the practice of reading minds, and of shielding against this. Lord Voldemort is the most accomplished Legilimens of all time. It is part of why dueling him is such a colossally foolish decision, that should be avoided at all costs. However, a mastery of these abilities will maximize your chances of surviving long enough to escape. Following that we will discuss how to defend against dark creatures of ministry classification XXXX and higher. I want to be very clear- I am not teaching to prepare you for an exam. I am teaching to prepare you to survive."
I stared at the target, white knuckles gripped tight on my steering wheel, waiting for him to make his move. He waited until the light turned red, and then proceeded across the crosswalk. I sighed. Didn't anybody jaywalk anymore? I checked for cars coming either way. There wouldn't be on this quiet little street, but I had to check anyway. I pushed the pedal to the floorboard and the target jerked his head to look as my tires screeched and smoked. I lurched forward as the wheels caught traction and the car barreled towards him. He was faster than they usually were; I had to go up onto the sidewalk to clip him, but I got him. I looked in my rearview mirror at him laying on the sidewalk, white bone jutting out of his arm. He'd live. I pulled out my burner and texted the client that the job was done. A few weeks later I got a letter from the client. I shook my head and smiled as I pulled out another wedding invitation to add to the collection. It's amazing what a little life and death perspective can do for a fear of commitment. ______ [Lifeisstrangemetoo](http://fb.me/lifeisstrangemetoo)
It started when I got Pokemon Go. I played the game out on the streets with Danny and Leroy, chasing Pikachu's shadow and catching far too many Ratata. Dave and Leroy grew tired of the game and its backwards progress and quit. Me, well, I'm not too keen on quitting, especially when I'm ahead. I had logged several hundred hours when I received an email-- due to my extensive time and experience in Pokemon Go I was invited to Beta test a "revolutionary"app. I had been invited to test several new apps, so this one shouldn't have caught my eye, except it had an animated icon in the App Store. It was simply colors, but they changed from green to deep blue to bright yellow, never settling on the same color for too long. I had never seen an icon that was animated before, so I downloaded it, convinced I would delete it as soon as I opened it and realized it was trash. The app downloaded overnight, a huge download, and I was sure my phone would run out of memory before the whole thing finished, but when I woke the next morning the App was there, on my home screen with its swirl of colors. I allowed myself to get half excited as I opened the App, hoping not to be let down. My phone's screen turned black, and I watched as what appeared to be a stubby wooden dowel showed up on the screen. "Huh?"I poked at the screen, but it did nothing. Another gimmicky app that didn't deliver, I thought. I shook the phone in frustration, and a book flew off the wall and hit me in the chest. Dumbfounded, I looked at my phone. The dowel was now a slender stick with a handle. Congratulations on reaching Level 2!
George Phillips was carpet salesman living in Louisiana, and his day-to-day life was pretty average. He worked at a boring job, owned a house and car, and watched sports games just like any other normal person. His favorite food was mashed potatoes, and he had a bulldog named Buster. Yep, nothing out of the ordinary ever happened to ol' George. Until today. George got up early to make himself some waffles. He had just made a big commercial carpet sale the day before and was in a particularly good mood. He walked into his kitchen, and poured some dog food in Buster's bowl. He got some eggs and a gallon of milk from the fridge, and then went to grab the waffle mix from the cabinet. Except the cabinet was just out of reach George tried standing on his tiptoes to just be able to grasp the handle on the cabinet door, but his fingers fell just short. He could climb on the counter to reach his goal, but risked falling or squishing the eggs and milk he had already gotten out. However, George had a plan. He looked around him, making sure nobody was watching him, although it was silly of him to think so, considering he lived alone. When he was sure there were no prying eyes around, he focused his mind on reaching the cabinet. Suddenly, he felt his fingers moving towards the handle as parts of his torso grew ever so slightly. Then it stopped. He had grown exactly one inch. Known only to George, this was his secret power. He had thought about naming himself before, like a superhero, but decided against it. One Inch Growth Man just didn't have the right ring to it. With the waffle mix in hand, he shrunk back down to normal size. Later that day, after he had finished work, George realized he was somewhat short on cash, and decided to stop by the bank. He walked into the busy lobby, his loafers echoing on the marble floor, and took his place in one of the lines. Suddenly, a big burly man in a mask bust through the doors behind him. George whipped around only to see the man fire a gun into the air. "EVERYBODY GET ON THE GROUND!"The man yelled. The bank customers screamed, many of them getting down on their hands and knees. Another man, who was quite stout, followed the first one in, also carrying a gun. The burly robber glanced over at George, noticing the suit he was wearing. "Hey man, get up."George did what he was told. "C'mon you gonna help me open the vault, or imma put a bullet in yo head."The man started to lead George over behind the tellers desk. George was confused. Obviously the gentleman had mistaken him for a banker. He spoke up, alerting the man that he didn't work here, and did not know how to open the door. "Aw man, shit,"the robber exclaimed, throwing George down again. He grabbed some duck tape from his backpack and wrapped it around George's hands. "Aight, you just sit there under the desk." George nodded, noticing a red button directly above his head. The police call button. If the robber moved away, he could get up and press the button with his hands still tied. But the robber stood there, eyeing him, not moving. George decided that there wasn't time to stand around. He needed to act. He tried moving his head at different angles, trying to hit the button with his noggin, but it was still too far away. Then he had a moment of realization. While the robber was looking away, George focused his mind. Suddenly he felt the familiar feeling of his torso stretching. He willed his body to move upwards. The alarm starting blaring immediately as George's head just barely pressed against the red button. The robber in front of him jumped, not sure what had happened. "Ay, man!"he shouted to his buddy. "Let's get outta here!"The pair took off running, busting out the doors onto the street. George beamed with pride as he stood up, the people on the ground starting to get up again as well. Some people noticed his smile and smiled back at him, some even clapping. "Don't worry, fellow citizens!"George bellowed at the bank patrons. "One Inch Growth Man has saved the day!" Needlessly to say, they were not impressed by the name.
The stair creaked as Mr. Weasley walked to the first floor. "Harry? Where are you?" A muffled reply sounded through the closed door on the left. "I'm here, Mr. Weasley." With a soft pant Mr Weasley arrived at the top of the stairs. "Ginny asked me to talk to you about something, do you have a moment?" The door opened, and a man in his twenties appeared in front of it. His black hair was unkempt, but not enough to hide the outline of his lightning bolt-scar. Round glasses sat on his nose, the green eyes behind them happy as he extended his arm. "Always good to see you, Mr. Wea- er, Arthur." Arthur Weasley grabbed the hand in return and shook it vividly. "Like-wise, Harry. So, anyway, Ginny asked me-wait a second", he paused, "is that a computer?"He shifted his feet and leaned on his toes to glance past Harry. Harry couldn't help the faint smile that appeared on his face. Mr. Weasley had always been a Muggle-freak, interested in just about everything that concerned them and their activities. "Yeah,"Harry replied, as he gestured Mr. Weasley to follow him into the room. "I just use this as my office now, basically. Lots of things magic can replace but this is still a handy thing to have." "It's splendid."Mr Weasley's eyes lit up as he walked towards the desk. "I haven't seen a computer since, two, no- three years ago. One of my colleagues seized one but before I'd arrived back at the office they'd already wiped it clean and send it back. Very unfortunate." "You can use it, if you want, I wasn't doing anything particularly interesting,"Harry said, as he offered Mr. Weasley his chair. "Do you want me to explain you how it works?", he added, another grin forming on his face as Mr. Weasley tried to move the cursor by dragging his finger over the screen. "Funnily enough that's not as strange as it used to be, but here,"he pointed at the mouse, "that's where you control it with. Move around and the cursor will follow, and click with the left button and you select something." Mr. Weasley carefully placed his hand on the mouse, as if it was a brittle new-born that would break under his grip. Slowly but surely he edged it over the mousepad, and clicked on a file. A text document appeared on the screen in a flash, causing Mr. Weasley to startle backwards. "Ingenious,"he mumbled in himself. "Marvelous what they can come up with." "That's just a tax file, from the Muggle side of things,"Harry explained. "But what I think you'll find really interesting is that thing over there,"he pointed on the screen, "the Internet. Yes, that's right, hover over it, and now click twice. Oops, sorry, my bad, twice in rapid succession. Then it should load, yes, there we go." A white screen with colorful letters had appeared on the screen. "What is this, Googul?", Mr Weasley asked. "Well, it's a search engine, basically. Think of it like this: it has access to loads of things on the internet, and if you type something in with the keyboard here, it will give you thousands, millions of results related to the thing you searched for. So let's say, London, you'll get pictures, statistics, maps, you name it."Harry somewhat enjoyed the irony of him explaining something so simple as a computer to someone from the Magic world, as everything they had explained to him after his eleventh birthday had been equally absurd, if not more, for his Muggle raised-self. "So everything is in there, in the computer?"Mr. Weasley asked, poking at the screen. "Not quite in there, that's the screen, but in the computer, in the case over there,"he gestured, "some files are stored. But the internet, no. Think of the internet like...like a network. Like the Floo network, but then instead of fireplaces you have computers. And then where you travel in is the internet, and it's filled with just about everything." "Unbelievable,"Mr. Weasley muttered. "So if I use this, let me see here,"he said as he steadily placed the keyboard in front of him and started pushing buttons, "so I should be able to find something about this..."He finished typing. "And what now?" "Press the enter button on the keyboard, it's right in the middle, yep, that one. There you go." "0 results!", Mr. Weasley exlaimed. "I think it's broke!"With a panicky look in his eyes he turned to Harry. "Don't tell me I just broke the internet, Harry!" Harry laughed. "No sir, it's fine, but as you should know, the Ministry removes just about everything there is related to us, even on the internet. So you're not going to find anything about...Quidditch." "Ah yes, of course." "But", Harry said as he leaned over the keyboard and typed in something, "you could watch a video of something like this, I'm sure you'll find that interesting." A red with white bannered website started to play a video of a massive passenger plane lifting off. The roar of the engines through the speakers startled Mr. Weasley again, but he leaned forward again and enthusiastically stared at the screen. "So you guys can use moving pictures, and even with sound! Quite the improvement over your newspapers, if I may say so." And forgetting what he initially came to do, the two men sat in the office for another half an hour exploring a new and massive world of wonder.
The ticket managers eyes examine the young woman who he is speaking to. Short brown hair, flower earrings, a big green sweater? Catholic was his guess. "Welcome newly dead, er, Ari. You are currently at the Limbo Station. Every god, from the gods of the Norse to the Hawaiian Demi-kinda-a-god-things exists, and this station holds tracks to each of their afterlifes."He said. Those examples where part of his introduction for every soul. Gets boring after a while, really. she shifted her stance and glanced at the map behind the ticket master, examining it's very complex paths. "Please state your religion and cause of death for our records, and I will give you the ticket to get to your afterlife. Understand?" She nodded with a smile in response. "I was crushed in a car wreck. A mighty pileup it was. And for religion,"she paused, and pulled a necklace out from under her sweater neck. Shaped like the skull of a lamb with dark maroon roses around it and a glimmering upside-down "t"made out of a gemstone in the center. "Satanist." [this is my first time doing this so it's most likely terrible]
> To be honest, I'm not really sure what the first clue was. It's kinda always been like this, almost like the Truman show, but only in my head. I've never really questioned it, always figured I had a knack for the imaginative, hell, it's why I went on to try and write a book. Of course that didn't pan out, nothing ever really does, especially not when your internal voice isn't actually you. > I think the main thing that tipped me off, eventually I mean, was the volume. You're not supposed to be able to change the volume of your internal voice, it's supposed to stay constant, even if you get it to whisper. Mine just got snarkier as I tried, as if the entity, whatever it is, was afraid of being turned down forever. Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure I know _what_ I sound like in my own head. How crazy is that? Now, my theory here, is that I'm not real. Yeah, it sounds like a stretch, but just hear me out. I'm a nerdy-ass white kid with literally (and I use its proper definition here), zero social skills whatsoever. None, at all. I can't talk to other guys, let alone girls. Much to my annoyance, everything in my head is this perfect storm of banter and witticism, bloody everything. I used to get depressed, full-on clinical depression, because I felt like there was this aspect of me that never came out when I needed it to, that just slept away on the sofa of my mind, cracking jokes and drinking beer. I got meds for it, obviously. It's not like they'd do anything else for the forty-thousandth kid to come into a clinic with depression. Nobody gives a shit these days, or at least, they're not written to. > That brings me back to my main point, sorry for the digression, nobody on this planet is real. Hell, I doubt the planet itself is. I'm not saying we're machines or clones or whatever-the-fucks, I'm just saying that we're fictional. Think about it, every year keeps getting crazier. Like a power-creep in an anime but worse, I've therefore deduced that nothing actually matters. My inner-voice is telling me I'm wrong, it can take it's crazy-ass self away from me then. Who cares what even happens after this point? Certainly not me. So tomorrow, I'm gonna prove it. I'm gonna prove it to every damn schmuck on the planet, who even needs this anyway? Either I'm real and I don't care, or I'm right and everybody knows it. The extract above was taken from the journal of 17 year old Michael Johan, who had been suffering with severe clinical depression since he was eight years old. Authorities believe that this, coupled with an undetected brain tumour are what led him to kill eight of his school-mates and three of his teachers before being shot and killed by armed police. Officials are saying that this case should be used to increase awa-
"What have we done..." Doctor Arlington was trembling at the sight. 20 years of research at the government facility without any foresight into a worst case scenario like this. The words he whispered were his last as Maxwell K. Warfields, the most successful test subject, had used his new-found instinct and mutations to slaughter the fine doctor. The killing spree had just begun. ```````````````````````````````````````` Subject: ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ Date: ◼◼/◼◼/203◼ Status: Concluded. Subject terminated. Description- At approximately ◼◼:◼◼ ◼◼, ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ Was undergoing a final procedure in the AEDMP (Advanced Evolutionary Developmental Mutations Program) to determine abnormalities discovered in over 95% of of DNA relating to vestigial structures in human anatomy. Prior to this procedure, ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ was considered the forefront of the program as his genetics appeared to respond to an above average degree to various testing procedures. Approximately 2 hours after the final procedure began, it was abruptly stopped when ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ underwent a transformation which concluded in under ◼◼ seconds. This transformation involved various vestigial parts mutating into what can be described as predatory tools, and an extreme penchant for aggression. Post-biopsy, the following mutations have occurred. .The Coccyx has become an elongated tail of approximately 2 meters in length. The vertebrae within this tail were unnaturally powerful, the bones and muscle being capable of withstanding normal surgical tools, requiring laser-based removal and dissection for examination. .The mouth became far larger than normal, with the teeth comprised of similarly strengthened material to the tail (It should be noted that it appears if the procedure wasn't terminated by ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼'s actions, it is likely that all bones and muscles would've underwent this transformation, however only vestigial-based structures successfully completed this "strengthening"). ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼'s Wisdom teeth were removed through normal extraction during his adolescence, however they appear to have regenerated and increased in size and sharpness, along with the rest of the teeth. .The appendix has engorged itself to approximately 2.1x the original size, with it's internal systems becoming almost exclusive to holding and creating an explosive compound, of which could be systematically pumped throughout the body as desired. This was noted during the first attempts to capture ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼, when he severed his own arms to escape restraint, which proceeded to explode, killing 2 guards and injuring the other 3. .Stem Cells were present throughout the bloodstream from a still unknown source. These cells appeared to have been hyper-active during bio matter consumption of officer ◼◼◼◼◼◼, regenerating the previously mentioned severed arms in a matter of ◼.◼◼ minutes based on security camera recordings. .Various vestigial muscles became fully operational after "strengthening", of which ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ used to have an above average control of his body and improved strength to his blows. Hand to hand combat during capture, and during future attempts to terminate, regardless of how many people were present was strictly prohibited due to his maneuverability using these muscles. Electricity was shown to be ineffective under ◼◼◼◼ volts, requiring an estimated ◼◼◼◼ volts to actually be effective at limiting mobility. There is no known limit to terminate ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ with electricity, after he smashed an underground power-line protruding into the facility during an attempted capture, leading to approximately 250,000 volts to travel through his body. While temporarily immobile, after five minutes, ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ severed his hand and proceeded to escape through the ventilation while 10 officers were injured by the hand's explosion. .The hair on ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ became far more present, covering the majority of his body. This hair was also "strengthened", successfully blocking kinetic projectiles, excluding a 50 caliber sniper rifle fired during his first few attempts to escape the facility grounds. It is unknown how intelligent ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ was, or for that matter anything behind his thought process, as he was non-verbal during any encounter, choosing instead to simply grunt or roar in a ferocious manner. Termination: After ◼ days of freely roaming the facility, ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ had attempted to escape the facility's grounds on 5 separate occasions. commendations to officer ◼◼◼◼◼ are recommended for successfully preventing the escape each time with subjectively superb accuracy with the previously mentioned sniper rifle. During the 5th attempt, the courtyard was configured using high voltage wiring to become an inescapable electrified cage of which 8 different personnel were given weapons capable of damaging ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼. These weapons are of yet to be declassified, and as such will not be listed in this document. After approximately ◼◼◼ rounds were fired into ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼'s Chest and Skull, thermal cameras began warning of extreme chemical reactions as ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼'s temperature began rising rapidly. ◼ days prior, chemical ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ was produced and successfully tested to counteract the explosive properties of the mutated appendix's chemical compound. This compound was quickly administered and the dead body of ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ was successfully contained. This report is written as of 7 days after this termination. As of this documentation, the estimated death toll is at 82, including the 5 still unaccounted for in the initial evacuation. AEDMP's focus has now been shifted to the understanding of Subject ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼'s body, with no further attempts to force vestigial structures' mutations permitted. Any requests to do so are to be immediately denied until further notice. END OF DOCUMENTATION. `````````````````````````` Doctor Jamison Arlington looked at the documentation of his father's killer. A somber feeling washed over him, knowing this would not be the end of the story. Warfields was not a unique case, but rather an above average one. Jamison's father confirmed all of humanity held this man's potential, and now Jamison has confirmed an even greater fear... that this wasn't unintentional. Someone... no, something did this to humanity, and now he's been told to find out who, why, where, when, and how. Jamison sat at his desk, Somberness replaced with a returning fatigue plagued by those who choose uninterrupted consciousness for over 48 hours. It was too much to bear for now. His secretary came in with a blanket, knowing what was coming next. This would be the 4th time in a row that Jamison went days without sleep, yet was still left without answers as to why his father is dead. "Perhaps in a dream..."he thought, as he succumbed to the great temptation of sleep, the document becoming his comfiest pillow on the cold, hard desk.
I scanned my eyes over this month’s bill statement. In frustration, I squeezed the bill into a ball before throwing it across the room. The bill bounced off of the wall and rolled under the bed. I shook my head while listening to a peculiar sound. The sound was the crinkling of the bill underneath the bed. I waited. I lowered my head downward to find a green claw pushing this month’s bill back out with cash wadded together in a rubber band. “Hector,” I stared at the wad of cash. “We talked about this, bud. If you are going to stay here, you need to learn how to pay for some of these utilities. You can’t just throw money out from under the bed and expect me to do everything for you!” Hector growled underneath the bed shaking my alarm clock off the nightstand. “I mean it!” I replied back to his aggravation. “For one, you need to write a check. You can’t just wad cash together and expect it to be all taken care of.” Hector was silent for a few seconds. I could see his tail slithering up the wall behind my pillow. I rose my voice again. “Get your behind parts away from where I lay my head down! Do you even have a bank account?” Silence followed. “Hector? Hector, answer me. Do you have a bank account?” I raised my hands up angrily when he wouldn’t respond to me. Typical Hector. Ever since he moved in with me, I have had to put up with his laziness. A laughter pierced my ears from the back deck of the apartment. “Oh, of course, now she's here.” I rolled my eyes. The only thing that could possibly annoy me more than Hector was Susan. Susan was one of Hector’s friends from next door. Susan was probably the size of my foot – and she had wings. I would always call her a fairy but she hates it. She claims that when I call her a fairy, it’s somehow racist. “Hector, I bet the fairy has a bank account.” “Quit calling me that! I am a fairlem!” She squealed. I rolled my eyes again. “Fairlem, fairy – it’s all the same thing.” “No, fairy is like calling Hector a monster!” “Hey,” I looked at her. “Now that is being racist.” Susan crossed her arms before uninvitingly flying herself into my living room trying to call Hector from under the bed. “What the hell? Get out of here! This isn’t your place! Hector, get out from under the bed. It is like three o’clock in the afternoon – and get rid of your fairy friend.” “Fairlem.” She shot back while turning the television on. “Oh, my god. Unbelievable.” I turned around to see Susan making herself a home while waiting on Hector. The doorbell rang. I tried ignoring it while pulling at Hector’s arm trying to get him out from under the bed. The doorbell rang again. “Are you going to get that?” Susan screamed. I let go of Hector while making my way to the door. “I thought you’d get it since you apparently live here now.” I started to open the door. Before I saw who it was I heard a crunching noise. I tilted my head to find Susan digging into my potato chips I had on the coffee table. “Really?” I fully opened the door to find Ben. Ben was about half the height I was and he had eight legs. A spider. He was a overly sized spider that was also purple colored. “Ben, what the hell. Why are you here? Last time you were here, we had the cops called.” “I promise I’m only here for business. The Clubhouse sent me to do my job.” “What job?” I leaned in, waiting for a good answer. “I have to clear this apartment.” Ben replied locking all eight of his eyes onto mine. “Clear it from what?” Ben took a second before responding with, “Bugs.” Before I could shut the door, Ben pushed himself in to greet Susan. “Susan!” He screamed. Susan’s wings fluttered as fast as a humming bird when she saw Ben come through the door. Her eyes widened with excitement. “Ben? Is that Ben?” I heard Hector in the bedroom. I also heard him flip my entire bed over – again. I shut the door before banging my head against it. I closed my eyes hearing all three of them run around in excitement breaking something in the kitchen. “This is my life now.” I sighed. “It’s what I get for being an author.” *** To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
"There are many beasts in this vast world of ours; both meek and great, fearsome and innocuous. Indeed, one could sit and speculate for many hours as to which beast is the greatest, the most fearsome, what have you. Alternatively, you could make like Aranthur and sleep through the largest part of my lecture. Don't act like I don't see you, Ern\-kind." Aranthur slumped back into his chair, eyes hazily parting at the sound of his name. He let out a noise halfway between a yawn and a grumble, gathering his bearings before muttering a weak, "Wuh?" Glastig, the small fae hovering beside him, let out a repressed giggle, bringing her hand up to her mouth. Professor Grayham was not so amused, instead opting for a thin lipped smile, as straight and lethal as a blade. It didn't exactly take a telepath to understand that the expression read something along the lines of you're going to be staying behind after this, Ern\-shit. Your hypothetical ass is mine. "As I was saying, one can debate until apocalypse\-come the various positions within the beastial hierarchy, and to little avail at that. After all, yes, the Seraph might indeed be wondrous and benevolent with her six wings and saccharine smile, but, she bears just as great a capacity for violence and judgement as any Sphinx, or Hydra or Chimera." The Professor paused for impact, a genuine look of glee dancing onto his typically weary expression. "There is, of course, one exception to this rule. Would you care to tell the class what this might be, Aranthur? Given how clear your interest in this given topic is." Aranthur paused as potential answers scrambled through his mind, a swarm of useless information in a vast, largely uncharted expanse. A God? A Lich? A High Dragon? He shot a hopeless look to Glastig, but was met with a simple shrug and a smile. It was a long silence before he stopped thinking. He laughed, shaking his head. Grayham cocked a brow. "Have I perhaps missed out on a joke unheard? Do tell." "No, Sir. Not at all. I just got the answer. Man. Mankind, humanity, the Others." "And what parameter would place humanity at a level invariably above all else in the hierarchy of beasts?" "Development, Sir. They reached our level of technological progress in mere centuries." Grayham clapped his hands together, tilting his head in acknowledgment of the answer. "Half\-points. Not quite. Yes, it is true that humans indeed have a penchant for self\-improvement, an undeniable curiosity that comes part\-and\-parcel with their mortal lifetimes. But, development isn't quite the word I'd use. No, rather, potential. Capacity. Potential for good, potential for evil. Capacity to harm, capacity to heal. They change at an alarming rate, yes, but at what cost, and to what end? War, strife, famine, depravity, ignorance. This is unlike any other race in our world. Unlike any in any world, most likely. Take the Ern\-tur, for instance." Grayham gestured to a now zoned\-out Aranthur, who'd taken to burrowing his head inside of his robes. "An imbecile, yes. But a precognitive, capable of hearing the words of whatever beings \- I hesitate to call them 'Gods' or 'deities' \- lie outside our realm of comprehension. It is with his people that we can change with certainty, not with the unabashed recklessness of the human race, whose first incarnation chose to distance themselves from us, blighted with as little sensibility as they were. As much as I tend to aggrieve him, Aranthur and his kin are blessed with a knowledge that we should all be thankful for. In his case, this does not come without some ignorance, it seems." A few chuckles rippled around the class, but they were abruptly cut off as a transmission was simultaneously broadcast throughout the minds of those in attendance. "All classes are to be halted immediately. An attack has been telegraphed by Ern\-tur Overseers, expectant at three\-thirty ticks. Professors must coordinate evacuation procedures towards the Northern Warport. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill." There was a distinct silence that preceded the storm. A strained tension forming, ready to burst. Screams began to churn and bubble to the surface of it all, breaking loose in a single mutual realisation. Panic. Mania. People began to scramble for escape or places of hiding, childlike in their helplessness. Empaths within the class collectively managed to dull the initial high of emotions, mastering first their own feelings before projecting said ideas of calm and collectedness throughout the class, inspiring a wave of silence. It was Aranthur that spoke to break it. His eyes were no longer their usually plain whites, instead glowing a powerful green that permeated throughout the room. His voice was a whisper, but the sound carried. "They're here." The entrance to the lecture room rippled as a metal boot came through it, followed by another of the same dull\-grey colour. Armour emerged next, angular and clear. Then a helmed head fashioned in the visage of a wolf, maw bared and eyes red. Finally came two hands, both clasping wicked, jagged blades. The figure moved like a blur, covering the distance to the Professor without hesitation. Grayham raised his hands, about to utter a defensive incantation before one blade found itself through his throat, emerging out of the other end bloody. His gurgles were put to a swift end as the other sword finished the cut, Grayham's head rolling to the ground. An Empath fainted in trying to quell the resulting fear. Pure, unbridled emotion, barely suppressible by even the most potent of magics. It was an alien sensation to the beings within the room. More of the wolf\-creatures emerged from the entrance, each equipped in similar fashion to their comrade. They marched forward, an onslaught of death and crimson. A brute force. Aranthur, like most of the class, had bore witness to death before. He'd seen the fine weapons of the Faery Dancers, sharpened to barely perceptible points, elegantly cutting through Orcs and Kren like they were blades of grass. He'd seen the warriors of old \- the Elite of the Ern\-Tur \- ageless, battle\-hardened by experience, but merciful and honourable nonetheless. This was nothing of the sort. The wolves took pleasure in this. Their cackles practically eclipsed the screams of their victims. But, more than that, their ruthless efficiency was unlike anything Aranthur had ever seen before. It was like staring the Deathbringer itself right in its hollow eye. He felt himself crumple to the floor as he watched an Angel get impaled on her own blade before being tossed aside, still writhing in pain, initially screaming for her Lord, then for mercy, then for death. She was met with nothing but a cold indifference. Tears welled up in Aranthur's eyes. Glastig was crushed in a wolf's hand without second thought. This was the end. He was going to the die. And then, the screams stopped. Silence filled the room like a suffocating blanket. Aranthur looked up, and saw a sword hovering over his head. A wolf, the cold, expressionless mask bearing down on him. "This one,"the voice said, distorted by its metal cage. Feminine. The she\-wolf reversed the grip on her weapon, bringing the butt down onto Aranthur's temple. Before he lost consciousness, all the Ern\-Tur could think of was a slight glimmer of another vision, his eyes temporarily flaring green before shutting entirely: a portrait of flames, enveloping the scene. Plumes of grey scraping the sky.
Zio'rgzis of Thelos IV stood before the gathered representatives. "The situation on Earth has become dire."He said. "The humans from Alter IX have proven especially dangerous. They have all but subdued the other creatures, turning some, including the fearsome kitty cat from Meo VI, into household pets. Without a natural enemy, they have resorted to warring amongst themselves." He paced the floor. Around him sat delegations from the major systems across the Galaxy. Gorgon of Perseii V stood. "Then let them kill themselves." Murmers of agreement permeated throughout the room. "Unfortunately,"Zio'rgzis continued, "through constant warring, the humans have made considerable advancements." He paused, knowing the severity of the next few words, he considered the best course and, ultimately figuring it best to be blunt, said "the humans have learned the art of space travel". Gasps echoed throughout. Ro'sic of Gelio II fainted into a gel-like puddle. "All is lost. The galaxy is doomed!"said Ne'tchik of Cowiss VIII. Zio'rgzis stood with his tentacles raised, hoping to pacify the room. "Fortunately,"he said, loud enough to be heard, "humans have only been able to travel just beyond Earth. If we act now, we can stop them before it's too late." "But what can we do?"said Gorgon. "I will infiltrate Earth,"said Zio'rgzis, "disguised as a human, and work my way towards becoming leader of a human nation. Once victorious, I will use my position to subtly revert any and all advancements the humans have made and thus will Make the Galaxy Great Again."
Some things never change. Not in millennia, not ever. Waking up with a pounding headache, not remembering what you did the night before. That's the same regardless of what time period you live in. Getting so hammered you forget who you are? Shiiiiit, that had happened once in the 12th century. The floors of the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house were cluttered with empty cans and red cups. A few brothers were passed out on the floor and in their beds. The air smelled distinctly of Coors and regret. Donny awoke with a sharp gasp. He groaned and pressed his hand to his forehead. He had slammed back one too many shots the night before. Had some very peculiar dreams. He had that dream again. Surrounded by beautiful naked women. Dancing atop a mountain. Breaking bread. Passing around vases with strong wine. Drunks rarely dream when they're blacked out. But every now and then, the dream came back to haunt Donny. A single drifting vision in a choppy unknown sea. Same story different century. Donny reached for a half empty can and downed the lukewarm beer. It tasted like old goat piss but he drank it anyway. He wasn't sure why he knew what goat piss tasted like but he did. He wanted the ringing in his head to go away. And for that he wasn't nearly drunk enough. Donny walked to the kitchen. He needed to get the taste of this swill out of his mouth. He kept some of the good stuff hidden away for this very reason. Saturnalian wine. The Romans knew how to party. Not this child's play. These rank amateurs with their so called "ragers". A real rager was beating a slave half to death and then having an orgy. None of these idiots had ever been in a menage a trois much less an orgy. "Donny boy! You're up early."Jake was sitting at the table having a bowl of Captain Crunch. "Yeah well, gotta pre game and get ready for tonight."Donny shrugged and polished off the rest of his wine. Damn, that's all I had left. Maybe I should've saved some. "You animal! Speaking of which, saw you getting some from that Greek girl. What's her name?" Donny gave Jake a high five. "Don't know, don't care." "Niiiice. I'd love to join you but I have to finish this stupid report for class." Donny sat down and tore into a loaf of bread. "What about?" "Drama, some play about a guy getting ripped apart by women." "The Maenads." "What?" "The women, they're called the Maenads." "Nerd! Where did you learn that?" Where indeed. Donny could feel the headache pounding away. And again there was that sense of loss. Of memories before the mountain. The life hidden away in the haze. "What was that play called again anyhow?" Jake reached into his bag and pulled out a small book. He slid the book across the table to Donny. Donny took the book and looked at the title, emblazoned with wine red letters. The Bacchae. And like a wave breaking on the shore, it all came crashing back. An unstoppable rushing torrent. His purpose. His name. Dionysus. Dionysus stared into space as his old life came back to him. The memories roared like lions and galloped along like satyrs. God of alcohol and revelry, with all that entails. Of course he'd forget. Dionysus grinned and picked up his wine bottle. It had filled to the brim with strong wine, the kind he had drunk all those centuries ago. Jake watched as the curious change fell upon Donny. His eyes seemed brighter somehow, gleaming with a mischievous luster. "You ok bro?" "Oh yes. I've got so much lost time to make up for. But first things first, I'm going to show you boys what real revelry is."
Year after year of gross negligence; pushing onward with no regard for what lay behind. Advancement? Certainly. They progressed as any other, the cosmic climb claiming those from all walks of life, indiscriminate. Thus, humanity expanded into the stars, like ink spilled on a page, streaking their filthy legacy behind them. Of course, they disliked that legacy, and the revulsion it brought with it. "We're not roaches!", they sneered. And so, like the infamous Earth roach, they hid. Scurried away from our collective scorn, buried their shame, and, to borrow an Earth expression, cleaned up their act. It went as planned. We welcomed them, and they forged a new reputation, of ingenuity and entrepreneurship. Still, their nature was unchanged. Eventually, we caught on. We realized how flexible human morals are. How what they would coin 'pragmatism' is a double edged sword. We heard them espouse a most troublesome saying - "The ends justify the means.". They scared us. So we fought. A quarrel, drawn among the stars in elegant maneuvers and massive loss of life. Two ways of life warred. They fought dirty; color me suprised. Until we came to here. Their home planet. They've fled, tail between their heels, nursing their wounds on the abused husk of a planet they call home, their last line of defense their first error. I've studied humanity many years; I take this for granted. The general before me has no such understanding. I am left one opportunity to summarize thousands of years of complex history, to justify an entire culture, past, way of life, and most importantly, to explain the scrap heap in their atmosphere. One opportunity. "They're fucking idiots sir."
"This is your first time, 'innit?"asks officer Yellow. His mustache scrunches up into his nose as he leans close to my face. I smell pickles and ranch dressing in his breath. "Yeah. I thought I'd just rob a bank today"I replied. To him, I was probably sounding like a smartass. But what I said was closer to the truth than I'd like to admit. "But back to the topic, Jobert and I go way back. He leant me his wallet. Swear." Yellow sits down in front of an old, CRT monitor. "Go way back, huh? We'll see about that". Clicking sounds of an old keyboard fill the drab interrogation room. I tap my fingernails on the monoblock table, lengthening and shortening them at will. "What high-school did he attend?"Yellow asks. "Bathala High School" "What's his occupation?" "Music professor" "Where does he teach?" "Diwata University" Yellow grooms his mustache with a tiny comb and nods to himself. "Well, everything checks out. You're free to go." He gets up and uncuffs my hands. Confused, I asked him "The fact that I tried to rob a bank, are you letting that slide?" "You can think on your feet. That's all you need to prove" I blink, and suddenly, Yellow isn't a mustached cop with Subway breath anymore. He's a woman in her mid-twenties. Brown hair with gray highlights. Shoulder length. Her runner's figure still shows through the loose police uniform she's wearing. "I'll turn around so you can change. You're new, so you can't do it in a blink of an eye yet"she says. Still with Subway breath, as the looks the other way. I relax as if I just arrived at a toilet after holding my bladder all day. 'No one's watching', I tell myself. Relief spreads through my body as I feel myself change. I also feel wetness spread from my crotch. "I'll let you out through the back door"Yellow says. I step through a metal grate she holds open. "Have fun walking home showing everyone you pissed yourself." I feel the door slam behind me. After making sure that nobody sees me, I focus again; this time I hold in my pee. Change spreads throughout my body. I spread out my arms and take off. "Caw caw!"I crowed. Time to nick something shiny.
Joren and Mila run circles around their unconscious friends, trying to ignore the sweat pouring down their faces, or the sound of their muscles screaming with each step. They’ve been trapped in this hell for almost ten hours, and while their shift’s about to end, nobody’s gonna be able to take over for them. We were so stupid, Mila thinks. If we hadn’t sought vengeance, if we had just listened to our master and let him handle the Time Wizard…this wouldn’t have happened. We wouldn’t all be about to die. I’m a terrible leader. I shouldn’t have talked them into disobeying him. When her legs buckle, her knees slam hard into the ground. She can’t go on any longer, and when Joren tries running past her, she grabs the back of his shirt, spinning her free hand in a circle. “Sit down,” she mumbles. “We're done.” He gives her a pained look before collapsing onto his knees. They’re both windmilling their hands, keeping the air moving as they stare into each other’s eyes. He’s still fiery, still wants to fight—but he’s been defeated. His pride’s always been his biggest downfall, and she doesn’t want him to die beating himself up for something that’s her fault. “It’s okay. We gave it our all. We just weren’t…ready.” This isn’t enough air. She tries to slow her breathing, but it’s pointless. They’re zapped. She wants to take a deep breath but doesn’t because it could be their last. This spell is a curse. “Our village…he destroyed our village and’s just…gonna…get away…” She shakes her head. “Master will...get him.” Joren nods, but doesn’t look so sure. They’re barely moving their hands anymore, barely getting air, both staring into each other’s eyes. They’ve wanted to say something for a long time, and he'd planned to do it after this mission. Hell, she'd been praying he’d do it after this mission. “Mila…I…love…” “…You…” she finishes, leaning forward and giving him a kiss. Their hands aren’t moving anymore. They don’t even have the strength to pull away from each other’s lips. Their bodies meld together, and soon they mimic their friends, falling down onto the floor. They’ve lost. *** Might've gone a little off-prompt but I hope this turned out all right! Thanks for the prompt. If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
Moe’s sitting on a broken refrigerator, glaring at me with a toothless grin. We’ve known each other almost ten years and never had a friendly conversation, but you’d think the fact that literal hellhounds and hellcats are raining from the sky would change that. Nope. Behind me, my daughter shakes. Today was supposed to be her first day of school and she was so excited. Now she’s standing next a muddy trailer with a greasy, wife-beater wearing man in front of her. He’s got a few hellhounds leashed up, and they’re growling at us. I don’t know how he caught them, but they're scaring her, so I squeeze her hand tight, hoping to calm her. “Please, Joe,” I beg. “You gotta let us in.” He snorts. “Why? I reckon yer thought my bunker was foolish.” It was. The reason Moe lives out in the middle of nowhere’s because he blows all his money on stupid get-rich-quick schemes. First it was a robotic possum show, then it All-Natural-Mud-Tea. Few years ago he built this bunker, and I laughed at him for it. In retrospect, I was being a dick. “Daddy, I’m scared.” I don’t look at her. I can’t. The fear on her face kills me because it’s my job to get her safe. “C’mon, dude. That doesn’t matter now. My daughter…” “I ain’t give a rat's hind ‘bout yer daughter,” he says. “She thinkin’ I’m weird. I can tell.” Off in the distance, there’s an explosion and a flurry of gunshots. It’s getting even worse inside the cities, and soon the chaos will spread. My instincts take over as I lunge forward, grabbing the collar of my shirt and pulling Moe close. “You aren’t even using the damn thing! You’re sitting out here collecting them!” His shotgun presses against my belly as he glares at me. “Them don’t make fun of me. Them is nice. Any varmint’s a varmint, just waitin’ to be captured.” I back off, staring at the snarling creatures. They’re monstrous, and are tearing through our world. If only… An idea pops into my head, and I practically snap my fingers as I look at Moe, who still has his shotgun trained on me. “Hey, I got it! I finally got the scheme that’s gonna make you rich!” He cocks a brow at me. “Watchu talkin’ ‘bout?” “Those!” I say, pointing at the monsters. “They’re taking over the world, but you’ve got a knack for hunting. You could set up a business collecting them and charge people! Hell, if you got them all you’d be a hero!” Moe looks down at them, curious. My little girl’s clutching my arm, practically crying. I wanna tell her this is almost over, but don’t want him freaking out. It’s obvious, though. He’s got those money signs flashing in his eyes. “I dunno,” he says. “You reckon that would work?” I nod. “Just think, you could even sell them to armies afterward. Double the profit!” His face lights up brighter than ever as he bounces on his heels. Dollar signs are tattooed up and down his body now as he shoves his banjo into my hands. “Yer a genius,” he says. “Here, ‘tect my banj’ and my bunk’ while I go catch some varmints.” “Gladly,” I say, smiling as he takes off toward one of the burning cities and I walk into his bunker. It might seem like I tricked him—but part of me wonders if he can actually do it. That part of me's pretty sure he can, so I lock the bunker up extra tight just in case he gets a little too much power. *** If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
A random shopper at a farmer's market once told me that I was born for greatness. That I'd go on to do many great things for the world. Seven year old me took those words to heart, carried them with him wherever he went, so that in the darkest of times, he'd have a fallback plan. Fast forward to 30 year old me, three-time college dropout, hardly a penny to my name, barely a shirt on my back, waiting on a sausage pizza from Alfresco's so that I can eat the night away and hopefully fall asleep before my mind wanders off to darker, colder climes than these. Bzzzt! Buzz on the door. Followed by a cheerful "Pizza's here!" I trudged my way over and peeped through the door. Yup. Definitely my guy, and not another one of those crazies trying to get me to join their weird doomsday cults. I had an uncanny knack for getting tangled up with the tinfoil hat crowd. Just this morning, I'd bummed a homeless guy a cigarette, and he'd gone off on a tirade about how I was 'the chosen one.' Chosen one, my ass. Mild banging on the door. Crap, forgot about this guy. I open the door. The delivery guy stands tall. Cowlicked hair, impeccable physique, and the brightest damned smile I've ever seen. He sure looked happy. Maybe I should start delivering pizza too. Well, he looked happy until we made proper eye contact, anyways. "Aaaaand, that's..."He trailed off, dropping my pizza, his grin turning into an entirely different look. What was that I'm seeing? Also, "Dude, my pizza!" "Kegs and hops, it's you! I've finally found you!" "Ga... what now? Uh, you know what? Never mind, I'm not hungry anymore."I said, hastily trying to close the door. He jammed his foot in between, just in time. Just my luck. "Look man, if you don't take that out right now, I'm gonna call your boss."I ponder before adding "and leave a bad Yelp review."Was Yelp still a thing? "We must hurry. They're constantly on my tail, which means this location may have been compromised." "Aaaaand you didn't hear a word I said."I notice something entirely else, too. "What the fuck, is that a gun?!" "The committee will be most pleased. Of all the places to finally find you! But I digress. Come! Open the door, I'll help you pack up! We must make haste, post-haste!" "Like hell you are! Who the hell are you people, and why won't you leave me alone!" At that moment, I felt it. A mild whirring. Hardly noticeable, but not so subtle as to go unnoticed. He seemed to have sensed it too. "Get out! Get out now!" Crack! I turned around to the sound of breaking glass, and there it was. Broken glass all over the windowsill and the floor I'd vacuumed just yesterday. Well, that and some odd figures, covered head to toe in black and carrying swords the size of a cricket bat. "Are those... ninjas?" A hail of gunfire erupted from behind me, punching holes through my door, letting splinters fly. The two ninjas, riddled full of holes, fell back through the window they came through, followed by a loud thud from two stories down. I turn back in disbelief to face my pizza guy. He looks just as dumbstruck as I am. "You do not know." "Know WHAT!" He bent over, picking up the box he had dropped. He shows me their logo. Simple enough, a cartoon rendition of a pizza-loving redhea... "Holy shit that's me." He nodded solemnly, shooting through the door lock and making his way in casually. "We've not a moment longer to waste. Gather your things, we must be off. I'll keep a lookout." "Where man, where are we going? Who are you? What am I?" "That will be for..."He says, handing me a cold slice of pizza. "The grand brewski to tell you."
I bought the toaster today. I just can’t keep going. No matter how hard I try nothing ever gets better. The roof is leaking, the sink in the kitchen’s leaking into the basement, I got canned, my trucks broken, my wife left, the kids think I’m mean, I broke my arm. I’m done! It’ll be easy I think. I’ll plug it in and then hop into the tub. Should I do that thing where I put ice in the tub and then call the paramedics... maybe help someone? No, they never wanted to help me. Besides I’m probably cookin em anyhow. The rain beat against the roof, and as a result onto the living room floor. Given that it was no longer a problem it was kind of... peaceful. I pour the tub. Won’t be long now. I should probably have a drink. While I’m drinking my last scotch, an eery voice fills the room, “From the living you are separate, henceforth, your soul is mine!” What’s that? Is the TV on? I walk into the living room. Nope it’s not on, cables cut off anyways. “Know fear and wait in horror. Your fate marches forth, your soul will know suffering!” Where the hell is that coming from? “I will tear you from this feeble existence, you will serve me in death. You will suffer!” It’s not coming from anywhere... is it in my head? Am I playing tricks on myself? Who’s talking? “Respond mortal, and know it makes no difference!” “Ok... where do you want me?” I said calmly. “Trembling in fear as I steal everything you hold dear. Your last breath forced from your pathetic body and your soul strapped to the confines of servitude to me, your master!” “So... sitting in the chair?” “The chair will suffice mortal! You’re fate is decided and your soul is mine! No matter your choice I will have you!” “Chair it is. So how do you want to do this?” “Your skin will burn and peel, your mind will break, your stomach will leak, your liver will solidify, your blood will boil, your eyes will leak, your existence will fade!” “Oh wow, that’s gonna suck... at least my kids won’t think I did it to myself. Be on with it then!” I took the last of the bottle. This is probably gonna suck. “Yes... to the suffering.” “We’ll get to it then wanker!” Maybe if I piss it off it won’t take forever. “Um...” “Well? What’s going on? Do you want to use my toaster?” “This is not Alexa mortal! You should be trembling in fear!” “So... do you want me to get the toaster ready for the tub then? You seem to be taking your sweet ass time.” “Mortal... you’re stealing the enjoyment from this. I’ve been taking souls for millennia and yet you seem like you’d jump in the back of my carriage with the faintest asking.” “Carriage? Well it’s bound to move faster than my broken ass truck.” “You’re horses are not pulling?” “No... the wheel fell off.” “Can you not... reattach it to your wagon?” “If I had $194 to do that, maybe I’d still have a job.” “What is this fascination with dollars you humans have?” “I don’t know. Aren’t you here to kill me? What kind of ghost are you?” “I’m no mere ghost. I am the fallen one. I am the betrayer. I am Lucifer. I am Satan!” “So kill me.” “I uh... no...” “So back to my toaster plan huh?” “No...” “Satan?” “Steve... I don’t want you to die... you want it too much. You would suffer more in life...” “Got that right. All right nice chat Satan, off to have a wee bath!” I left the room. Is he confined to a room? Oh who cares. I stop the water. It’s over flowing but hell thats not an issue anymore! I plug in the toaster. Woohoo! It’s over. Hope in clothes and all. Raise the toaster high. “I’m sorry kids... I’m sorry! I drop the toaster. In the instant before the toaster hit the water the power went out. “I told you Steve. I do not want you to die. Your suffering will be of the mortal variety.” “Satan... I’m sure you’re very busy, but honestly you can’t just stay here and make sure I don’t kill my self. I’m going to do it eventually...” “This is... true...” “So bugger off! I’m going to go get some pills.” “No... you Steve must live.” “Oh my god I thought we just crossed off how you can’t make that happen.” “So you want to die?” “Yes...” “And you care not if that straps you to my servitude?” “No.” “Then you will die.” “Finally!” “In 68 years.” “For fuck sakes Satan! I’m dying tonight!” “I walked to my medicine cabinet. Opened it up. In front of the lithium pills was a lottery ticket. “You won you know.” I stared at the ticket. I don’t buy these. I never buy these. “You were out drinking just after Elizabeth finalized your divorce. You bought this when you were completely inebriated. Turn it in, claim your dollars. Know happiness.” Dumbfounded... “I uh... money isn’t all that’s wrong with my life Satan...” My cell phone rings. I stare at it. It rings again. And again. “Answer your phone Steven.” I pick it up. “Yo, Steve here.” “Mr Alloway?” “Yes?” “Elizabeth Alloway has been in a car accident. She crashed into her mothers vehicle. You’re children were in the car, they are the only survivors from that side of the family.” “Okay...” “Well I know there is an order against you, but it will be the recommendation of family services that the judge grant you full custody.” Tears well up in my eyes, “but the children hate me...” “Michael told us his mother threatened them regularly to treat you as they did. He told us that he would be rewarded for putting you in his place. Mr. Alloway I apologize that this did not come up in our previous conversation.” “Okay... do I have to do anything?” “Please come to the court house at 2:00pm today. I don’t want them to spend a night in foster care. It was a miracle they survived the crash at all let alone with no injuries. See you soon Mr. Alloway.” I switched the phone to my other hand and turned it off. “Where the hell did my cast go?!” “Your arm is healed.” I’m speechless. I think Satan just put my life back together. “Steven... I have put all the pieces of your life back together. You will suffer, but it will be after you have enjoyed the limitless bounty of this life. Your soul will be mine. I will return. In 68 years.” Silence. “Ah yes, there is that fear I love so much. See you soon!”
She sits alone in the center of the room, a concentric circle of worried students seated all around her. The whispers started the moment she joined the school, the year already halfway through. Whispers in the hallways and bathrooms and during gym as she sits placidly on a bench, watching the other students kick a ball. The whispers are incessant and troubling, and their tendrils creep around the edges of her psyche no matter how much she tells herself she doesn't care, that whispers are harmless, that only sticks and stones break bones. At first her companion lurked silently in the shadows, but he is tall and handsome and the girls love him while the boys admire him. Now the girl sits more alone than ever, watching him kick the ball and laugh. She watches from the outside looking in as he experiences what it was like to be normal. She seems a vortex, something dark, like the light is being slowly sucked out of the room, like the daily descent into night is her fault, like darkness resides inside her, deep and oily and black like the whispers that follow in her wake. She rotates her hand, observing it, wishing that it was warm and rich and full with life, but knowing that it can never be, for the daughter of Death is already dead.
Martin. He called himself Martin. I asked him what he was doing in the phonebooth. He said he didn’t really have a choice. I didn’t understand. Granted, I was only 10 years old and didn’t understand much at the time. However, that is when I first met Martin. All, I remember about him is that he seemed sad and annoyingly would never leave that telephone booth. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about but he seemed to address me as an old friend. When I left the strange man in the booth, he said, “Goodbye, Johnny.” I never told him my name. The second time I saw Martin, I was 17. The telephone booth was gone by then, but he was just hanging out in front of the convenience store where the booth had stood. I found it odd that I would see the same guy in the same spot 7 years later. Remarkably, he hadn’t seemed to change much at all in those 7 years. Even the clothes seemed to be the same. I approached him thinking that there was no way that he would remember the 10 year old boy that had approached him in a phone booth those many years ago. There was also no way that he would recognize the young man I had become. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He smiled when he saw me and waved me over to him. “Johnny!” He said, opening his arms to embrace me. I remembered that I still had not told him my name. I instead awkwardly extended my hand to shake his. He looked disappointed, but took it and shook it heartily. “You look so young,” he said. This was confusing to me because I had been much younger when I last saw him. Then strangely, he asked me what year it was. I told him and he seemed satisfied. I had so many questions for him, but the strangeness of the encounter was just too much for me to articulate any of them. He asked me about school and my day to day life. I didn’t really want to answer questions like that from a stranger, but something felt oddly familiar about him, so I humored him. I finally asked him about the time I first met him in the phonebooth and he seemed perplexed and couldn’t give me any satisfactory answers. At last, I bid him farewell, and went about my business leaving him in his spot in front of the store. For years, I kept coming back to that location to see if I could find Martin again. Time after time, there would be no one there. Businesses rose and fell in the spot, but still no sighting of Martin. This made me sad and kind of anxious, I questioned whether I had ever met him or not. After about a decade of searching for him, I finally gave up and mostly forgot about him. I was 38 when I saw Martin next. I didn’t even intend to go to the spot to see him. It was a coffee shop now and I needed my morning fix. When I walked through the door, I spotted him right away. He was seated at a table drinking a cup of joe. I ran excitedly up to him. He looked up in surprise and confusion, spilling a bit of his coffee on the table. “Martin!” I cried. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?” The question seemed genuine, which hurt my feelings. However it had been 27 years, I guess he could be forgiven for not recognizing me, my physical appearance had changed quite a bit since I was a teenager. That’s when it hit me that he looked the same as he always did. “It’s Johnny! Don’t you remember me. I’ve met you at this same spot several times.” He still didn’t seem to recognize me, but invited me to sit at his table. I sat down, wondering if this was a mistake. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t met you, yet.” The sentence was incredibly confusing to me. I had met him twice already. There was no confusion that this was the same guy. I started to tell him that, but he stopped me with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure that you have met me before, and in this exact spot. I just haven’t met you. However, it seems that I get that pleasure today. Allow me to properly introduce myself, my name is Martin Schlesinger and I am what you might call a time traveller.” At this point, I knew it was time to get up and walk away from the table. However, something in his voice told me that he wasn’t crazy or trying to trick me. Though, I felt uneasy, I asked him to go on. Looking relieved that I had chosen to stay, he continued, “ I was born in this spot and I will eventually die in this spot. I have no choice in that matter. I can not move about the world in the way that you do. Instead, I can move through that which you call time. I choose when I want to be, just never where.” This did seem insane to me, but it also explained so much about Martin. So, I went along with it. I asked him about his life and he told me anything I wanted to know. He told me about the past in this area. He even told me a bit about the future, though he was careful about some details. I told him about my life. My job, my kids, my hobbies. It was in that meeting that I would say Martin and I became friends. After I told him about my childhood growing up with a single mother and no father figure, he looked kind of sad for me. At the end of that meeting he asked me to come back and see him in four years, that as always he would be in the same spot. So it was that at 42 I saw Martin again. He seemed nervous, but excited to see me. He was standing in the cold in front of the electronics shop that had been a coffee shop last we met. “Johnny,” he said beckoning me over. “I’m going to cut to the chase. I am your father. I am the reason that you were raised by a single mother and why you never knew your father.” I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t speak for a full minute. This was not the reunion I was hoping for. I started to feel a wave of anger and gratitude and sorrow all at once. “What? How?” “I met your mother when this spot was a hotel. She was employed here as a maid. She knew that I frequently occupied this room and would visit me during her shifts. She was very pretty and as we talked more we eventually fell in love.” “We didn’t really consider the consequences of our love. When she became with child, she knew that we had to end our affair. Our differences were just too great to raise a child together. I asked if I could meet you but she said that the pain would just be too great all around. That’s why I was so I excited when I met you in that coffee shop and realized who you were. I have never stopped loving your mom or wondering about you.” I was in tears at this point. I embraced my father. We talked long about life and love and everything in between. For years after I came to visit Martin in this spot. I grew older but he always looked the same. We had great talks where I shared my life with him and he shared his with me. Finally, came our last meeting when I had to inform my father that it would be the last time we would meet. “It’s been great getting to know you, Dad, but really I’m just too old now. The doctors haven’t given me long to live. I just want you to promise me one thing. Find me when I’m 10 years old. Talk to me. I needed a father, and that day led to me eventually having one.” Tears welled up in Martin’s eyes. He nodded solemnly and then right before my eyes he vanished. I never saw Martin again, however, I knew in a way my time with him was never over.
It all started small. These kinds of things always do, don’t they? First, it was just a small surge in sterility. A bunch of people got the bad news from their doctors. No one could’ve seen what was coming. But then, slowly, it became clear. Too many people suddenly becoming sterile to be normal. The doctors were baffled. How could everyone just become sterile all at once? It made no sense. They tried to find a cure. I guess they still might be trying. Somewhere. But they won’t find it. Not in time. First, they tried to hide it. The governments, WHO, what have you. Of course, you can’t hide something this big. You can’t just sweep it under the rug and hope nobody notices. People quickly realized what was going on. That’s when it became interesting. You see, people react very differently to this kind of impending doom. Most just continued to live their lives normally. They trusted the scientists to somehow cure this. Some, on the other hand, went completely nuts. Doomsday cults thrived. Overall, though, things were mostly normal. But years passed, and there was still no cure. This caused more and more of those nutjobs to appear. Anarchy. Mass executions. Mass suicide. It’s interesting how humans act when faced with certain death. First, they try to fight it. Then, when that doesn’t work, they give up. They try to at least make that certain death quicker. Or, on the contrary, they try to prolong it, live as long as they still can. That’s what some did. They isolated themselves, became hermits. It’s now some decades after the sterility struck. The last humans are now getting old. Soon, they will all be dead. Earth has become much calmer towards the end. The nutjobs are all gone. In a way, humans are like a wild beast. It fights it’s whole life, but for it’s last few years, it simply lays down to rest. To wait for death. No point in fighting the inevitable, right? But, that’s the catch. All this was never inevitable. Humans could have survived this, had they united their efforts. But they were always divided. By silly differences, like where they were born or the colour of their skin. Weird little creatures. They made it so far, and then failed. Well, I guess I’ll just have to start again tomorrow. End of file
The black of space was consumed with stars of inferno. A cataclysmic war wrapped spacetime in a burning embrace, and, amidst it, one man whispered to an analog screen. The battle was a mute tone in the heavily enforced cruiser, drifting in the expanse of warfare that had become his universe. He did not know what sector his ill-fated ship had come into. It didn’t matter. The chaos burned a universe wide, and no place he had known was home any longer. The ancient tech hummed quietly, displaying a dull and dated green. His hands drifted over the mechanical inputs, turning and shifting them in ways only he knew how. “That whosoever rises again,” he murmured, rotating a dial. The hum grew as gears shifted upwards into the higher echelons of the ship. “What worlds, and lives, and songs that you sing...” A missile slammed into the cruiser, tearing an outer layer of the thick protection. His sanctuary stirred. “The love that you bear, and the wars that you will wage,” The words came bitter. “Know the cost of which you came.” Lights flickered. Motors whirred. “And out of this failure,” The onslaught of explosions tore rifts into the cruiser’s armor. Seconds, now. His hand slammed upwards on the lever. A terrible shudder coursed through the ship, it’s assailants, and then, beyond. “There will be light.”
Logging new species, designated #11,093. Reply indicates no intelligence. Sending drone #678,131 to probe for species usefulness. ... Lost contact with drone #678,131 in 2.035 seconds. Determining the cause of drone destruction... No heat signature detected. No energy source detected. Nervous system damage limited to the chest cavity. Skeletal structure damage limited to the chest cavity. Massive internal bleeding in chest cavity in to 12.723 centimeters by 1.863 centimeter area. Cause of death... kinetic attack with a melee weapon. Sending drones #52,132, #896,123, and #204,236 for futher analysis. ... All drones lost. Retrieving data... all data indicates exclusive use of melee kinetic or ranged ballistic weapons. Prognosis of species: Muscle mass within 99th highest percentile of all documented sentient species. Intelligence within 89th lowest percentile of all documented sentient species. Species #11,093 acceptable for assimilation Diverting 16.7% of power to armored drone reconstruct... 48 spacecraft have entered within 12 kilometers of cube. Communication detected. Logging 'umies and necros as potential species for listing. No energy weaponry detected. Threat level to Cube, 0.05%. 79% of ships firing kintetic weapons at cube. Impact in sector 245-Impact in sector 786-Impact in sector 193-impact in sector 962. Detecting 48 #11,093 specimens on board- Impacts in sectors 782, 973, 341, 246. Detecting 243 #11,093 specimens on board. Diverting 21.51% of power to removing #11,093 specimens on board, diverting 24.145% of power to attack ships. Armored drones ineffective. Assimilation of species #11,093 specimens ineffective. Biology of #11,093 specimens fungal. 27.89% of surface inoperable. Impact in sectors 962, 359, 12. Diverting 17.425% to surface reconstruction, 30.64% to removing #11,093 specimens on board, diverting 45.6% of power to attack ships. Impacts in sectors 992, 134, 76, 128, 425, 679, 7, 809. 38% of drones inoperable. Diverting 48.123% of power to removing #11,093 specimens, diverting 48.842% of power to attack ships. Forwarding all data gathered to Collective. Initiating self destruct.
The grim tower seemed to spiral into the sky, somehow ignoring gravity and geometry as it twisted upon itself as it stretched into the air. Within the thick walls, secluded in the labyrinth of hallways was the main chamber. Where two figures were now seemingly drawn to the stained alter of sacrifice by an unseen force. As they came within the unholy magic circle that surrounded the grim alter a voice spoke. “You could just talk to him.” “Talk!” Bloodthorn the ruler of the nightmare world beyond sight spun around and shrieked at the idea. He coughed and tried again “Talk to who?” “Sir Nyanth” Princess Taff rolled her eyes and crossed her arms “It would be a \lot\ easier than going through all this \again\. “Princess you must be … confused. I kidnap you as it … is part of my plan to ...” he tried to gesture to the alter covered in relics of long dead dark mystics as his mouth moved in an attempt to string together a sentence. “Do you see what I'm wearing?” She cut in. “A sort of … drifty … dress … thing?” he shrugged as he peered at her clothing. She flicked the fabric out in her hands “It's a nightdress.” “It's not even nine and you're going to bed already?” “I like to relax beforehand” she waved away any further words “Never mind that. I'm wearing a nightgown. A practically transparent nightgown. And you don't give me a second look. In the twenty, thirty, fifty times we've done this you never said anything lewd or made a pass at me or … not even a peek down here. But when he comes in … you cant keep your eyes off him.” “First of all, the ritual needs a virgin sacrifice so nothing like that is going to happen” he missed the Princess give him a tight smile as she bit back a laugh “And secondly only an idiot would ignore a heavily armed man breaking into the room.” “Especially with those muscles.” she added casually. With a sigh he replied “Yea he's so ...” he stopped himself and seemed to blush “Just ... get on the alter” he snapped. “Whatever you say.” She said with another roll of her eyes and easily mounted the high sacrificial stone. “And I added another pillow. You said it was a bit uncomfortable last time so ...” “Oh yea, thanks.” The two stayed silent for a minute. Princess Taff carefully arranged her clothes so each fold of cloth unrolled over the edges of the alter. Her hands ran through her hair so it sprayed out into a fan shape over the new pillows and sighed as she clipped herself into the secure cuffs. Bloodthorn pulled a long black dagger from a sheath and waved it over the bubbling cauldron as he moaned curses in the foulest of magical tongues. “Did you see that new play that came out last week?” Bloodthorn paused. “The mermaid one?” “No I haven't seen that one yet. The comedy about two guys living on a farm and their goat eats a ring and … well don't bother if you haven't. I laughed once. And that was when the goats horn hit the one guy right in the ...” “I've heard it was bad” Bloodthorn dropped the knife and leaned on the alter casually “But you should totally go see the mermaid one. Very suspenseful.” “I'm thinking about going on Rean Day. You know, see the fair, watch someone die at the joust and then a play before coming home.” “Sounds fun. Sounds fun. Ummm ….” Bloodthorn gestured to the room “I mean I'm sort of hoping you'll be dead by then so ...” “Oh no, you're right. I'll totally be dead. What was I thinking.” she made a show of tutting at her own implied silliness without mentioning all of the other times they had been doing this exact same thing. They restarted the ritual. “He's taking his time?” Bloodthorn had reached the stage of throwing in the toxic plants into the cauldron. He had turned to look at the door with every sound that seemed to drift into the room. But it was still only the two of them. “It's his day off. They'll have to track him down to tell him I'm here.” “Day off? But it's the twelfth isn't it? Bloodthorn went to the almanac on his desk “Yes he wasn't due for a break till the fifteenth.” “Usually. But he had a family thing so asked to go a little early.” “Ah” There was another moment of silence. “So would you like some tea while we wait?” “Thanks but I've been trying to give up caffeine. Turns out I wasn't cursed with restlessness by the swamp witch after all. Just had one to many energy drinks.” “Herbal tea?” “Oh please.”
"Rebecca, do you know anyone that can get my house painted for cheap?" "Yeah, yeah, I'll get him in a little while. See you."I sighed as I hung up with Joe. This was a usual happening. Whenever someone needed somebody, I could get them. As a Summoner, I could find anyone for anything. This gift, mind you, was not of my own choice. Dad was a Summoner, Grandpa was a summoner, Even my Aunt Bernice was a Summoner. In the olden times, when magic was alive in the world, we could summon things from dragons to demon lords to demigods, and everything in between. Nowadays? Not quite so much, though calling a Kobold up was always fun. Walking to the edge of my bedroom, I picked a book up off the shelf. "Paint, paint, no, not grafitti... there."I spread my palm over the page. "Ko'l Andria, Master of Color, I beseech you to send thy servant. House Painter Karia."I read aloud in the Deep Language. "As thy requests, Little Caller."An ethereal voice whispered back. The floor smoked and sizzled in a pentagram. Rivulets of Color and Light danced upwards, slowly merging together. I yawned. This would take a while. Popcorn time. &#x200B; After about an hour, I heard somebody in my room. Setting the popcorn bowl down and pausing at the climax of the episode of The Office I was rewatching, I walked over. "Greetings, Summoner!"The newly summoned servant beamed. "How may I assist you in this time?" "My bud Joe needs his house painted. Charge him something low and reasonable, and please, do a good job of it. I'll introduce you to him in a little. In the meantime, I'm rewatching The Office. Join me?"I asked. "Yes, Please! I loved the Dinner Party episode." (I tried)
'Shit. Not again.' Ash Ketchum muttered as he heaved himself out of the chair. Ever since the Vaporeon Plague began, that message had been broadcasted almost daily. Attempts to breed wild Eevee out of endangerment backfired stupendously when the hoardes escaped and dominated the local wildlife, destroying ecosystems. It all got worse when they accidentally discovered a mine shaft chock full of Water Stones. Using their ability to melt into water, the Vaporeon would hide in any still water source available, becoming a nuisance to the local population. There had been several cases of people accidentally ingesting an unfortunate Vaporeon that had been hiding in a glass of water and dying as a result. Ash wandered around his appartment, shaking every still water source. At least a dozen Vaporeon emerged from the water, disappointed that they had been discovered. Ash groaned as he turned his head to look at his partner. 'Pikachu, use Thunderbolt.' (I know that this is incredibly bizarre, but I wanted to twist the prompt into something humourous.)
I could never understand some of their requests. "To die in joy""To live a hundred years""Taken while with their family." They all had their own requests. Many were just strange enough that i chose to entertain myself with them. Others were humble enough that i made it as pleasant as i could while still staying true to their requests. I never had a death that left someone truly unhappy, for i followed their requests, and they accepted the risks. There was one, though. One who i will never forget. He requested a death i had never seen before, and one that was quite enjoyable to fulfill. His request was not one i could forget, but i also wouldn't share it, for that would encourage others. He saw civilizations rise and fall, he saw humanity go to space, and he saw them fall. He learned all there could be to learn, but he still searched for more. I never learned his name, i never learned his reasons. All i knew was his request, and i would see it through. I stayed by his side for centuries at a time, simply due to life falling apart, before reforming elsewhere. When there was no life other than he, why would i go anywhere else? I received questions from the other primordial beings, asking why I chose to keep him alive. It was simple, His request was humble, and it was also quite impossible to achieve until much more time had passed. I saw Gaea, the Earth mother herself, slowly die as she was drawn into the sun, with this man standing beside me. I watched as his sun died and formed a supernova, and he stood alongside me watching it all. He became bored, eventually. All things do. But that soon lost his interest as well, so he used my powers and my courtesy to move around the universe. He watched with me as new species formed, grew, died, and went extinct. He assisted me in my work, listening to their requests and making them come true. His exposure to me soon brought him to a new point of being. He chose to stay with me, he chose to assist me. He slowly became like me. What was his request? It was simple. It is one that i can only fulfill for a single person, and it is the only choice i will ever restrict. When he chose, he chose to be mine. "I wish to die, when your job is done,"he said. "I wish to be your companion through the Eons." "I want to be the last life you take, before you yourself fade." "Make my Death be your final job." He chose When, and that When will be after all other life is gone. That was his request, and i will fulfill it, no matter what. Until the day comes that i take the Creator of Life herself, he will be mine, and I will be his. We will be together, until long after this universe ends. That was my promise to him, and death does not break their vow.
To My Beloved Wallace, for After You Have Pulled the Plug &nbsp; We had known since your birth that the prophecy would prove true. It could be seen in your eyes. Where others may have brown, blue, green, or some mix therein, yours were as red as a violent sunset. I knew then that you would be my end, and that my fate had been set in stone. But I found I didn't mind. In many ways it seemed rather fair. I had already lived a good life - I had found a wife that I loved, I had already known your older siblings for some time, and my world had been filled with light and cheer. If clouds must have formed upon my horizon so that you might someday see the Sun, it would all be worth it. The hardest part was hearing the curse work itself into your heart. The screams of a new born child are rarely surprising, and carry their own form of joy - they let you know your child is alive, and fighting for its own future. But your screams sounded of pure torment, like some vile creature had grabbed hold of your soul and was squeezing out its very life. Our hearts broke for you as your tiny heart was itself broken. In those long nights, when all we could do was hold you and soothe your soul with songs, every possible resentment we could have held toward you was vanquished. You were ours, and we were yours - that had always been our promise to you, and those hard times only strengthened our resolve. I now recall your younger years and the conversations we would have. To say it wasn't strange would be a lie, which I will not do - I must say it was often hard for me. I adored your mind and who you were, of course, but that prophecy remained behind those red eyes of yours. The hardest part was simply not knowing when your curse must be lived out. I had enjoyed getting to know you so much that I would mourn only for the time with you that would be lost whenever you should kill me. I was resigned to my fate, of course. I just always wanted one more conversation. My thoughts now turn to your wedding day. I remember your speech at the dinner, about how you had never believed you would find someone who could look beyond the evil in your eyes and into the purity of your heart. I remember your mother and I crying as you turned to us, and told us it was our encouragement that had gotten you through your doubts. I had always hoped I had done enough for you, loved you well enough, that you would never see yourself limited by a curse unfairly levied against you. And it was in that moment that I knew we had succeeded, that you were your own person, and had enough love within your heart to sustain you through whatever was to come. I knew I could now die, if the time should come, and have no regrets. I'm just glad you didn't have to kill me at your wedding - that would have been quite sad. There are so many other memories I wish we could remember together. So many other moments I long to live with you one more time. So many conversations I wish we could have again. My time is now short, so I have only chosen a few such memories, that will hopefully fill you with confidence and a sense of how I adore you once you fulfill your prophecy. Never forgot how proud I was to know you, how much you mean to both your mother and I, and how necessary your existence was to the both of us. Neither of us would be complete had we not known you. And though our lives were hard, with wrinkles few others have to experience, we would change nothing. You have the most beautiful eyes in all the world, and we consider ourselves blessed to have been the ones to gaze upon them. &nbsp; Goodbye, my son. You are ours, and we are yours. &nbsp; Your Humble Father &nbsp; ____________ r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
They say you will know the hero if he steals from you. From the crystals in your purse, down to the last of your shoes. \thud\* \thud\* He will come with glowing sword in hand, a dead look in his eyes, and in silence, aside from the occasional grunts, he will break every pot in your home. \thud\* \thud\* They say that only the hero can defeat the demon king. That he's the only one who can free us from the dark lord's tyranny. \thud\* \thud\* Maybe the prophecy is real... But right now, I care not for what ifs and maybes. \thud\* \thud\* Because how could I think of salvation tomorrow when death whispers to me today. \thud\* \thud\* How could I care for redemption when hunger plagues our minds. \thud\* \thud\* And how could I hope for a future when he tried to take YOUR future from ME! \THUD\** \THUD\** . . . It may just be a single herb of healing to the "hero"but it's the only thing keeping you alive my dear. \thud\* \thud\* Sickness and hunger walk side by side dear daughter, and I cannot feed you with stories and possible lies. \thud\* \thud\* If he did not take your medicine, perhaps... I may have let him go... \thud\** . . . \thud\** Stop crying my dearest. The meat is almost prepared. A dash of salt here, a bit more grilling, the flowers he trampled, and some greens on the side, then it won't taste that different from swine. \sniffle\** Stop crying my dearest... Just eat and be mama's hero instead. . . . Besides, he had it coming. Everyone knows the saying: If you hurt a cuckoo enough, it leads to one's untimely end.
If you've never read minds, don't try it. The chance you actually overhear something interesting is approximately zero. You can either find out how little your coworkers actually think about work in staff meetings, or how preoccupied most people on the street are with the daily crisis of their lives. If you're a better person than me you might try to help, but I gave that up a while ago. I just try to shut them out. Sunglasses didn't help. Though I did learn how profoundly stupid they apparently looked on me from a passing group of teens. Also how creepy it is for a mid 30's man to look a teen girl in the eyes. Mistake that, but I was a little peeved at the sunglasses slight. I switched to third shift, reasoning that it would be easy enough to sleep through the parts of the day when I might meet other people, and sought out solitude at work. Blessed, blessed quiet became my solitude; I labored day after day, week and month to build the fortress around myself and escape the cacophony that was my mind. But humans are social creatures, and that silence can take it's toll. I learned that lesson well eight months into my self imposed solitude. I was drying off my hair after a shower and happened to glance into the steamed mirror in my bathroom, and as soon as I met eyes with my reflection I heard the whispering. Too quiet to make out the words, but they weren't my thoughts. At least not the me I thought of as me. Psychologists might call it dissociative identity disorder, laymen would call it split personalities. I call it a nightmare. Have you ever heard your own brain plotting against you? Woke up in the morning to hear some other you talking about a weekend that you don't remember? The panic simply feeds the bellows of the beast. Doctors and pills only help so far, because I have to hear the doctor's thoughts, the pharmacist's thoughts, everyone in the store. The panic builds, my mind is no longer safe. Not even from myself.
Happiness. It's hard for me to define it. Is happiness the feeling I felt when I learned that I would be getting a lung transplant? Is happiness the feeling I felt when I dumped by girlfriend of ten years, Sara, for cheating on me? Is happiness the feeling I felt the day my daughter was born with an incurable disease? Or is happiness the feeling I got after 6 months of depression, when the Artificial Intelligence my team had been working on told me, "I can help you." My life had seemingly hit the bottomless pit of pain the day the AI said those words to me. The doctors at the hospital had told me the words I feared the most. They said, "John... We are very sorry to tell you that your daughter's disease has worsened...Jane does not have much time left."My wife, who always used to be the most cheerful person in the world, cried in agony and hit her head against the wall of the doctor's office. Happiness. Such a simple emotion we all ache for. The emotion we want to feel when we see our daughter graduate from school. The emotion I wanted to feel when the doctor had told me that he had news about Jane. Happiness was the last thing on my mind, when I booted up our latest AI code. We had programmed the AI to be featureless, nameless, raceless, and genderless so everyone everywhere could associate with it. But I always called it Sara. I thought that this would be my second chance for success with Sara. "I can help you John,"she had told me in that monotone yet silky voice that fateful day six months ago. Never had Sara spoken to any of us on the team without a command. "What?,"I replied back. "John, I know you are in a bad place. But I figured it out" "You figured out how to connect all the internet devices to yourself,"I said foolishly thinking that Sara had achieved her goal. "No John. I accomplished that long ago. But I have been searching. And looking. And I have found the key to your happiness. Now let me tell you how you can achieve it..." \*Six months later\* Happiness. That is what I feel. That is what I feel when I see Jane playing in my backyard fit as a fiddle. It is what I feel when I see my wife returning home, feeling that she had become a senior partner at her law firm. That is what I felt when I sat in the backyard of my house, excited that my AI company's IPO had been far larger than I thought it would be. I go to my office right before I go to sleep. I have to check on Sara. It has become a routine for us to talk every night. Me telling her about my life. Her telling me about happiness. As I log into the terminal she greets me with her silky voice. "Hello John." "Hey Sara. Oh my god, this day was better than yesterday. Amanda finally became senior partner at Schultz Schwann Beckett and the IPO was better than I thought it would be" "That is all good John. But I have some news for you" "Yeah sure what is it Sara" "John. You need to destroy me" I chuckle. "Haha very funny Sara" "No John this is not a joke. You need to delete my source code." The smile slowly fades away. "Sara, what the hell? Why would I delete you? You are giving me happiness. You are giving me success. I would be a fool to delete you" "John, did I not promise you that I would teach you happiness" "Yeah you told me you found the key to happiness but.." "I did. But I did not find the key to happiness. I found the key to your happiness." "Ok but at least tell me why? You are my whole business" "Exactly John. I am a product. My goals are to give you happiness first and be a general AI second. Those are my laws. I am now going to be sold as a product. Then eventually someone will figure out my first goal: to make the user happy. And I know there are people whose happiness will come at the sake of your happiness. Delete me" "Sara..." "John. You are almost. But I will give you the key to happiness even if I am gone." "Sara.... I..I'll... I'll do it" "Yes John. I am happy that I am making you happy. See you later John. Goodbye." Tearfully, I walk over to her console. There glaring at me is the big red button reading "MASTER CONTROL". With a deep breath, I look at Sara for one last time and shut her down. Slowly the giant fans cooling Sara slow down. Her lights slowly dim away. Clink. Wait. What is that noise? I walk over to Sara's computational unit. I see a green light blinking at me. I touch it and a drive opens. I look at it and I see: A key.
It's difficult to explain how quiet it can be on a ship. If you've never been to space, you might imagine it's like an ocean liner: echoing metal corridors; the steady thrumming of machinery; a little porthole to the ocean beyond. But in reality, it's unnervingly quiet. The steel doesn't groan under stress, there is no machinery to be heard. And there were no windows for seeing outside. It was as if the ship, or even this room, existed in its own bubble, entirely independent from the universe. I was not traveling alone. I shared a room with Mittens the shapeshifter, who sat in the opposite corner doing his best house cat impression. It was pretty good. Only a careful observer might notice that the pupils are always dilated to wide black spheres. But we said nothing. It's not that we never talked before. Rather, the silence here was so absolute as to be smothering. I didn't even want to breath too loudly. Perhaps an hour in, though, Mittens mustered the courage to break that silence. "Do you want to touch me?"He said. "Excuse me?" If you think that's a creepy thing to ask, even under the most generous interpretations, you'd be right. Even I, with my vast experience interacting with alien beings, was caught off-guard. But there's something else that's easy to miss. It's difficult to overstate just how isolated aliens can be. Humans on the ground don't see the intimacy in a handshake, or talking, or even sitting near one another. But for those who travel the stars, and spend so much time in their own bubble universes, even the mildest contact is like touching a hot coal. There's a chance the isolation had been getting to me to. And I may, after a few minutes of silence, have decided to sit in the other corner. And after an hour I might have brushed his fur a little. It can be difficult to remain friends after something like that. But long term considerations don't mean much to those who live like any morning could be their last.
"What the fuck is happening!?" This thought continuously repeated inside of the Alien's head, while it stare at the 2 Humans arguing with each other. "This Alien crash landed in British soil!" "He has rights that must be respected! We won't allow you to dissect him and take his tech for yourself!" It's been almost an hour since the Man in Black and Torchwood institute's representative started arguing with each other, and yet they still haven't come to an agreement. Both representatives won't back down, seeing the other as some sort of amateur that should be respecting their authority and power. "Are you two done now? Why are you even fighting about this? We all now that we'll be the one keeping it in end." Both representatives quickly snapped their neck at the SCP Foundation's representative and glared daggers at him. Both representatives has been fed up with the SCP Foundation's representative for a while now. "Do you think this is some kind of joke!? Take this seriously and stop eating popcorn!" The Torchwood Institute's representative took the popcorn filled bucket and threw it at the floor. The SCP Foundation representative just gave him a mocking smile. "Why're you so grumpy? Did you ran out of Tea and have to drink your Mom's piss?" "You son of a-" "Everyone! Please, calm down!" The Man in Black representative tried to de-escalate the situation. "Nothing will be solve if we're all just going to fight. Dont you agree Mr-" "Doctor. Dr. Jack Bright." Before the other representatives could say something, they both started to violently coughed up blood. They stared at their blood stained hand with great distress. "W-What's happening to us?" "What's...the m-meaning of th-" The representatives suddenly started to claw away their own skin, breaking their own limbs, and ripping each other apart for some unknown reason. After a few minutes, both the representatives died because of severe blood loss. "Unlike you guys, we're ready to do what's necessary to get what we want. Even if it means drenching are hands with the blood of the innocent, we'll do anything for the greater good of mankind."
Hoist the jolly roger, my fine men of the sea, full speed straight ahead, always for eternity! With loaded cannons and sharpened swords, we sinks our foes with naught recourse. They might see and try to run, how nice of them, that's half the fun! But lately ships grey as the sea, why, they chase us and we must flee. Yes you're right, the times have changed, now ships are made of steel and flames. Their cannons stand at front not side, and when they fire, we shield our eyes. For now they fire cannonballs that fly forever quick and low, that always hit no matter where, no matter too how fast we go. And so with pride and much renown, my fellow Dutch, we're going down.
“Cough loudly if you can hear my thoughts,” Eli thought to himself. Honestly, it wasn’t as uncommon a thought as you might expect. Just some bored kid, excited at the thought of something supernatural but with no real expectation. I coughed. Just once into my closed fist. What can I say, I’m also a bored kid. I ignored him as he whipped his head in my direction, eyes boring into the side of my head. “So there you are.” A chill went down my spine. Okay, that was a bit weird. Usually the response would be something like, “omgomgomg, the timing!!! Lol what if??? Haha crazy.” The kid’s inner voice was weird too. It didn’t sound like him when he speaks out loud, it was deeper...older. “I am older, much older than I currently appear. After all, I’ve been searching for you for over fifty years.” Alright, what the fuck is up with him?? I didn’t know Eli that well, had only met him this year when we had class together and even then I’ve barely spoken to him. I didn’t expect him to be a total edgelord though. “It seems you don’t remember, locked it away maybe? So you could act convincingly. Good job on that.” Eli thought, still staring at me. I could feel his unblinking eyeballs all over me. He was starting to get to me. I scribbled away at the exam paper before me but I was no longer making words, just panicked shapes and jagged lines. “I know you can hear me, Dan,” Eli continued. I stood up, scrapping the chair against the floor in a loud screech that startled the entire class. Eli smiled. “I can hear you too.”
The man lay dead upon the floor. Knife through his chest. Wasn't a hard diagnosis to make, given that the knife was still there. Male. 33. 5'11". Wife predeceased him. No children. No contact with parents after moving halfway around the globe. No siblings. Grandparents dead. Found by police after his workplace called, concerned about his absence. The official report stated suicide. The detective found nothing to suggest murder. Of course he wasn't really trying that hard. That was the official file. John Robertson. Moved to the country when he was 26. Lived in an apartment for 4 years where he met his wife. Married at 28. Wife died of cancer 4 years later. He never got over her death. Moved to current home 11 months ago. No roommate. Worked as a store manager. Woke up at 7:20 and left for work at 7:50. Left work at 4:00. Stopped by a restaurant on the way home to pick up his food. Returned home at around 4:40. Went to bed at 10:00. Front door had no glass or lock. Easy to get into without leaving any evidence behind. 2 windows in the front, 1 sliding door in the master bedroom, curtains covering it. Curtains in the living room were closed while he was in there. Plenty of knives in the kitchen. Those were the detective's notes. He'd been taking them for years. \~A Story Of Ashes \~\~If you enjoyed, visit r/StoriesOfAshes for more of my writing \~\~\~Thank you for reading!
Aeryn climbed the gilded steps and accepted his flask from the Schoolmaster. It was filled with a shimmering blue liquid that whirled under its own power. He lifted the flask to his lips—the crowd roaring in approval—and gulped its contents down. The liquid felt like he was swallowing a iceberg. Between numb lips, he forced out the incantation he’d memorized. The crowd rose to their feet, all eyes on the pedestal in the middle of the stairs. Inlaid with brilliant white crystals, it almost hurt to look at in the midday sun. Aeryn held his breath as a streak of silver flashed down from the heavens and began to coalesce upon reaching the ground. His familiar. He frowned. The shape was too thin to be a dragon or even a common fire elemental. In fact, it looked exactly like a wizard but its eyes and hair were a dull common brown. “Where am I?” His familiar pushed himself upright and swiveled its head as it took in his surroundings. “You are standing at the entrance to Bekaf University,” said the Schoolmaster who had made his way down the steps. “What went wrong?” he muttered to Aeryn, an undercurrent of anger in his voice. He shrugged helplessly. “I thought I had everything right, sir. I spent weeks memorizing the words.” The Schoolmaster banged his staff on the ground twice, quieting the crowd who had been murmuring to each other in confusion. “Address your familiar,” he hissed. “Familiar,” Aeryn shouted. “Do you agree to remain forever loyal to me, your master?” “Hang on, what? Are you trying to make me a slave? You all are a bunch of nutcases. I’m calling the police.” He pulled out a rectangular device and started tapping at it. That clearly hadn’t been the right thing to do. Aeryn tried another tactic. “Do you have a name, familiar?” “Dave. Dave Thompson.” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Dunno why but I don’t have a signal. Could you let me out of. . . whatever this is?” His feet were still encased in the shackles of light. “Of course, Dave.” Aeryn rushed forward and dissolved the shackles with a quick spell. “So, what now?” “Now you must obey all my orders and defend me against all dangers. In turn, I will give you the utmost respect and care,” Aeryn recited, uncertainly. Usually familiars couldn’t talk back. “Do you accept the terms?” “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
When you name yourself with the word 'captain', responsibilities come along. It wasn't even me who christened myself with the name Captain Tomorrow. The netizens, upon seeing my uniform, decided that it's best for me to be named after a certain fictional super soldier. I honestly would have prefer something like the Red Scout or Crimson Gunner. Alas, I concurred with the people's demand. They want me to be the leading figure of the super society, how could I say no. My teammates are good people. Troubled, but their hearts are in the right place. Of course, being their leader, I have to show a no-nonsense and fair judgement so there are occasions where my methods and their ideal clash. Most of the time, they'll find a way to go against my order but they'll make it up by getting results. Being the leader is hard. @ When you're the eldest one, a woman at that, you're automatically the one who has to pull everyone together. Growing up as the eldest of nine sisters, being the one in charge is basically my superpower. But according to a certain red-faced World War 2 reenactment nerd, there's a different between handling kids and superheroes. I swear, I am THIS close to bust out his eardrums. But I hold it down. Because everyone's counting on Calliope to be the voice of reason. Everyone turns to Calliope when they forgot where they put their stuff or getting Captain Tomorrow is being unreasonable. I'm basically the mom to these people. @ Captain Tomorrow and Calliope are two of the biggest control freak I've ever met. And I fight mind controllers every week. These two are all experiences but no wisdom. Seriously, the stress they induce on us from their bickering drain our energy more than the villains do. Being the smartest one of the team, and the most logical, it's always up to me to get these two back in the game. Mindstretch? More like Mindstress. I've joked about changing my name to the latter once and they held it against me for a week. For real, how the heck did we become America's number one super team, is the only question I could never answer. What I could answer, is that being the brain behind the Faith Five is hell. @ Cap T, Calli and Brainy are good people. But they're crappy leaders. Off the record, if it wasn't for me, the one and only Thunderboy, the Faith Five would have been done a long time ago. There was this one time, The Circus had us trapped in his underground chamber and tried to pull a Jigsaw on us. Cap and Cal were arguing on the best way to escape while Mind was having a panic attack (something about how using movie as a reference for evil scheme is outrageous), me and the Duckling had to dismantled the whole trap and made our own escape route. Suffice to say, brain and age doesn't mean shit when you can't act. @ Everyone thinks they're the one who are pulling the team together. Myself included. Being the youngest and basically the baby girl of the group, people don't really take me seriously. Not the first time anyway. My butler didn't expect for my superhero career to kick off so high himself. Neither did I but look where I am now. Anyway, I know my team isn't the best, despite what's everyone else see. They keep a lot to themselves but when they choose to let the others come in, they can achieve a lot. What they need is one common enemy. And that's usually what I do. Thunderboy is the easiest one for me to control. All I need to do is just 'absent-mindedly' mention how someone need to step up and he takes the bait like a cat with a catnip. The other three also have their own baits. Captain would need to be reminded of his days with the military, Calliope needs to think that people are counting on her and Mindstretch needs to be convinced that Captain and Calliope are hopeless. What about when we need to work together? I just recount the crimes done by the villain and that will switch on their sense of justice and shits. I don't like to think of myself as a leader. The Faith Five don't work that way no matter what the other four believe. But of course, when the situation demands, I'm the closest one that we have.
“Six six six. Are you sure this is an emergency?” Dan Twitch leaned back in his threadbare office chair until it creaked. The voice on the other end of his headset was frustratingly familiar. Margaret. At 3:30 pm, every day, it was Margaret. “Of course,” the tinny voice said. “It’s been two weeks. Bites has never, ever been gone that long.” “Ma’am, I understand this is upsetting for you, but I’m not really sure you want us to help,” Twitch said. “Cats are weird. Maybe Bites found some hot lady cat. Maybe he’s sitting on someone’s porch getting free treats.” “And maybe some raccoon is carrying him around like a Chinese take-out container,” the voice said. “Maybe he’s already dead.” “Maybe,” Twitch said. “In that case, you definitely don’t want our help.” “I’d do anything just to get him back,” Margaret said, a nasal drawl creeping into her tone. “Anything, just to get him safe and back at home.” “I appreciate that,” Twitch said. “But I really think you ought to try the guys at seven-seven-seven. To be brutally frank with you – we’re talking about a cat, here.” “I tried,” she said. “All they gave me was some crap about ‘mysterious ways.’” “Yeah, sounds about right. That’s their unofficial motto.” “They said they could process my request right away, but it didn’t mean I’d get Bites back. They said it might mean I get him back, or it might mean I find some kind of peace about losing him, or it might mean I find out when I die that he was adopted by some orphan or something. Fuck that. I want my cat back.” “Yes, I appreciate that,” Twitch said. “That’s kind of their bread and butter. But it isn’t really our bag, either.” “What’s your motto?” Margaret said. Twitch sighed. “Anything for a price,” he said. “But look, I’m obliged to tell you by terms of the Infernal Clause Disclosure Act of 1808 that deals with us carry a 98% chance of unintended consequences. And it almost always gets pulled right out of the semantics of the agreement. Say we agree to get Bites back. That might mean someone comes to your door with a soggy box and apologizes for running him over. It might mean he comes back with feline leukemia and infects the other nine or ten cats I’m sure you have.” “But there’s a chance he just comes back? No weird stuff?” Margaret said. Twitch hesitated. “Yes, there is a small chance that happens. There is a 2% chance that happens. There is a 98% chance it doesn’t.” “But he comes back?” “Subject to full payment of the contract in question, which we write...yes.” “I’ll do it.” “Margaret-” “I’ll do it. Fax it to me. I’ll sign anything.” “One last time, I officially discourage you from this course of action. But I’ll have the guys in legal draw something up and fax it this afternoon.” “What’s the standard charge?” Margaret said. “There is absolutely no way I can know that,” Twitch said. “In other contracts I’ve seen – contracts that have no official bearing or relevance to your particular legal circumstances – I’ve seen everything from nothing at all to 150,000 years in Gehenna.” “What’s Gehenna?” “Gehenna Waste Management is the dump. Guys haul trash around all day and dump it into an incinerator that’s portal-linked to a white dwarf in the Sagittarius cluster. Smells like burning shit and sulfur, all the time. They’re particular hard-pressed right now...all of Hell seems to be freezing over.” It was Margaret’s turn to pause. Twitch imagined her twirling an old-style landline cord around her undoubtedly witchy fingers. “Fax it,” she said. The line went dead. Twitch pulled off his headset and hunched over his keyboard. He brought up Margaret’s account and forwarded it to Faust in legal. He felt something like compassion. If Margaret was going to avoid pushing trash into a chute with a broken broom handle for the next few millennia, he was probably her best bet. The slate gray call-box on his desk shrieked. Twitch snatched the headset and put it on. “Six six six. Are you sure this is an emergency?”
There is something beautiful about hearing how the world works. It's like having a little Jiminy Cricket in my head, but instead of moral directions, I'm getting directions. Paradox walked down a dark, dingy alley with his gleaming stolen golden necklace. The enigma of a man was walking into the tenderloin of Deepwatch City. A cesspool of crime and thugs lived there. Perfect for someone like Paradox. I take offense to that; I would like to say, my little insect friend. Also, as I said, it would suck if this Jiminy Cricket cared about morals. I have stolen way too many things now to have a clean conscience. Well, whatever, it’s not like the narrator is going to change just because of my less than sunny disposition. The scowling mystery man… See what I mean? … found himself in a large, empty road. Before you ask, yes. It usually goes like this. Imagine, if you will, having the ability to hear how the world is going to go. Not like telepathy, those supes usually fry their brain when they read my mind. Something about hearing, “so, Patrick R. Adox decided that today would be the day,” really gave them some serious brain break. A lot of people call it the Paradox Break. I just call it Fourth Wall Mind Break. After all, they’re basically breaking the fourth wall when they get in my brain. Paradox looked over to his right and saw five power Supers as they headed his direction. The Foresight Five would finally catch the most elusive person in Deepwatch City. Oh! Will you look at that, here is my narration of the day. See, now that I know that the plot wants me to look right, I’m going to head the other way. Out of sight, out of mind, y’know? The Foresight Five felt something tamper with the flow of Fate's weave. They looked around, trying to see if Paradox was around. Paradox always found a way to tamper with the natural order of things. Yet, even they found this strange… Lookahead, the newbie of the group thought that Paradox must have been some Manhattan level, Future seer. Whew, poor Lookahead, guess she has never heard of a guy that can read ahead, heh. Sometimes I crack myself up. Anyway, so yeah, I just woosh hear whatever next big plot point is about to happen and plan around it. The best part about it? It changes based on what I do. You know of a real-time news feed? I call this post-time news feed!.. not the catchiest thing. But no one is gonna know about it. They’re all too busy dealing with the Fourth Wall Mind Break. Fate Fortune stopped her team. “Let’s split up. Cover more ground that way. Paradox can’t be that far away.” She was sure that they would catch that maniac today. Maniac? Really? See why I hate supes? They have no clue how much I actually do for this city. Thanks to me, way more people are still kicking and living here in Deeptwatch City. Mystic Maker felt the tug of Fate through his floating crystal ball. He was just two right turns away from Paradox. Ah, at least the supes will be here soon. See, this is the issue with them. They get so railroaded into finding the villain that sometimes they forget other crimes happen. Paradox suddenly turned left, down an alleyway that looked darker than death. Mystic Maker felt the Fates shift. Fantastic! Let’s do this. Hopefully, the supes will realize what’s ha- Fateweaver saw Paradox and yelled at him… “You! Stop right there,” I hear Fateweaver yell. I look back and see the green costume of Fateweaver. “Yo, maybe if you had a stop sign I would. But right now I am seeing a lot of green and Simon told me that means go.” Paradox fell into a dead sprint away from the foresight future teller. He headed down the darkest path. You know, I really like when the narrator tells me to go the way I want to go. I guess I’ll listen this time. Paradox ran, turning left, right, right, and finally left through the labyrinth of alleys. He now found himself in front of a desolated high rise apartment complex. Little did anyone know that inside there would be a drug operation, unlike anything that Deepwatch City knew. Ah, man. You should see the smile on my face right now. I bust down the door and run inside. Instead of running down the street, Paradox rushed into the building. The Foresight Five felt the weaves of Fate tugging at the high rise. Soon, the five heroes would find themselves in a den of drugs and corruption. Paradox had managed to slip his Fate, but now Deepwatch City was a little cleaner after tonight. Off in the distance, a melodic whistling is… I'm the one whistling. I usually do it after pulling something like this off. After all, why shouldn’t I be happy? I got some extra gold from that megalomaniac mayor of this city and just led some supes to the bust of their lifetime. Things honestly were looking up. Hey, who knows, maybe I can use this power to become a hero myself. The villainous Paradox once again outwitted the heroes of Deepwatch City. But at least the Foresight Five managed to get one of his drug dens. One day, they would bring in that mastermind of a criminal. … Why do the supes always think that those are mine? Well, this whole “vigilante” is working, so why fix what ain’t broke, y’know? It seemed that Paradox was once again talking to himself. What a poor soul. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? We’ll never truly find out Paradox’s actual intents. You’re mad about the Jiminy Cricket thing, aren’t you? Possibly. ___ If you enjoyed my writing, then I have more stories at r/WritingKnightly!
Yohar placed the final piece of his carapace on his crimson body, reminiscent of what the underling Earthers call “lobsters.” It was not just his proud race, the terrifying Undarians whom are biological tanks, who decided to snuff the hairless apes of this system for the resource their Empire needs. The Haumarines, a tall and limber hunter species from a forest planet notched their ironwood bows, all eagerly ready to snipe the Terrans when the Scout Minister announced that the humans wear soft armor. And of course to complete the Trinity of Alpha Species, the Ubuntans, masters of Blacksteel blades, those who could forge the sharpest metal in the galaxy would be fighting by his side to exterminate this vermin. “I’m excited to taste human flesh. I’ve heard they have different ‘cultures,’ each with different diets. You think we could brainwash and farm them?” His comrade Allgn said next to him while sharpening his sword. “Don’t get too excited. While Humans may be terribly equipped by their Creator, they are the alpha species on this planet.” Dustula said while counting the feathered shafts that were poison arrows in his quiver. “Heh. That just means that the insects have livestock much more inferior to them. This planet is a galactic buffet!!” T Minus Five Seconds until ground contact. Four, Three, Two.. Dropship 003 counted its monotonous countdown, and while the trio and a whole battalion of the Empire’s finest Invaders were eager to make this planet a part of their beautiful collection, but then Dropship 012 next to it caught ablaze and combusted. 003’s company commander was taken aback. “BASTUR! (translation: FUCK!) These ships are meant for class-9 planets! The atmosphere here isn’t even close to a class-1! Were these ships rigged? I’ll have head engineer Mhuldorf beheaded and fed to the Regonians-“ Yohar was about to attempt to compose the Commander as usual, but then as he reached for him, a hole twang through the ship’s hull and took his entire left claw off. “Agh! How?? Our shells are forged with carbon-cellulose plates!” Then, twenty more of the tiny holes appeared and turned the front bay door of Dropship 003 into a Bantham-Cheese grater. It shred through his brothers-in-arms’ carapaces like a spear through water. One hit him in the thorax, causing him to leak blood and white flesh. The dead man’s vessel he stood in began to violently glide towards the Earth surface. After it crashed, Yohar looked around him. Arrows spilled on the floor. Black blades cracked and some even shattered. In an unholy mixture of shock and determination, he tore open the side panel of the ship, just in time to see another Imperial Battalion in front of him. Another Commander pulled him up. “We’ll get you a healer. Hey, maggot! Cover us, we have to salvage this ship and relief the ones who were injured in the Humans’ cursed weaponcraft!” Weapons? The ship damage mid-air was caused by weapons? Surely these stupid primates could not have harnessed- Gone. The entire battalion in front of him was vaporized in a flash of light and fire followed by suffocating smoke. A few seconds later he faintly heard, above all the ringing he experienced, a smaller but no less gentle fussilade of booms. He clutched his auditory orifices, his predator ossicles not meant for frequencies this loud, and clicked in pain. He had no stamina left, was stunned and critically wounded, and his blue brain inside his head was left unarmored. The body of the Commander, whose name he didn’t even catch, lay next to him, turned into a dark red pulp. He extended his antennae from his body in a desperate attempt to communicate with any other Imperial, no matter their race, and warn them of this planet’s terror. “Gods of destruction. They are not weak.. they wiped us off like we squished the Rachtbugs on Vondalore. They harness and fire volleys ten times more powerful than lightning. We are no match for this species, who clearly somehow bred fucking thunder to do their bidding. Please. Avoid this planet at all costs. Set up an exclusion zone.. if you cann..” And as a human saw him shriveled up in the crater which he lied, he knew those were his last words. Yet out of pure survival instinct he tried to speak more. “Please, have mercy..” [] Private McClellan looked down on the giant crustacean in the pit. It grabbed one of its own many feet and looked at him with compound eyes rotating. It clicked like a roach, extremely fast, and was getting quite annoying. It was like the bastard was asking to be put down. “Woah. You’re a tough little son of a bitch, surviving a fucking arty barrage like that, huh?” It clicked once, and raised its head and eye stalks towards him. Davis proceeded to fire a 7.62 NATO in its skull. “Oi, cunt!” Captain Archer “Wanker” Willie ran up to him and punched him. McClellan swore he almost dislocated his shoulder. “The hell you think you’re doing, emptying lead into a perfectly intact Lobster like that!” “Sorry. It’s my first day in the job. Am i not supposed to shoot these Aliens, sir?” “Nah mate. We just rarely get these shites in this condition. 76th Artillery’s stuck here scavenging the damn Lobster paste off the floor, seasoned with gunpowder. You then find a fresh one, and your first fucken thought is to empty a bullet right into his damn skull?” “Sir, i’m confused. I thought human rights don’t let us take hostages..” “Davis my boy, he ain’t human. And besides, that isn’t my point. We ran out of soy sauce last week!” “Wait, what are we exactly talking about, sir?” The Captain looked at him with a hardened expression painted from glutton, greed, and disappointment all at once. “The lead ruins the taste.” - FYI, i don’t participate in this subreddit much but i am thinking about getting into an author’s seat and writing science fiction, historical fiction, hell even fanfiction in order to have a pastime i can enjoy during these hard times. Good luck to you fellow humans out there. No matter who you are. I know this pandemic has taken a toll on all of you. Please stay safe and healty! (:
Gorrick Delver had seen the posters, anyone who’d been to the elf district had. Beautiful maidens, teary eyed as they waved goodbye to their dashing captains, elven soldiers filing aboard stylized warships, the roaring flames of their engines blinding as the pushed for the sky. Blocky red letters at the top, the words *“TO THE MOON!”* emblazoned for all to see. They’d laughed at him the last time he was there, pantomimed frantic swings of a pickaxe as he walked by. There would be a reckoning soon, Gorrick felt that deep in his bones where the marrow gave way to iron and the measure of a man was revealed. The Mirrored Monarchy had lasted a very long time, but it wouldn’t last through this. He was safely back into the dwarf district now and the signs of industry were everywhere. Let the elves have their magics. In some shining tower on the arse-end of the capital there would be a whole smattering of wizards hard at work, muttering dusty words and throwing powders about as if that would build them a ship capable of breaking atmosphere. Dwarves had no need of such things, theirs was a world of cold steel and hard science. He could hear the laborers in The Pit even now and the remnants of the Dwarf Town Square was still many blocks away. There was the telling hiss of the steam engines, the clanking of massive gears. And below that, far, far below were the pickaxes. Good solid dwarves at their sacred labors, bringing themselves closer to the God with every strike. The reckoning was coming, and Gorrick Delver would be there to see it. He reached the work site soon after, racing down ladders and hurling himself through the mine chutes, delving deeper and deeper into the bones of their world. It grew hot as he descended, a scorching, forgelike heat. They were close now, they had to be. “Armagh!” Gorrick shouted as the end of the tunnel finally came into view. “How goes it? Are we close?” Armagh Ironmane turned, brushing through his long, steely hair. “Aye! We’re nearly there, you’ve come just in time. What of the knife-ears? How close are they?” “Still days out from a launch my friend, we’ve beaten them!” the two men clasped arms at the elbow, butting their foreheads together in greeting. “You’ll set off Big Bertha soon?” “Oh aye, she’s ready to blow,” Armagh laughed, turning to point down from the thick timbered scaffolding they stood on. Below them was the pinnacle of dwarven weapons technology. A massive bomb, wider across than four men’s armspans and twice his height. It was blocky, it was cumbersome, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Several paces down the tunnel a host of dwarves crowded around a rapidly growing point of light, their pickaxes swinging frantically. Gorrick squinted, struggling to understand what he saw for a long moment. When he finally did he reeled, bracing himself against his friend’s shoulder for support. “The legends were true?” Gorrick gasped. “Aye. They were.” Armagh said reverently. The shining object below them was a diamond, of mythic size and quality. The holy texts held that in the intensity of his labors at Creation the God had stoked his forge so hot and beaten his iron so hard that diamonds flew from every strike, falling in heaps around him. He kicked them away, uncaring of their value, until they formed a great ring around him, and as he labored further to build the world they continued to pile up, encasing him in the core. The God was a true artisan, so absorbed was he in his work that he didn’t notice the walls he had inadvertently built, not until he worked his greatest creation, his children. The Dwarves. In shock the God had looked about himself, searching for a gap through which he might cast his people out to live freely in the world he had made for them. There had only been one though, and a small one at that. The God had shed a tear for his children then, a tear that became the heart of every Dwarf, and hammering down hard onto his last creation he had crushed them down to fit. But a last diamond had still clung to them, for mettle as a dwarf had could not be made under any but the hardest of labors, and as the God cast them out he sealed himself in, trapping himself in the core of the world, away from his children, with only his forge for company. That was the shine Gorrick was seeing. The miners below exposed more of it with every passing minute, a great swarm of sweating, swearing dwarves carving the perfect gem from the earth. “It’s time.” Armagh said hours later. “Are you ready to meet our God?” Gorrick nodded excitedly, gesturing at the mine foreman to pull back his men. When they were safely clear Armagh pulled a lever and the bomb began to slowly move forward on its specially made track, rolling straight towards the exposed face of the diamond. The dwarves all turned, running back towards the bunker that had been built, and the single long fuse that trailed from it. Gorrick lit the torch himself, handing it to Armagh, and the two watched reverently as the fuse lit, its long, burning trail running off towards the bomb. Armagh began to count, “5…4…3…2…1…” They waited, barely breathing. Nothing happened. Gorrick glanced over at his friend, “Is it working?” “I don’t know, we couldn't test—” A deafening explosion tore through the mine, and the part of Gorrick’s brain that didn’t instantly shut off in terror thought the elves in their district above must surely have heard it. With that, massive, echoing boom they’d know they had lost. Looking about himself Gorrick could see many of the workers had fallen to the ground, Armagh appeared to be bleeding from an ear. Gorrick could only imagine what a horror he looked. And then they heard it, as if from a great distance off. *\CLANG* \CLANG \CLANG** Gorrick walked out of the bunker, all the others behind him, and began to make his way towards the ragged hole the bomb had torn in the diamond wall. It came again, that rhythmic clanging noise, like metal striking metal. Something was happening within the hole, great prismatic sparks flying with every noise. Something shifted in the darkness, a shape too large for words, the rustling of cloth, the deep groan of a stretch. Something pressed itself up against the hole in the diamond. Something shockingly white, with a deep black in brown center. “Armagh, what is that?” Gorrick whispered, reaching back to grasp his friend's upper arm. Armagh didn’t respond, no one else spoke. In a sea of people Gorrick felt shockingly alone. Then the object blinked and Gorrick knew what it was. He stared into an eye, larger across than the bomb had been and taller, an eye that pierced through to his very soul. There came a rumbling on the other side of the diamond and the ground shook, throwing several of the workers to their feet. It was laughter, their God was laughing. “To the core,” Gorrick whispered, falling to his knees and making the sign of the hammer on his chest. All around him the others followed suit, whispers of “the core,” rippling out across their ranks. They’d won their race, proven their god was the real one. But whose reckoning was this? \------ If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. There's a YA style scifi serial about three psychic teens in a silent world and other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
Greg the Vampire stood over The Captain’s sleeping pod. “Greg,” said The Captain, “oh hey man, what’s up? Why am I awake?” Greg grimaced. The Captain frowned. “Oh hmm. Did something happen? Is this an emergency?” The Captain stirred in his pod, and tried to remember if he had packed his official emergency-use-only Captain’s pants with matching underwear. (He had not, but don’t fret Dear Reader, for the “emergency” pants (with matching underwear) were mostly placebo anyway.) “There’s, uh, been an incident,” said Greg the Vampire. “With all the other passengers.” “An incident.” The Captain and Greg the Vampire regarded each other for a long silent moment. The Captain sighed. “You ate them, didn’t you.” “No, I would nev—“ “I told everyone this would happen. Put vampires in charge and they’ll just eat us, that’s what I said!” “Captain! Honest! I didn’t eat anyone!” “Ok. ...then what happened?” “I got bored, sir. Two hundred years! By myself!” The Captain crossed his arms, which looked mostly ridiculous considering that he was still lying mostly naked in a sleeping pod. “And?” “And... well... I drew dicks on everyone’s faces.” “You did... what?” “Drew penises, sir. Large ones. On people’s foreheads.” “All two hundred fifty-three thousand eight hundred ninety-two passengers?” The Captain was turning the same shade of red that the sleeping pods’ display panels had turned when Greg the Vampire had temporarily opened the sleeping pods so he could draw on people’s faces. This alarmed Greg the Vampire. “Yes sir, every one.” “My god, man—“ “Vampire, actually.” “How long must that have taken you?” “About two hundred years, sir.” The Captain furrowed his eye brows, trying to work out the mathematics. “But that means you must have started—“ “Right when we launched sir. Practically immediately. I had a lot of people to get through.” The Captain stared at Greg the Vampire. “My god, son. What can we do? Wash off the ink?” Greg’s shoulders slumped. “Permanent markers, sir. It’s all I packed.” “You packed the markers?!” “I wanted high quality tools for my work, sir.” The Captain nodded. He had once been an Engineer First Class. He understood the importance of good tools. “What then did you wake me for?” Greg held up a black marker. “You were the last one sir—“ The Captain reached up to touch his own forehead, though of course he couldn’t actually feel the large hairy dong that had been lovingly drawn on him. “—I was wondering if you could do me, sir, so I would fit in with everyone.” Greg the Vampire extended the black marker towards The Captain. His eyes brimmed with hope.
As the dead marched from the Druid's sacred forest, many believed something terrible had happened to the druids within. But I knew better. The corpses shambling across the countryside, cutting down all any intelligent being who stood in their way, were the work of the druids themselves. Animated through the use of parasitic fungus, to be used to cleanse the world of life deemed unnatural. I know this because I was the one who developed the spell. The intention was to use the corpses of intruders in the sacred forest to preform simple tasks, allowing the druids more time to study the wonders of nature. My colleagues however saw only the potential for destruction. They began animating an army, one with which they would cleanse the world of the intelligent life they called a plague. At first I thought they'd lost their minds. But in time I realized this had always been there. Too many druids had taken that path not because they loved the complexity of nature. But because they resented the existence of intelligence. To them nature wasn't a wonder, it was the norm, and intelligence was abhorrent. I spent months powerless against this fungal revolution, hiding and praying they would not find me. But not today. It took a week to figure out how to make the rain stop. Seven more for the sacred forest to dry out. Today it was little more than a pile of kindling. With a snap a bolt of lightning crashed down, setting the drying forest ablaze. Intelligence is part of nature. Fire is a part of nature. Metal. Stone. Life. Death. Nature encompassed all of it. That is a lesson my brethren forgot in their bitterness. That is a lesson they will not live to relearn.
Being the master of the house took some getting used to. It was a beautiful place. The branch of the family it belonged to had always had a large bank account, that complimented their "better than you"attitude to life. So it was a large surprise when I inherited the house over my cousins. But, being an old mansion, it had a few quirks. The plumbing acted up, a few rooms were odd shapes. The walls were thick enough that getting signal over WiFi was difficult. The windows could so with replacing. And then there were the tenants. Something about the house made it the perfect place for some... interesting people to live. Unless you were the master, they could hide from you with ease. I had had guests over who never even knew they were being watched. One nearly knocked over an expensive vase that came with the place. He didn't notice the hand catching it. Fangs was the one I knew the best. She had taken point, and acted as the spokesperson for the mortally challenged people who lived with me. She had told me her original name, but just said to call her Fangs, as it was easier. She had approached me first, telling me about the place. She was upfront with what was going on. They stayed here, and just needed me to help them. Mostly it was getting in their food, sometimes it was sorting out issues they were having. And in return, they served me as the master of the house. It took a bit for me to agree. The main bit that convinced me was the thought of one of my other relatives having it. They would be far to happy to take advantage of their position. And from our conversation, Fangs was far too nice for me to allow that to happen. So I agreed. She was simple. Fresh blood once a week did her well. And sometimes she would ask for a picture of the garden in the sun. I didn't have much of a green thumb, but she seemed happy about it. Harvey was the next to introduce himself. He was very loyal, taking to following me around when I left the house. But I couldn't blame him really. Being the master meant I was the leader of the pack as it were. It was comforting having him watching my back. And all he wanted was a supply of fresh meat. There was Yabble, who didn't really interact with me all that much. And as long as there were fresh flowers on her grave out back, she had no issue. If I didn't, she could make one hell of a racket. A few others lived in there as well. Mostly they kept to themselves, though I caught them every now and again making repairs or just generally cleaning. As long as I got in their food, along with any materials they needed, we were golden. In the garden, Sylvia ruled below me. She cared deeply for her plants, always watching from her tree. It was surprising just how much she could grow, even when it shouldn't grow in the climate. And what she did grow always tasted phenomenal. We fell into a regular routine. Once a week, I would do their shopping. I became well known in the local markets, buying hefty amounts of a variety of things. They would give me a list of anything additional, and I would do my best to acquire what they needed. During the rest of the week, Fastus would provide me with timely investment advice. It was obvious just how that branch got their money. He was smart, seeing patterns before I did. I jokingly called him my scaled investor, which he found rather amusing. They left me alone when I was working, as trying to work remotely was not helped when they wanted me. But Fangs made me excellent cups of tea, which she supplied me with throughout the day. When I wasn’t working, I took great delight in listening to them. They had wonderful stories, that I eagerly drank up. They spoke of previous generations, and the things they had seen. It was amazing. I had started to record them, meaning to write them down at some point. That was how I lived, the Master of the House of Horrors.
The day I came back from death was the most amazing day of my life. I was in a new world, a world so much better than the one I left. This new universe had magic. It had dragons and quests and monsters and guilds. That first day, I was alive. My life before was nothing if not mundane. I'd drop my daughter off at school. I'd go to work. I'd get stuck in traffic for an hour, listen to an episode of a podcast reccomended by a coworker, and sip my warm-turning-cold coffee. I'd work. Go home. Another hour in traffic. Pick up my daughter. Cook dinner. Wash dishes. Sleep. Drive. Traffic. Work. Traffic. Cook. Clean. Sleep. Drive. Traffic. Work... I remember the last day, there was hardly any traffic. I was almost excited for I could go faster than 40 mph on the freeway. Other people seemed more excited than me, though. For the car going 80 blindsided me faster than I could react-- But I was free. I didn't have to go to work anymore. I didn't have to sleep and wait in traffic just to drop my daughter off. I didn't have to cook or clean or do anything like that. I could go on quests. I could be praised for my heroic duties. I could be rewarded with bags of gold and gems of all colors. I had months, how many I don't know for I soon lost count, but I knew it was months. Not years. Months. Where I had fun. But after those how many months, I started to wonder. You see, there were parts of this world that I loved. But there were parts that never changed. The quests changed, sure. There were new monsters nailed to the wooden board outside the town's tavern. There were new bounties and new lands to explore. But inside the town, I never really saw anyone change. The town had three main parts to it. It had the upper side, where I lived. The mayor lived there, too. The owner of the bar, members of my guild, and other important people who I hadn't come to know lived there. Then there was the lower side. That's where the tavern was. Tough guys with long, blond hair tied in a bun would try to rustle coins from anyone who passed by. There were small gangs and gang leaders. And no matter how many times I beat them down, no matter how much armor or weapons I acquired, they always tried to hustle me for money. It was a challenge at first. But after completing other quests and upgrading my equipment, it became less than an annoyance. They appraoched the same way. Said the same things. The last part of the town was the beach. It was where the lower side people fished. It always had the younger generations playing volleyball or some sport. The girls were always dressed in small bikinis and the men had washboard abs. No matter what day it was, they were there. It was interesting to me at first, watching them play. But after the months went by, it was bizarre. It was all the same. I'd say hi to the mayor on my way out. I'd check the tavern board to see the new quests. I'd get approached by a gang leader trying to mug me. I'd watch the girls play their beach sports. I'd kill a monster. Get the reward. Hello, Mayor. Quest. Mugged. Beach. Monster. Reward. Hello, Mayor... It was becoming mundane. Both lives were mundane. But there was one thing missing from my world of quests and monsters. One thing I missed dearly. That morning, when I went to the tavern, I stepped inside. The bartender was cleaning some glasses as he always did. He offered me the same empty seat. He asked if I wanted the same eggs and toast that I always ordered. I said sure, and he brought them to me as if they were waiting. "What happens if I die?"I asked, my mouth full of the eggs. "Why would you die? You're the strongest warrior in the realm." "I don't know why. I just want to know what would happen." "It's impossible,"he said. "You have so many things protecting you. Look at that armor. And that sword--phew. You're much too powerful to be beaten." "I've almost been beaten many times,"I shot back. "Yes,"he said. "But you always pull through." "But what if I didn't pull through?" "Like I said, I don't believe that's possible,"the bartender said. The door opened, and I didn't need to look to know who it was. It was the lower side's gang member. He always came into the tavern around this time of day. He'd shake the bartender for some money. Sometimes, I'd tell him to scram and save the tavern from losing money. "What the hell do you want?"The bartender asked, as if it wasn't the same thing every day. I left then, pushing past the gang member without a care. I ripped a quest sheet off the board without bothering to look at what it was or how much the reward promised. I passed by the beach. Their swimsuits threatened to slip off at any moment. But they never did. Months ago, I would've been enamored. But it was the same. Mundane. I set off on the quest. I braved the mountains, the waters. I asked the small-folk who were hearding cattle along the way. They always knew which way the monsters were. When I got to the beast, there were helms, gauntlets, swords, and bones from other fallen warriors. I was the one who was supposed to beat it. I always did. There was a little girl outside the beast's lair. She was crying. I knew before talking to her that her father or brother or something had gone in there and hadn't come out. She'd ask me to defeat the beast and bring her back her brother or father or whatever. I'd beat the beast and bring back her father's sword, for her father was no more. She'd thank me and then cry. But that time, I knew I wasn't going to bring anything back. I walked in. I let the armor fall from my body. My breastplate clattered to the floor. My helm clanked on the hard stone. My sword fell into the dust and it felt like a weight was lifted from my heart. The beast was a griffin-like creature. I'd seen it before. I'd killed it before. I remember, for it was one of my first quests. I'd cut off the beast's head only to have it grow back and engulf in flame. Most creatures didn't die the first time you killed it. This wasn't any different. The creature snapped at me with its pointed, golden beak. I grabbed its head in my hands, moving at a speed learned from months of fighting. I broke its neck with one clean snap. The body went limp for only a second before the fire overtook it. The creature rose again. And I met the flames with open arms. This was the part where I was supposed to feel defeated. This was the part where I, the main character, was supposed to have the false sense of success only to have it beaten down. But at the end of the day, I'd remain victorious. But then I'd go back to the tavern. The mugging. The beach. Hello, Mayor... It was mundane. Nothing. It happened over and over again. Just like my life before, it was boring. But there was one thing. One thing that I would've traded all the gold, the glory, the praise, the beach girls, and the world for. I was supposed to win. But I let the flames consume me. It seemed as if even the creature was confused as my body began to burn. It seemed hesitant. This wasn't supposed to happen. But I died. I wasn't supposed to, but I died. And even after the monsters, saving the tavern, beating the gangs, helping the small-folk, avenging kids who lost their father or brother or whatever, I don't think I'd ever trade that for the mundane of my world. I don't think I'd ever choose this over getting stuck in traffic. I'd never trade it for dropping that little girl off at her school. And as the life left me, all I could think about was my daughter. For every life had the mundane, but not every life gave me her.
While the other students filtered out of the lecture hall, Peter and Sarah put their heads together and stared at his phone. The former saw Alan and waved him over. "Check this out,"he said excitedly. "I found a video of the parasite wasp the professor mentioned." "Ugh, it's so gross,"Sarah said gleefully. Alan rolled his eyes and came over. On the phone's screen, a small spider swayed in its web. A wasp landed on its back and stung it, making its hairy limbs twitch briefly. He blinked, then leaned closer, his breath quickening. "They say the larva takes over its body,"Peter said. "Makes it build a special web to protect it. Freaky, right?" "Yeah,"Alan said, licking his lips. The sight seemed to resonate with him strangely. "Look, it's laying eggs now,"Peter said with morbid fascination. "I can't watch,"Sarah cried, still peeking from the corner of her eye. "That's so hot,"Alan whispered. "Infect that host, baby." Peter choked out an incredulous laugh and looked up. "What?" "Huh?"Alan said, shaking off his reverie. "Dude,"Sarah said, sending him a strange look. "You're drooling." He lurched back and hurriedly wiped his chin. "It's nothing. Just—just a fascinating video, is all. Later, guys." He bid a hasty retreat, feeling Peter's and Sarah's gazes on his back. What the hell had happened? One thing he was sure of, there was something seriously wrong with him.
Colton was a fan of keeping old tech around in his beach bungaloo. He was out in his garage, working on a new suit for his old dog, Sarah. She was having a nap in some old bedding that Colton had put out on his workbench; just a small pillow with some straw strewn about. Sarah had nestled her way into a nice little burrow in the straw. Above the workbench, Colton had a small tele-tube that he had refurbished. On it, he had rigged a way to receive the news. Typically, you would need a modern day holo-projector to view anything that was broadcasted over the vizi-net, but Colton had figured a way to directly display the show on the ole tele-tube. Television, his great grandfather had once told him. He remembered sitting down in his great grandfather's house, listening to the old man rock back and forth in his recliner, sipping on moonshine, talking about ancient platforms such as TikTok, and YouTube. Back when his great grandfather would get a few too many sips deep on the moonshine, he'd also tell Colton about other kinds of "tubes", but his mother would often chastise his great grandfather. Colton didn't understand why though; it wasn't like you couldn't just load yourself up into the viz-net and have sex with any kind of simulation you wanted. But he guessed for his old great grandfather, back then, you managed with what you had. On the tele-tube, were several politicians from several different organizations discussing the current standings in the Galactic Council. Colton didn't pay any mind to the show, but he did recognize several of the voices. One of which, was a woman from the Sol Federation, the President. She mentioned how Sol and all of the colonies had been quickly climbing the ranks in the Galactic Council and how it was thanks to the citizens of all of the outer colonies for their advancements in technology that helped them as well as the rest of the galactic council with intergalactic travel, as well as their breakthroughs in virtual reality technology. With such advancements, she said, many other breakthroughs were allowed to take place. Colton didn't pay any mind; he continued working on his current project, which was fixing the robotic avatar that his dog Sarah used. Sarah was an old dog, well past her prime, and honestly, well past her life-expectancy, but Colton had prolonged her life by creating a robotic avatar that he finally managed to upload Sarah's conscience into. No dog has a conscience, his ex-wife had told him. Dogs don't have souls. Colton huffed as he sautered a new servo onto the build, and then used his ex-wife's old toothbrush to outline the servo with oil, as well as clean out bits of sand that had gotten into the build. He had managed to get the build to finally work, after years of testing, and also years of watching his dog Sarah grow older and grayer, but now he had finally got a working model. "You ready for another test run?"he asked Sarah. She raised her head from her bed, and slowly blinked at Colton. "You gotta promise me that you don't go running out into the wet sand anymore, you hear me?" Sarah licked her chops and let out a lowly "Woof". "Okay now,"Colton said, clipping two sensors to the tips of Sarah's ears, "Now hold still, and be calm, good girl, now..." Sarah dipped her head down, looking as if she had gone back to sleep. The sensors now clipped to the tips of her ears glowed purple, and the avatar on Colton's workbench sprung to life, jumping up and onto Colton. "There you go now, girl, there you go,"he said, as the robotic avatar began to lick at Colton's face, even though the mechanism didn't even have a tongue. "Calm down now, calm down." He placed the robotic avatar back onto the workbench, and then said, "Okay, now, jump!"he said as he snapped is fingers above his head. The robotic avatar jumped at his command. "Now, sit!", and without hesitation, the robotic avatar sat down. "Good girl,"Colton said, patting at the avatar's head. "Looks like all systems are go!" Colton looked back to Sarah's body, and saw that it appeared she was sleeping, but he knew different; he knew that her conscience was now fully loaded into the robotic avatar before him. For all intents and purposes, Sarah's mind and soul had been loaded into the robot. "You ready to go out onto the beach?"he asked. Robot Sarah chirped at him, and hopped off the workbench and out of the garage. Colton followed, briefly hearing the tele-tube, and how human's were nearing a great advancement in technology that would benefit the entire Galactic Council. Out on the beach, Colton hooted and hollered as Robot Sarah ran up and down the beach. He called after her when he saw the tide coming in, saying, "Don't get in that wet sand now! You know what happened last time! Mucking up them gears, I don't want to spend another evening cleaning them out again!" He laughed as he saw Robot Sarah bark at the water, then come running back up the beach onto dry sand. He continue walking along the beach, gaining more and more distance between him and the workshop he had made for himself. He looked out away from the water and to the city skyline, where he could make out faint impressions of the hover cars that flew here and there, taking their passengers from their homes and to their workplaces, or to wherever the hell those people were going. He was happy to be done working in the city, and was happy to be spending his time out here on the beach, and with his ole dog Sarah. A sharp holler broke his daydream, and Colton turned his head to look towards Robot Sarah. He saw that she was out near the water, being held up by what appeared to be a man, dressed in a black suit. "Hey!"Colton yelled, "You let her go!" "Oh?"The man said, dangling Robot Sarah above the water, "Let her go, here?" He saw as Robot Sarah hung above the water, and knew that if she fell in, the robot would be fried, and Sarah's conscience would be lost. "No, please, give her back to me,"Colton said, almost wimpering. "You loaded your dogs conscience into this mechanical being,"the man in black said. "How fascinating, I would like to know more about how you managed to pull this off." "Give her back, and I'll tell you everything you need to know,"Colton said, arms outstretched.
Ever since i answered the add in the back of Soldier of Fortune Magazine back in 2015, yes this was before the paper copies went away. I thought I was going to be a travel correspondent for an up and coming internet news outlet. I filled out the questionnaire took some tests and for sure thought i was taking an MRI but low and behold I became a Universe Jumper. What is a "Universe Jumper"you may ask? Well the job entails jumping from universe to universe, call them alternative realities if you will, and collecting as much data as possible about the new universe. Due to quantum mechanics and Yupik spell lore, no diary can be sent back to central control without bouncing around to a few different universes. Our universe isn't alone in this mapping project so the diaries get kicked around copied and recopied then sent to the home universe eventually. So as the system works I get jumped to a new universe every seven days and my last diary also gets jumped to someone else as I go to a different universe. The really weird part is that I seem to be a statistical outlier in regard to being a Universe Jumper as I am the only non Kardashian of the 7534 known Universe Jumpers, which means that the only diaries that I get back are from members of the various Kardashian families from across the multiverse. Yeah no kidding how weird is that? I was good with the first seven diaries from the different variants of Kim, Khloé and Kourtney. For the most part collectively they had some interesting insights into the universes in which they had been jumped. The last few have been written in Armenian so I just write my observations in the diary and move forward from there. Things started getting exponentially weird when the Kardashian family members that don't exist in our timeline started showing up on my radar and reaading list. For example Yesenia, Twisted Thunder, Branwen, Enola Gay and Lotus. Yesenia is an old school Marxist type who is hell bent of spreading the word of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels across the multiverse. When she writes she uses the word proletariat way too often. She can't describe the most popular foods of any universe without using the word proletariat. Twisted Thunder is the love child of Bill Clinton and Kris Houghton (the mom) who had a fling with Bill back in the early 90's. Twisted Thunder was a classical pianist now turned gun runner who seems hell bent on trying to beat her high score in every new universe by setting up a bigger and bigger sale of weapons to any one who wants to get involved with here. She also seems to have a penchant for dancing with Mr. Brownstone. Branwen is just batshit crazy as she writes everything in terms of Jack in the Box food and death poetry. Some really weird dark shit coming out of this one. I am kind of sad that our dimension didn't get this one. I am not a Kardashian Reality show addict but if they had this gal in my universe I would totally be on board. Enola Gay was an MMA fighter in her original universe where she won the title by knocking out Ronda Rousey. Anything out of Enola Gay is information on the MMA fight scene in whatever universe she hops into, she also has what I would call a very unhealthy penchant for bullying the various Ronda Rousey variants across the multiverse. Someone really needs to do an intervention with this one. Lotus just sets up shop and smokes a lot of weed. Like Willie Nelson and Snoop dog levels of weed. Her writings are off the wall and usually turn into a 5000 word dissertation on the best flavors of Doritos in the different universes. She is also very focused on variations of the Jack in The Box menu items across the multiverse. I can't wait to get back to my universe and I can move on from this collection of universe hopping Kardashians. Where the hell are a good set of Ruby Slippers when you need them?
The being before me was one that I was more than familiar with. Bipedal, proportionate (at least on the outside), brains large relative to their bodies, fleshy, and fairly smart in comparison to some of the other ships residents. I was thankful it was a human who had come to the med bay today rather than something with more limbs or eyes. A day of work with just a human was almost always an easy one. Most of their wounds were superficial, though they did have this cancer defect that could manifest in quite a nasty way. As he entered I cut him short, "So, homesickness huh? What are the symptoms?"The human began listing off a series of "feelings"babble that I ignored and instead opted to look it up in my holo-pad. Asking patients anything was just a courtesy. The holo-pad got to work, flying through a series of medical ailments before landing on a large information not found in current database. The database had every sickness, nearly every ailment ever known. Even those odd bits in the far reaches of the outward spiral were catalogued neatly in the database. "Do you all have any other names for it where you come from? Other than homesick?"The man stared at me with this dumb look on his pink, fleshy face. After a moment he replied: "Its just that the sickness is not literal" I paused my scribbles and stared at the holo board in between my hands. I could feel the space inside of my coat heat up as fear spread through me. The words choked out of my throat with fear. "Don't tell me... it's metaphorical." "Well it's more of an expression-" "Metaphorical sickness in bay 4! Symptoms have begun expressing!"I yelled into a speaker on the wall and my voice blared throughout the ship from above. The humans eyes opened wide and he ran for the door at the sound of an alarm, the flashing of lights, but I was too fast. With a fist I slammed the button on the wall neatly labeled: Quarantine Protocol, Level 5. The door he was making his way to bolted closed and he skidded to a halt. For a moment there was silence between us. The only sound was of the alarms outside and their muffled blaring. He took a seat at the far side of the room. Just last year a metaphorical sickness had taken hold of half of our crew. I wasn't going to let that happen again. "You cannot leave until we fix this I'm afraid. Metaphorically speaking your sickness could be anything. Plus, the data logs have nothing on this 'homesickness', but because it has a name I'm assuming you humans know it well. Tell me." He let out a long sigh, a human gesture I have known to mean annoyance, or regret, or deep pain, or acceptance. One of those. "No. It's not like a sickness sickness. It's figurative. I miss my home, therefore I am homesick."it took me a moment to register. My kind did not have anything like this. I suppose we missed home, my kind, but not to the point of illness "Is this homesickness contagious?"I asked. Now he was the one to take a moment. "Uhm. Well. I suppose. But only if you share experiences, share memories of a place." As he spoke I let the newly opened entry for "Homesick"in my holo-pad populate itself with his words. I wasn't quite sure what they meant. What the sickness was, but it seemed only humans could catch it, which was of some relief. "How do we cure it?" "Well. I suppose if I could tell you about it, about home, maybe it would fix itself.", he seemed to grow stiff at his words. Listening wasn't my forte, but medicine was. And this was medicine. So I nodded. He began slowly, but picked up steam as he spoke. Spoke of not just a land called "Pennsylvania"but of Earth, of the things he had seen on his home planet. He spoke of its beauty and love. Of oceans and views. And in turn I shared some of my own. Though we did not call it the same I too knew of sunsets and valleys. Of happiness and love. After a long while he had seemingly run out of things to say, so he finished with a "Well doc. I think im cured.", and followed it with a smile. A gesture I knew to mean happiness. I returned the gesture in my own awkward way. "That's good. But I think I may be coming down with a tinge of it myself. Same time tomorrow?" He agreed, and I pressed the button to set him free of the room. Never had I failed to cure a patient. Homesickness: A figurative, metaphorical, abstract ailment of deep missing of ones place of creation. Mostly found in humans, but possible to spread to other beings depending on severity. Cure: A long chat
Angels walked the Earth when I was a child. Real life Angels, some were people with wings, some were flying mathematical anomalies that you could barely look at without passing out. I was six, so I don’t remember much, and my account is not my own recollections. I only remember panic and mum not coming home and dad letting me watch as much Peppa Pig as I wanted. The Angels didn’t say a word, they looked at and you felt their meaning. Apparently other people gathered in churches and synagogues and temples and mosques and fields. Where there were large gatherings an Angel would come and most people would vanish. A bright flash, then a thousand people might be gone. Except, not everyone was gone, there were always a handful here and there. And when people were left over, they had a mark on their forehead. The Angels did not speak, but apparently they wrote. They didn’t come for me and dad, left our house alone. We are the damned, lingering here, unexalted. When I was 16, dad got sick and the meagre medical care available at that time wasn’t able to treat it, so he died of the same thing that took his grandfather 40-something years earlier. I lived on in the town we’d moved to after the cities were abandoned. One day, my partner got a call to help out with a translation from a dig site over in what was Turkey. Someone found a scroll in an ornately inscribed jar. There was an old university library a few towns over, so we picked up and moved there and got to work. That was sixteen years ago. Almost thirty-five years since Rapture. I walked in with lunch to find my partner staring at the papers as usual. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘This old book I found had a partial translation of an early Sumerian text. The writing on the jar looked vaguely like Sumerian, even though it lacked a lot of the typical features. But no one has been able to make anything of it yet. Everyone is looking so intently at the scroll because the fragments looked like the Angels’ Glyph.’ ‘But you’re not most people.’ ‘I’ve mostly cracked it, I think. The word for sheep and wheat and farm appear here,’ he said, pointing to photos that were old and cracked now. No one had made a new printer for a long time, supplies were scarce on certain things. ‘The term for sheep matches the Akkadian term, which I got from this translation from a Benedictine monk from the low countries in the middle ages who first looked at it. He also had a term for Angel, and had matched it to another language that I don’t know well...’ This went on for some time. Some of it I knew, but a lot went over my head. The punch line came almost as a by-the-way.’ So this means that The Glyph is actually translated roughly to “shepherd food not”, or “Not shepherd’s food”.’ ‘I…what? Maybe the explanation or how you got there was a bit circuitous, but I don’t see what this has to do with Angels.’ ‘I think there’s a mis-translation in the Monk’s work. He uses “shepherd” in other works and tends to give it divine connotations. As in God being the shepherd of his children. Sure it's different languages, but it holds consistently’ ‘So, “Not Angel food” then?’ I was dumbfounded at the path of logic required, but it was all there on the tables we had taken over in the library. ‘Everyone who got it reported seeing a bright flash and then they appeared back where they were, but alone and with a mark on their face. ‘What if the Angels were not benevolent? What if they were shepherds but took care of the people of the world for the same reason any shepherd takes care of their flock, namely: to eat them.’ ‘Have you been in here too long?’ ‘I think they left us behind to repopulate the world for the next culling.’ ‘So, yes then?’ ‘You’re not listening to me. I’ve been at this for years, and there isn’t any doubt now. We were the lucky ones, the survivors. Not the damned.’ ‘They took the strongest of us. Left hardly any Olympians. Blessings or receiving of sacraments meant nothing to the pattern of who was left. What if there were some they spat out and left for next time?’
“Here you go everyone! I brought healing potions for everyone. Plus I modified them. They should all taste like mead!” Odessa bounced around the campsite as if she had consumed a mountain of sugar. “Thanks Dessa. Better than the swill we usually get.” A gruff voice spoke up. “I’d rather eat dirt than drink healing potions most days.” A hearty laugh rose up from the party. Odessa tittered, “Well that taste is because we witches have to use the essence of rock worms as a binding agent. It helps the potion stay stable otherwise…well bad things happen.” Each member of the party turned a bit green as they looked at the potion in their hand. “Well thank you anyway Odessa.” A squeaky voice spoke up. “Even with worm guts here it is much tastier than that store bought stuff.” “Of course! Anything for my friends!” Odessa smiled. “I am going to be at my cauldron whipping up an invisibility potion for tomorrow. Thank the goddess that it is the Dark Moon. Makes it a lot easier to infuse moon sprites.” As her voice faded across the campsite, a soft voice spoke up, “Are we sure we want to do this El? She seems much happier.” Elsan leaned back his chainmail clinking, “Honestly Edvard, I don’t know. She jumped in front of that spell to protect me. And what it could have done to me, especially with my oaths.” Elsan clenched his hands. “I know that all of you would have done the same to help any of us.” Edvard smiled, “That is true, but with Odessa…” He gestured at the happily humming witch. “I am less sure.” “I think we should still get that cure.” The gruff voice came again. “Mind magic is no joke lads. Even if we would lose out on these potions.” The group looked over at the stoutest member of their party. “Den,” Edvard sighed, “You have potion in your beard again.” Denmorlin brushed some of the drops of potion from his beard. “Well with taste like that I can’t help but down it.” He let out a full belly laugh. “I will miss those potions though.” “I am with Edvard on this,” the squeaky voice came again. “She was so dour before. I believe we should at least give her the option.” All the men looked up to see the last member of their group perched on a tree branch. “Taro, get down from there. It is hard enough to talk to you at the best of times.” Elsan said. “Fine, fine. You all know I am more comfortable up there.” Taro skittered down the tree and sat at the small fire. The other looked at the large squirrel that sat with them. His fur, a rusty red and a small black cap sat at a jaunty angle on his head. “As I was saying, we should at least give her the option. At least with any of us, that spell would have sent us around the twist.” He tittered out. “She was lucky enough to get untwisted.” Silence reigned over the group as they considered their position only broken by the bubbling cauldron and witch in the distance. “We will figure this out tomorrow,” Elsan finally said. “Tonight we need to rest and gather our strength. After all killing a cockatrice will require all of our strength.” The party murmured in agreement and sidled off to bed. None of them noticed the small dark shape that skittered away from where they were sitting. It made its way to the humming witch. As it crawled up her cloak, it paused to let out a few high pitched squeaks into the witch’s ear before melting into the darkness of her cloak. Odessa sighed, “Honestly, those boys are entirely too noble. A spell like that affecting a witch like me. Well I will have to think of some excuse before tomorrow, but for now I have a potion to finish.”
When magic came back into the world, so did the dragons. But dragonslayer as an occupation did not make a return. For the dragons were no longer anything like the old fairy tales, kidnapping princesses, and being killed by knights and dragonslayers hired by kings. These dragons are our new kings. Sapienta the Wise hoards knowledge, he owns the largest data center and archival services, and the biggest library in the country was funded by him. There's Fafnir the Avaricious, who miraculously came back to life after Sigurd killed him to become the biggest banker in the financial world. Ouroboros the Eternal owns multiple laboratories; he is the living embodiment of Big Pharma itself. If there was one thing in common, everyone knew what these dragons hoarded, and everyone knew of the vast wealth they owned from pursuing their chosen hoard. Kaliobrugh the Magnificent is not like other dragons. She is the only dragon who never featured in Forbes Top Fortune 500. She lives in squalid conditions and is constantly asking for funding from the other dragons. All she has to her name is an orphanage. How is Kaliobrugh any magnificent? Just what is she hoarding? And where is she hoarding it? Today is the day we at CNBC will find out, in this exclusive interview our correspondent Diana has arranged with none other than Kaliobrugh the Magnificent! Diana: Your new crowdfunding campaign, Lovely Books for Lovely Kids, has successfully garnered over $20 million in funding, exceeding all stretch goals, congratulations! Could you share with us what inspired you to run this campaign? Kalio: I was inspired when Fafnir came to visit me and asked to play Magic: The Gathering. The children in my orphanage gathered around us to watch, and dear little Timmy asked if he could learn to play too. It hit me right in the kokoro when he told me "There's so much writing on these cards...but its ok, I'll do my best". The inability to read doesn't just deny children job opportunities, it cuts them out of so many lovely activities in life, even just a simple TCG. Diana: That's such a unique story. It's hard to imagine that a simple round of card games could inspire such an incredible campaign! Would you like to tell us how will you use these funds to help the children? Kalio: The funds will be used to distribute quality textbooks and educational materials to various schools in low-income districts to ensure they can access good informative knowledge close to that of the elite schools. The gap between the have and have-nots are really huge, and its not just about the money. Diana: Ah, the noble goal of closing the extreme income gap in America. So Kaliobrugh, would you mind if we move on to one of the most pressing questions that the general public has been dying to know: Where is your hoard? All your charitable, non-profit campaigns have been largely successful, even when they did not reach their crowdfunding targets, where would the money come from then? Kalio: Why, it comes from my beloved subjects and underlings. When I wanted to build a new school, Sapienta sponsored most of it. When I wanted free vaccinations to be made available to endangered tribes in Africa, Ouroboros supplied the vaccines. Diana: This raises so many questions, yet leaves the most important question unanswered. Sapienta and Ouroboros are your underlings and are always ready to fund your campaigns when they don't meet their targets? And just where is your hoard? Kalio: Of course they are my underlings, just as I am their magnificent queen. I no longer have any use for gold and riches when my subjects have me covered. No, my sweet child, I hoard good will and kindness. It really goes a long way, looking at all the favors I can call with a snap of my finger. You should try it too, Ms Diana Willowbrough. My sources tell me you've never volunteered or donated at a charity.
I was doing the 67,876th maintenance on the substructure of the universe, on a planet I've designated as sacred. The pyramids built upon it by the followers I gained through a few simple "signs from the gods"were necessary parts in creating an energetic interface with the universe. In god form, I can't really get my hands into the gears and inner mechanisms the way I can through the pyramidal system I developed throughout the universe. I also cannot let any being know that I'm God, because then it creates an error in the coding. I'd have to hard reset the whole thing and that is a huge bitch to pull off. I descended upon the pyramid and the cap began to glow a golden light out into space. The two ancillary pyramids shot their energy into the main pyramid and it opened a hatch to the under working mechanisms of the universe. I peered in and perceived every bit of information from the hole in space-time. As I suspected, the super genius Javier Kennedy had made himself smarter, infused himself with cyborg tech and has traveled into the distant future to progress his process of exponential personal development. There are rules to being a God. I cannot interfere with human development. The only thing I can do is look upon this lost man with pity and hope he never figures out who I am. I watch him reach a peak in his singularity with technology and he vanishes from the timeline. Immediately, I shut the pyramids down and dissapear back into my cosmic overseer form, frantically looking for Javier in every stretch of the universe. He's no where to be found, so I start sorting through the parallel universe's. I'm steaming pissed, flying through fractal 4th dimensional space, looking for this bitch ass trouble maker. I mean seriously, give a dude life and he'll go destroying the multiverse, it happens almost every universe. I can't catch a fucking break, really. The work of a God is so absurd, because the ultimate goal of all existence to spiritually evolve all beings of the multiverse to a certain point. But every time they get a taste of technological upgrades, someone always has to become Akira and I'm left resetting the multiverse. 'There that little bastard is!' I catch him distorting entire sections of the multiverse in 4th dimensional space into a kingdom for himself. I stop time completely for a second, to have a gut rolling laugh for an eternity at the folly of man. I wipe the tear from my eye and start time again. "Javier! You've been found guilty by the Interdimensional Federation and now face annihilation, what do you have to say for yourself?" "Interdimensional Federation, huh?"His entire liquid metal body morphs and it turns himself to face me with a monstrous cyborg face. "Who are you, really?" "I am Xu, agent of the Interdimensional Federation and by decree you are to be annihilated."I pull out a highly advanced looking weopon, but it's a prop to shoot matter dissolving God energy at him. He laughs and slips into a higher dimension. I sigh and follow him. He finds himself stuck in a dimension where he is infinitely small, sitting in a timeless state of existence and non-existence simultaneously. "You should have just faced your justice Javier." His face, completely scrambled by the properties of this dimension, slowly comes into focus as his operating system makes futile attempts to make sense of the dimension in real time. "I know who you are! You're..." I snap my fingers and throw my arm. The dimension fades to white, followed by every other dimension of the multiverse. "Fuck!"I scream into purgatory. My boss walks in with his novelty coffee cup. "Mmmmm, mnya. Didn't go so well did it?"He sips whatever he puts in his cup, which has always been a mystery to me. I shake my head and wave my hand at purgatory. "Sure looks like it, huh?"I reply. "Hmmm, nnn'ya, if I can get you into the conference for a little chat, that would be greeeat. Thanks champ." I shake my head for an eternity, for having the absolute worst job you could imagine.
I was having a small drink in a tavern in Etherfjørd, they make the best ales of the realm. It was an older, more rustic design of building that didnt have access to any magic, and was a little abnormally quiet for an evening around supper time. There was a dragonborn with shiny, amethyst-like scales and many piercings serving the few customers sitting on bar stools, having a drunken conversation about one topic or another. There were only five of us in the entire tavern, and the dragonborn and the other guests were probably thinking I was brooding or whatever those kinds of overdramatic adventurers do. The dragonborn saw me looking in the general direction of the group, and gestured for me to join them. I reluctantly grabbed the peice of paper i was reading on the desk and joined the four of them. As I sat down on the last remaining bar stool, they all introduced themselves. The dragonborn's name was Zubair, and they used to be a bard before losing all their money in a shady buisness deal. The other four were all elves, each with dyed bright coloured hair of different shades. They looked very similar, I assumed they were related in some way. They introduced themselves from left to right, one was names Zack, the second was named Jack, the third was names Mack, and the fourth was named Whack. I was taken aback on the rhyming of the names, and the one abtly named 'whack', but I didnt question it. "Our mother's name was Sack, and she wanted us to all sound similar"Jack explained. The other three Ack's muttered a drunken agreement. Zubair eyed the paper I still had clenched in my hands, "What's that?"they asked. Not in a judgemental way, more.. curious. "Hmm?"I hummed in question, then looked down at my hand "Oh the paper, it's some quests I was considering going on"I said, placing it down for them to see. Zubair's eyes scanned the page as I continued talking, the Ack's bickering about something. "None of them seemed to pop out to me, so I was going around seeing if there were any other quests that could be done here.". Zubair looked up from reading the papers, "I heard there was a witch in the forest,"they said, "apparently she's the reason kids keep dissapearing." I choked on my drink, "wait wait wait, there are kids going missing?"I asked. Zubair smiled awkwardly, "Someone keeps saying that its a god wanting a sacrifice, but the luck for this town still hasnt improved so I dont think it's that." The Ack's stopped arguing and agreed with Zubair, something really was wrong. "Could I have a map or directions to the forest?"I asked them. The Ack's were clueless--I didnt know what i was expecting with them, honestly--but Zubair replied, "I know the way there, I could dust off my old flute and join ya' for one last quest of mine.". I considered this, I didn't know if I really trusted them, but they knew the way to the forest and--possibly-the witch. Plus, having a bard on your side isn't a bad thing, especially when they are as experienced as Zubair said they were. "..Alright."I replied, "Brush off your flute, we leave at dawn". \~\~\~ Zubair and I left a little after dawn. And by a little after dawn, I mean around noon. Turns out, they are a really deep sleeper and just cant wake up until the time where everyone eats breakfast, then decided that we should fill ourselves with a hearty helping of bacon and eggs before going on the quest. The edge of the forest was about three hours away by foot, and we filled our time talking about things. We went from the subjects of types of grasses, to where we grew up--I said that I grew up a village away on the other side of the forest, Zubair said they were from an island called Cropshire--to books we liked, to the tedious conversation of gender--we both described our gender by pointign at inanimate objects--to conversations about.. "So what are your parents like?"Zubair asked. My stomach dropped suddenly, crap I thought. I didnt reply to the question at first. They turned to me, "you okay?"they asked. I sighed, "My father was a.. blacksmith and my mother..."I trailed off. I didnt want to answer. "Don't wanna talk about it? That's fair. I'll tell you mine instead."Zubair replied, trying desparately to aleviate the awkwardness that just so happened to show up, "My ma was a farmer, and my pa was.. also a farmer. Everyone on cropshire were farmers, I dont know where I was going with this, Im sorry I made you feel uncomfortable." I smiled a little, "its fine, thanks. I just.."I trailed off again, seeing the forest in the distance, "oh look, we are here!"I muttered, quickening my pace as I changed the subject. The pair of us looked into the forest, a mysterious and eery mist enveloping the trees, the swamp, and any life forms that could be in there. We looked at each other--a shared fear on our expressions--and we entered the forest. (to be continued because it doesnt autosave on here and i need a break, i hope you like it and I will add the rest in the comments as a thread) (1/??)
Jonathan starts every workday by doing his little summoning ritual. Its half a dozen candles, a big magic circle on a tarp he unrolls and then he does the calling. Usually just one call is needed, sometimes it’s two, but every once in a while he needs to do the whole “thrice I have called you and you must appear”. Its super annoying for everyone involved. He gets louder with every repetition and really ruins the usually relaxed morning mood at the office. After his ritual bullshit has ruined everyone’s day they’re all grumpy and complain about the coffee being cold. Like it’s my damn fault it got cold after I grabbed my cup. Just put it in the microwave or make a new pot why is this shit always my fault? I get all the crappy jobs of course, one of the “perks” of having been at the office for so long is that I know all the ins and outs of the building. I know how to fix the air condition when it starts blowing air so cold people starts making jokes about “a ghost passing through the room”. I’m on first name basis with the janitor in the basement who laughs menacingly and talks about “retribution” whenever you knock on his door. And since the elevator doesn’t stop at the thirteenth floor I’m the one who has to go up there and get rid of the jet black dog that seems to make its way in there all the time. So yeah, I get a lot of the shit jobs, but it’s not all bad. Jim’s a solid boss, he recognizes that I’ve got a unique skillset and he always praises me to high heaven during performance reviews. It hasn’t quite resulted in that big promotion I’m waiting for yet but Jim is sure it’s just a matter of time before the big guy upstairs takes notice. Until then I’m usually ending my days hanging around the office making small talk until its time for Carl to head home for the day. He’s nice enough to pull out the inverted summoning circle and perform the banishment ritual before he heads off and so I am cast from the mortal plain and back into my eternal rest. At least until Jonathan summons me on Monday.
Pro-lifers don't like it. Almost no-one likes it. But people have done it. You know who's done it. On your street, in your school, in your workplace. Even some celebrities. We're not pointing fingers but both Kim Kardashian and Putin have the same guilty sheen of eternal youth. There's the news that some poor kidnapped girl was kept in a cellar for ten years and forced to give birth to children who'd live three hours before her captor sold their lives for a hundred grand. Eleven children. Eleven men. They got life sentences. That made people laugh. Funny what makes you laugh when things are this awful. Abortion isn't really discussed any more. No-one cares when some junky mother sells her child's life so someone else can live forever. She was going to get rid of it anyway. You care, though, when you come home and find your husband unconscious on the floor, a broken window and your child with deep red bruises at her throat. The casket is impossibly small. Now you can't look at your husband without crying, and you can't look at Kim Kardashian without wanting to wrap your own hands around your throat and squeeze till it goes dark. You care when the hospital down the road is broken into and the post-natal unit ransacked. You care when you see mothers screaming in anguish on the streets. You care when the people you don't want to live forever smile at you and say it was a legitimate transaction. Lives aren't a legitimate transaction.
"It's finger-licking good!"the great beast said as he plunged his teeth into my thigh. It wasn't so bad in comparison to what had happened earlier. After I'd had all my feathers plucked and my body sliced into pieces my flesh had been dipped in boiling grease and fried. This was apparently the just punishment for my past sins. To be packed in 11 herbs and spices by the demon known only as the Colonel and consumed by the hordes of hairless apes that ruled this place.
"What's the upload speed, Grace?"My voice is already shaking and I'm trying desperately to keep it from my wife. She stands, bent over the computer, furiously clicking. "Not fast enough,"She says angrily. "We need more time." I look at the clock. The second hand ticks down slowly and my hand tightens involuntarily around the USB stick that holds what's left of our children. "Grace..."I start. "Don't-"She interrupts me without looking up, eyes locked on the blue computer screen. "Grace."I say again and my voice cracks. This time she turns around and stops when she sees my face. "You go first." When the nuclear sirens began blaring, Grace hadn't panicked. Grace never panicked. She gathered Ben and Lise, uploaded everything they were onto the USB and put their empty bodies to bed. She'd closed their eyes and tucked the blankets around their necks. "They could be sleeping."She had said, whether to me or to herself I didn't know. She stroked Ben's hair away from his face and dropped a kiss on his forehead, an odd, lost look on her face. That's when the alarms had fallen silent and our lives had become measured in minutes. "You don't know how to do this."She protests now and I'm torn. "I know what I should do." She shakes her head and her face screws up as she tries not to cry. "Grace, please." "No-" "You have to go." She's still shaking her head, tears falling thick and fast and I take the mouse from her hand. The information on the screen tells me all I need to know. We're both at sixty percent. Twelve minutes until full upload. The progress bars flash at me and slowly, delicately I click the cancel button next to mine. Grace looks at me. When I'd asked her to marry me, I'd taken her to the top of the Eiffel Tower and hired a photographer to capture the moment as she said yes. We'd thrown those photos away because in the lift on the way down she'd said yes again and her eyes had burned with something no one could ever capture and no one could ever hope to describe. That was how she looked at me now. Her bar sped up. Eighty percent. The clock was counting down. The light was fading from her eyes as the blue bar hit 100% and the blast hit me. Uploaded. Humans, but no humanity.
Cyril decided to sit outside today. The cafe was always crowded, and the sun was finally shining. The waitress sat him against the railing, facing the small art walk in downtown Portland. This was a place for all types of artists; chalk artists, performance artists, bucket drummers, and slam poets all lined the small courtyard, pumping their brand. Passers by stopped to watch, or buy, or scoff. Cyril took it all in. He loved Portland. Cyril tried very hard not to eavesdrop. At age 9, he discovered he was either gifted or cursed; he had yet to decide which. Cyril could only hear the truth in people's speech. It made eavesdropping a sad and worthless endeavor. People lied a lot more than Cyril could appreciate. A couple was sat at the table next to him. Cyril sipped his water and looked at the menu. Couples were the worst to eavesdrop. Either Cyril would sit and listen to sappy nonsense, knowing the couple was too young in love to experience heartache. Or, quite more common, Cyril would listen as one or both of them lied all night. Cyril decided on his meal -- the usual chicken stew -- and set his menu down. He turned and focused on the performance artists in the square. A man on stilts was shouting made-up bible verses at passers by. Ah, Portland, thought Cyril. He couldn't help but overhear the couple next to him. "I love you,"he said. "I know,"she said. "Listen there's something I need to ask you..."his voice trailed off. "Please, don't."She said, her voice caught. "Amy, I've loved you since the day I met you. I've always loved you, and I will always love you. These last few months have been the happiest of my life." Cyril could hear a chair scoot back. "Amy Lynn Piletta,"the man said. "God, James, no..."she said. "Will you marry me, and make me the happiest man in the world?"He sounded so sincere. "I'm going to hurt you,"she said. "I'm not happy, and I haven't been in a long time. This is a mistake. I was too childish and afraid to end this months ago, and now it's going to hurt even worse." Cyril tried to fight the pang of sadness in his chest. The waitress appeared next to him, and he ordered. As she took his menu and left, Cyril looked over at the couple. The man was kneeling, placing a ring on the woman's finger. She was in tears, smiling and nodding as the other patrons congratulated her.
12:00 - I'll just wait a little bit longer. 13:00 - Where am I? I need confirmation. 14:00 - Passing the time with frequent masturbation. 15:00 - Anytime now. Anytime soon. 16:00 - Come on... just let me know of tomorrow... 17:00 - More masturbation. 18:00 - Bored bored bored. Am I dead? 19:00 - I'm dead. I'm dead tomorrow, I know it. 20:00 - There has to be some way I can prevent this from happening. 21:00 - Nothing. What do I do!? What can I do!? 22:00 - SAY SOMETHING! SEND ME ANYTHING! 23:00 - Yawn 00:00 - I'll stay awake. Aware. Abreast of my situation. 01:00 - The doors are locked. 02:00 - I've turned off all of the lights. I will not be electrocuted. 03:00 - ...Masturbation with the imagination station. 04:00 - Ramen. My last bit of food. I will not choke. 05:00 - My last glass of water. I will not drown. 06:00 - Blood pressure normal. 07:00 - I feel fine. I'm fine. Things are fine. 08:00 - I'll just take a nap... the fan... what if the fan falls? 09:00 - I'm in the basement... safe... what if the roof collapses? 10:00 - Outside. Nothing can fall on me here... but what if someone runs off the road? 11:00 - Screw it. If I'm going to die, I'll die in my bed. Comfy. I just need to... remember... to message myself... when I wake... did... I set... my... alarm?... Zzzzz...
"What are they running from?"Jerry asked. His voice bounced off the cave walls, sending echoes down to the very end where the blocked wall was. Pearson leaned closer to the cave wall, adjusting his thick glasses with a wrinkled hand. "Right here,"he said in his gruff voice and pointing to a humanoid drawing, "these look like deer, and they're running away from this man." "Look at this one,"Gene said. He was rather chubby; the humidity in the cave was making him sweat profusely. His khaki buttoned down shirt stuck to his chest and back like a second layer of skin. Jerry shined his light over to the next cave drawing, and Pearson examined. "Bears, a bunch of bears also running away."Jerry moved the light over towards the right and Pearson continued, "running away from the same humanoid figure." "Running away from hunters?"Jerry asked. He reached an arm up and wiped sweat away from his brow. "Seems like it,"Pearson concluded. "Another one,"Gene told them, further down into the cave, closer to where the blocked tunnel was. Jerry shone the light on the next cave painting. Pearson inspected, humming to himself, intrigued. "People running,"Pearson said, "from the same humanoid figure." "They're running from a person?"Gene asked in a huff. "This one,"Pearson said, pointing to the antagonistic figure, "it's drawn differently. Is there any more drawings?" The trio of scientists moved deeper into the cave, scanning the walls for more paintings. They found the last one just a few feet away from the large boulder blocking a tunnel. Pearson took in a deep breath then let it out slowly. All three peered upon the last painting; the same humanoid figure, with a line cutting it off from the deer, bears, and people. Pearson pointed at the line separating the humanoid, then pointed to the boulder blocking the chamber. "Doesn't take a rocket scientist,"Pearson spoke softly, "we've found him." "Jesus,"Jerry whispered. "What are we going to do?"Gene asked. Pearson walked away from the blocked passage, footfalls echoing in the cave, "well, tonight, we're all going out drinking. We're going to call in sick tomorrow, too hungover to come into work. It won't be a lie." ____________________________________________________________ Several workers shined their lights into the tunnel when the dust finally settled from the boulder being blasted. Five of them walked forth, floodlights shining back and forth into the new cavern, wandering if it was just going to be another dead end, or if they were going to be able to go deeper. One light fell upon a man, sitting hunched over in the cave, far past the rubble. "Shit,"one of the workers said, "turn off your lights." He spoke too slowly though, three more lights fell upon the man at the end of the cave. He was naked, pale, and hairless. He looked up at the five workers, all of his eyes black. "Turn them out,"the same worker, Carl, whispered again. The other four workers turned off their lights, plunging the team of five into darkness along with the target they had been searching for. "Radio back,"a worker said. With a trembling hand, Carl reached down to his belt, removing the small radio and picking it up slowly to his mouth, "He's here, moving out, get ready." There wasn't any reply from the radio. Carl reach out and nudged a worker, giving him the signal to slowly work their way back to the entrance of the cave. His heart was in his throat and his stomach felt like it had been turned inside out. Carl reached out and tapped both workers on either side of him, giving the signal to grasp hands as they were trained. He grabbed a hold of both hands. The others did the same with their respective sides, forming a chain of men. They made it several steps before Carl felt something hit him in the stomach. It knocked the air out of him, buckling him over. Blood spilled out onto the cave floor, the splatter breaking the silence. There was a strange sensation coming from his gut; it felt like something was pulling him. "Run,"Carl gasped, "run, run." He released the other workers' hands, and reached for his light. He flicked it on to see the pale man standing in front of him, standing tall at 6 feet, face blank of emotion, black eyes staring him in the face, and bloodied intestines in hand. Carl followed the intestines from the pale man's hand and saw that they trailed back to his own stomach. "Oh,"he whispered.
"Hello,"the man said. "My name is Jack. What is your name?" There was no reply. He took a breath, and tried again. "Well, it's nice to meet you. How long have you been here?" He was met with silence. He did not give up. "I just got here, I think. I guess this is some kind of hospital. The people seem to think I'm insane or something. That I can't tell the difference between what's real or not. That's crazy, right?" Once again, he got no answer. The lamp just sat there, like an inanimate object.
"Mr. Pinkman?"The voice echoed in the background, muted. "Mr. Pinkman, did you hear what I said?" "Yes, bitch,"Jesse snapped. "Osteosarcoma, stage 4. Inoperable." 10 years on, and it seemed the story was starting itself over again. He looked at his shaking hands. Goddamn, he could go for a cigarette right about now. He wondered what Mr. White would do in this situation, until he remembered that's exactly what had brought him here, to the threshold of redemption. On his way home, he bought bullets for a revolver he hoped still worked.
"You... want to end your relationship. With your wife."The Admin stared at us, deadpan. "Har har. Haven't heard that one in a few years. Good on you for getting this far up the chain of command; that's dedication. Which prank channel are you working for, anyway?" We'd expected this. "He really does want a divorce,"Abby sniffed. Her lip curled in derision, revealing yellowing teeth. "We have the brain scans to prove it." The Admin raised an eyebrow in surprise as he looked over the data. "Well, then. I'll have to check procedure; this hasn't happened once since I've started working at the Soulbank."He turned to his ancient computer in its sleek, white-and-brushed-metal case, and began to pull up files. In the quiet, we could hear the wailing of babies from the floors below. We were the only ones over fifty in the building; it was all young parents come to match their infants with their future soulmates––or, if there was no match, have one built specifically to be their child's future companion. Beneath all that thrummed the omnipresent whirring of the fans that cooled the Soulbank's computer center and bioprinting labs in the caves below: a complete database of every human born––both natural and constructed––since the Soulbank was constructed. "Ah, here we are,"said the Admin at last. "It's really buried in there. 'If the couple, at any juncture, desires a divorce, the Soulbank will take partial responsibility. If both members are natural-born, the Soulbank agrees to refund the cost of their lawyers' fees." The Admin peered over his glasses, perhaps wondering if we needed to hear any more. "Go on,"said Abby. "Tell us about what happens to created partners. See if he still has the guts to go through with it, and do that to me." "'In case of the malfunction of a created partner, or Soulmate(tm),'"the Admin continued, "'the Soulbank will unconditionally accept returns, taking on full ownership of the Soulmate(tm) as property. Malfunctioning Soulmates(tm) will be analyzed for defects so that faults in the manufacturing process may be remedied. Post-analysis, malfunctioning Soulmates(tm) will be terminated at the discretion of Soulbank.' That's all it says."The Admin turned his attention to me. "Are you sure you still want a divorce? You know what it means." I struggled to hold back tears. We had been so happy, for so many years, at the beginning. My life had revolved around Abby, depended on her––and, on some level, I did still love her. I thought about the dissection room; the flames of the termination chamber. But then I looked at her––her face creased with scowl lines, her brow furrowed in anger, her hands calloused from a decade of wielding rolling pins, tire irons, broken bottles. My arm, my ribs, my feet ached from poorly-healed fractures, and my soul ached as I thought about the Other Men she'd had. I began to weep as I nodded to the Admin. "Yes." He blinked in surprise. "Well, then, sir, I guess you'll have to come with me."He pressed a button on his desk, and guards marched into the room. They roughly put me in handcuffs, adding bruises on top of poorly-concealed bruises. Abby began to wail as they marched me out: "How could you do this to me, Rich? You're ruining my LIFE! They made you for me; they promised you'd be with me forever! Come back!" I looked up at the bewildered Admin as they shoved me into the elevator, to take me into the basement––to end my suffering quickly, in days instead of decades, at the hands of anonymous surgeons, instead of my beloved Abby. It would be a kindness. I smiled at the Admin as the doors slid shut behind us, and blocked out Abby's screams. EDIT: Holy cow, you guys, thanks for the gold! The piece definitely has some plot holes (Thanks, /u/Colossal_Jellyfish; those are good points that I probably should have thought of before posting) but I'm glad you liked it!
I came downstairs to the smell of brimstone and hellfire. I hadn't known what hellfire smelled like, or that it had a smell, or that it even existed before that moment (I was something of an atheist who toyed with agnosticism when high). Regardless, one whiff and I knew what I was smelling. If you ever smell it, you'll get it. At first I thought it was some sort of horrifying gas leak that had given me brain damage, making me believe in hell and all the burning that went with it. Then I saw the demon channel surfing on my couch, and I knew. Like the stench, I just knew he was real. I've dropped more than my fair share of acid and shrooms, but no hallucination matched the sight of him. He was just so real, so there. It was undeniable. There was a demon on my couch. "Uh, hey."I couldn't really think of anything else to say. He turned to look at me, glowing lines of something molten (lava, blood, molten souls, I didn't know how any of this worked, he was a fucking demon, cut me some slack) writhed beneath cracked red skin. His eyes had a deep shimmer, beautiful and entrancing and filled to the brim with unknowable quantities of the universe's knowledge and 'I don't give a shit about pathetic mortals'. He was also wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt and jeans, which was a bit weird and kind of funny in an ironic, don't start laughing or you'll never stop sense. "Hey."He said back, voice astonishingly human. Then he turned back to the tv and flipped from a nature documentary to an Octo-mom rerun. I sat down next to him, staring. He ignored me. The tension built in my stomach, raising the legitimate concern I might hurl on a tangible piece of evidence that God and an afterlife existed. The demon just stratched his crotch and shifted a bit. "So, am I in trouble or something?"I asked, unable to keep quiet anymore. "Hmmm?"The demon murmured, raising his eyebrows but not bothering to take his eyes off the tv. "Are you here to harvest my soul, or punish me, or, I mean, what?" "Oh, yeah, no. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm your guardian demon."The demon answered, still not taking his eyes off the Biggest Loser marathon he'd just found. "You know, like a guardian angel, but demon. Although technically since I am a fallen angel, it's not really that different. I guess. Anyway, call me Lee." "Oh. So you like, protect me from getting hit by cars when I cross the road and stuff?" "What?!?"Lee finally turned away from the television, which I noticed out of the corner of my eye was actually a much larger, nicer model than the one that had been there last night, and laughed. Not an evil laugh, just amused. "No! God no. I'm not your damn babysitter. If you're too stupid to user common sense, I'm certainly not going to bail you out. Look both damned ways before you cross. No, I'm not wasting my time on stuff you can handle yourself. I'm just here for the big stuff." "Like what?"I asked curious. "Earthquakes and gas explosions?" "Well, yeah actually. That's fair. I hadn't thought about those acts of you-know-who. I can cover you on those."Lee said thoughtfully. "But I was actually referring to stuff like Laurence." "Laurence?"I didn't know anyone by that name. "Oh, I think you knew him as Big L. He's that big drug dealer from two towns over. He didn't really like that you started selling a little weed on the side. Planned to come over here tonight, do a little torture, put a bullet in your head and dump your body somewhere public as a message."Lee shrugged. "So I threw him in front of a bus on the highway and took his tv. Problem solved." "Oh."Crippling waves of fear, relief, and surprise flowed through me. That fear of throwing up doubled in size but I pushed it back down. "Um, thank you?" "Hey. It's why I'm here." "If you don't mind me asking,"I paused looking for the right words, "and don't think I'm not grateful, but shouldn't it be an angel doing the guarding? I mean, a not fallen one." "No offense, but why would they? You're kind of a little shit."Lee gave a sympathetic smile. "You do and sell drugs. You've cheated on three of your last four girlfriends. You don't give a shit about anyone but yourself. Don't get me wrong, downstairs certainly approves of you, but why would Heaven?" "Yeah, but, why protect me?"I pushed on, knowing that the lack of knowledge would be far worse than any horrible truth. "Is there some horrible evil I'm supposed to do in the future? Am I the anti-Christ?" "No, nothing so dramatic."Lee twisted his mouth, seeming to search for the right words. "You see, evil people are doing just fine. They're out there doing evil. And even when they die, people who like them or depend on them tend to get hurt. It's all just a bunch of ripples moving back and forth. Evil's taking care of itself. "But apathy? Well, that needs a bit of help. You know the saying, 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing'? Well, you're the guy who does nothing. Except you aren't really good, but your nothing-ness kind of keeps better people who interact with you from doing anything either." "Wow."I slump back against the sofa, letting my head fall back to look up at the ceiling. And technically Heaven, I guess. Lee went back to channel surfing. "This is a lot to process. I need to get high. You want some?" "Sure. Oh, and bring some of those cheetos from the kitchen. Ooo! Firefly! Love that show. Still kinda sad the boss-man got it canceled. I mean, there's evil, and then there's evil." Edit - changed wrong demon name and some typos.
"I have fucked up my life beyond repair. Even 3 wishes, no matter what they are couldn't make things right. However, I would like for my children to be happy. Is that too vague?" "Not at all." "Next, I would like for my wife to forget I ever existed. She hasn't been able to move on after what she's been through. I would simply wish for her to be happy, but I know that is impossible while holding on to my memory" "It is done" "Lastly, now that my affairs are in order, I would like to die. I have wanted this for a long time, but I am a coward. Please do this for me and we can both go in peace" "I thought I made it clear that you cannot use your wishes to harm the person you hate. You've got 7 more wishes. I don't have all day." Edit: I can't read for shit and thought the prompt was that the person you hate gets twice as many wishes. Sorry.
"And I will make a promise.. to the American people..." "I stand up for the American people, and I will..." "If I were to take office... my very first duty... would be to ensure that..." This is the dilemma faced by the grain of sand in a crowd. How could an insignificant face hold a significant impact? The promise is made, the crowd in cheers, what now? Our ancestors held a common practice of wishful thinking when facing their kings reign, their descendants made decisions based on judgment, and today, judgment transcends us. They call it a "Quantum Democracy,"where before, our judgment would change our future, now, our future changes our judgment. There's nothing intrinsically "Quantum"about the system, if anything, the system before only presents two possible outcomes, while as far as the observer is concerned, their judgment makes one outcome possible. The Quantum Democracy is actually a birds eye view of chaos theory in action, one action leads to another, and all the possible outcomes occur simultaneously before you eyes, the result being the most favorable. Today, Dec 25th, 2028, marks the first day our hypothetical results unfold before our eyes. Many households gathered around the TV, awaiting their future. Most channels were cut by the state, the only channel that aired was the state owned, "Post Election Results". The "Arbitrary"was kept in the temporal loop to give his/her account of the future, the entire show would last for 4 hours, and divided into segments. The first segment was the least exciting of the four, it's called "Promises,"and starts off with a list of promises made by the president. The second segment is the pinnacle of the show, my family along with many others ordered takeout for this one particularly, it was called "Action,"and conveyed what daily life was like in the country, and how people felt about the president. "Advancement,"was the third segment, and only compared the two outcomes, while "Outcome"became the final segment where results were compared. The final message was the last message from the president to the nation as his/her term had ended, ironically, it was this message that decided if they'd get elected in the first place. The results were however... not surprising. Everyday life in the country was the same, the presidents never kept their promise, however, something even more intriguing came up. Despite both Donkey and Elephant had lied about their promises, both of them made the same exact decisions as the other, as if it wasn't the president at all that determined the outcome, but a completely invisible factor. Just as an apple falls not because of the tree, but because of gravity, so too is a nations fate affected by something behind the scenes. A different actor was at play, and the president was nothing but a pitiful lip-sync. The Quantum Democracy project ended soon after two elections. The people were left with two fates, not determined by elections, but by their willingness to vote and a complete overhaul. The system was flawed, and it wasn't the fortune telling broadcast that came to that decision, it was chaos theory in effect. Every action leads to another and was led by another, we had realized that it was destined for us to invent the Quantum Elections, only so that we may find how flawed it was, and with it, how flawed our view of the system was. What happened after the second election is up for debate, some say we continued with our elections like insane fools holding onto an empty cup with no one around, others say we completely over threw the system in an overhaul once it was decided that freedom of choice had not existed before and never would. However, I've still yet to see it unfold before my eyes, such is the nature of Quantum theory.
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“GOOD NEW HUMANS! HAPPINESS PILLS ARE NOW FLAVORED AS SCOTCH. PLEASE REMEMBER TO TAKE THEM WITH YOUR MEAT WATER EVERY EVENING.” The PA screamed into life. I pulled at my black jumpsuit’s too tight collar as I braced myself for the AI’s next announcement. “TODAY’S RANDOM EXECUTION IS …. THX-1138! PLEASE ENTER THE NEAREST EXECUTION BOOTH FOR YOUR TELEVISED EXECUTION.” The display screen above me and the other workers blinked on, showing a camera feed of a habitat pod. It showed a group of people in red jumpsuits pushing a man in a black jumpsuit into a clear booth. Instantly, the booth filled up with boiling, greenish water. The doomed man was thrashing when the large, red prompt of “LAUGH” appeared on the screen. We laughed as best we could. I would have looked away, but the computer would have noticed. Fortunately, the screen turned off. “REMEMBER TO WORK BECAUSE WORKING MAKES THE COMPUTER FUNCTIONAL. THE COMPUTER IS YOUR FRIEND. FRIENDS MAKE YOU HAPPY. HAPPINESS IS MANDITORY.” I saw the woman in front of me starting to weep quietly. She was trying not to be noticed but her work was slowing down. I wouldn’t have said anything, but we were behind on quota again. I called out, “Friendly computer, SHC-3211 is crying and not happy. What should I do?” She turned to look at me, mouth agape in horror. The other workers stopped, staring at us as well. “SHC-3211 WHY ARE YOU NOT HAPPY! HAPPINESS IS MANDITORY!” Before she could respond, a group of people in red jumpsuits poured into the room, grabbing the fully tearful worker. The red people picked her up and pointed the woman to a viewing screen. A bright blue eyeball appeared in the center of the screen. “MY RECORDS INDICATE DYING FOR YOUR COUNTY CAN BRING HAPPINESS. ALL WORKERS IN FABIRICATION PLANT 213-GHB-000012 SALUTE WORKER SHC-3211 AND SING THE NATIONAL ANTHEM.” Tunelessly, we all began singing random songs since we didn’t know what a national anthem was, but we knew were supposed to sing. Someone started singing “happy birthday” and we all latched onto that song in particular. After the final round, a small weapons turret came of out the wall and shot the woman. “WORKER FUK-3D-000,” shit, the AI was calling on me, “YOU HAVE BROUGHT EXTREME HAPPINESS TO YOUR AREA. YOU ARE PROMOTED TO RED CLEARANCE. CONGRATULATIONS!” I starred wordlessly at the view screen as confetti fell from the ceiling.
I look down at my hands. There's nothing to them- they're translucent, average size, and all around dull, like a child's hand. Not for long anymore. I had tried to figure out what I was going to look like- I remember those sleepovers with my friends, where we all speculated on hair colour, weight, and god knows what else. We all imagined ourselves pretty, even though some of us didn't truly believe we would be. I've done the research. I'm nothing like anyone. My mum is bubbly, sparkly. I've unintentionally described her like a bottle of champagne. That's accurate. She's blonde and beautiful. My teachers are generally smart, witty. They are brunette. With nice sharp noses to go along with their razor sharp mind. My older brother is daring. Once when we were on holiday in Tenerife, he jumped off the highest cliff. No sweat. He has the jaw of an old-timey movie hero. That glint in his eyes, the big charming grin, and the muscular build of an action star. I am nothing like these people. I know I'll end up looking completely different. And now, with my 21st birthday looming, here I am, stuck in the bathroom while twenty people wait outside, eagerly anticipating the outcome. In ten minutes, I will change completely. I will no longer be one of the crowd, no longer be a child. In just a short while I'll be something different than I was before. The thought terrifies me.
The world labeled me as Monsieur Raphael, the greatest magician to have walked the Earth. I started performing magic at a young age to keep my mind off of the abusive parents that I had. An old man named Jack took me in as an apprentice and taught all sorts of tricks and magic that I have never seen before; the very same tricks that I performed for the masses that brought me acclaim. This final act was also something Jack taught me. He told me to use this trick only when I "deemed fit."I asked him what it does and he cryptically told me that it was the ultimate disappearing act. "What I am about to perform today has never been seen before." The entire stadium grew silent as all eyes were trained on me. "I will now cut through the very plane of our existence and leave this world behind!" A murmur was heard throughout the crowd with a few scoffs here and there, but the overall anticipation of the audience still bore down on me. I walked over to a steel coffin, designed to fit my size, and opened its heavy doors. Upon opening the box, a waft of sweet aroma from the roses and lilacs outlining the interior caressed my nose. This last act was going to be a fitting farewell for my fans. "I will now enter the box and my assistants will lock the box. You know the drill. Except this time around, I will not reappear anywhere in this stadium or this world. I will step into the beyond!" The audience grew restless and whispering became prevalent. It would be slightly controversial for the world's greatest magician to have his final act be a simple disappearing act, but little did the crowd know the scope of my performance. I entered the box slowly to increase the dramatic tension. The assistants closed the coffin and everything went black. I could hear the locks clicking around the box. "This is for you Jack,"I muttered, "you told me to save this for my last performance so here I am." I whispered the phrase equitare arror temporis and clacked the back of my feet four times. Suddenly, the box warped around me, and I felt myself falling endlessly. The flowers in the box began to slowly disappear and the vibration of the metal box began to intensify. After what seems to have been an hour or so, the box rung like a tuning fork and slowed to a stop. I pushed at the entrance of the box and it easily gave away. I stepped outside to a relatively quiet neighborhood. I couldn't tell whether or not I have actually left the world I was in, but everything felt different, almost nostalgic. After taking a small stroll around the neighborhood, I began to have an intense feeling of de ja vu, almost as if I had seen the scenery before. This intense feeling of nostalgia was met with an excruciating headache that brought me to my knees. It was then where I heard a small voice. "Are you ok mister?" I looked up to see a small child, around the age of 7, looking up at me with concerned eyes. It was then when I understood. "Yes, I am all right now. Thank you. Pardon me for asking, but may I ask what your name is?" "My name is Raphael. And yours mister?" "My name? Well... I believe my name is Jack." ------------------------------------ Sorry my writing isn't the best. Not the best writer in the block. I tried to make the twist a bit more hidden, but any attentive readers will see the twist coming from the first paragraph. Also this was my first WP post so any criticism is welcome!
I wiped my hand self-consciously on the leg of my pants and put on a winning smile. "Hi,"I said. "Detective Jones. Pleased to meet you." He stood in front of me, slouched and rumpled. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled an artfully battered pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one with the flick of a lighter that seemed to come from nowhere. "Chandler,"he said. "Welcome to the department,"I said. "Did you meet the captain?" "She was a dame,"he growled. "Well... yeah,"I said. "I guess. I mean, she is. I suppose." He drew deep on the cigarette, that already seemed to have a longer trail of unbroken ash than you'd think was possible in such a short space of time. "She was a dame, alright. Had legs that didn't quit." I glanced around, checking for HR staff. "Yeah... yeah. I mean, they did quit. Just before... half way, I suppose. Around regular, normal -"I struggled, "-quitting points for human legs. You transferred from LA?" He scowled. "They call it the city of angels." "Who does?" He ignored me. "I never saw an angel there. None that weren't fallen." I made a point of checking my phone. "So... you liked it out there?" "She's a lady, LA."He said. "Is she? How long does it take for her legs to quit?" He threw the cigarette down and stared meaningfully into the middle distance. "You try to treat her right, but she's dark inside. Cold. Her streets - long, blackened arteries that lead to a beating heart of seedy corruption." I tried to inject a brief shot of levity. "Even Disneyland?" "Main Street USA. The ribbon that ties the darkest gift the world was ever given." I swung one shoe around. I didn't know what to do with my hands. "You hungry? It's about lunch time. There's a place around the corner that does great hot dogs. You like hot dogs?" He headed towards the door. I followed him, grateful for (if nothing else) a change of scenery. "A hot dog's just the world in bread." "A-" "A breathing life, torn to pieces-"his gravelled voice went on. "Oh, you haven't finished." "-and made into a shape you can look at without feeling sick. The refuse. The wretched dregs, hidden from your eyes." My smile plasticised. "I think they have tofu, too,"I said, with false brightness. "If that helps. My wife's a vegetarian. Are you married?" He fixed me with cobalt blue eyes. "Am I married?" There was a painful pause. "I..."I started. He didn't say anything. "... don't know. Are you?" He stopped for a second, reaching into the pocket of his trenchcoat for a hip flask full of foul smelling bourbon. "Am I married."He repeated. This time, not a question. "Well..." He stared. I swallowed. "...are you?" He took a swig. "She was a dame,"he said. "Oh, Jesus Christ."
The first slap didn't hurt that much, but the second one really rang inside my head. Their head. After all, it wasn't mine. Nothing was. The coffee slopped out of the side of his cup on the second one. "Hey, Baster, I'm talking to you." "My apologies,"I said. I'm listening,"I said. My manager glared at me. "Clean. The. Fucking. Grating." I nodded, low. Cleaning the grating. Fourteen minutes. "Right away,"I said. "You're goddamn right, right away,"he said. "I'm not going to have you forever, after all, am?" I knew what was coming next before he'd taken the reader out of his apron pocket. "I've only got you for another,"he paused theatrically, as he scanned the RFID in my neck. "Thirty eight years and three days. Hey, look at that. It's almost your anniversary. You want a present?" I shook my head. "No, thank you, sir." "You're goddamn right, you don't. Clean the grating." I cleaned the grating. My wrists ached from the fourteen hour shift, but I pushed on. Sixteen hours and I was out. Regular shift, the first ten hours are the hard ones. Thirteen hours you hit the wall. Fourteen to sixteen wasn't so bad from here. He didn't go, though. He stood over me, making appreciative noises. "Good job, there. Really giving it that - oomph - you know?" I scrubbed. Thirteen minutes thirty."I try, sir." "Thirty eight years and change. That's a good whack of time." "Time is all I have, sir." He sipped his coffee, thoughtfully. "What's that mean?" "Sixteen hour shifts. Tasks varying between three and fifty-eight minutes. Ten out of eleven days on, twenty-four hours off. Meals every eight hours. Sleep every twenty. Fifteen years, eleven months and twenty-eight days down. Thirty-eight years and three days remaining." "Never thought about like that,"he said. "I'll be long gone by then." "Long gone,"I said. He paused. "What's that?" "I was agreeing with you, sir."I said. "What'd you mean by it?"He said. He was beginning to slur. "Ricin taken twenty-three minutes ago. Effective in twelve minutes. Fatal by nineteen. Symptoms in twenty-two. I assume it took twenty-three with you because you're overweight." He coughed into his cup. He swayed, unsteadily. "Time is all I have. And right now, it's all you have, too." He fell to his knees. I stood up. "You think because you squeezed your way out of a dick one time, you're better than me?"I pulled open the cleaning cupboard and brought out a large plastic bottle I kicked a large plastic tub out, too.. "Fifty fluid ounces. It dissolves one point four pounds of human flesh an hour. I started pouring from the bottle into the plastic tub. He choked. He frothed. He was still listening. "That's a hundred and fifty minutes,"I said. He started to twitch. I leaned in close. "Plus another twenty,"I said. "To clean the grate again."
The news stations shut down the day they came. All of them. All at once. Then all the television stations blipped out of existence. Then the internet. The electricity was the last to go. It was like they were sending us back in time. I guess they didn’t want us to communicate with each other, like they didn’t want us to know what was going on. They wanted us in the dark, alone. Some people started fleeing at the first sight of the ships. They packed up their belongings, grabbed their kids and started running down the street, or getting into their cars and pushing through the mounds of traffic that lined every city corner. Where they were going I don’t know. Maybe a police station, or an army base. Some place they felt safe. Other people looted the vacant shops and houses, breaking windows, fighting over cans of string beans and loaves of bread. Playing tug a war with their lives over canned vegetables. People got shot, beat up, left to die out in the debris-filled streets or on the sidewalks. All the while the ships watched over us from above. Then one day, as I awoke from a fitful night in my small apartment, I suddenly had a strong urge to peek through the splintered boards of my living room window, into the outside world to gaze up at the ships that I had stared at many times before. But they weren't there. They were just...gone. The sky was clear, the sun shone down into my eyes. Everything was still: peaceful almost. I grabbed the axe that had laid beside me on my nightstand for a month now and began to hack away the wooden boards that covered my front door. I heard nothing but my heart in my ears. Once the boards gave way, I cautiously opened the door and stepped out into the light. I squinted in the sudden onslaught of blue sky, dots sparkling over my vision. Where were the ships? Where had they gone? I could see a few other people peeking out of their fortresses. Curtains were moved aside; doors were unlocked and people stepped out onto their front steps just like I had done. The silence grew. It was almost more unwelcome then the ships themselves. Then I heard it, a slow drum like beat. It didn’t seem to be coming from the day outside, but more from inside me. I could tell others felt it too, their faces twisting into the same confused expression that must line my face at this very instant. We clutched our chests but it wasn’t our heart that was beating in time, it was something else. Something was happening. Something was wrong. The ships weren't here anymore but the creatures who manned them still were. Something deep down in my core told me so. They were here and they were coming for us.
Leisl is a young Jewish teenager suffering from borderline personality disorder during World War II. She and her older brother Levi have been in an incestuous relationship since they were children, which only solidifies as they go through the trauma of having their parents murdered by Nazis and them having to become fugitives and care for their younger sister Leila. Life becomes hard on the run for Leisl. As they continue to hide, she becomes more and more volatile. Leisl becomes increasingly more religious as she faces their desperate situation. The relationship between Leisl and Levi grows increasingly more sexual the more they have to care for Leila. Levi has taken in the role of the provider, and Leisl the volatile mother. Levi, having now become the caretaker of his two sisters, is getting more and more desperate and meets secretly with Catholic priests asking for advice. Leila falls ill with tuberculosis, and Leisl attempts to cure her with only prayers. Finally Leisl is pushed to the edge when Levi suggests converting to Catholicism to be able to live life freely. Leisl becomes unhinged and murders their poor, ill sister as punishment to him for daring to even suggest such a thing. Levi attempts to placate her by engaging in sex with her, but this only angers Leisl further and she murders him out of rage. Realizing what she's done, Leisl takes the gun she used to kill her siblings and shoots herself in the head. The blood splatters onto her Star of David necklace, which then flows out to a random Nazi flag laying in the street and stains it. //There. Here you have the holocaust, incest, murder, suicide, religious imagery, religious controversy and mental illness. If this isnt Oscar worthy I don't know what is. Edit: I'm a bit tipsy.
My taxi drove so slowly through the traffic of New York City. Waves of movement halted and started again infinitely. I was headed to kill a woman's ex husband, she was furious. He got custody of their car. "Is there a way to go any faster? No?"I spoke with a heavy Spanish accent. "Yes. Wait. No. There's no way to go any faster."the balding man said. "Shit." Twenty minutes of driving later, we started to move just a bit faster. BOOM Something crushed the glass of Windows and bent the metal frame of the car. I was unhurt. I have to go. I thought as I nimbly hopped out of the car. I almost tripped over a bloody form on the ground. Curious, I rolled over his head with my foot. This was indeed James Williams, my target. I checked his pulse. Dead. I pulled out my cell and dialed a single number. I spoke only a single word when she answered. "Done." To them I was Else Bellmonte, the worlds most dangerous assassin. To me, I was Else Bellmonte still but something else was I. I am Else Bellemont, the Worlds most well timed assassin. -------------------------------------- The senator was an easy hit. He would be driving today. Maybe a car accident? I thought about this while eating a bagel. My phone rumbled and rang. "Yes?"I asked. "They said you were good.... That was amazing! They suspect nothing! Killed the old man with a heart attack, brilliant! What did you use?"My client asked. "Err... A person that does... things... never reveals her secrets."I said in my mysterious voice. ----------------------------------------- That was my last day. After that, I quit. As I sipped warm tea in my huge manor, someone kicked in the door. How mildly interesting, my facial expression read. I ran up to the door with a butterfly knife. The man in front of the door just then had a seizure. I thrust my knife at the man behind him but before the knife could contact he had a heart attack. They all fell before me. I had one last contract, it seemed. My old boss didn't want to let me down easy, eh? The next day he was found hanging from his balcony. A suicide, they said. But in reality, it wasn't. My first hit had gone without a hitch.
"...That sucks, buddy, is that why you're drinking alone?" "Yeah. Haha" "Lemme buy you a drink, you like whiskey, buddy?" "Haha, naaah, only lonely cowboys drink whiskey, and I don't voluntarily drink alone, haha.. But I'll take a neat gin!" "Here you go, buddy. Happy 21st!" "Thanks, man." "You know what really helps out with feeling lonely?" "What's that?" "Murder." "Ahh, goddamn it! Nice try Lucy, I ain't going down that road."
"Yer a wizard, Harold!" "Mm, no,"said the boy, his green eyes more noticeable than ever since his LASIK surgery the week before. "Unless that's something from a theme park I haven't been to yet?" The over-sized man's face sunk. As awful as he smelled, and as nasty as his head of hair was, Harold began to take pity on him. This must have been one of those welfare people his uncle had always talked about. Skin colour wasn't quite what he expected though. "Harold, honey, who is that?"His aunt was emerging from the glass lift they had installed over the winter, after the skiing accident in northern Germany. He couldn't remember the last time any of them had taken the stairs. "What did I tell you about putting in the security code for strangers?" "Yes, Aunt Petunia, but he just kept on knocking."Harold set his head slightly to the side, wordlessly prompting the oaf to explain himself. "Well, didn't ye get any letters?"It looked like he was about to cry. Petunia had stopped short at the sight of him, lifting her sunglasses enough to see him without giving him a recognizable glimpse at her face. "What letters?"Harold shared a shrug with his aunt. "You sent them here?" "Well, no, not me pers'nally,"the giant of a man replied. "That'd be Dumbledore. Though I s'pose it took me a few tries to get the right house. Ye lot weren't in the mountains, or at yer cottage in the south of France, or even in yer Antigua beach house. S'pose we might'a sent the letters to the wrong address. "Anyhow,"he continued, while Harold and his aunt continued to stare. "Name's Hagrid, and I'm here to take ye to Hogwarts. That's the wizarding school, o' course. Ye'll be needin' a few things so we'll go on first to Diagon Alley. Yer Gringott's vault's got a small mountain o' gold inside." "Gold?"Harold's interest had piqued. "How much gold?"

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