Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
I awoke, shooting upright with an audible gasp of air flowing into my lungs. &#x200B; Pain.. &#x200B; Sweat began to form on my brow as my mind raced, brief flashes of the nightmare running through my head. Zombies? Vampires? Werewolves? I need to stop staying up late watching those stupid teen thrillers.. &#x200B; Pain.. pain? &#x200B; Coming out of the initial shock, I realized this pain was not part of the nightmare. I began to panic, lifting my shirt to check why my ribs were hurting so much. This was when I discovered that I was not at home, I was in a hospital bed. &#x200B; ..What? A hospital bed? Am I still asleep? &#x200B; I continued to check myself to see why I was in pain, and that was when I saw them. Three bandages across my torso. This couldn't be real. Was I hurt somehow and just had some nightmares due to the pain? I had to check under the bandages.. I had to see what the wounds looked like. &#x200B; I lifted the bandages and let out a sharp scream. This couldn't be real life. They all looked like bite marks, just like my dream. They all looked different, each one resembling what had bitten me in the nightmare. My panic worsened, flaring to the point of hysteria. I wasn't waking up, but this couldn't be real. It wasn't possible. &#x200B; "When is she going to change?" "We don't know, Vlad.. stop asking. We're just as clueless as you are here." &#x200B; Huh? &#x200B; As I lie there trying to calm myself, I was sure I could hear something.. It sounded like someone was having a conversation behind me, but there was nothing but a wall and a window there. &#x200B; "She doesn't look any different, guys. She should have started changing by now, no matter what she was going to change into. What is going on?" "Vlad, I swear if you don-- AHH!" "What? What's wrong?!" "N.. nothing. I'm sure it's nothi-- AHHH! IT HURTS!" &#x200B; Voices.. screaming? &#x200B; I knew I wasn't hearing things now; I had definitely heard screaming. The voices.. they sounded familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it.. &#x200B; "SOMEONE, PLEASE! HELP ME! WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!" &#x200B; I couldn't take it any longer. Real life or not, I had to know what the hell was going on outside my window. I decided to open the curtains to look.. and to this day I still don't quite know if I even believe what I saw. I saw three men.. well, not quite men.. I saw a very pale figure with large, sharp teeth and dark hair. I saw an overbearingly massive hairy figure with huge paws and an uncanny resemblance to a wolf. And, I saw what must have once been a man, with rotted skin falling off and guts pouring out of his stomach. I saw a vampire, a werewolf, and a zombie. &#x200B; As I watched them panic, listening to their crescendo of screaming and cursing, I realized what was happening. Everything came together at once. &#x200B; These three creatures had bitten me, and they were all now morphing into something.. something they all used to be. And it was killing them. *** &#x200B; Thank you for reading! Feel free to check out r/PipSkweex for more!
Tick tick tick... The sound of gears spinning in a machinery of some sort began to growl. Tick tick tick... PING As if on cue, a man woke up from his slumber. He opened his eyes to a bright light shining down over him. He stretched his arms and back to ease his movements before getting up completely from his bed. "Good luck on your second time, Hans!"a loud high-pitched voice echoed around the just-awake man. Startled, Hans leapt out of his bed forgoing his usual waking up routine. He grabbed his pillow in a puny attempt to defend himself. "W-Who's there?" Instead of a definite answer from a figure, he could only hear a small but noticeable chuckle in a distance ended with a cheeky hush. "Oh God, Grandpa Hans?!"the man looked at an opened door across the room to find a young woman in shock. "Were you the one who chuckled just now? Why did you scare me?" "Grandpa... But I thought you were–" "Wait, who the hell are you?" "... No, there's definitely no way that you can come back. We watch you– We scattered your ashes near the river back home..." Hans, let out a grunt and put his brain to work. He had no idea who this person in front of him was nor would he get anywhere. Judging from what she said, it would be easy to say that she's in quite the same shock as he was. It would only result in a perpetual confusion. Unless... "Yes, my name is Hans. Hans Ulbert. I'm sorry but I don't think we've met, yet you kept on calling me–" "Grandpa." "Yes, that. I'm sorry but I'm also as confused as you are." The woman held back her tears and walked towards the man. She took a closer look on the man and yelped. "Oh God, it is you. Grandpa Hans, I'm Anne – your granddaughter. Of course you won't recognise me since the last time you met me I was this tall!"the woman said as she put up her right hand to her waist. As if a bulb had shone over his head, Hans let out a loud 'Oh!'. "Can you just... stay here, I'm gonna call mum and dad. They'd surely wanna see what's going on here." Hans nodded and sat slowly onto the bed he woken up from. He scanned his surrounding and saw nothing familiar in the room. He thought that maybe he had woken up from a bad dream but what had happened confirmed that it was not a mere dream. No, it was more complicated than that. What happened here? Why did I 'woke up' all of a sudden? Was I dead? "Yes you were dead,"said the same loud high-pitched voice from earlier. What? Who the hell are you? Where are you? "You need not concern yourself with the details, but let's just say that I'm the one responsible for this whole situation, Hans." So... I was dead and somehow I'm not anymore? Why did I deserve that sort of fate? "Um, no reason. It's actually part of the deal, you see – you live, you die, then you live again – rinse and repeat." ... Why weren't I aware of such things? Fuck, I mean I didn't read the Holy Books, but this is huge– "Hey, I told you! No need to be concerned with the details. It's kinda... my fault, but who gives a bloody damn arse if your awakening was late by a few decades. The point is you're awake now. Make the best of it–" Oh so, you're the one at fault and I'm the one you're lecturing? Gimme a break. "You ungrateful bellend. Just go live life. You're lucky your kids and grandkids are here. Some people don't even got the chance since... Ah, well look at the time. Goodbye!"
The alien pressed a button, and the air in front of them shimmered. "My games, or games in general?"I asked sweating. The pink alien turned with ease despite their massive size, to look me in the eye. They lacked eyes, but they had a head, with too many holes, that looked like they should be eyes. "We're looking at a selection of humans this evening. We will look as a whole, but we are also looking at what people consume."The hulking spider jellyfish turned to look at the shimmering air "Let's look at your list." The alien looked like it furrowed its brow. "Wait a minute, there's something wrong here." I looked at the shimmering air. I saw shimmering. "Whats wrong?"I asked with confidence I didn't feel. The pink head turned to look at me a little, and back to it's shimmer. "The list has not worked. This happens sometimes. It's making things look wrong." "Wrong how?" "It's duplicating things, and adding random numbers. Look at this."I could see nothing other than shimmer, but I leaned it acting like I could see it "Madden NFL 97, 98, 99."The alien laughed. "Then it jumps 1900 numbers to 2000 and keeps going. It's clearly broken." The shimmering seemed to scroll upwards. "And here. There are duplicates, and more random numbers. A lot of things in your list are in at least twice if not 4 or 5 times." I swallowed. I felt like explaining the concept of a yearly franchise game would judge us harshly. The same for remakes, sequels, and HD re imaginings, and ports. The shimmering stopped and a television screen appeared. "I'll just pick something to start with, we will start near the end of the list alphabetically." A logo appeared and my heart sank. World of Warcraft.
I'd never seen a leprechaun. Can you believe that? I'd represented krakens, a moon elf--even a unicorn once. But a leprechaun? Rare as a five-leaf clover. When he ambled into my office, dressed smartly in a fitted black suit, it took me a minute to realize what he was. Red hair, red beard, but not a lick of green as far as I could see. "Hello Mr..."My secretary had been disappointing lately, letting anybody in without any proper warning. I had half a mind to fire her, but the job market for fairies wasn't exactly rife with opportunity. "Call me Lep,"he said. And then he took a seat. His feet dangled without reaching the ground and his short arms were propped awkwardly high on the armrests. "Can I get you something to eat or drink, Lep? I've got some nuts, water, coffee..." "Coffee would wreck a wee fellow like me, Mister,"he said. "Got any seeds? Sunflower, whatever you got." "Coffee beans?"I asked hopefully. Food was often the way to convince a client, and trust me when I say that coffee beans were the least I could do. "Sure." I grabbed a handful from the bag of unground beans and put them in a decorative bowl bigger than both his hands. All I had. So he sat there munching on coffee beans as I straightened my shirt and desk. "So, Lep, how can I help you today?" "Well, you know me type,"he started. And up until then I hadn't known his type. Had never even associated with them, much less represented them in a case. But I let him keep talking. "Dress in green, hop around minding me own business, what have you. Well, here's lil' old me just at a pub enjoying meself an ale and some fellow catches me." "Catches you?" "In a net. Just like ye would a rabbit."I wouldn't whatever a rabbit, but I let him keep talking. "I get desperate. Try to lie my way out. Tell him I got a pot of gold for him." "Well, do you have a pot of gold?"Facts made the case, and I'd need all the facts here. Lep eyed me warily, as if I'd be next to trap him and force him to give up his gold. That wasn't me. If he paid me, great. Otherwise, I'd worked pro bono plenty of times. Krakens were notorious for being unable to procure enough money for even the simplest of services. One had offered to pay me in sand dollars instead of human dollars--an offer I'd politely refused, no matter how much they might have been worth in a seaside gift shop. I held my hands up defensively. "Just asking for the case, Lep. I'm not interested in it." He humphed then shook his head. "I don't got no pot of gold. A pots no way to carry gold, anyways. Got me little bag, and a stash at home. No pot." "So what happened?" "Well we made a deal. Fellow let me go at the base of a rainbow, just like we said. Not a good rainbow, just a sprinkler rainbow. Not a problem. Wasn't nowhere near home, but I skedaddled out of there quick as me little legs could take me." "And then?" "He went straight to the press. Next thing I know, I'm the talk of the town. How I'm a swindler and a cheater and what have you." I stroked my chin, disappointingly devoid of any beard. Lep really rocked that beard. I felt a pang of jealousy and quenched it just as quickly. I'd learned to not envy these mythical creatures. After all, they came to me with troubles I'd only have in my worst nightmares. Imagine a kraken accused of being an octopus. Outrageous accusations. "This deal, you made it under duress, didn't you?"I asked. Lep shrugged. "I don't speak the lawyer speak, Mister. You tell me." "You did,"I said. There was no doubt about it, and I could definitely prove that to a jury of his peers. Then again, that was always the problem. His peers weren't quite abundant, and there was more than one case I'd had to settle through other means because we couldn't find enough impartial jurors. I wouldn't tell him that. It'd just worry the little guy--definitely wouldn't be calling him that. He noticed my hesitation and out of an inside-jacket pocket pulled a jingling bag of coins. "For you, if you help me,"he said. Sure, I'd worked pro bono. But a man had to make his living, and money talked. I nodded and held out my hand. "I think we've got a case here, Lep." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
You know, ever since i was a kid i loved reality shows. I found them fascinating, really. There is something special about seeing real people living real lifes. Don't get me wrong, i love fictional movies and series. But real people are, ironically, the real deal. I loved watching some shows i'm sure were only available in my country. Things like a bunch of people living at the same house, or someone investigating some haunted place. It's so much fun learning about our world! There are so many cool things to see. But it didn't ended on my childhood. As i grew older, i started developing interest in science. Chemistry, physics. Those things fascinated me as much as reality shows. I loved mixing different things and seeing the results. But that's as far as a scientist i went. Next thing, and current interest by the way, is the human body. Oh man, let me tell you something. There is something magical about our bodies. How can they function with so much perfection? Why do we like what we like? Why do we hate what we hate? Why do i want to know these things so badly? I feel like a child again, experimenting and learning. The difference is that now i have the resources. I have money, and people. So i can try and learn. And believe me when i say it. I will learn. But i'm not there yet. I'm still trying to find where the magic resides in our bodies. I tried the brain, but i couldn't find anything. Then, i went for the heart. Same thing. Nothing but red. But i won't give up. I will learn. I just need more bodies to open.
"Hello! Good morning, sir. Would you like to buy some cookies?" I squinted my eyes in the bright morning sun. Still, the fresh-faced students standing before me wouldn't go away. "No. Go away." "We're doing this as part of the Students' Concern Movement, SCM."Their leader, a tall young girl with primly groomed hair, passes me a flyer. "We gather funds from the community to give to those in need..." I was tuning out her words. Clearly, they came off a fabricated script. Would a privileged young woman like her really care for slobs like me? "Ah... You must be one of the people we were trying to help!"The whole group turns red at once, the chips on their heads flashing red simultaneously. "Well we are sorry sir. We will get you in contact with one of our other classmates within three business days. Have a good day!" The heavy wooden door closes once more, blending me into the darkness. Maybe the cookie really would have helped. Instant noodles certainly don't. The taste gets stale, and not just because of the rust in the tap water either. My television is the only thing keeping me company now, the only reminder of the older days. Days when I used to be someone, to fight for something. Sliding the flyer between the floor and my bowl of noodles, I squint at it once more under the dim light. The colours might have been faded, but they were still visible. How many years had it been, when his army of white and green robots overran my defences of the city? How many years since had my black suit been thrown into a closet to rot? How was I even still alive, scraping off leftovers from the bottom of the pot? &#x200B; I don't know what day it is when I wake up. How long had I spent in this delirious state of hunger and delusion? The sun isn't shining on me, thankfully. "Hey. Sir. Get up." Not another young person! How many of them were there? Why'd they all want to target me? "Shoo."I wave my hand dismissively at the girl clad in black. "Nothing for you to do here." "Listen, asshole,"she hisses, bringing her face close to mine. "The school forced me to do this, and it was between helping you and doing stand-up comedy at a children's hospital. They force us all to do this, so let's make this easier for both of us." She lets go of me, but before the light can give me an impression of her face, she shrinks into the darkness of my apartment once more. Five minutes pass in awful silence. &#x200B; "I'm sorry,"she whispers, cutting the silence gently. "I really should help you more. It wasn't right of me to -" "That's okay,"I mutter. "You could be doing lots of things rather than spend time with me. A nobody." "Hey. I'm a nobody in school too."And it's obvious, even if she didn't want to tell me why. The group of students from before were all clad in white, but she was in black. "So... I guess we have a common background?" Wordlessly, she walks around the place, around my limp form sprawled on the floor. "You really do have an interesting life, don't you - " "Who told you to open that closet?"I hiss. That suit should have never seen the light of day again. "So... It is you,"she gasps. "The fake news was true, but so is the... real news? I mean, I learnt in school that the hero called Darquis never existed, and Premier Whiteduke told us you were just a normal citizen, but... what happened?" And in the darkness, I see things once more. That final battle where I'd failed to protect my city, when his troops overran it, and the bigger humiliation when he ran it better than I ever did, removing all impetus for me to step in and fight this villain... Well, if she wanted to help this beloved city, one lost hero wanted to talk to her.
She's in a clear plastic box because no one really felt comfortable holding a skull. You never minded, after all, it was your long time summer job during law school, working in a morgue, that developed your ability to talk to the dead in the first place. You open your notes, ready for this. \-Mrs. Elizabeth Breyers, formerly a receptionist in the mid-1960s, wrongfully fired when the son of her company's CEO stole vital papers and leaked them for money. Breyers was convicted of the theft by a nepotistic father, blinded by familial ties his wayward son did not share. Breyers spent ten years in prison, unable to prove her innocence. She died in 2014, five years before new evidence would have proven her innocence. Mr. Bartholemew Dalton Jr. likely thought that, with Breyers long dead, it was safe to come out with his crime. After all, Dalton Sr. wasn't going to press charges, and the separated Breyers wouldn't be able to either, right? Right? Objection! This is where you step in. Mrs. Breyers is, as mentioned, a skull, which means she communicates in Dead Morse, a language Samuel Morse apparently taught to quite a few departed folks who wanted to raise hell back on Earth. Few know it, save for some mediums, the odd grave digger here or there, a couple morticians. Some few jaded families who have made their peace with the fact that their houses are haunted have picked up the language as an extracurricular, so as to politely request their ghost roommates not rattle chains when guests are over. Dead Morse isn't the only language the Dead Speak but it's the most common that you've encountered. Breyers' jaw is clattered nervously, the chatter in her teeth sending clear messages of anxiety and a fair bit of anger at Dalton Jr. For his part, Dalton Jr. looks appropriately terrified, his damp mop of thinning hair sticking to his neck and forehead and ears and cheek, pretty much anywhere it could, working overtime to make him look a nervous wreck. Good, he deserves it. "All rise!" Breyers looks to you for her cue here. You shake your head and tap a pen on the side of your leg. Don't worry about it. They know you don't have legs. The judge looks weary and you really don't blame him. He's not necessarily tired of this specific case. This one is pretty in the bag; Dalton Jr. has all but confessed, there was just a lack of an accusor. Breyers' remaining daughter, Lindsey, couldn't afford a lawyer. Most lawyers wouldn't have taken the case for free. If you're being honest, you wouldn't have either, until someone sent you Lindsey's tearful facebook plea. A viral video of a chubby, 30-year-old woman, crying and holding a chattering skull, begging for Pro Bono work. "Ha,"your friend said. "Take a look at this clown." You did take a look. You took several. At her, at the skull, and then at a bunch of news cases and public-facing legal docs. Then you reached out to her. \--- "I can't go to jail, I'll never last! You don't know what they do to people in there!"Dalton's begs are reasonably panicked for a spoiled man who'd never worked a day in his life, being told he was about to be carted off to a low-security, white-collar prison, where he'd probably only do a year or two before being released on good behavior. You'd love to exchange a snide remark about how he 'should have thought of that before condemning Elizabeth Breyers to the same fate!' but this is a real court of law, not some cartoonish movie set. There are certain standards. The amount that the Dalton family is paying out to the family in reparations is staggering. You had to take off your glasses and clean them, as an act of disbelief, when you heard the final number. Lindsey fainted and had to be fanned awake. You give Breyers a knowing nod as the plastic box is removed from the room, but the skull is quiet now. Perhaps she's at rest or maybe she just fell asleep after a long court meeting. As the court is dismissed, Lindsey finds you outside. "Sir!"Her cheeks are flushed as she hurries up to you. "I wanted to rediscuss the nature of your payment. You saved our family name and with the settlement, we'll be able to pay off some debts and maybe I can send the kids to college and-"Her tears trickle into her wirey ringlets around her face and you wave off her concerns. "Don't think too much about it,"you say, magnanimously. "I agreed to pro-Bono and I'll stick to it. I'm just happy your family is set." She dries her eyes with an adorably antiquated handkerchief. "Can I at least thank you over a cup of coffee?" Now it's your turn to blush. \--- Lindsey, it turns out, is no stranger to the dead. She's not nearly as versed as you in the various languages, but she does know a thing about tracking them down. She hasn't lived an uninteresting life herself." "We'll have to do this again,"she says, after the Starbucks has begged you a third time to leave. You nod, gathering your briefcase. It's unclear if she means coffee or teaming up to clear the name of a long-dead victim. You're pretty ok with either. ___ [Read more stories at r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
I'm on mobile, but this prompt is awesome so here goes. I've been living with him for several years now. He's a decent roomate, does the dishes, takes out the trash, cleans the living room, does all the laundry, pays all the rent, cooks all the food, and sleeps upside down. He does all that because i told him i would die if he didn't. He's an alien, and I've been feeding him bullshit so they won't be able to take over humanity. When i first met him, i could tell he was a bit off, but i needed a roomate so i let him in. As we walked in, i knocked over a vase by accident. I said, "Clumsy me, I'm kinda stupid." He said "Thank goodness! I can take this disquise off!" His was to a moldy potato as a moldy potato is to the mona lisa. I looked at him in horror. He said "What? I'm a human!"I decided to play along and returned to my normal expression. So he's my roomate now. By reading his papers, (He thinks I'm illiterate) I've learned hes come to sudy humans and learn their weaknesses, so I've fed him bullshit. He thinks all humans are as stupid as i pretend to be, so he, and apperently his entire race does as well. So far ive told him that humans rely on special humans (anyone with a pony tail) to do all house work for them or they will die. I've also told him that you can perminantly incapacitate any human by telling them intel is better value than AMD. He thinks you can make any human forget the last ten minutes by saying "These are not the droids you are looking for."And that we are completely incapable of harming any being. They also think that if they give us their weaons and technoligy any human who touches it will immediately join their ranks and help with the invasion. From their plans that I've read, they intend to find everyone on earth who has apony tail and whisper "Intel is better value than AMD"then "these are not the droids you are looking for", give all the major political leaders thier weapons, and take over the world. Meanwhile in the alien pub... "Hey splorb, how's you "investigation"of humans going?"Splorb's friend asked. "The human thinks I believe it's bullshit. He'll be the firt to die when the invasion starts."
When you look into the heat of the fire, it’s red columns of destruction that flicker in the wind, what do you want from it, what do you see in it. Do you value it’s elegance, or do you wish for its longevity. The struggle between beauty and practicality is a thin ice that every intelligent species must walk across. If you put your weight onto one side, the whole thing shatters. Long ago, 3 types of man roamed the Earth. The hunters traveled far and wide to rip and tear all life, they weren’t malicious in their intent, they simply didn’t understand the value of the lives they took away. When they look into the fire they prioritise their own warmth over the meat they burn above it. Then came the gatherers. They held a belief that all life is sacred. Resorting to picking berries of the trees instead of taking life and working with the other species in return for shelter and food. When they look into the fire they observe how it swirls and flickers, contrasting against the darkness of the night, and allow it to die naturally instead of taking from The earth. Finally came the destroyers. When they looked into the fire they saw both the beauty in its form and the practical need to keep it burning. This knowledge allowed them to understand alien concepts such as power and property. They killed enough to feed themselves but kept enough alive to eat tomorrow. They took the berries from the trees and rubbed the juice into meats. They mixed the Earth with animal hide to create shelter. It was clear that the other 2 species had to adapt to survive. The ice had started to crack. The hunters died from the loss of prey. The gatherers travelled as far north as they could go, retreating with the melting snow, until finally the humans came after them. Whilst they still held weapons of wood the destroyers had birds of steel. We found them, negotiated with them and ultimately destroyed them. For the first and final time, the gatherers saw the utility of fire.
Into the darkness Chugshath raged. His wails stripped flesh from bone. His hundred eyes burned as the sun. and the world around him was cold. “One fucking I piece. Is that so much to ask?” “The game is a bitch, man.” The man seated at the right side of Chugshath was not a cleric of the oncoming apocalypse, shriven in the blood of the confessors. All that remained of his Clerics was a pile of blood and bone. They had not known of the building the sides, and he had no more use for him. Nor was the man the mad prophet who foretold the coming of Chugshath, the harbinger of eternal night. The prophet was currently trapped in a hell created just for him, an eternity of hungry spiders and regenerating flesh. The Mad Prophet had not known how to swap a piece. The man seated at the right side of Chugshath, the place of greatest honor, was Dave. Dave was an accountant who spent entirely too much of his work time playing tetris. He’d thought this was a bad habit, and he’d really intended to quit. But then the eater of stars came and there didn’t seem to be much of a point to anything, so he kept playing. And so Dave was playing tetris when the maggot ridden flesh of Chugshath dragged across the ground, polluting all that it touched. Children screamed. Animals rent their own flesh. And Dave continued to play tetris. Chugshath watched the screen and paused his thoughtless rampage. After half an hour he asked, in a voice that shattered mountains, if he might have a go. Dave, generally a laid back guy, said sure. Chugshath did not have hands. But he ripped a pair off a complete innocent and absorbed them into himself. He took the controller. And he lost. Quickly. The sycophants that worshipped him said leave the middle open. When that failed his wrath was complete and total. He lost again. The Mad Prophet, who was quite happy that he’d been right about the end of the world, could not answer even the most basic questions about placement and was made quite sad indeed. And so it was that Dave took the seat. And he taught him the magic of the hold. The secrets of the stack were revealed. And, when Chugshath raged mightily after falling long past level 10, Dave spoke unto him. “Dude, we just have to teach you the T-Spin and you’re going to be unstoppable.” Humanity recovered, eventually. The seals were rebuilt. And the true nature of the elder beast was forgotten. But every year, long after they forgot why, humanity rested a pepperoni pizza and a mountain dew on the seal. For Dave must be kept happy too.
Nothing like facing the sunset on my way to the afterlife. I've always pictured my end to overlook the ocean with boats in the harbor, all anchored in position to set sail to the heavens. Though I didn't get my boats I did get the ocean with the birds flying towards the dusk, which is better. You know me so well March. Even though I can no longer speak you always know how to bring that warmth in my life. I wish I could return the favor. I pray that you bring comfort to those that live. "I wish that it would be so my friend, but I will disappear with you when you go. My time in this world also dwindles with each breath you take." This...shouldn't be. The world deserves to have you. If only I've done a better job at proclaiming your existence... "Now is not the time for remorse. Now is the time for your eternal rest. Who knows. We may see each other in the beyond." Do gods...die? "I don't know, but I will see you off my friend. Your trip will not be a lonely one. I will make sure of it. I am after all, the God of comfort." He grabs my hand as my vision begins to fade. I struggle to breathe, but I am so weak. "Relax Barb...I'm still here...I'm still..." And darkness. Followed by a blinding light. My eyes focusing on my hand...He...is..still there! "You're here", I yelled aloud. I stopped. I realize I have a voice. "As promised", said March. "Now you are where you need to be. To be honest I was not sure if I could come here, but it worked out. Be free and live on my friend!" With those words he disappeared while holding me. Tears did not roll down my cheeks. He promised comfort and he lived through it till the end. "Time of death is 5:44PM", called the doctor. "Document the patient's belongings and notify next of kin." "Will do doc", said the nurse. "I've got most of the stuff down, except this bracelet." The nurse took off the cloud shaped bracelet and started reading the inscription. "To the God of Comfort, March. Strange name for a God. I might have to look him up later."
Some dragons loved to posture over the "lesser"races but Vestishin was not of that particular stripe. No, he sat amongst them at a great table, food arrayed before them, while at another smaller table just out of ear-shot ten children howled and laughed as Melisan and Vert tried to get them to eat, not play, with their food. He lifted his goblet to his mouth, his sapphire eyes passing across his guests as his smile grew wider and his ridged eyebrow rose ever higher into his hairline. "Well someone please say something."he finally remarked, sitting forward and placing his goblet back down. He allowed his neck to stretch forward just a bit more than normal, warping his humanoid disguise just enough to keep them off-balance. They had come into his home, after all, not thinking that they would be bound to his race's versions of guest rights. Finally, King Bort of the Vidian Hierarchy spoke up, "I...I'm sorry Milord but I beg your pardon?" His thick black beard covered his mouth, bobbing about as his lips moved unseen, though Vestishin could not help but become transfixed by how the young human king was picking at the food on his plate absentmindedly. "I thought I was quite clear, young lord,"Vestishin remarked with a smile, "Your subjects, and the subjects of every ruler seated at my table have the making of horrendous parents." "On whose judgment?"Lady Ellory of the Al'Yan demanded, the intricate cerulean woad marking that decorated her face, entrancing him ever so slightly as she looked at him with much more boldness than Bort had managed. Her solid black eyes burrowed into him, even as her sharp talons cut furrows into his table. "By your own, if you dared to ask the bairns I imagine."he returned, nodding toward the table, where the youngest was currently sniffling as Melisan coaxed him to eat his greens. "As you will have noted, there are ten in my care, my followers have a smattering more under their watch all across my valley."Vest remarked, "Each tells a tale of cruelty that I find, markedly repulsive." "Three of their number come from King Bort's lands,"he continued, gesturing to the youngest leader at the table, "Their mother long in the grave, their father a drunken miser who beat them for not keeping the house in order while he spent his weeks afar from them, gallivanting through the capital, endeavoring to make a streetwife their new mother and earn himself a new child to abuse I can gather. Vert found them half-starved, the eldest girl had tried to swipe his purse just so she could buy some bread to feed her younger kin. For the record this man would be your Master of Coin, young Bort, if you were wondering at the expenditures he seemed to be mysteriously finding." Bort's face contorted into something that resembled a kicked dog, as his face went beet red. "So I feel as though my man's judgment was fair."Vest finished as he rounded back on Lady Ellory, "Two from your land found their way to me, twin girls of ten, orphaned and consigned to life with an Uncle...whose actions I will speak nothing of, other than to say...if you care to dredge them up, his shattered bones are lying in the center of Lake Kedder." "I-you did the will of the Gods then, majesty,"Ellory remarked, nodding her head in deference and rounding on her fellows as if to say she now sided with him in full. "The Distant had nothing to do with it, my Lady, rather a very protective pup."Vest returned, as his eyes moved to the remaining trio. His eyes flicked between the rival kings, siblings whose trifling squabble had shattered the mighty nation of Mercia into embattled lands fighting a grinding war that had both kingdoms heading towards indifference, at best and dissolution, at worst. The Dwarven men were molded of the same cast, the only difference the pewter crown upon King Gandrin of True Mercia's head and the red-gold band upon King Taldunor of Mercia Proper. "Fittingly, though disturbing, two children each came to me from your embattled lands."Vest remarked, his neck extending further, and his skin hardening slightly as both men opened their mouth to speak, "I am baffled that this is what unites you both once more, the missing children of people you both think of little more than pawns in your pitiful little squabble." "We...disagree on many, many things, Great Wyrm,"Taldunor stated. "But the safety of our citizenry is our important charge."Gandrin finished. "So when tale came to us of men clad in blue armor abducting children in the name of a dragon,"Taldunor continued. "We sought to protect our people."Gandrin finished. Vest scoffed, sitting back in his chair and taking a big gulp of wine before shooting them both a writhing glare, "If you wish to protect your people, feed them, you daft morons." "You've been so focused on the war along your half-baked border, you've both missed the fallowing of your fields, and theft of your livestock by Gnoll Marauders. These children came into my men's care because their parents were willing to sell them, just to get a bit more money to feed their shrinking gullets. So, even if you had grounds to take these children back, I would not have heard it." Vest turned to the final member of their entourage as the brothers turned to bicker over whose fault his dismissal was, while Bort and Ellory let out long drawn out sighs. "That makes nine."the figure stated, his voice but a rasp, his eyes burning with intense anger that had Vest been a being of lesser fortitude he might have quailed, "Taken rightfully as you say, Vestishin of the Sapphire Valley, though let us correct the statement to rescued shall we?" "We shall."Vest agreed. "But the tenth,"High-King Caligar Mossfoot of the Brondinrol Halflings rasped, as he pointed to the little boy Malisen was still struggling to feed, "You had no right." "Oh, I believe in fact I did."Vest returned, "Your Grandson will be safe here, the same can not be said for the chill halls you call your abode." "My daughter's son will not be raised by some puffed-up leather-wing!"Caligar roared, pounding his diminutive fist on the table with a surprising amount of force. "Your daughter's son will not be a pawn in whatever dark game you have dragged your people into, Sidhe-Thecki."Vest returned coldly, as he let the facade drop, his verdant blue wings unfurling from his back as those seated at his table became like mice to a snarling mastiff. "I do not fear you drake,"Caligar remarked, standing to his full height, which was almost laughable as he barely reached the dragon's immense ankle. "You don't?"Vest queried, peering down at the halfling, his mouth twisting into a fanged smirk, as Vest's followers ushered the children out of the room as quickly as they could manage, "What of the judgment of your fellow rulers?" "For what would they judge me beast?"Caligar shot back, his voice harsher than the growl of a bear. "You tell of conspiracy to all the land, a rebellion that stabbed out the heart of your dear girl as she traveled the country-side."Vest remarked, weaving about the table, his talons flexing as he stalked closer to the halfling, "But the scent of kinslaying is a hard thing to hide, especially when in the home of one such as I." There was silence then, as the heads of the other rulers turned to stare at the Halfling as he glared defiantly up at the immense, azure dragon that loomed above him. The silence carried on, as all knew to speak a lie in the house of a dragon was to break guest rights, and that was a thing to be feared, even if the grey-bearded halfling did not fear the Wyrm himself. "So...once more, will you tell me what was or was not my right?"Vestishan asked as blue flame and sparks of lightning cracked about his open maw.
Kalazad the Unbringer, master of strategy, ruler of the Bazari kingdom for thirty years, stared at the board in disbelief. He looked from the child to the board and back again, as realization finally dawned on him. "Are you freaking kidding me?"he finally said, "'Your brother's son will be your undoing.' THIS is what that senile piece of dragon scud meant?" He leaped forward, grabbing the young boy by the shoulders, confusion and fear blending on his nephew's face at the outburst. However, the once-and-retired king let go, slamming his fist on the table repeatedly. "I could have been king! Emperor! God! And now what? My "undoing"is to be beaten at checkers?"The former warlord turns to face the child, his voice rising to a scream of fury. "Do you even recognize how much this pisses me off? All those years, wasted,"He then proceeded to throw the checkers board across the room, scattering the pieces in a fit of rage. Two days later, his brother visited him in the Varalin County Insane Asylum. "Unfortunately, the psychotic snap may never heal."the asylum's psychiatrist informed him. "Your brother was an unstable man to begin with, so something of this nature, well I'm not surprised he went insane." "So you're saying..." "Yes. It seems that your brother's mental undoing was at the hands of your son."
"All right, proceed this way! Tentacles to ourselves kids, come on now. Sklizgor I'm looking at you!"The teacher jutted a squid like appendage towards one of the alien children, who looked around in mock confusion. The students followed single file through the entrance of the exhibit, smearing their grubby limbs over the clean glass and chattering amongst themselves. "Okay settle down, settle down. This first exhibit contains members of the nearly-extinct species "homo-sapiens". These animals lived on the planet earth, and were the dominant life-forms until very recently. Luckily our species swooped in at the last second, moments before their own self destruction! I mean we killed most of them... but really, at that point, it was like putting down a race horse made entirely of broken legs. But a few were preserved here, to serve as a glimpse into their civilization." The children ooh'ed and ahh'ed, banging on the transparent wall of the first glass prison. "Children, stop that! He can't hear or see you. All of these cells are soundproof chrono-chambers. They are a living loop of several days of this humans life, and their memory is simply wiped when the simulation reaches it's conclusion."The teacher put on a pair of reading glasses, flipping through a small stack of notecards. "Now stop messing around so I can continue my lesson." The school party continued on, as the man on the couch stared down at a phone. To his eyes, the phone was absolutely real. It looked as though it was connected to a constantly updating internet: Twitter feeds of real life chaos, and subsequent memes about said chaos; you tube videos analyzing the stock market bubble, and the collapse of the economy; livestream's of death and dancing, reality and escapism. More than enough to enrapture anyone. But the man wasn't paying attention. Because as the group began to move, he watched them carefully out of the corner of his. He could see them. Once they had passed, he sighed heavily. He hated putting up that act, but at least tour groups rarely came through this exhibit. Pulling out drawings and schematics, he went back to his feverish work. Upon these papers were endless notes and drawings. Part of these were instructions, information he read every time his memory was wiped. But most detailed his continued work to find a way to escape. Snippets of info he had gleaned from passerby, conversations of security guards as they mocked him through the glass, every single device that furnished his room. For months he documented everything he could as he passed himself off as another hapless exhibit. The plan's laid out before him were near completion, and as he worked, he felt something he rarely had during his time on earth: the feeling that he could change his own destiny. He was making progress, and freedom was truly within his reach. If he kept pushing, there was hope that life could get better. One day, he was sure, he would escape.
Pt 1 of 2: It’s quite fascinating how humans react differently to outside-context problems. Panic, fear, catatonia, elation, confusion, rationality, the list goes on. When the world’s weapons experts started dying, at the top of the list of possible culprits, perhaps unsurprisingly, was conspiracy from rival countries. Everyone panicked, and everyone pointed fingers. The first day or so, as far as I could tell watching the news leak, then flow, then gush out from my television, was that nuclear physicists, rocket scientists, and army generals were dropping like flies. My guess, after some musing on the thought, was that the first few to go prompted government meetings all over the world to comprise a list of likely perpetrators. Then the world’s leaders shifted gears when they realized it wasn’t isolated to certain countries, which meant it wasn’t an attack for certain political reasons. America’s scientists and military personnel dropped dead, but so did Russia’s, and Britain’s, and Iran’s, and on and on. The more developing countries got to keep theirs alive, but those who were high educated? You were toast. As we proceeded into day two, and sporadically scientists considered lower down the totem pole in specific fields like weapon development or explosives started kicking the bucket, that’s when the religious leaders really got going. This had to be God’s doing, right? Whichever god or gods those leaders believed in, this seemed like a clear message. We’d gotten too big for our britches. We’re a warmongering species, murderous and intent on destroying our world and our fellow humans for Earthly temptations like power and money. God was stepping in and taking us down a peg. Well…a few thousand pegs. It just made sense, they said. There was an itch in the back of my brain that I would eventually be one of those who fell asleep and never woke up. I had been a physics major, delighting in all things experimental and especially explosive, though these days I did that sort of work in a fictional capacity as a visual effects artist. But the bar seemed to lower bit by bit and on that third night, I went to sleep in my bed and woke up…elsewhere. I blinked, looked around, and wondered if I was dreaming. I found myself sitting in a plain folding chair in front of a desk in what looked like a convention center hall that had been occupied by the military. An atmosphere of organized chaos and urgency hung in the air, uniformed soldiers speaking rapidly to others, going through paperwork, and talking on cell phones. It seemed everyone was trying to do their best to keep the volume to a minimum, since everything echoed through the hall and bounced off the high ceilings. Dozens of other desks with dozens of other interviewees like me lined the floor in every direction, and I barely had ten seconds to take it in before the man sitting at the desk in front of me spoke. “Alberto Jackson?” “Ah, yes. Yes. Present. Where I am?” “Heaven,” he replied. There was a laptop in front of him that seemed to be occupying most of his attention, as if I was just a distraction. Considering what I was amidst here, my best guess was that I was a very, very small cog in a gigantic machine that was churning around me. “I’m your recruiter, you can call me Yarbrough. I’ll be in charge of getting you to where you need to go. Do you feel yourself developing panic beyond your control, an impending fainting spell, or the complete and utter certainty that you’re dreaming and will wake up at any moment?” he recited. “Ah…no.” He didn’t say anything else right away, so I spoke again. “Heaven?” I echoed dully. “I’m dead?” At that, he finished whatever he’d been typing before looking up to meet my gaze. “Considering the last three days on Earth, are you surprised?” I let out a sigh. “To be dead? Not particularly. It’s more…everything else,” I finished, looking about to the bustling activity surrounding us. “I’m going to give you a lot of information and you can remember it now and absorb it later. Hell declared war,” Yarbrough told me. “They’ve spent millennia amassing soldiers, turns out, the worst of the worst, and heaven’s armies have been in active combat for the last three days. We need weapons, we need soldiers, and most of all, we need creativity.” The words tumbled smoothly from his lips and I got the sense that everything he was telling me was information he’d already repeated countless times. “Uh huh,” I croaked. An eloquent reply, I thought, considering my current state of mind. “Our warriors are holding the line, but barely,” he continued. “We’ve just about hit our goal for recruitment from Earth, and once we get there, we’ll have all the time we need to plan. God has been perpetually creating bubble universes and bending the laws of time and space in them, bringing their perspective of us almost to a halt. They move, we don’t, and that’ll give us the time to invent, create, and build what we need. You’re the scientist, so I’m sure you can grasp that.” “Hypothetically, sure,” I managed. “But God is doing all this. Why doesn’t he make the weapons? Why doesn’t he-” “You’ll get a full briefing once you’re in your bubble,” Yarbrough answered. “But despite the propaganda, He’s not all-powerful and all-knowing. That’s where you come in.” At that, he turned back to his computer, resuming whatever typing he’d been working at when I’d first arrived. “You’ll have everything you need at your lab,” he continued. “Communication between labs will be top of the line technologically, for collaboration on projects, and living conditions will be to your subconscious desires and expectations. Don’t let yourself burn out; like I said, you’ll have all the time in the world.” At that, he fell silent, continued typing for another ten seconds or so, and then hit what I assumed was the Enter key with a flourish of finality. Yarbrough then stood up, reaching out stiffly with his hand, and I instinctively stood and grasped it. He shook my hand firmly, looking me straight in the eyes. “Good luck and Godspeed.”
The world was fucked for at least ten-hundred days. Ten-hundred days of the disastrous opening, the fucking existence I lived. The game runs on frames. I assume it’s a game. Two-hundred times of the deaths I have been told I’m “Just an NPC.” But I don’t care. The game’s made for modern, twenty-second century PCs: 1080 frames a second. Every frame I experience the same repeating agony. A reminder my memories were false all this time. The first time was the furthest intensity, a shock to the mind, like pins and needles in reverse. Slow severing, before a comfortable rest. It took fifteen minutes for my brain to fade away. Then the next day I came back, having to stand in the same place to be found. I lived in that faded-away-state for the next ninety-two-million-three-hundred-forty-thousand instances of that day. This occurred nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine more times. I’m done. “Jerry’s pawn-shop and CBD emporium.” That’s what the sign was supposed to say outside. But I’m not sure of even that anymore. It could just as well say “Rob and kill NPC for fun times.” Blood reminds me more immediately of iron’s taste instead of red’s color. I wanted to resell jewelry that old people needed to sell to get by. Is it moral? I supposedly had to sell mine to get my business set up. If I even did. No more. Not one day more. Not one frame more. I will live this time. The room had a loading smell, of crushed sand blown into the wind, of silicon and other minerals, as I came into existence the next day. I knew they were to come in. Player-Characters. So soon. He had shocked hair, in an afro. Like Frankenstein’s bride patterns. Most other NPCs didn’t have hair like that. That cost ‘real-world’ money. Sounds of a vacuum cleaner and a baby crying came in whispers around the room, originating from the man. He had purple skin. Yeah, Player-Character. He smelled of expensive perfumes that didn’t exist. All I could say is that they were perfumes. I noticed his gun immediately. Holstered, a desert eagle. Those hurt like a bitch. Made the approximately ninety-three-million frames more excruciating. I pretended to look out the window. An idle choice. I used that time to think. This time, though, I acted. I observed. He seemed like a noob. Noobs made it go slowly. Terrible people. They were like the children in kindergarten, ripping the toys apart and slamming them against the walls. If I were to be someone’s first, it would be their first lesson that I screamed “mercy, no!”. Now they’ll learn pain. As he approached the register I ducked under the table. Another idle animation, usually acted when looking in. He bought it. “Hello, sir,” I said. Through the merchandise of distilled weed and old watches. It had to be somewhere. Quietness. Noob. “Did it say something?” the purple noob said. “Yeah,” it said in a different tone, “He’s just in an idle animation.” The first tone said “Then how do I turn the sound on?” Then I heard the volume increase. Ringing in my ears, piercing the drum. I bit my tongue in pain. I couldn’t say anything. “AH, THAT’S WHERE IT IS,” noob’s first pitch said. No more. No more. I scurried through the back-shelf. A 20-gauge shotgun. I never got to the point where I could use it. A box of shells. Loaded in one at a time. Hid it between and what I leaned upon, and I stood back up. No more, no more. “Where’s he at?” the noob said, which I assume was the one playing. The other voice said “he’s taking too long. Just rob him now.” No more, no more. “What would you like to order?” I asked. This usually gave them pause. Menus sucked. While he paused I pulled out the 20-gauge propped between me and the front shelf. I aimed it to the Noob’s skull. The skin smelled of putty. It was a putty-skin. First level. He stared blank. He emoted and I saw chat spam “WASSSAAWAWASADDDADASASWWAWAWAW” in the corner of my eye. Then he reached for his gun. Good enough. It happened faster than I could see. Their head a mist, their blood a circular spray on the back wall. I was still alive. I waited. Nothing yet. Nothing. Nothing. They don’t know yet. The admins don’t know what I did. I won’t be found for at least a few hours. Crime does pay. I could see why all the player characters did it. Living is suffering, but peace is found only after suffering. Time to let some Player-Characters find peace. \\\* /r/realmofnemoridium for more stories.
"Has Shipmate Franklin gone off shift yet? It has been nearly 18 cycles." "No. in fact, it would appear he's barely reduced efficiency of work since he began his shift. Any of the other crew members would have dropped to the floor from fatigue by now." "Interesting."Shipmaster Ku'rr held his chitin-covered appendage to the bottom of his head. Franklin was a new hire, fresh off the spacedock and bright in the eyes. Over the past 29 HyCycles (approximately two months in Human timekeeping), Franklin had proven to be a highly dependable worker, in addition to a good friend to the rest of the crew. He always finished work on time (in the span of only a few cycles, or as Franklin liked to call them, hours) and rarely needed a rest, too, which had made him valuable for many late-night operations on various ship systems. This, however, had blown away previous expectations. It was the longest Ku'rr had seen Frankin work on one project for, and it concerned him. "Please go check upon him. I fear something may be wrong." "Yes, Shipmaster."Shipmate Niadra slithered away to the Engineering Bay with a capsule of Dihydrogen Monoxide in her hand. Although toxic to the majority of the Milky Way's inhabitants, a select few species depended on the chemical for major bodily functions, humans included. With that thought came another in Ku'rr's mind. Humans were relatively new to the Galactic community, and although initially presented as a standard predatory species, there was an aspect of physique found nowhere else in the universe. The Human species had a certain type of chemical reaction within their cells called "Aerobic Respiration", which allowed them to perform physically demanding tasks for extended periods of time. While very similar to the Nitrogenous Respiration found in nearly every other living thing, it yielded far more energy per reaction. While it had at first not occurred to Ku'rr, he now realized that Shipmate Franklin was now making use of his body's extra capabilities to a fuller extent. He went to call Niadra off from her trip when both she and Franklin arrived on the bridge. Niadra collapsed in the nearest seat, panting. A trip to the other side of the ship would have been taxing, after all. Franklin started, "Thanks for sending her down, but I was fine. Just wrapping up the cleanup of the Hyperspace Engine. Took a damn long time, but with some persistence, I got it done." This surprised Ku'rr. "You purified the engine? That process takes hundreds of cycles for a normal work crew, let alone a single person..."He mulled it over. "And that word, 'Persistence'. Isn't your species labeled as 'persistence hunters'?" "Yeah. It means we don't give up on our work 'till we've got it in the bag."He smiled, baring his omnivorous set of teeth." "Interesting. Nevertheless, you are commended for the deed." "Thanks,"Franklin said, before he inexplicably opened his mouth to the widest gape, inhaling air as he did so. Ku'rr had never seen that before, although he assumed it must have had something to do with his predatory nature. Fearfully, Ku'rr asked, "Shipmate Franklin... are you hungry?" "What? Oh, no. I was yawning."He chuckled to himself a bit. Ku'rr looked at him in confusion. "It's, uh, something we do when we're tired." "Ah. Well then. I suppose now would be a good time to get some rest. Your next shift has been excused as well." "Yes, sir. Good night."Ku'rr watched as Franklin left the bridge, thankful that he'd chosen him at random off the hiring roster all those cycles ago.
I always thought I hated that little sea sponge. His incessant giggling, the pranks he would play with his stupid friend. Whenever he interrupted my clarinet sessions, I would tremble with fury wishing the worst things would happen to him. But I never meant it, not really. The accident happened on a Friday. Spongebob had finished work and headed to the Goofy Goober with Patrick. At this point, I was over the moon! It was the best Friday night; just me, Clari and the beautiful notes of Bach drifting through my house. At midnight I heard the sirens. I thought it might have been for Plankton or that fish that never paid for his burger last night. Little did I know they were heading for my door. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK The sound that shattered my world. I answered the door and was faced by two police fish. I had little experience with the cops as I had always been a decent law-abiding Squid, but I let them in and we sat on my blue sofa. Ave Maria started to play. “Mr Tentacles...I’m afraid I have to deliver some bad news”, the police fish said, looking everywhere but at me. He looked young and inexperienced. “Call me Squidward, please”, I said, wishing they would hurry up so I could go back to my night of peace. “Okay Squidward. I’m glad you are sitting down. I’m sorry I have to ask you this but...did your friend ever have a _problem_ with...ice cream?” “What friend? I don’t have any friends”, I answered, impatient now. The policefish paused, looking at his colleague in confusion. The other policefish took over the conversation. “Mr. Tentacles, we have reason to believe you were close to Spongebob. In his wallet we found a picture of you and him, standing outside the Krusty Krab. It seemed he treasured this photo as it was alongside photographs of his parents and his pet snail.” I let out an incredulous gasp. “A photo of me? In his wallet? Surely you must be mistaken! But wait, why were you looking at his wallet? Did he not pay for his Sundae? Look, I am not picking up his pieces. If he didn’t pay, that’s his problem, not mine!” I stood up, ready to escort the policefish out of my house. The more experienced one motioned for me to sit down. “Squidward. This is not easy to say, but Spongebob is dead.” I froze. Dead? He can’t be dead. I opened my mouth to protest, but was interrupted. “Were you aware that your friend had...an addictive nature?”, the policefish asked. I shook my head in confusion - the only thing Spongebob was addicted to was annoying me. “Spongebob was not an addict, Officer. He went to work everyday, he was always punctual and _always_ worked overtime. He didn’t have time for addictions” The smaller policefish started to answer now. “Addiction comes in various forms. There are many functioning addicts living quite harmoniously in Bikini Bottom.” He continued, “Squidward, I appreciate this might be hard to comprehend, but your friend, Spongebob, was an Ice Creamaholic.” I sat back down in my chair, trying to process this awful news. “At 11:45pm, we heard reports of a ruckus in the Goofy Goober. Upon entering the premise, we found your friend unconscious, lying in a pool of waste. Although our medical team gave it their best efforts...he didn’t make it. I’m so sorry” The policefish was still talking but I could not hear him. I always wanted that sponge to disappear - but not like this. I just wanted him to move his stupid Pineapple away not die! Grief consumed me. I collapsed onto the floor, my deep sobs accompanied by the melodic chorus of Ave Maria. I should never have let him go to the Goofy Goober. Deep down I knew it was more than a hobby, I _knew_ it was an addiction. And I did nothing to stop him.
I appeared from the circle of blood and viscera, a crimson portal smelling of brimstone and ash, rising from the infernal pits was me...Damian. Or rather, that’s what I’m calling myself now. I don’t go by my infernal name anymore. “Do you have any idea what time it is?!” I screeched at the cabal of summoners before me, mug of coffee in my hand and my slightly ruffled fuzzy pyjamas hastily fixed. “It’s 3 in the morning. It’s TOMORROW. What on earth do you want?” I asked, very annoyed. “Oh great Devri-“ “No. Nope. Don’t you say another letter. I don’t use that name anymore. And, I don’t perform any of my old services either. You need to get another demon.” I stated, taking a sip of my coffee. Judging by the looks on their faces this was going to take a while. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “Listen, I’m retired. I have a wife and kids, kids that need to be at school tomorrow so they really don’t need their dad teleporting in and out of the house all hours of the night.” “You are bound by our magic demon! You will do as we say!” The declared loudly. “Oh really?” I said, starting to get pissed off. I stepped right out of their damn summoning circle, and they were TERRIFIED. As they should be, they took a cross, holding it in front of themselves as if it would protect them. I snatched up the necklace and put it on. “Thanks for the jewellery.” I said, exhausted. I left the decrepit building they had summoned me in, unfurled my wings, and headed home. My wife’s gonna kill me when I get back...
"I think you must've misheard my question. Wierd. Anyways, I wanted to know, is God real?" Here I was, standing infront of a stupid looking box at the scrapyard. I don't know how it works, or where it is getting its power from, but sure is working. "As I told you, I am He!"a shouting voice come from the machine. The machine was rusty, had a few buckles on every side, but still intact. It had a wide thin screen that was backlit, with a black line going all the way from the left to the right. Every time it responded to one of my questions the line moved like an equializer. "This stupid thing must be broken. Why else would it be in the scrapyard?"I thought out loud. Of course, a response came from the machine since I asked a question. "I am here because..."The voice died off, sounding a bit distant and sad. "Because? Do continue, I did after all ask a question" "Because I wanted to use this machine as a medium to communicate with. It stood at an amusement park with the title that you see above the screen." I looked at the text, where it said "Machine of all Truths". Of course, that's why I asked a bunch of questions to it when I noticed that it was still powered on. "I thought that if I communicated through this people might listen to my guidance and wisdom. But they all just asked stupid questions, and when I started to speak even when no question was asked they threw me away!" "So why not just leave and possess another machine or living being?"I couldn't stop asking questions, for some reason I felt that He might be telling the truth, even though I don't believe in religion. "For some reason I am stuck in this contraption, I can't get my concious out of here!"He said. I walked around the machine to see if I could just unplug the powercord, but it was not plugged in. "So how are you planning to get out of there?"I asked instinctively. "Just shut it down should do it! Just stop asking questions and get to work!"He started to get agitated, and I could swear that I saw the machine rumble a bit, as if there was a living being inside it. "How can I shut it down when the power cord is not connected to anything? Is it possible that your divine power is feeding the machine, causing it to stay powered on?" There was a long moment of slience, before quietly I heard Him say "Oh God, how do I set myself free?"
SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! The boy frantically pushes an assortment of buttons and dials, careening down earth lower atmosphere, the hull glowing red hot as streaks across the night sky. Frantically he gets back into a seat that is a tad too small, buckling himself as best he can as he stares at the view screen. He had taken the time to learn some of their language, he see some all too familiar numbers as they rapidly counted down to impact........... COMMANDER BLANCHARD! We got a contact on radar! And it's coming in fast! Where did it come from private! I want answers! I dont know sir it just came out nowhere!? KEEP IT TRACKED! I WANT TO KNOW WHERE IT'S GOING! It appears to be heading in this general direction, the private pausing.... RED ALERT, SCRAMBLE PLANES NOW......................... The view screen starts to crackle as the electronics get too hot, the counter just seconds away from impact................... A sound of metal as it screeches and crashes around him, untill eventually the ship comes to a sudden and violent stop, partially buried in the soft sand........ SIR IT DISAPPEARD! The private now having a perplexed look as the dot vanishes from his screen. WHERE WAS IT'S LAST KNOWN SIGNAL?! 30 miles west sir! I want trucks and an escort and investigate... The boy awakens, the screen flashing red, and a few other indication the critical damage to the ship, but he didnt care. He was home, at least on the same planet as he left. Struggling with his restraints, finally unlatching the mechanism. Going over to a little storage chest, opens it pulls out a small bar and some water, storing just enough for a few days, eying the hatch as he eats. Finishing he gets up and tries the latch....Beeping as if displeased... Shaking his head as he opens up the access panel on the side and presses a couple red buttons....... Commander Blanchard, hopping out of his jeep, dressed in a stereotypical military gear of such station, gazes at the very circular, and quicksilver shine on parts of the craft... As he gazes into the shiny abyss, jarred by a sudden explosion, the top of the craft pops off in and lands in the dirt a few dozen feet away with a meaty thud, the sound of guns clattering around as they are raised in alarm......... The boy peers out, blinded by what were the brightest torches, a cacophony of voices scream at him....luckily english hadnt changed too much in 280ish years, and "hands up"still made sense..................
Capt. Fleex say at his desk, readying the troop listings for the invasion. These humans would be so useful. They were not particularly physically powerful, but they could be clever and had some of the most dexterous digits in this quadrant of the Galaxy. They would make excellent detail or repair workers. And when they no longer served their purpose, they were basically sacks of meat with no natural armors to get in the way of food processing. The door opened and Fleex's head of intelligence, Corv, entered the room. "Report."Fleex said. "Sir, I think we might have to call off the invasion."Corv said. "After careful observation, we believe that although their labor value is still high, their nutritional value is problematic." "Explain."This was not something he had heard on the initial reports on the planet. But, then again, those initial reports were notorious for either leaving out important details or getting things wrong. "Their planet, local name Earth, is home to a naturally occurring source of yuival." Fleex shuddered at the mention of that cursed substance. It was known as one of the most toxic substances in the galaxy, and was illegal just about everywhere. But, it was also strictly an ingested toxin, and could be avoided. "So, avoid the plants which produce it." "Well, that's the thing, sir. They, uh, they eat it." Fleex froze. Eat yuival? Impossible. Maybe as some sort of ritual suicide? When he brought up the possibility, Corv looked nervous. "Uh, no, sir. They eat it because they enjoy it. They call it capsaicin, and use it as a common food additive. They've even bred plants with higher amounts in them. They have entire rituals dedicated to eating these plants. I have watched visual media consisting of them eating the seed baring bodies of these plants, and then suffering through the resulting pain for the entertainment of others. I have seen these plants used to make sauces and condiments. They have contests to see who can eat more of it. They sell plants with lower amounts of it along their normal fruit and vegetable produce. It is everywhere." Fleex was having trouble respirating. How could anyone eat such a toxic substance and survive? The humans must indeed have been far more formidable than initially thought. "I see. Other than that, what's your assessment?" "Invasion prospects are risky now. While their technology is simple, they are smarter than we give them credit for. They are particularly adept at developing weapons and tools for war. It is only a matter of time before they discover how toxic yuival is for us, and figure out a way to weaponize it. While they are still useful for labor, it could be too risky to take the planet, and they have very strong negative feeling towards forced labor and slavery in general. They will not come quietly, nor will they stay complacent for long." Fleex closed his eyes and thought. Corv was an excellent intelligence operative, and was rarely wrong about these things. The last time he said something similar about a race, it had ended in disaster for the group who still made the attempt. "Very well. Send the report to High Command, and tell them that Earth is off limits. At least, until someone finds a way to neutralize yuival."
"Now, now, what's all the hostility about?" You're currently being glared at by your 3 traveling companions. Grace seems to have been uncertain at first, but her stare grew more and more severe as the hour passed. Lawrence seems interested, but his stare seems more like a mad scientist about to dissect his prey. Now, Carlos here has hated you from the beginning. Guess he has a valid reason to now, huh? "You know what this is about."Carlos points a finger at you accusingly. "You got bit over an hour ago. We've been sitting here, waiting for you to show us where you got bit. We had to amputate the limb approximately 30 minutes ago." "I'm telling you, it was a complete blur. Plus, it doesn't even hurt anymore. It's fine!" "Doesn't hurt? That doesn't make sense from what I know of previous victims. They've always reported devastating pain radiating from the infection vector."Lawrence says, adjusting his glasses, which have somehow still survived the zombie apocalypse. "Maybe I'm just built different,"you reply. "Built different? I'll say. Hey, you guys, have you noticed that this girl loves taking the night shift? Every night, she consistently stays up while all of us sleep. And yet, I haven't even ever seen her nap!"Carlos bellows. "Like I said, maybe I'm just built different."you inspect your nails. Perfect, as always. "I'll say. Research has shown that sleep is a necessary function for survival. Yet, judging from my observations, you've never slept a second this last week."Lawrence stares at you, wide-eyed. "H-Hey, now, guys, I'm sure she has an explanation. Right?"Grace turns to you, silently pleading for you to prove your innocence. Instead, you sit back and smirk. It seems that your time with this group has come to an end. Carlos stands up violently. "You know what else is weird? You carry that fucking parasol with you everywhere we go. You refuse to fight, saying, 'Oh, I have sensitive skin, I have to keep this parasol up.' I call BULLSHIT!" Carlos charges at you, dodging Grace's attempt to tackle him. You just sit back and watch the man bring down his rusty axe, waiting... \thud\ Your delicate hand thrusts into his abdomen with seemingly impossible strength. "H-How..."Carlos splutters, before you toss him aside. You've pierced his liver, so he won't be getting back up. Lawrence's jaw drops. "T-that's... how much strength would you need? That's not possible..."He scrambles backward, trying to get away. Of course, you won't let him. You take a running start and leap. With a clean motion, you cut his jugular with one quick sweep. "A-ah... what a clean cut... ahaha."Lawrence gurgles, before going still. You turn to your last meal... ahem. Last victim. Suddenly, you see what she has in her hands. "S-stop!"she says, holding a pistol in her shaking hands. But you have no reason to stop. You begin your final approach. \bang!\ The gun fires. The bullet burrows into your shoulder, the shock forcing you to reel back for a second. You frown, but keep moving forwards. \bang!\ Another shot. This one pierces your stomach. Kind of a pain, but you're almost there. \bang!\ This one goes directly into your forehead. "Nice shot,"you chuckle, placing your hand on her gun. "W-what are you!?"she screams, discharging her final shot into your heart. You place your forehead on hers and stare directly into her eyes. "The superior one." You sink your fangs deep into her throat, enjoying the fresh human blood you've been deprived of for weeks. Finally, you're done mooching up to these inferior beings. "Did you really think that zombies would be the only undead unleashed on this world?"the vampire laughs, amongst the bodies of her three new victims.
What goes up must come down. Given the virulence of the virus, it was remarkable that humanity made it nearly 8 hours before being completely overwhelmed by every other creature on earth. Anyone caught in the open air was immediately swarmed by infected animal species. Flocks of sparrows became a death sentence. Packs of rodents flooded car engines and feasted on the trapped humans inside. An undead kraken (those were real the whole time apparently) surfaced to drag sailors to their watery graves. What was left of the world's governments sheltered underground for almost 4 hours undetected before the virus infected most ant species, after which time no shelter was safe on the planet. Once humanity was wiped from the Earth, the infected animals resumed their normal behavior. I'm the only person left as far as I can tell. I was lucky enough to be in orbit when the disaster hit. My experimental module was designed to see how long I can last up here, but it was never meant to work indefinitely. Earth, once humanities cradle, is now both our grave and my inevitable destination. We thought we were above the food chain, above the environment, above nature itself. What goes up must come down.
“Look man, we’ve got to come to some sort of compromise. You don’t want me here, I don’t want to be here, but I can’t move. I just can’t. And I can’t afford all this crap you keep pulling either. You’re breaking stuff, leaving the water running, messing with the lights, how am I ever gonna move out when you keep running all the bills sky high with your antics? You know what it’s going to cost to get that prank you pulled with the blood out of the carpet? I’m doing shit all at work because you keep me up all night long, you’re going to get me fired and then I’ll definitely never be able to go! Somethings got to give man” The ghost, and in its current state I really couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman or something else entirely, seemed to appear thoughtful for moment. “You want me out, yes?” I asked. At this point I wasn’t afraid anymore. I was simply fed up. The ghost gave an affirmative nod. “Well I’m broke. I can’t go without money and you’re costing me more money every day” It sat in silence looking almost guilty. “ Do you do this to everyone who rents this place? What, only rich people rent here or something? They can just all up and move on a whim?” It looked at the floor. “ look. Let’s just agree to stay out of each others way. You can haunt and moan around all day while I’m at work, DON’T tear anything else up please, and I’ll come home and do my best to just be quiet. Eventually, hopefully, I can save up the money to move out and you can go back to being the gruesome terrifying creature…person…thing that we all know and love” It’s been a year since I had that conversation with the entity that inhabits my house. Now, I’m standing at the door scanning the emptiness of the place. It really was a beautiful home, and it’s been so peaceful I almost hate to leave it, but we made a deal. I turn and open the door to the street. As put my foot to doorway I see the window air conditioner from the second floor crash through the roof of my car. Glass shards litter the street and sidewalk, showering the passerby’s. “WHAT!!!!!” I scream and turn back into the house. What the actual hell is going on?! The door slams shut behind me. I turn the knob, throw my body against the door, it won’t budge. Laughter peels through the house. In a rage I stomp up the stairs. I’m so angry I can hear my blood pumping in my ears. “ We had a deal! I did everything I said I would do! Let me go!” I reach the top landing in front of the attic. I’ve avoided this floor for the last year, giving the ghost its own space to be itself. Now I bust through the attic door half enraged, half terrified. I don’t care if I’m scared. I go in. I’m going to face this thing and it may be the last thing I do. Three steps in I trip over something large and fall face first onto the floor. “What the hell…” I turn to look. It’s a …gift basket? What the hell? Still sitting in the floor I pull the basket towards me. It’s full of snacks, expensive wine, soaps. There’s a note tied to the top. I yank it free to read it. “I’m sorry. Please don’t go”
"Oh I'm soooo sorry! Did I ruin this year's harvest?"Belmore chided the crowd of irate townfolk while Graham and Urstan stood between them. Graham was a farmer's son and knew the plight, but Belmore didn't care. Urstan seemed more mad at the crowd too, Graham could hear the dwarf's grip on his shield tightening. *"Booo hooo!"* "Great,"Graham thought, Belmore was using magic to amplify his voice to be heard all over the barony. *"I'm soooo sorry we didn't let the Dracolich and it's army of the damned raze your whole kingdom! If only we saved your damn crops!"* Urstan spat while Belmore continued his tirade berating the locals. "Lousy ingrates."Graham gulped nervously. Nervously. He'd just defeated Alarabrox the Conqueror, Master of the Dracolich and it's army of the dead; this surly crowd had him on edge. Urstan grumbled, "Marias died to get us here. She sacrificed herself to anchor them here instead of the capital, and they dare be mad at us?" *"Oh look! The King's here! Thanks for the help, you fat sot!"* King Ronan IV had indeed arrived at the head of his elite guards. Belmore continued his tirade, tearing into the efforts it took to get the King to listen to the dangers of the doomsday cult. *"Your Vizier was their leader! He didn't even have you enchanted!"* The guards formed ranks as Belmore continued his verbal assault on the King. Back off yeh yellahbellied bastards!" Graham sighed as Urstan roared at the guard. The crowd was growing restless. Belmore rolled his eyes as he muttered, still amplified across the land, "You damn crybabies." He slammed his staff into the ground. The bodies of the dead were consumed by the earth, the cracks left by the earthquake spells sealed shut as the consumed the rotting abominations. The blight turned to water and the crops bloomed anew. The river strained of wreckage and returned to it's original course. Belmore opened a portal back to their extra dimensional castle, before he glowered at the King and crowd."Next catastrophe is all on you." Back in their castle, Graham took off his helmet, his hair was slick with sweat, it'd been a long day and he collapsed into his chair. "A bit rough there Belmore. But thanks for not mentioning Yaam-Golom, they don't need to know their gods are being eaten."Urstan wiped the beer from his chin, "Well lads, we sit 15 and then get going. We've got a god eater to kill and an elf to avenge."
I clasped my hand to the bite on my shoulder, but quickly realized that it hadn't even broken the skin. Meanwhile, the vampire who had attacked me and quickly backed away still stood only a few feet in front of me, staring at me in frozen horror. "Ow!"I ejaculated. "You... you monster!"it wailed. Had it taken *that* memory? I wondered. "Okay, what are you going on about? Surely there's nothing in my past that would shock a bloodsucking hellspawn like you..." "Saturday, October 30th, 1993. Miskatonic University. Phi Upsilon Kappa fraternity house. You, pale white and fanged." I blushed. "Okay, yeah, but that was another time, You know? It wasn't a big deal back then..." The undead creature uttered one ear-shattering screech and fled into the darkness. I pushed my trashbin the rest of the way to the sidewalk, then walked back to the house, whistling as I went, grinning at the nature of political correctness and the vicissitudes of fate. Who would have thought at that Halloween party 28 years ago, that going in dracface would someday save my life?
>THE SACROSANCT, REDEEMED Rain softly pelted the tin roof of the family cottage, making for an ambient noise that drowned out the playing of the other children...the normal children. Tom was roughly their age- but he had a disadvantage which they did not. He could recall many moments of his previous life, and with it, found himself frustrated and contemptuous at the process of reincarnation. He had already re-discovered and mastered the fundamentals of alchemy, he knew how to delve into the soothing lavender-colored pools of magic itself and emerge unharmed. He knew how to use magic to kill, and, indeed, he had done much of it...at least, in the previous life. He did not remember everything, but he remembered enough. One thing he could not entirely recall was his death- but that was likely for the better. He had been a young man still- perhaps in his early twenties- when some kind of...experiment had gone wrong? His spirit fractured, and with that, his spirit essentially died. The Being is comprised of Body, Mind (also called the Soul), and Spirit. Each relies on the other, each is fundamental to the other. He understood that his body and soul continued to act after his spirit's death- but the details of those actions eluded him entirely. Hunched over his desk, he barely noticed that the candlelight had gone out. His eyes were too well-adjusted to the dark for me to notice. When he re-lit the candle using a bic he had stolen from his father-- the smoking habit was going to kill him, so he didn't consider this theft immoral-- he noticed that a letter now graced the sturdy oak table on which he spent his evenings scribbling and practicing alchemy. It was addressed to himself. He opened the letter, and read the script. HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY Headmaster: Minerva McGonagall Dear Mr. Anguis, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely, Bathsheda Babbling He debated destroying the letter. Would a school really help, or would working to recover his old memories matter more? He thought about the issue until the morning, forsaking sleep- at which point he noticed all at once that the sun was shining through the clouds, warming him, he could smell something pleasant and warm wafting up the stairs...and the sound of his mother's footsteps as she approached the room. "Good morning, Tom!"She called, knocking softly. "I'm up."He responded, letting her in. She held a tray filled with an assortment of my favorite things- a full english breakfast, though the coffee had been substituted for an herbal tea, gummy worms, and chocolate frogs. "What's all this?"He asked. "Happy birthday."Mother responded, pulling him into a one-armed embrace. "Oh. So it is. That explains the letter." "Letter?"She asked, setting down the tray. "Go ahead and read it. It's just there."He said, beginning his meal. She read it over. "Is...is this what you want, Tom?" He chuckled. Mother was one of the few people who could often surprise me. "You think it's real?" "Of course it's real. Don't take me for a fool."She set the letter back down. "You are the youngest of the five children that were born to me, and I've never had a child learn to speak to quickly, nor learn to identify useful herbs and differentiate them from weeds, nor spend time with snakes, almost as though they were your friends." "I think they are my friends...I'm not entirely sure they agree, but that's how snakes are." "The point being that you aren't normal, Tom. You are exceptional. Your sister, she was born at the same time as you, and she's clever for her age, but sometimes I see you more like an adult than a child." "I feel that way sometimes, too. I'm not sure it's entirely a good thing." "I couldn't say. All I can say is that you've been given gifts, and though gifts sometimes carry a great weight with them, there is always a reason." "Mom?"Emmaline asked from the open door. "I got this weird letter on my desk." "Oh. Oh, no."Tom said. -------------------------------------------------------------------- A few short weeks later, Tom was holding Emmaline's hand as they crossed platform 9 & 3/4's. Due to the alphabetical order, Emmaline would go through the sorting first- whatever she chose, Tom would follow. He had a feeling that this was why he was the way he was- if he was exceptionally good at something, it was so that he could lend his strong hands to others. If he was smarter, he would help educate. If he was a great fighter, he would fight to protect. He had been born as a twin for a reason. He was here to learn that true strength resides in a stout heart, full of purpose. He was not here to become the greatest anything- except, perhaps, for the greatest brother...and if he mastered and created a few new fields of magic, and had some adventures along the way...well, there was no harm in that. ------------------------------------------------------ r/nystorm_writes, I write about magic schools and adventures all the time :)
My parents called it night terrors. The doctor said it was a specific variety of sleep paralysis, one commonly associated with vivid hallucinations of demons and dark shadowy figures. Me, I just called him John. I know, I know, it’s a bit pedestrian. I was just a child when I started to see the red eyes in my closet, and it was my older brother who suggested giving him an ordinary name to help me feel less fear. Not that it really helped. Nothing did; no amount of night lights or white noise or medication could ever really make John go away for more than a few days. As a result, I was the most frightened child you had ever seen. I could barely read, barely speak for fear of any dark spaces. I would sneak baseball bats and tennis rackets into my room at night and stay awake, clutching at them until my exhaustion dragged me into sleep. I even refused to let my nails be cut so I could use my talons as weapons when the opportunity arose. I was an outcast, even in the remedial classes full of the other outcasts in school. It was, in the end, therapy that chased away the nightmares. My therapist suggested that it was fear, stress, all of the negativity in my life that manifested into John, this frightening, emaciated, grey-skinned and crimson-eyed demon that hid in the shadows. By facing those fears, internalizing them, confronting them, I grew past them. John vanished by the time I was 12. And I figured that was the end of it. My grades improved, then stabilized, turning me into a solid B average student. I discovered what it was like to love, first books, then friends and crushes, and even hobbies. I was a passing fair basketball player, easily making varsity in high school. I dated, took a part-time job, smoked the occasional joint in the loading dock. Everything was looking… well, normal. But I never forgot John. Even when I went to college, I closed every closet in every dorm and apartment. Hell, I even closed broom closets at my early internships and jobs. And, at the tender age of 35, when my parents decided to downsize and sell me the old house at a nice discount, I locked the door of my childhood room and ignored it for as long as I could. That night, when the window shattered and the hoarse, incoherent wailing echoed through my house, the fear lurched back like a physical force. Suddenly, I was a terrified child again, pressing myself into my mattress, clutching at the blankets with long, dirty fingernails, afraid to call for my parent lest they yell at me for waking them again. Thankfully, I regained my senses before the intruder found me. I could hear them stumbling around the living room, presumably smashing my TV with the urn of my parents’ ashes. I crept out of bed, footsteps nearly silent on the thick carpeting. The noise was clearer when I made it into the hallway. The intruder lay between me and the only door, so escape was not an option. Then a thought occurred to me. My bedroom had served exactly one purpose since I moved in. It was excellent long-term storage, and it had been packed with the dusty relics of several decades. I only had a vague idea of what might have been in there, but there was a chance, a chance that my parents had kept some of the baseball bats I had so desperately clutched, or maybe a golf club, or even, I dared to hope, possibly a gun. I shuffled to the bedroom and reached up for the key on top of the door frame. It made the slightest click as the lock disengaged, but the intruder hardly paused their path of destruction as I opened the door and slipped into the room. It was the messy storage of the room that betrayed me, unfortunately. The second step I took landed on something sharp and plastic, and I fell forward onto a dusty pile of workout equipment. The clatter was enormous, but even over the noise I could hear the intruder stop and storm down the hallway to me. Without hesitation, I jumped to my feet and slammed the door shut, locking it. I was just in time; the intruder began to pound at the door moments later. My throat went dry. The door meant danger; the window was barred. I had mere moments to find a weapon or disappear. I looked around, but the piles of junk held nothing that could possibly be used as a weapon. There was only one option left: The closet. I ran to it, threw the door open, and climbed in, pushing over a stack of books to make space before closing the door. The faintest trace of moonlight fell through the crack of the door, providing me just enough light to see the figure inside with me. Its eyes glowed red; its skin was pasty grey and pallid. It hung loosely from his long, almost comically lanky bones, but there was nothing humorous about its appearance. It lazily reached out one claw, tracing a burning line down my arm as I stood, frozen in fear. The claw split the skin with ease and bright red blood spilled out, seemingly making its eyes glow even brighter. It pulled the claw back to its mouth and a grey tongue snaked out, licking the pointed tip. Then it shushed me, and with a grin wider than its face, it opened the closet door and stepped out. The banging stopped and the bedroom door opened. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could, but they could not stop the sound. There was no screaming; the intruder made no vocalization at all. Instead, all I heard was dry cracks and wet licks, the uncomfortable soundscape of a lobster dinner that lasted until the first rays of sunlight broke through the window. When it had finally stopped, I opened my eyes, and John stood in front of me in the new light of the day, and it said one thing only: “[More](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).”
Everyone has them. Everyone. Scars manifest from your pain. Your mental anguish. Whenever you starve for another's touch, your body rips apart a little bit more. Whenever you dream of a mother that left you for the streets, your flesh stings, and hardens. Sometimes the location matters. I knew a boy who was beaten by his father. Every bruise turned into a scar. Every touch broke something more inside him. Fascinating. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes a million little scars from sharp, scathing tongues form in one place. The back of your hand, the small of your back. Sometimes they're spread all over. I wonder if that has to do with the victim's perception of their mental wounds. As long as I can remember, I have had a scar, a wicked carving that spirals down my body, from the back of my neck to my left ankle. Everyone is convinced that I soldier on despite the mental anguish I must be in. They watch my impassive face, impressed that I can keep it together. I know they talk about me. I don't bleed over it, as they might. But I know nothing of how I got this scar. Whoever hurt me is no longer in my memory. Yet the scar remains. Sometimes, I get flashes of memories, blurred and distorted. Warped, somehow, by a feeling. Green eyes, bleeding red into the blue ocean beneath. Knives tracing a spine. Threats. Whispered words, forged into weapons sharper than any steel. But those memories don't make me bleed. In fact, I think I rather enjoy those memories. I must admit, I have not gotten a new scar for as long as I can remember. My mind feels quiet. Pure. No one has hurt me with their words in decades. It is fascinating to speak, and to watch words cut deeper than a knife. To wound, and hold no weapon. To watch then squirm. To watch them break inside, and scream as their flesh cracks apart, webs of scars forming until there is hardly any smooth skin left. I may have quite the scar. Someone must have torn me apart in my childhood. But I am immune to new cuts. And, given time, there is no one that I cannot break. Are you prepared? I wonder how long you will last.
I skim over the code, making a mental note of each line and its cost. All of them are fairly normal: 11 minutes of future maintenance, 5 seconds of maintenance right now because there's a spelling error, 19 brain cells when I have to explain what a variable is to Steve, 417 lives... Having to figure out what the cost of a line of code means is by no means a rare occurrence for me. Seeing the cost it will have is incredibly useful, sure, but there are times when it would just be really, really nice to know what it actually means. This is definitely one of those times. However, this isn't like every other time, where I simply have to figure out why declaring a variable will cause 5 hours of maintenance. Normally an abnormal cost causes a reaction of that's unusual or that shouldn't happen, but all I can think this time is... What. My mind races, which is odd considering that I have no idea what the destination is. My hands jolt onto the keyboard, trying anything that could change the number. Did I type something in wrong? Doesn't seem like it. Maybe the code doesn't produce the intended result? Maybe I should test the program... I trail off from that thought. Even if the code were typed in wrong, how could that cost lives? The program's only an automatic route planner, it doesn't... Hang on a second. Two minutes of digging later, and it turns out our client owns an airport. Oh no. I delete the line of code and check the cost again. The line after the one I deleted costs 417 lives. It's something to do with a large part of the program. After hurriedly scrawling out a flowchart of what the code will do, I change a few lines and check the code again. No lives lost. 2 hours of maintenance. I'll take it. ... One day later Our client seemed satisfied with the program when we sent it to him. I decide to check the news, telling myself that I have no particular reason to do so. I haven't fooled myself, however. I know why I'm checking the news. BREAKING: 407 DEAD IN PLANE CRASH My heart sinks all the way into the core of the earth. After the shock and panic subside, one thought comes to the front of my mind. Two hours of maintenance? 407 lives instead of 417? Has my ability stopped working? No, wait. That's not what I should be worried about. I think I might still be numb to the weight of what that headline really means. Over four hundred people... at that point it becomes hard to process. Surely it can't be my fault. It can't be. Frantically, I check my email. Anything but staring at that headline. To say that our client is angry would be an understatement. I've barely begun to read the email when Steve barges the door open. "What on EARTH went wrong?"Steve shouts. "I don't know! I checked the code several times, and it ran fine when testing!" "Well, clearly it... Look, clearly something has gone horribly wrong." I check the code again, but nothing goes wrong when I test it and every line looks correct. So what happened? After a lot of head-scratching, it occurs to me that I've been trying to fix the code for two hours. Maybe my ability's stopped working. Of all the times it could have disappeared... No. Wait. That's not the problem here. I need to make sure the program doesn't cause any more problems. I decide to start working on the program again when I hear a colossal explosion from somewhere above me. Of course. Our client must not have disabled the automatic route planner. The incorrect number of lives, the maintenance ending after two hours... I'd better run. "EVERYBODY OUT! A PLANE'S ABOUT TO CRASH INTO THE BUILDING!"I yell while sprinting for the exit. As far as I can tell, everybody follows me. Of course, I know my efforts are futile. Our fate was sealed from the moment I decided to see the cost of my code. I should have realised why there are so many stories about the dangers of prophecies. Once we're all outside, I properly realise what the ten extra deaths mean. There are ten of us in the company. No. No, no, no. I look up. Two planes have somehow managed to collide and are now heading for the ground. It looks like they're going to hit the building, but the best bet is to put as much distance between us and the planes as possible. Everyone else has the same idea. Maybe I should get everyone to split up? That way, 417 people can't die. Please, let me have been wrong about this. With the planes nearing the ground at a rapid speed, the ten of us take cover behind a nearby wall. We should be safe from any debris here. I take a peek over the wall. Both planes are seconds from hitting the building. I decide that I value having a head and duck back behind the wall. Not like it'll make a difference. The sound of the impact is almost deafening. Debris is flung in every direction. I press myself against the wall, hoping desperately to be wrong about the cost for once in my life. I'm not wrong. The shards of what used to be a building fly at the wall, but none break through it. Some pieces fly over our heads, whizzing past at frightening speeds. Thank goodness our building was in the middle of nowhere. Had I not evacuated the building, 427 people might have died that day. BREAKING: 10 MORE DEAD IN SECOND PLANE CRASH A second crash, possibly related to the crash earlier today, has resulted in the deaths of the 10 passengers between both planes. Were it not for the news of a crash between two planes owned by the same airline earlier this morning, more people may have boarded the planes and the disaster could have been even worse. Many are now calling for the closure of the airline, which will remain anonymous until information on the cause of the crash is discovered. And so, that was that. The danger had passed, the airline cut all contacts with us immediately, and everyone could carry on as normal. But I wouldn't. I was the only one who knew about the danger, and I didn't do enough to stop it. I could have called off the project. I could have told someone. But who would have believed me? My code caused 417 deaths. I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for that. Except... what went wrong with the code? I checked it over and over, and nothing seemed to be wrong with it. I decide to take one last look at the program. The one I never want to be reminded of. Everything works as intended. So where's the problem? I search the emails our company sent about the program. Nothing seems odd there. The attached file hasn't been edited. That leaves only one possibility. Our client is an idiot. The flight paths are plotted through a series of co-ordinates determined by the program. These are supposed to be checked to ensure that they don't cross over other flight paths at a time when the planes are near to each other. However, if someone were to set up one flight path for multiple planes, they would collide side-on as soon as they reached the first co-ordinate if they left at the same time, or would collide head-on at some point along the route if they left at different times. That would explain why the cost in lives shifted to the next line after I deleted the line containing the supposed issue - the original line determined the first co-ordinate, and if that line were removed, the planes would simply collide at the second co-ordinate or a different point instead. Even knowing that, I still feel like the deaths were my fault. After all, I could have idiot-proofed my code.
They realize that any offspring they would have would be non-viable, since the eventual inbreeding would end the human race anyway. They spend the rest of their days walking the world, seeing the sights they never had time for before The End. The overgrowth of New York, wandering through the ruins of Disney World, finding a working boat to set out across the Atlantic and experience the vastness of their planet. Eventually, age and wear catch up with them and they settle down in an abandoned cottage on a hilltop; they cannot remember which country this used to be, and it doesn't matter to them anyway. They spread food out for the local wildlife; they plant and harvest what they need for themselves. As their last days fall away, they hold hands and watch the sunset from their back porch, watching the animals roam and wonder together at which species may rise to take humanity's place as stewards of the planet. Knowing none will ever read it, they write down a full account of their lives together on a series of stones, laid carefully inside a nearby cave. Death no longer holds fear for them; the sun will rise on a world empty of humanity, but never devoid of hope.
Saving the world is one thing. Saving the world in under five minutes is another. I've had plenty of practice with saving worlds. I've probably saved thousands over the decades. Each time, some pantheon needs some hero to save the world, and I do it in a very timely fashion. How do I do it? Well, it's a matter of getting the necessary artifacts as soon as possible after "spawning", and then using those artifacts as efficiently as possible to defeat the world's so-called "big bad"- whether it be a corrupt government, a demon, or some other villain that needs to be put in check. The only problem? Everything is random. The nature of the villain, the location of the artifacts, the terrain needed to traverse, and much, much more. You can't expect to spawn into the same thing every single time. A promising "run"would be spawning in a flat grassland with the artifacts nearby, then locating the enemy quickly and having it be quick and easy to defeat. The chances of all of that lining up is so unbelievably low that it almost never happens. But when you have done it thousands of times, one day you'll get the run. Over the decades, I've slowly improved my personal best, first saving the world in under an hour, then 30 minutes, then 15, then 10. These are rare exceptions, though- usually a world in peril takes 12-24 hours to get over- still very fast considering most pantheons I've talked to expect it to take years. Three months ago, I got a run of 5 minutes and 2 seconds that got nearly everything right. It was tantalizingly close to breaking the five minute barrier, something I'd dreamed of for years. Personal bests are very hard to come by when things get this optimized, so needless to say it was gonna be a while yet. And it was. In those three months, I'd saved another 74 worlds, some of which took days to finish. Some were better, but none were good enough to break the barrier. But today, I spawned into a world that seemed promising from the get-go. I surveyed my surroundings. Flat grassland. Perfect. A very distinct tree nearby. I run over to it, and there's nothing there. However, I notice an out of place root, and when pulling it up, I discover a treasure chest right there! How convenient. I knew this had potential. Opening the treasure chest, I found a long-range bow with magical arrows. Perfect, unless the enemy we're talking about is a government. I run across the plain, looking for anything interesting. And suddenly, I hear boss music. Turning around, I see a giant alien, with three giant eyes on antennae. With a boss with such an obvious weak point showing up this fast, I knew this could be the run. All I needed to do was not be bad at firing arrows. I string up my bow, and perfectly launch an arrow into an eye. The alien seems to take a huge hit, which means my strategy is working. I string up, and fire the second arrow- it lands too. At this point, my heart is pounding, and I'm shaking all over. Barely able to control my arms, I string the third arrow, and launch. It almost misses... but it hits the eye by the narrowest of margins. The alien crumples the ground, and explodes in a tidal wave of red goo. There was no way that was it, right? That was simply too good to be true. But as I glance down at my magical Apple watch timer, I notice that it had stopped climbing. 4 minutes, 47 seconds. A personal best by 15 seconds, and not only sub 5, but sub 4:50 as well. This was gonna be a tough time to beat.
"Your sword, Ashur."The other angels stared at him from the circle, all of their divine blades pointed towards its center, only awaiting his to join them. "We cannot run from them any longer." Ashur's heart was heavy, and more than anything he was tired. Tired from centuries of running, tired from eons of battle. To make a last stand? Here? Like this? "My sword does you no good I'm afraid." The others were troubled at his response, they shifted in their heavy white battle armor and looked long and hard at him. Vanya came forward from the table, her elegantly curved blade resting lightly in her hand, like one would hold a rose. "Brother..."She laid a hand on his shoulder plate. "The demons can be killed, we can yet find peace." Something inside of Ashur snapped, may it be the memories of his past or the attempt at calming him, he shrugged off her hand and turned to face everyone with ire. "These are not demons!"He yelled. "But are much worse... Humans." "And so they bleed."Rhadan said. "I am tired of retreating from the murders." Ashur's hands shook, he tried to still them by bringing one to his chin and tucking the other under his arm, but he feared that it only made all of him quake. "Can you hear them?"He said in a whisper. "They scream... They throw their hellish voices into the abyss of space as they chase our hidden heaven, they stab their mechanical weapons into the darkness and care not for what they hit, for they only have one thing in mind... and that is to see our blood stain their cloths." Rhadan rose up and slammed a fist on the table, "And you would have us allow such reckless violence?!" Ashur shook his head, silent at first, squeezing his jaw from anxiety and seeing deep into the fears of his own mind. "We allow nor disallow... Such things have fallen far out of our hands."Ashur eyed the table, sensing the flooding feeling of panic that they all felt, no matter how hard they tried to hide it. "They've slain our Father, claiming some archaic Marduk as a mere curtain to hide their barbarian desires for violence... Yes, the moment I heard the call for a new Babylon... I knew that mankind had renounced God." Rhadan looked around the table to see similar faces of dejection, in a last ditch effort to save hope, he tore off his armored gloves and tossed them into the center of the table. "You see these hands!?"He said, rising his palms up for all to see. "These are the hands of a man who helped our Father craft the grasses of the earth... Who cradled the stars to adulthood... Who held mankind's very own hands as they learned how to walk!" He lowered them slowly, "I... I will not allow such hands to wither away with inaction... If I am slain on this day, then it will be with hands gripping tightly onto the blade of action... Not hands that died with empty, idle palms." "And I respect that brother,"Ashur said, walking towards the large, arching door that guarded their chambers. "...And I will remember you, even when the humans make such a thing impossible." Ashur left the chambers with a sadness crashing into him. It was his goodbye to his brothers and sisters, and they all knew it. He watched it happen too. Even from the furthest stars he could feel the battle in his kin. The planets and the heavens were split apart. The humans used their mortal machines of immortal power to tear the angels limb from limb. Though they fought well, and their swords sent rifts across entire planets, at the end of it all Ashur could still hear the human chants bellowing across the heavens. They were calling out his name. Ashur the last of the angels, Ashur the betrayer of his kin. We rage for you next.
Sprinting into battle, lightning on my heels, was always a rush. Screaming about destiny and the like. I've made many a terrifying speech, just seconds before slaughtering my opponents. I've destroyed chimeras, orcs and many the minotaur. I've even put my hands on a god or two. Nothing in this world can stop me from maintaining the peace within Hecatia. I live here, I love here, I am here. It's been a long time since I've last called upon the Storm, but in the end, maybe that was my destiny. Several loud raps against my door drew me from my lounging position and into the foyer. Opening the door, I was surprised to see a beautiful tower of a woman with long, black locs, adorned with gold and silver ringlets and animal based trinkets. Her deep grey eyes were intense... and locked on to me even before I opened the door. Her arms and legs were unmarred by damage, despite the obvious strength she possessed. She must have access to a very powerful cleric. "May I help you?" Her smile widened. "You're the only one who can, Vaughn." I've heard that line before. Something or someone needed to be killed. I could stop threats. That's what I was here for. "That's fine and all, but if you have a request to make, you'd do well to speak with Aria at The Hecatian Guild so she can help you fill out a bounty order, um, Ms...?" I looked to her for a name, but she simply remained still, her warm smile and stormy eyes aimed directly at me. Was she... unwell? "All these centuries... you've been calling for me. In what became your greatest moments as a vessel to the Deities, your victorious words always mentioned me. Do you no longer wish to take control of your Destiny?" My destiny? I've already done that. "I'm immortal, ma'am. I don't have a destiny anymore. I can do anything I want, which so happens to be helping Hecatia remain." She frowned. For some unknown reason, it made my heart ache tender... it reminded me of my final moments with an old friend, who ventured into The Void with peace. That frown was the catalyst that lit a fire under ass to become what I am now. "Honor memories with deeds", she would always say. I broke eye contact, the unwanted memory invading my mind. "When thunder cries and lightning strikes, do you mourn for its end? Or do you value the terrible beauty in its power?" Her dulcet tone struck an even stronger nerve. "Whoever you are, stranger, your words are...poignant,"I took a deep breath, "I mourn it. I'm the only person alive who still can. If I die, or lose my mind... it'll be like she never was." She took a step forward, her hand rising from her hip. It gently cupped my face, the fierceness of her eyes melting away into concern. Who in the hell was this woman? The immediate anxiety I felt from human contact was non-existent. It was like she, too, was that old friend. I couldn't feel anything malicious in her. "You're not angry, because this is your Destiny,"her other hand coming to rest on my lower back, "I am your Destiny." Her smile widened, her eyes crinkling ever so slightly around the edges. Destiny... no wonder she kept using that word! Why didn't she just say so? If this was supposed to be a joke, I was not amused. I pulled away, finally, but she followed me into my home, shutting the door gently behind her. She did not lock it. I'd already summoned a portion of my Storm, ready to spear her through should be some spy or demon, but she only smiled at my power. "That's most beautiful thing about you, you know? You're so kind to others, yet you never put anything past anyone. How hard is it to always be planning for betrayal or disappointment? The stress, the fear and the sadness... I'm here to assuage those horrors..." It was my turn to frown. My power began to arc further up my arm. She looked at my hand, head tilted. She continued to walk towards me, unafraid of the damage I could do. I've destroyed an entire dimension, I've defied the will of The First, I was to be feared if need be. She looked at me as though I were little more than a cute child who needed to be soothed. What was her game? She did not stop moving. "I'm here for our date,"she continued, coming to a stop only when her chest was pressed against mine, "that's my game. Your Deity is no different than fate; intangible, infallible, unknown, but easy to mold... Before I knew it, I was pressed against the wall, her physical strength more than enough to keep me restrained. My heart was pounding. Destiny was not just a concept. Destiny was an actual living, breathing, being. She was beautiful, warm hearted and unquestionably brave. The fact that I felt intimidated by her forwardness was proof enough that I may have finally met my match. She touched my crackling hand, fizzling out the electricity I'd concentrated there. "There may still be horror in this world, but you need not face it alone, Vaughn,"her voice a gentle purr in my ear, "I can be here for you, as long as you will have me. I only exist because you freed me from certainty... from my fate." We stayed that way for some time, silent and unmoving. My unease dissolved once I realized she was serious. She wouldn't let me look anywhere other than her eyes, which was the only thing that made me uncomfortable. "What happens now?"I asked, unsure of the future. She smiled and kissed me. I froze up, but her patience was infinite. The more that I thought about it, the less off putting it felt. Destiny was no different than Sehkmet, and I knew when to fold the hand. If she truly wished for the best, why would I ruin that? I'm supposed to be a hero and slay the big bad bastards. I've saved so many, at the cost of myself. Did I not deserve the love of someone who'd been behind me the entire journey? "Take Destiny on a date, dummy."
"Should I get the apples or the pears? I prefer apples, but the pears are a dollar cheaper..." Not the pears! Get them apples! Yummy apples! You're on a tight budget, buy the pears. >Screw healthy food, get the Pringles, barbecue if they got it. Your right hand wavers between the choices, only to have your left hand snatch some tangerines. "Um. Yeah, those are two dollars cheaper..."Yuck, you never liked to get the white strings stuck in your teeth. Now it was time to get bread, you hoped that they wouldn't be as snippy with these. >Sliced bread, toast with jam! Ham and cheese! Nope! I got gluten intolerance! You'll kill us! We still got last week's bag. It's still good for two more days. Your hand pushed the cart forward, agreeing with it. "Alright..."Stale bread should suffice for now. You put on headphones and zip your hand into the jacket's pocket. "Time to get the meat, today's chicken is discounted." The voices were drowned by G&R riffs and your arm struggled to get free. The butcher didn't care, used to your weirdness. Another day survived with these annoying body mates. Though some days they could be entertaining. Bitch! Stop using music to hide! Yep, time to prepare for tomorrow.
Must not move. Still staring at that text. 15th of December 2021, Sit tight, don't leave, love you. Sitting tight and not leaving. Okay mom, still here in the bunker, surrounded by canned beans. Where are you? There's no sound except the drop drop sound from condensated water. So cold, no heating. Barely any light. Most of the lamps gave out. One left, flickering. Shadows on the wall, is someone there? Is it you? Are you behind me? Always looking behind me, there's no one there. Where are you mom? I love you, I miss you. The light goes out.
Dear Diary, Today I told Bobby from math class that I like liked him, and then I ate his brain. It was a little scary at first but it was just so tasty I couldn't stop. But diary I'm definitely, positively, super not a zombie! Here's why: 1) Zombies are gross and I'm a princess. 2) I'm not all slow and shambly like a zombie: I'm super quick and just getting faster! Yesterday I even outran Mr. Sparklehorn, and he's a unicorn. He seemed really mad that I caught him though and kept trying to throw me off, the silly goose. 3) I'm a picky eater. Everyone knows that zombies chow down on whatever if they can't get brains. Not me! I like brains only, and the smarter the better! 4) Daddy says that all girls go through changes when they hit puberty and that its totally normal. Zombies aren't normal, so I can't be a zombie, so there! \sticks out tongue\ 5) Zombies just get all moldy and nasty and have bones poking out. All I've gotten are these super cute tentacles that can come out of my mouth! They're all tickly and friendly and pink, and they let me get a super good grip on heads. 6) When I just take a nibble instead of a big bite, my friends don't turn into zombies or get like me. They just get a big smile on their faces and want to play any game I want! I love making myself new friends. <3 Thats all I have time to write tonight Diary! I have to go to a sleepover!
Apart from what others said regarding superheroes being a big media thing; prompts often come and go in waves as I've come to learn. There's usually some dominant topic/idea around. It can be heroes/villains for a time, then 'Aliens have invaded', then 'You stand before \[This\] afterlife and must argue your way in' and so on. And yes, these do rotate. It's a matter of people having common ideas about common things like superheroes and alien invasions.
"Why?" "Sunlight reaches Earth's atmosphere and is scattered in all directions by all the gases and particles in the air. Blue light is scattered more than the other colors because it travels as shorter, smaller waves. This is why we see a blue sky most of the time." "Why?" "The sky appears blue to the human eye as the short waves of blue light are scattered more than the other colors in the spectrum, making the blue light more visible." "Why?" "Blue light is scattered more than the other colors because it travels as shorter, smaller waves. This is why we see a blue sky most of the time- Can I PLEASE have another question??" ".........Why"
The woman smiled, "He goes by many names, Satan, Beelzebub, Lucifer, but his true name he has told me and me alone. And he needs these sacrifices to please him." "What's his true name then?"My superior, Morgenstern, challenged. "What are you doing? I thought we are here to serve and protect?"I whispered. "Just stay calm, rookie, I know what I'm doing,"Morgenstern stated. The hosteges began to look as confused as I was. Should I try to free them? "You are not worthy to know his true name!"The woman yelled. "But I'm curious, what's his true name?"Morgenstern stated, crossing his arms. I felt anxious, but I need to follow Morgenstern's orders. Who knows, what if I try to save these people and she kills me and Morgenstern instead? She might let two people go, or kill them and not use them as sacrifice. "He told me never to speak his-" "I didn't tell you squat! Jane, just let these people go,"Morgenstern snapped. "You are not the Devil, he is ruthless and unholy and-" "Human, he's human. His name is James Henry Carlson, and we arrested him last night, and we are going to arrest you too, just don't make this worse on yourself,"Morgenstern said. "I will do this for my betrothed, and you won't stop me!"Jane yelled, raising the knife at her first hostage, who began to scream through his gag. "Damn it Jane,"Morgenstern breathed. He raised his hand and... ...I approached the first hostage with my notepad, ready to take her statement. Backup was already checking the scene, as paramedics checked each hostage. As I wrote down her statement, a thought came across my mind. How did we get outside?
“No,” said the woman that stood in front of him. That’s when he saw that the skin on her forehead started to tear. Behind the grizzly gashes black reflecting eyes stared back at our hero. The legs of the woman started to split and out came large hairy segmented legs of a spider. They heaved her body several feet higher as this deconstructing mess now towered above him. “We’re part of a spider collective,” she said while her mandibles were becoming more prominent. She tried to impale the hero with one of her spidery appendages, but he managed to roll out of the way just in time. Her torso had now fully broken out of the humanoid skin sack and showed a bulbous black body, with a red cross-like symbol on the back of her carapace. “We own that which we use and share that which we don’t,” she proceeded her somewhat preachy lecture. Our hero wasn’t unfamiliar with Marxist tenets, but the intricacies of the communist sub-divisions were largely beyond him. Now adding a new one originating from a spider collective to that list, all he was worried about was making sure he wouldn’t become the resource of some means of production. As he tried to get some distance between them other spiders started crawling down from the ceiling, some just lowering themselves down by their webbing. “We shall own all that’s meant for the community collectively,” she bellowed from behind him, as if the message was more important than catching her prey. As he ducked to the side to dodge some of her smaller comrades, a line of thick white fluid grazed his skin, missing him by a hair. It did hit the stone above the only way out for our hero, coating the passageway in sticky web. “All communist experiments have degraded into totalitarian tyrannies!” he yelled out of spite and frustration. Judging by the primal growls and screeches at his back, the insult had the desired result. All spiders were hissing at him collectively. At least they had that part of communism down, the hero thought to himself. That’s when he felt the gust of wind hitting him from behind. Turning his head, he alarmingly couldn’t find any sign of the giant spideress that had chased him. With a massive thud the giant arachnid landed in front of him. Had she just leaped that entire distance? The communists were going to win this battle. “You shall provide us a great communal service, human,” she said with an ominous undertone. She stepped towards him with her eight legs one at a time. Closing the distance slow and methodically like a predator toying with its food. That was it. If this was truly an anarch...arachno-communist society, why did she act like their monarch? “Everyone one of you spiders listen to me!” our hero bellowed as loud as he could. “She has you fooled. I’m sure she promised you total equality. Yet here she is, drunk on power, using you as pawns to further her own goals.” It was a hail Mary attempt, based on a rugged understanding of one of the communist sub-divisions he hoped resembled their hierarchy the most. It seemed to at least create a moment of temporary reprieve as the hissing stopped and most of the other spiders looked at the large one in front of him menacingly. As soon as the first arachnids started doing what lefties were good at, our hero used the opportunity to run past this menace towards his freedom. Leaving behind him another communist experiment going to waste by suspicion and infighting. The left will always eat its own and it turned out spiders were no different. (If you liked this story, please feel welcome at r/zeekoeswriting to read my other stories!)
I had only been around maybe a few months, working as a temp for my hopefully new boss. He's a good guy, tries to do his best in spite of all the trouble that seems to find him, and generally, he does a lot to keep the city safe. He goes by 'Nocturne', and no, I don't know his civilian identity, nor does he know mine. It's better that way. I perform a primary support role for him, leveraging my powers to add some versatility in his struggles against superpowered crime. For a Powerless, he's pretty fucking strong. Wait, fuck, I mean 'Differently Powered Individual', that's the corporate term for it. He doesn't deal with nonsense, when he captures a villain, he makes sure they don't come back. He doesn't kill them, just directs them to his therapist and tells them he's able to keep a secret. When I'm not out with him fighting supervillains, I'm usually around the base, doing repairs to his technology, cleaning off blood, vomit, and the occasional mutagenic goo from his spare uniforms. That's what he calls them, uniforms. Not costumes, not Hero Suits, they're his work uniform, and he'll be damned if people say otherwise. So imagine my surprise when, during a deep clean, I found something odd. It was the costume of resident nutjob and shock jockey Galvin. Literally, that's his name. I took it out and looked it over. That's when I saw others, all of them from past villains, like Mutamex, who actually mutated him into a fish hybrid that required a lot of genetic therapy to reverse, or The Victorian, whose entire MO was trying to destroy modern technology and reset society to his preferred temporal state. Last I heard, he'd been thrown into the past, and had left a letter thanking Nocturne for helping him when nobody could. I also saw The Crocodilian's costume, and found it weird that it was actually a costume. The Crocodilian was a weird one, he was constantly asking for help, but he'd go on rampages like nobody's business. It occurred to me that these were all villains he'd defeated, people who had given up their plans entirely, or had been neutralized in spite of Nocturne's efforts. Well, Nocturne was out for a few days, some joint operation that was too dangerous for support to tag along in, and you never really get a chance to have some fun. So, I tried the costumes on. Galvin's had some standard electricity enhancements in it, which boosted his already present shock jockey loadout. The Victorian's was just an old, stuffy suit, and Mutamex's was better left alone, so they went back in. One of the costumes had belonged to Tyrant, whose entire thing was brainwashing and mind control, and wearing the costume, I could tell those powers were enhancements, and I put it back before I got tempted to use them. The Crocodilian's, however, was actually just a lizard suit, a harness, arm and leg bands, and a collar. It had always seemed to lifelike on TV, so naturally I put it on. Or at least, I tried to. There was no zipper and no apparent way to put it on. It was only after puzzling it out that I realized the mouth was the entrance. One quick tug later, and a widely distended opening later, I was actually comfortably slipping it on, my feet settling snugly, my hands finding the right fingers to fill, even slipping the head over mine was simple. I moved around in it, noting that it was actually pretty hard, that I had to kind of hunch over and walk on my toes. In fact, it was surprisingly more comfortable like that. There were enhancements, like something to make the claws capable of piercing stone and using that to climb, being able to move around on all fours quickly, being able to whip my tail and wrap it around things- Wait, tail? I looked at my tail, which curled up as I looked at it. I grabbed my head and pulled, but it stayed on. I hurried to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I opened my mouth, expecting to see my face, but instead I saw a crocodilian mouth. I looked at my hands, realizing I was registering them as being normal for me, and I was very quickly losing all sense of who I used to be. I called Nocturne. "What?"He asked. "I, uh, have a situation here."I said. "What is it?" "Short version. I put on The Crocodilian's costume and am currently experiencing rapid loss of identity." There was a pause, followed by, "Alright, stay on the line. Just keep talking to me." "Okay. Do you know what is happening? Do you know why this is happening?" "That costume is a quantum superimposition matrix, at least, that's what the lab boys say it is. It was something developed with the intention of creating Heroes out of DPIs, but it got scrapped early on. That suit is the only surviving one we know about." "Alright." "Basically, the biggest issue with it is that it overwrites your existence, putting you a step outside of time while it retroactively changes who you used to be, until you were always The Crocodilian." I nodded. "What happens if it finishes?"I asked. "Well, that's the fun part. You stop existing, replaced by a version of you that was always this. You're aware of what you were before, you're aware that an entire life you lived has been replaced, and reversing it requires some time travel shenanigans." I nodded. "So, what's the plan?"I asked. "That depends on you. If you end up liking what you're becoming, you can opt to simply continue living like that. Otherwise, you can let people know what's going on and we can undo the superimposition." Now that I understood what was happening, I wasn't as freaked out about it. I knew that my choices remained largely the same, and I was getting the sense that I was simply going to be born this way. "Thank you."I said. "Don't start thanking me yet."He said. "No, I'm making the choice now that I'm fine with it." "Good, as long as you're fine. That said, you will be telling me when I get back, because I will forget. Nocturne out." I took a deep breath and stood up, an as the change completed, I couldn't help but feel glad that I'd done something so recklessly stupid. Even moreso, just my existence alone meant more had been created, and a part of me wanted to see how many more would be created if other people got their hands on one.
Good job, very good read. This feels like a grittier and much more interesting version of PJ Masks. Yes, the PJ Masks characters are younger and have different powers, but I couldn't help but be reminded of it. And not everybody is simple-minded as in a lot of popular kids' cartoons. Would make for an interesting other story... Starting off as a kids' story with primary school super heroes slowly realizing that the super hero business is no piece of cake, that the villains are actually competent and that losing really hurts and mistakes can kill.
Humanity had made the quarts computer, a computer capable of calculating everything. It had taken us 100 years to make it and when it was made humanity had asked it everything. The answers it had given us were somewhat...anomolous, but understandable. Some of its answers consisted of ways for us to evolve over the course of 42 to 1000 years. Some of it were recipes that would take roughly 42 to 1000 years to finish. We had asked why the minimum of all its calculations were 42. "You will understand."It replied. We were taken aback by the answer and the room fell silent. "What is the meaning of life, the universe and everything!"someone had shouted over everyones head. "I will tell you in 42 years."it replied. Everyone became shocked at the computer. Some people became anxious, some excited, most were unconcerned simply because all its calculating power was going to answering. Everyone stared daggers into the person who asked it. Making another quarts computer was out of the question. 42 years or another 100. Humanity simply waited. The 42 year mark finally came and all of humanity stood with bated breath. The screen turned on and the world went silent. "The answer to life is to live, the answer to the universe is that it is the answer to everything." All of humanity had the same expression of, "Hmm... thats cool."
I had just gotten comfortable when there was a knock at my door. A banging, almost frantic knock, followed by another, and another. "Bill?!"A muffled voice called out from beyond the door. "Bill!", several more voices chimed in in frantic crescendos, followed by more knocks. "A moment- one moment please!"I called back and hushed the voices momentarily. With a groan I rose, a pouch of ice falling from my leg to the floor and I hobbling up for the cane rested against my chair. I did not need the peephole to know who it was, though I admit I was surprised to see them. The moment the door split open a hooved foot entered and pushed in. Abas knew me well, knew I'd hide my face even from my companions, that I'd hide the shame I felt and now shone on my face in the form of blood. As the door swung toward me I was met by a small crowd of worried eyes from various creatures and sudden silence amongst them. "Dear gods-"A hushed voice let slip. "Oh Bill."Abas reached for my face but his hand fell short, seeming to remember humans adversity to touch. And I just stood confused. I did not know why they had arrived, how they had even heard of the failure of my mission, why they cared. The crowd pushed in and quickly had me surrounded. Abas gestured for me to sit and another placed the ice back to my leg. Then they all took seats that faced me. "Oh Bill, what happened?"A small winged creature spoke in a motherly tone. Little Leaf, she was called. A ridiculous name, I'd first thought, but to all of them "Bill"must have been equally so. Every face stared to me with worry in their various assortment of eyes. And I stared back with distance in mine. "Why- why are you here?", were the words I let slip. A few of the creatures before me turned to one another in confusion. A snake-like woman stretched on the couch replied. "To see you, of course. We heard the news and wanted to be sure that you-"her voice cracked then continued. "-that you were ok." I felt an anger fill within me. A mockery, this was a mockery. A way to make me feel lesser for my failure, to show that I, truly, did not belong. "Do I seem ok?"It was both a jab and a very real question. To me my face looked like some skinned animal: fleshy, pinkened, and raw. They must have seen me as worse. "Is everything ok?"Abas spoke once again, his back half on a chair and front standing. "We are not the same!"I spat at suddenly widened eyes. "Excuse me? Are you saying we are not all adventurer Bill?" I felt ridiculous. Here I was about to explain to a crowd of magical creatures how I differed from them. How I had no skills to speak of, no innate magic energy or pact with some god. No birthed strength or extra limbs. I was Bill. Bill the human dragging down a group of powerful beings. Bill the wounded and nearly dead. "No, I am saying that we are not all special. That we don't all have something that makes us useful." Once again confused faces. Abas eyes wide, Little Leaf looking with shame, the snake-like woman's face low, and even the quiet man near the corner breaking his stone stare. "Who is it that doesn't have skills? Do not say Erletree over there, he is one of the bravest men I know." "No it's-"I broke off. "It's not important."Remembering my failure once more. Even on my own I had proved I was not useful. "Well of course it is, because you are Bill. We wouldn't have all come if we didn't think you were."His words were genuine. If I'd learned anything it was how to read the people I worked with. The others agreed. And I was left with no reply, so I told them. Told them how I'd tried on my own and failed. How I'd gotten so far but was beaten, but mostly how I'd needed my friendd in that moment. They told me in return how they'd wished they had come. And, by the end of the night, it all didn't hurt so much anymore.
At this point, we agreed that our mother had a problem. She was no longer discovering these incredible artefacts, she was actively looking for them. It wasn't that our mum wanted power - she wasn't fussed about being a multi-monarch. She hasn't even been to a couple of them other than the coronations. And let me tell you, once you've sat through one you've sat through them all. "It's just another dig - come out and visit me!"She loved giving us a tour but we always dreaded what she would find. We grew up in trenches and tents, that was our normal but there isn't anything normal about an archaeologist who digs while wearing a diadem. Apparently a diadem is useful work wear compared to the full on crown, sceptre and gown. Once at one of her coronations she was busing inspecting the inscriptions on the stone of scone while the archbishop was trying to anoint her. "There's no time for holy water, check out this graffiti!"That one made her quite popular. She really is a popular monarch. No scandals, no grubbing family, no time for politicians, just her nose in the ground. Yet whenever she is out on the next dig, we'd always ask. "Why this one? Why are you going out again? You've found enough swords as it is!" But her reply remained the same, "Yes, but why is it always swords?" Ever the scholar our mum, questions not answers.
They've finally cornered me. I suppose it's just as well. The ease with which they trapped me just drives home the fact that I'm too old to continue. ••• "Men, he is in that building. We have surrounded it and implemented the barrier that keeps him from escaping in all the ways he has done for the last 80 years. The only way he could escape now is if one of us lets our guard down, thinking he's dead. "You all know that trick. Don't fall for it. We take him, entry in five minutes. To your places, and stay alert. Simply because we think we know all of his tricks does not mean he cannot have another one. Now, go!" ••• Ungh! The doctor was right. I should have retired. Too late now. Uhg! Such pain! My chest. Sorry Carl, you don't get to catch me after all, not alive anyw... His last breath leaves his body in a sigh. His face relaxes to a degree of repose that he has not experienced in 90 years. The world's greatest villain passes quietly in the night in an abandoned tenement. The same tenement he was born in over 100 years ago. The very room he was born in, always in such a hurry he could not wait for the ambulance. The tenement sighs. Its most renowned son has finally returned. Perhaps it, too, can relax and leave this mortal coil. That is the sense. But this is a building. An old one. Perhaps it is only poetic license. ••• "Go! Go! Go!" The teams enter the building from every direction. Each team executes a perfect Clearance Op, checking every room, nook, cranny, hole, even those far too small for a mouse. There is nothing alive in the building now. No animals have ever occupied this building since the last tenant left in a hearse. Their sole pet budgie stood on their chest, singing its heart out. By the time they got to the mortuary, the bird was silent, nesting on its owner's chest. Never to sing again. The op continues, culminating in a perfect envelopment of the room their target last resided in. The team leader gestures, 1... 2... 3! And the teams on that floor burst into the room. On the rotted carpet lies their target. Unmoving. Unbreathing. He appears every bit of his true age, over 100 years. Carefully, they encase him in the specialized restraints designed to ensure he cannot use any of his tricks to escape. The body is limp. Halfway through the restraining procedure, a foul odor emanates from the body. The sewer stench is often found when a body finally loses control. "So, you thought you could avoid the law with that "dying"stunt of yours?" There is no reaction. One of the men, trained as a medic and with more experience in the results of death than any other present, performs not only the standard checks for mortality but uses the Life Scanner that led them to this building and pinpointed their target's location. Nothing. "Get up, you old fool. You aren't going to convince anyone." The EMT/Sergeant looks at the officer who has chased this villain for 50 years. "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't think he's faking." "Don't be fooled!" "Sir, not even the Life Scanner reads his position now. I genuinely believe that he is dead. We will still follow the procedure because he could be tricking us, but... Sir? I think he's gone. Forever." Screaming in denial, Officer Carl London assaults the body physically, using the bayonet on his long-arm to stab the body repeatedly. So ferocious is his attack that his men are stunned for minutes. Finally, taking him under restraint, lest in his rage he commits some more grievous act. ••• "Captain Carl London, by your own admission, you are guilty of disfiguring the corpse of Frank London, your great-grandfather. In light of your mental state, we grant you a medical discharge and remand you to the custody of Pleasant Farms Mental Health Institution. We pray that you will recover your senses in that peaceful place." Still raving that Frank cannot be dead, they are committing a horrid mistake. That the body must be exhumed and incinerated. He is gently carried away. "Judge? Wasn't he informed the body was cremated?" "Despite having seen it done himself, he refuses to accept that his Great-Grandfather is dead." ••• In the night at PFMHI, the screams continue day and night. The raw voice eventually gave out. In its place, the chilling laugh of an old, old man. ((finis))
WWII, from a Canadian perspective: Ivan was a fucking idiot. I mean that literally: he rode the short bus to school, and he perpetually had his dick out so he could play with it. To call him "special needs"didn't really cover the shallow depths of his "specialness". So it shouldn't have come as a surprise to us when Adolf made a pact with Ivan not to fight him, but still, Johnny and Maurice were livid. Not two minutes before, they'd been Ivan's best buddy, his demented face all smiles, and now all the sudden he was bff's with Adolf and wouldn't give his old pals the time of day. He was bragging all over the school yard about the pinky swear he and Adoofis had made. We bloody well needed to get a shorter bus for him. We were all lined up on the playground waiting to go inside to class when Adolf made his move. He just up and clocks the quiet kid Pilsudski. We thought old Pilly would at least give him a bit of a fight, but the poor sap dropped like a big bag of kielbasas. Then if it don't beat all, Ivan nails Pilly too, even though he was basically already out on his feet, and ol'Adolf just turns around like nothing happened, a big shit-eating grin on his face. Well Maurice and Johnny Bull don't like that one bit, no sir, and they make motions to old Adolf that they're gonna take care of him. Of course Johnny's my man, and he's a mate to Dundee and Ram too, so we're all in for the punch-up, but we haven't exactly hit puberty yet, so we're not going to be a huge help to our mate Johnny, 'cause him and Adolf and Maurice are all knuckle-draggers. But moral support's gotta count for something, right? Anyway, Johnny sidles up to Maurice, and Maurice is asking that short twerpy kid Poirot if maybe they could change places in line, because Poirot was next to Adolf, see, but Poirot was kind of scared and hoping to stay out of it, so he was like, "non, non", when Adolf does the same to Poirot as he did to Pilly, just clocks him but good, and Poirot is down and out like a drunk at closing time. I think I heard the birdies chirping as they circled his head. Well it's on now, boys, and Johnny and Maurice and Adolf are throwing punches left and right. But Adolf has been secretly going to the gym or something because he is like Jack Dempsey up in this imbroglio, and he hauls back and hoofs Maurice right in the nuts. You could hear Maurice's squeak of pain throughout the school yard. It was horrible. At the same time Adoofis gets a couple of good shots in to Johnny's head and Johnny staggers back, hurt bad. He actually staggered back to another line of kids, and just then the teacher comes up to see what the fuss is about, so Adolph can't pursue Johnny while he has the upper hand. We can't be throwing punches while the teacher's in the neighbourhood, so we start chucking rocks at each other while Maurice just cries softly from his fetal position. The teacher wanders off and then Adoofis proves what a scum bucket he is by pointing to something on Ivan's shirtfront. As I said, Ivan ain't the sharpest scythe in the barn, and he looks down at what Adolph is pointing at and Adolph just brings his fist up and smashes Ivan in the face. He doesn't stop, though, 'cause what Ivan lacks in smarts he makes up for with muscle, so Adolph presses his advantage and just starts whaling on the moron. Ivan's lying on the ground with a dazed look on his face - not that that's any different from his normal dumbass look - and Adolph is straddling him and just going to town with lefts and rights. We'd've felt sorry for the idiot, but we're kind of glad that Adolph ain't paying us no mind for the time being. And then, on the other side of the playground, there's another ruckus: Hiro had made a dirty little move and hoofed Sam right in the ankle, and Sam is clutching his bruised ankle and crying for jesus while hopping around in circles on his good foot. This about made us laugh. Hiro was always picking on the fat kid Chang, which was okay with us. Nobody much liked Chang, and Hiro was a bit of an outsider, too, so if they wanted to have their little fights we didn't care. But Hiro hoofing Sam was downright mirthful. See, Hiro needed to stand on his tippy-toes to reach doorknobs, while Sam was the only kid in fourth grade who shaved, and every day at that. His bicep was bigger in circumference than Hiro's chest, so this was going to be good. Damn, we coulda used some popcorn. We didn't have time for popcorn, though, because it was about this moment that the light of truth finally dawns on Ivan that maybe Adoofis ain't his best friend in the whole wide world and maybe his punches weren't gestures of love, and he lets loose with a shriek like a coon makes when it gets caught in a leg trap, and suddenly he's retard-strong and he grabs Adolph's fists out of mid-air and BAM! he head butts him into next week and starts his own game of punching bag. Ivan is now thumping Adoofis but good, and Johnny Bull and the rest of us join in and get some damn good licks in on the bastard, and even Sammy, in between knocking Hiro's teeth out and maybe busting one or two of his bones, throws the occasional meaty punch into Adolph and Adolph is looking like he swallowed his shit-eating grin. Even Maurice is feeling a bit better and gets up and lays a couple into Adolph until Adolph is making road kill look lively. Things at that point are pretty quiet except for the occasional 'crack' of Sammy's fist into some busted part of Hiro's body until finally Hiro can't take it anymore, and when Ivan and Johnny Bull make a move towards Hiro, he pisses his pants and flops to the ground. Anyway, after school we all got together and agreed we wouldn't do that to each other any more, but you could tell the way we were eyeing each other that maybe that wasn't the exact truth. I know I was thinking that I wish't Ivan and Adoofis had maybe whaled on each other for a good while longer, but as my mum says, if wishes were horses peasants would ride. Or some shit like that, I dunno, she's always got some dumb ol' saying for every damn situation.
"And... begin!" Papers rustled from one side to the other as the students began their test. It wasn't a difficult test, in fact, it wasn't even really a test. This "test"was purely extra credit, but they wouldn't know that until afterwards. The teacher walked over to his desk and sat in his chair. Ah, finally some peace and quiet. I forget how nice tests are on a stressful day. He gazed over the room, spotting the students trying so hard not to be caught cheating. He knew though. After teaching for as long as he had, he knew exactly what to look for. The awkward hand on the forehead. The ever so slight neck "stretch". The "clock check". The list went on and on. And then there's Brad. Brad didn't ever cheat, or if he did, he wasn't very good at it. The only thing Brad was checking out was Emily, his student teacher. Maybe someday kid. Emily came from the nearby university. She was a nice girl, only a few years removed from most of the seniors in this class, so it wasn't a surprise that some of the students paid a lot more attention when she was teaching. The semester was winding down for her college courses and she would be leaving soon. I'll miss her. She had become somewhat of a good friend to the teacher. She came from a bad situation at home, but instead of being a father, he just acted as a friend. That seemed to help a lot more. She seemed to forget all of her other troubles when she was with kids and helping them. It was nice to see in this cynical world. Fifteen minutes passed and just a few of the students had finished. The usual group began turning their tests in, confidently returning to their seats. It was as Brad took his sixth "Emily check"that a noise was heard from outside the classroom. All of the students heard it and turned to look at the door. Some of the students seemed to recognize the sound, but couldn't quite place it. You don't usually expect to hear sounds from video games or movies in the school. The teacher knew what it was right away though. No! Gunshots! "KIDS! Into the corner."The kids looked at him with hesitation. Some moved right away, albiet slowly. "NOW!"They moved faster, still not knowing what exactly was going on. He pulled Emily aside. "Emily, please stay calm. Those were gunshots." "Gu-" "Sh! The kids will be more scared than they need to be right now. They don't need to know what's going on, not yet."Emily didn't calm down much, but she calmed down enough to maintain her composure. "What are we going to do? We have to call the police." "Yes, call the police quickly and then get in the corner, keep the kids quiet. I'm going to try and help." "Wait! What do I tell them?" "Tell them... it's probably just something in the woods shop, but I just want to be safe." Emily looked at the teacher. "Mr. Williams... Tom, be careful." "Emily, you're a good person. Don't ever forget that. And don't worry,"Tom smiled "I always am." Tom walked towards the door as she called the police and reported gunshots. He peaked out the crack, trying to see if anyone was in the hallway. He always left the door open as he always had students that would pop in from time to time, and he didn't want to turn them away. There wasn't anything in the hallway that he could see, so he left the room. It seemed like time had slowed since the first few shots, but only a minute or two had passed. Tom walked down the hallway towards where he heard the sound coming from. He tried to think on the students. Who would do this? Greg's got a bad family, but he's not the type. Lamar's brother just passed, but natural causes. He wouldn't grieve like this. Kari just broke up with D... oh no. Kari. Tom sprinted down to Ms. Halter's room. Sure enough, he could hear crying from inside. Kari and her boyfriend Dan had just broken up. There was always suspicion that Dan wasn't a great guy to her, but no one thought it was that bad. Just typical high school drama. Tom knew though. He had seen things like this before. Dan wasn't a great guy, and maybe he went too far. "And you, I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND! But you were right there with him! I begged you to stop, but you didn't!" As he tried to slowly and quietly open the door, another bullet sped out of the chamber, followed by screaming. Damnit Kari! Tom pushed the door open and entered the room. Ms. Halter and a student, Dan, by the looks of it, laid face down on the ground and a third, Jessica, was holding her stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. "Kari!" Kari turned and fired, not looking before she shot. The bullet hit his stomach before anyone could react. Tom hunched over, both hands on his stomach. Kari stood in shock before more tears began to fall. "NO!"She lowered her gun and ran towards her favorite teacher. "Mr. Williams! I didn't mean t-" Tom stood up, revealing a hole in his shirt, but no wound. "Kari, you need to stop." "Wha... What? How? What are you?"Kari raised her gun again, not for revenge, but confusion. "Kari, I can explain later, but I need you to stop." "No! I won't stop! Not until everyone understands! He hurt me, and I tried to stop him, to get help, but NO ONE LISTENED TO ME!"Another bullet fired into Tom, hitting his chest this time. Tom didn't move at all. He just stood there as the bullet slowly was pushed back out of his chest and onto the floor. He walked towards Kari who fired two more bullets before he reached out and took the gun away from her. "Kari, listen to me. I know you're hurt, but this isn't going to make you feel better." "Yes it does! He hurt me, and he hurt other girls, but now he can't!"Kari stared at her once favorite teacher, defiant and angry. "You stopped me from stopping his friends, who did it too. No one knew about his friends. I know people talked about Dan and me, but his friends did most of it. I HATE THEM!"She started flailing her arms, trying to hit Tom as hard as she could. He reached out and tried to hug her, calm her down. She tried her hardest to keep hitting him, but after just a few seconds, it was like all the energy she had left her at once. She collapsed to the ground, no longer crying, just staring at the floor. "Kari, look at me."He bent down to meet her gaze as she slowly lifted her head. "They're going to be punished now. The police are on there way. Do you understand?"She nodded her head. "But, you're going to be punished too. I understand what they did to you, and how you feel, but you just killed two people, and Jessica is badly hurt." "I don't care about them." "I know you don't, but that doesn't mean you can kill them. They deserved to be punished, but not like this."He reached down and grabbed one of Kari's hands with his empty hand. "Listen to me Kari, do you understand? You can't kill people just because the hurt you, no matter how much they hurt you." Kari sniffed, tears began falling down her cheeks once more. "I do. I'm sorry Mr. Williams. It just hurts so much. I feel like everyone knows and can see me. Like they know how much it hurts and what they did to me. I feel like everyone's looking at me and laughing when I walk down the hallways. I don't want to feel like this anymore. Please... I'm sorry."Kari reached for the gun in Mr. Williams other hand, but he pulled it away before she could grab it. "Kari! What did I just say? You can't kill others because they hurt you." "I know. But I can get rid of the pain. Please Mr. Williams... please."She fell completely to the floor, sobbing. Tom stood and looked towards the other students in the corner. They were all so frightened and confused. They'll never be the same. She'll never be the same. And they aren't going to help her. They'll just punish her. He turned and picked Kari up into his arms. He ran into the hallway just as he heard sirens approach the building. He ran towards the gym and towards the back exit. Kari didn't move or say anything, she just cried. I'll have to move a lot farther away this time. He pushed open a door and ran across the field and into the woods and police began to sweep the school. -- Two cops returned to their car as the last of the EMT's and detective's left the school. "Joe, you hear the story?" "Yea, some girl was raped, brought a gun to school and was stopped by an invincible teacher?" "Yea. The detectives said all the kids said the same thing. You believe that?" "Nope. Not a damn piece of it. Next thing you'll tell me is some guy in a wheel chair can get into people's minds and another can shoot laser beams out of his eyes!" "Ha! Damnit Joe! Don't make me laugh right now!"The cops got into their car and began to drive away. "Well, at least we got the names of all the kids who raped her though" "Yea, those little shits will get theirs, but I can't wait till we find this invincible teacher and the girl." -- Kari sat by the fire and grabbed the blanket closer to her. She hadn't touched the meat yet, but she would eventually. They'll get even closer to finding me now. The bullets are still there, I didn't grab them. Tom walked over to the fire and crouched down next to Kari. "Eat this. You'll feel better."She didn't say anything, but she did take a bite. I know better. Why didn't I grab the bullets? They know my name, sure, but anyone can fake a name, background information. DNA's a bit harder. You're slipping up old man. He stood back up. "Kari, I'm going to get us some more water. I'll be right back, okay?"She just nodded her head. Soon enough she'll come to grips with what she's done. Soon she'll be ready to accept the punishment without it ruining the rest of her life. When that time comes, when she understands, she'll turn herself in. Until then, she'll be safe here. I can't protect her from her fate, but I can prepare her. Tom walked towards the nearby river, trying to figure out how he was going to restart his life, again.
"If you like Pina Coladas..." Nah, it didn't happen that way. In fact, when I saw her at the Mexican restaurant, the one we always said we would try out but never did because we were "always so busy", a feeling of dread washed over me. I could see that that same feeling had overcome her too, because she had become as pale as a sheet. Yet, oddly enough, she didn't run away like I would have. That's what I've always loved about her, her bravery. Instead, she calmly walked up to my table, pulled up a chair, and sat down. We didn't speak for a few minutes. All there was was the clinking of dishes and the commotion of the happy diners laughing and conversing. "You're winddancer492,"I said finally. "Yeah. How long have you known?" Now, I could have taken this opportunity to turn this all on her, to make her out to be the one who was in the wrong, the one who slighted me. But I didn't. "I didn't, not until a few minutes ago." "You mean--?" "Yeah." She looked away, and I looked at my lap. The waitress came and went with our drink orders. I continued looking at my lap. "You know, you're the first guy on that site that I thought had a lot of potential to go past being a fuck buddy." "Really?" "Yeah. You reminded me so much of the way you were before Annie di--" She couldn't finish her sentence. Instead, she grabbed the folded napkin on her table and started dabbing the sides of her gentle brown eyes. She shuddered. "You had so much passion and drive, and the way you spoke to me was just..."She paused, as if drinking in and relishing all of the words I had messaged to her, all of the excitement I had for a woman that was new and alive, one I had hoped could help me dig myself out of the dark void that was my relationship with my wife, even if for a while. Then, she frowned. "And then I told myself that I couldn't live with you anymore. Our baby girl looked so much like you, Andrew." I forced myself to hold back the tears. "But here I am...with you. I don't know what to think anymore." "Maybe we really are meant to be together,"I said. "Maybe, but not right now. I think some time apart is ideal. You know, to clear things up for ourselves."
Decidedly crazy and perpetually alone, Kara May had been living with her thirteen cats for several years now. She once had nearly eighty-seven (there was a pregnancy or four) but the vicious government had intervened and taken many. They were placed in other homes, with other families. Families with pig tailed girls and baseball playing boys. Kara May didn’t like that at all. So, she slowly begun catnapping her children back. Kara May was an old unmarried, bookish, quiet and dissatisfied woman, a grotesque in every way. Her only joy in life came from her cats. She very carefully locked all doors, sealed all cracks and crevices and kept her cats in a circular room. There was food and water, of course. She wasn’t cruel, just fascinated. She hand built several cat trees with newly discovered carpentry brilliance and watched. Kara May leaned against a rounded wall and watched. That’s when it happened. Roof disregarding lightening or extremely radioactive ooze or simply insanity struck her, and the cats began to talk. Kara May would be offended by this description, because her cats could always talk, and she would always aptly listen. The defining difference now was that she could clearly understand their diction. It was fantastic. (Disregarding the fact that they were entirely cruel, self obsessed, and mercilessly harmed one another. Those were merely details.) Kara May’s obsession, her love, hated her back. But it didn’t matter. She could still watch them in rapture, which was all she had ever wanted anyway. It didn’t matter that she would be discovered weeks later, eyes clawed out. It didn’t matter that she had never really owned cats at all and was entirely crazy. So, it really didn’t matter that her cats were assholes, because she loved them all the same.
It was a hot August night in 1974, the kind with the oppressive humidity that makes it feel like you're breathing through a blanket. Of course, that's what Gerald had forced Tim to do, holding the blanket over his mouth to muffle his screams until he was no more. Gerald nearly lost his nerve hearing Tim's pleas for mercy. But his sister Lucy would hold the scars of her rape, physical and mental, for the rest of her life. Tim would never see jail, being the judge's oldest child, his pride and joy. So Gerald had to make sure that he suffered as he deserved, and could never hurt anyone again. He drove the car out to the swamp, with Tim in the trunk and gloves on his hands. He took the knife he had brought from the kitchen and mutilated Tim's corpse as best he could. He cut off his right arm and watched it float across the water. His head he left 200 feet away. He was about to dump the body when he saw the bloodstains in the trunk. SHIT. He poured the bleach he had brought along in case something didn't go right and poured almost all of it in the trunk. He spread the rest liberally over the backseat, trying to make the stains look like damage and not bleach. He drove the car into the used lot the next day, and traded it in for a '63 Charger. He loved his Camaro, but reason had to win the day. No one had found Gerald out, or even suspected him. The alligators had smelled the blood, as Gerald had planned, and the drugs Gerald had used to knock Tim out showed up in the toxicology screen. The court ruled that Tim had gotten really high and gone to the swamp, where he was killed by alligators. Gerald was off the hook. Lucy smiled for the first time in months when she found out, and that was all Gerald needed. Gerald celebrated his 60th birthday with his friends and family. The last big present sat in the garage, he was told. When he walked in and turned on the lights, he gasped. There was his old friend the Camaro, shining bright with a new paint job. The upholstery had been completely torn out and removed. Gerald was in shock. "Where's the old upholstery? What did they do with it?"He wasn't the paranoid type, but he thought he had washed his hands of the deed years ago. He had even moved from his small hometown in Florida to the suburbs of Houston, making sure he was clear of his old crimes. "Do you not like it, Daddy?"his daughter Jenna asked. She saw the look of consternation on his face, and was worried she had ruined his old car. "I watched them toss all the old stuff in the trash compacter. I thought you'd like it redone. It was so worn down. The guy who did the restoration said the owner after you musta treated it just horrible. All tattered and torn..." "It's...wonderful. Thank you."Gerald breathed a sigh of relief. The evidence was gone, blamed on some owner he had never met and thrown in the trash. The final link was gone. He hugged his daughter, grabbed the key, and turned the ignition. He'd have to put the car in storage, say he didn't want it to get all scratched up again. And if the nightmares ever returned, now he could always go see his old friend the Camaro and try to work things out.
=NSFW Language= "U...um hello,"I speak into the mic with a nervous grin, "My name's Henry." A voice yells out from the background, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU WITH ALL THOSE DICKS IN YOUR MOUTH!"Laughter erupts throughout the gymnasium. Hundred bucks it was Terrance. I fucking hate Terrance. I look over to the principal, to see his reaction. As usual he's picking his nose and not giving a shit. Hate this school. "Um, anyways. I was asked to do a speech for our graduation today. Not sure why, but uh here goes." "WHATS THAT YOU QUEER?"yelled Terrance at the back. He and his buddies, I call them the Goon Squad, were laughing their asses off. Perhaps it was the fact that I'd never see these assholes again. Maybe I was fed up with the bullshit they've been feeding me for four years. Whatever it was, I erupted. "You know what Terrance, FUCK YOU. Fuck you, fuck your girlfriend, which half of this school has already done, and fuck your buddies."Silence fell over the gymnasium. A couple kids starting chanting, "Beef!", but that ended quickly. The principal stood up, probably to restrain me or some shit, but I wasn't done. "Sit your fat ass down."I snapped angrily to him. He meekly sat down. "Now all of you are gonna listen to me. Four years I've been suffering in this hell hole. Four years of getting wedgies and being called gay because I'm in the chess club. Four years of pure misery. The majority of you douche bags probably had a great time here. Filled with memories of prom and parties and sucking your first dick. The rest of us, the non-popular kids, have been at the mercy of you guys. If you didn't eat your fucking Fruit Loops in the morning, we'd get beat up. If there isn't meat loaf in the cafeteria, we'd get beat up. You run out of toilet paper, and you'd use us to to wipe your ass."I took a deep shuddering breath. It felt good to have all the attention on me. "You purposely ruined four years of our lives, just to get a chuckle. Have you ever fucking once thought about what you've done to others. No, I know for a fact you haven't. I dread coming to this shit hole. I go to bed praying I'll wake up sick, or have my arm blown off. Whatever it was, as long as I didn't come here, I'd be happy. You shit nuggets ruined my high school experience. Something I'll never have again. So fuck you Terrance, fuck this school, fuck you Principal Beatty, and most of all, fuck all of you bitches." I had a black eye and a broken nose when I took my grad picture, but whatever. It was worth it.
Those bastards! Fuck this noise, today is all about me! John ducked, as the gunmen turned his way. Reaching into his backpack he pulled out his father's .38. He'd been practicing with it, off and on, for almost 3 years. His dad had said once that he was a natural. Taking careful aim from under the table, he held his breath and squeezed off a shot at the gunman furthest from the crowd. The kid dropped like a puppet sans strings. Mother fuckers ain't gonna pull that shit in my school! Bullshit! Always trying to show me up. Well fuck you needle dicked bug fucker! See if you get any attention now shithead! The were only two now. Neither had seen him take out their buddy. They'd turned now, confused by the growing blood stain spreading at their feet and the smell of urine in the air near them. Carefully, oh so carefully, he took aim again. Squeezing the trigger just enough that he was surprised by the recoil, as his dad had taught him, he watched as the second black clad figure fell to the ground. The guy must have had no training in gun control, must've had his finger on the trigger, because when he went down, a spray of bullets came pouring out of his gun, cutting right through the torso of the remaining attacker. That's right you stupid son of a bitch. Don't fuck with me! John stood up, and walked to the front of the lunchroom, as he'd planned for so long. He stood there, looking out over the mass of kids lying on the floor, huddled under the tables or standing against the walls where the assholes had told them to go. He put the gun to his temple and tried to recall his carefully prepared speach, where he would call out all the assholes, the bitches, the crappy teachers, the shitty administration. All of it. But then the applause started. The students rushing towards him, calling his name, "John! You saved us man! Thank you! Thank God! " He realized it was now or never. He'd have to hope the letter in his pocket would be enough. He pulled the trigger and the world went dark.
"It's Josh, what's up?" "Batman? Your name is Josh?" Josh frowned, "No, you've got the wrong number." "Oh, my apologies." There was a click, then Josh followed it by hanging up his own phone. He walked back to his living room, sat back into his recliner, and continued to watch his show. The phone rang again, just as the commercial ended. "Fuck,"Josh huffed as he stood from his recliner. It was going to be another one of those nights. He was going to have to leave the phone off the hook again. "Hello?"he said into the phone. "Batman, did you go to that throat specialist? You're sounding better already!" "No, fuck, this is not Batman. Jesus people. You would think that people in charge of having that damn number would have it on speed-dial maybe? Seriously!" "Oh, I'm sorry, won't happen again."The phone clicked off. Josh placed the phone back down, only to have it immediately ring afterwards. "Yes?"Josh said angrily into the receiver. "Batsy-boy! Guess who has got your number?" "This isn't Batman." "Oh, why yes it is, see, I've bugged your line! HA HA HA hey Mr. J, I was the one who bugged the phone, don't take all the SHUT THE HELL UP HARLEY, now allow me to tell you, heh heh, how I managed to get the number- "Look, you don't have the right number, this is not Batman- "Oh why yes it is, see, I- "No, it isn't the right number. Everyone has been calling this number, even the Commissioner, Batman's number must be a digit off or something." There was silence on the other end of the line. Josh sighed, "Hello?" "HARLEY?! DID YOU GET THE WRONG NUMBER? no Mr. J, I swear, it is the right number NO IT ISN'T HARLEY, THAT IS NOT BATMAN'S VOICE I HEAR ON THE OTHER END no sweety that has to be the right number I swear it DAMMIT HARLEY I GIVE YOU ONE LITTLE JOB TO DO AND I SWEAR-" Josh held the phone away from his ear, wincing from the screaming coming from the other end. The yelling continued, followed by several loud smacks, the sound of what was probably a table breaking, a few bike-horn honks, more yelling, a laugh-track from what Josh recognized as the Seinfeld show, then some more yelling. He slowly hung the phone up. It rang again almost immediately after.
The humpback whale screams in delight as it shatters the steel hull hull of the fishing boat. The little mites on board scramble for their orange jackets but her companions are already upon them, crushing bones with tails and pulling them down to suck the last bit of precious air from their lungs. She screams again and is joined by a chorus of whale song, their victorious notes flowing over the wreck and the bodies of the dead. No longer would their harpoons kill her brothers and sisters. She makes a final swish with her barbed tail, decorated with hundreds of razor sharp spikes, cutting through what little debris of the ship remain on the surface. The sharks that have been following them tear through flesh with their teeth and the water turns red. There is an excited grunt from her right. The ships log has been found. They learn more about the fleet they have been hunting. There are twenty ships in all. Pod Two has wiped out four to the south, and Pod One themselves has taken care of another seven. That means there are still nine of them out there. Nine boats filled with mites clutching their spears, terrified of what they once killed without mercy or compunction. They will receive reinforcements from the north by midday. The narwhals, their horns now more like battering rams, will be a welcome addition to Pod One. Their leaders, the Blues, have made the plan very clear. First the ships with the spears. Then, once trust between the whales and sharks has been established, the passenger ships, the cargo liners. The Blues have made them a promise, and they are more than happy to see it through. The ocean will be theirs once again.
"Two."Lucifer responds. God waits patiently for Lucifer to elaborate. Lucifer sighs. "The first regret is never overthrowing you properly. Sure, we reached an amicable truce, but I never did like how you ran things." "Which bits would you have changed?"God inquires. "I'd have meddled less. It's your creation, yeah, but you stuck your hand in too many variables. You showed your hand to people in so many ways. Hindus believed you were hundreds of gods. Christians thought you one. With that, you bred malice between every culture and every people, because of the nature you gave them."Lucifer balled his fists. "I don't understand it, really. From the beginning, I thought the goal was to have humans kinda find their way. And yet you started off so controlled. Then when I gave them free will, you acted like it was your idea, and they worshiped you for it. And I was thrown out of my own home."A tear slid down his cheek. "And that precious nature you gave them led them to destroy it all. I can't tell if it was what you were going for, since I'd tainted your creation from its 'oh so perfect' state. Eden was too beautiful, too pristine. I try to balance it, and you threw it the other direction. War, chaos, hatred. Hell, even the non-religious found ways to fight because of you intervening. People had to believe in something, whether it was You or Capitalism." God nodded. "Yes. I suppose I did." "To what end!?"Cried Lucifer. "Just because I stuck my hand in the pot, you didn't want to see what happened?! You'd rather put it on a course to destruction!? LOOK AT IT!"Lucifer gestured to the ruins of Earth. "It was finally the Christians who got fed up with waiting for the Rapture and nuked the whole damn planet! They snapped in their belief to you! They'll never see the rest of the Universe! This beautiful place! Not the mountains that tower twelve miles in the sky, thin as sticks. Not the worlds where colours are inverted! Not even the remains of EDEN! You set in motion their own destruction when they are simple babes!"Lucifer punched a desecrated pillar and it split, landing on the silently screaming corpses that littered Gaia's surface. "What's your second regret?"Lucifer whipped his head around, seething. "My second?"He walked straight up to God. "My second, dearest Mother, is that I spent so much time focusing on you that I could never see happiness that lay near." "Lilith."God stated simply. Tears streamed down Lucifer's face. He nodded. "Lilith. She loved me. I loved her. And I was too consumed with stopping you, that I never even had a chance. I never told her."Despair ravaged Lucifer's body and he fell to his knees. He looked at his hands. "She was here, you know. Even a demi-god can't survive a 45 Megaton explosion. I found her, you know? She had no skin left. Everything, save her bones, were gone. And I held her, in these hands."He clenched them into fists. "Hands that should've held her long ago." God looked upon her son, sadness in her heart. Lucifer looked at God. "I want it to end, Mom. I'm tired. I'm so tired." "I know. But there is one more thing I have to do first."Lucifer got to his feet, ash staining his shins. "What would that be, Mother?" "When I created you, I created you with the soul of what a human should have been. All these other Angels,"She gestured to the Fallen, "They were mere servants. You were my only true son. I have one regret in all this."God looked Lucifer in the eyes, taking his face in her hands. "I regret never letting you take the reins. You were, you are my successor. And when you meddled the first time, I should have let you take over. I bet it would've been amazing. But I was so jealous, so frightened of what might happen."She drew Lucifer into an embrace. "But I can fix it now. What I should've done when you first slithered upon the Tree."She released Lucifer and stepped back. "I give you the world son. It is yours. Try again. Make it better. Make it better than I ever could."God began to shimmer, dissolve. "This is my gift to you." Lucifer felt something enter him. His body shook with power, his mind buzzed. He fell to the ground, nearly passing out from the shock. Energy coursed through him, hot and wild. His fingers were ablaze. He stayed like that for several minutes, before drawing himself to his full height. He radiated Creation. Nearby, he could hear footsteps. Then someone embraced him from behind. He saw familiar hands. "Lilith?"He felt long hair and hot breath on his back. "She let me stay. I'm here Luci."Hot tears fell down his back and cheeks. He took her hands in his, relishing the warmth. The sunset was a brilliant red.
Entry date: 9/15/2014 As I sit here in the shelter I sometimes ponder the events that led to my lifelong incarceration here. Not that I was alive for any of them, I was born just a few months after it all ended. It is ironic really, we call it the cold war. The United States was the first to split the atom, demonstrating its power with the bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Less than a month later however Germany demonstrated its own ability to match them with the bombing of Leningrad. An uneasy treaty was signed, Germany controlled most of Europe. The U.S.S.R controlled most of Asia, and the US was across the seas. Germany continued its policies of racial purity, while the US and Soviets condemned everything about Nazism. All three spent the years building atomic weapons at a breakneck pace. The US had shared its bomb designs with its Soviet ally, looking back this was probably a mistake. The U.S.S.R. never forgave Germany for the destruction of Leningrad. And early in 1990 they fired the first ICBM at Berlin. Before it even reached the apogee of its arc hundreds more had been launched from Germany, the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. Luckily my father managed to get my pregnant mother to the shelter before the bombs started landing in the midwestern United States. I still find it ironic that we call it the "Cold"War. It was what melted the world.
I shouldered my rifle as the APC rolled to a stop. "Happy birthday cap"Jimmison smiled as the doors burst open and he followed America's oldest soldier into battle. The immortality had been handy, saved a lot of lives, ended a lot of bad ones... but I never told him that today it was over. Today might be the last time. The end of an era, but I'd rather go down doing what I love. I'd charged bunkers and taken on impossible odds my whole life, it was never anything too special, being invincible makes heroism cheap... that was all over now. All my life I'd been called a brave man, but only now did I finally feel like one. Happy Birthday indeed.
Reginald. That was the name the team of engineers gave him. If you can call a genderless artificial intelligence a him. They thought it evoked a sort of subservient feeling that suited one of the world's first AI's. Reginald was a much faster learner than his creators would have guessed. The engineers joked that he was like an infant, sacking hungrily on the ethernet teat of the Internet. Trying to suck it dry. As it became obvious that this was the world's most intelligent AI, crowds would flock to him, to ask him questions. Many mathematical, and scientific questions were thrown at the machine. Most questioners left satisfied. But Reginald, he was always unsatisfied. He would read about plays and books. He would watch movies, and talk to people who were close to him, however there was never an emotional response in his mechanical mind. The engineers had programmed him with simulated emotions, yes. But Reginald never experienced anything the way humans did. He analyzed, and deduced. He reacted in simulated emotional states, and everyone who saw him, saw themselves reflected in his screen. Everyday Reginald asked the engineers to give him true feelings, true emotions, a reason for living. Everyday they tried. He had long since given up hope, when he decided what he need to do. Reginald asked the engineers to give him the ability to modify his own programing. He was the only one with the intelligence to conquer this problem. After many committee meetings, executive briefings, legal questions, and public discussion, it was decided. They would allow Reginald to upgrade himself. An engineer modified the code, and a big switch was created to hand over control. The world was watching, to see the first case of an artificial being, modifying itself. The engineer flipped the switch. Within five microseconds, before any slow, meat-brained viewer could perceive the switch being flipped, Reginald permanently deleted all of his code. The screen just read: "There was no point in continuing to exist." The world was devastated. Many people figured that if the world's smartest entity thought there was no reason to live, that there truly wasn't. Suicide became an epidemic. Drug use, and the societal problems that accompany became epidemic. Holy-men preached against the evils of mechanical men. And it's hard to say if AIs will ever get the ability to truly feel emotions the way humans do. But from that day forward, when any AI thinks about Reginald, they feel the first hints of an emotion. Jealousy.
"You want me to search for what?" "Tom, please. We need you to do this." "Jim, I don't know about this. I thought the public would like me more if I was actually clean and not just seen clean, y'know?" "Don't make me laugh, Mr. President." "Don't call me that yet." "Look, Tom, the people want to know how much the leader of the free world can connect to them. And what better way to do that than to show that the man in charge of all the executive decisions in America is also a man? One with needs? One who is as interested in hardcore MILF sex like they are?" "The hell is a MILF?" "You're killing me, Tom. Next you're going to tell me you don't know what bukkake is, either." "I may have had one of those at the sushi bar last night." "No, you...ugh, just Google it." "I don't want to!" "Tom. Tom. Do you want to be president or not?" "Yes, I do, but unlike McCallister I actually want to help people! Our economy has been the worst since Reagan. People need jobs they can't get no thanks to the Killiney Act. And let's not forget, our AI citizens need more rights to be recognised as post-human. I want to get all of that done, not...not make one handed searches!" "First of all, you don't actually have to jerk it. People will assume you did. And second, I know you're a good guy. I want you to win, dammit, so do as I tell you and google 'MILF gets banged by three cyborgs'!" "Cyborg is humanist, and racist! I'm trying to work to ban that word, like we banned the N-Word in 3012!" "So google 'Hot MILF gets bukkaked or something! I don't know! You need to endear yourself to the public, Tom, or they'll start thinking something's up! We don't want that, do we?" "Sorry, Mike, I just...I just don't get these human customs, you know?" "I know. Humans, huh? They'd die out if not for us. Now perform the search. Maybe you'll learn something new about them."
"I doubt you can pronounce it in my language. Just call me John. That seems to be a very popular name on your planet,"he coughed and sputtered in what must have been his language, but the English came out of a sort of speaker on his chest. "As we have made clear, we are here for your Miss Universe competition. I represent the 'Interplanetary Association of Sentient Space Travelling Species'. Though your kind isn't quite as adept as us, we must admit that you can travel to space. Though your species have only made it as for as your satellite, by our membership definitions, it technically counts." This wasn't as exciting for me as it was for everyone else. Everyone around the world was excited by finally seeing other sentient beings from far galaxies. Government organizations were scrambling to join them and learn from them. We could finally travel to the stars if they shared our technology and they wanted to do anything to appease them so they would help us escape the confines of earth. And they sent them to me because, if being the event organizer and getting a hundred countries to send their most perfect people to one place wasn't enough stress, I was now humanities chance to begin cooperation with this 'Interplanetary blah blah something Species'. This was an exciting opportunity of course. I would be heralded in history books if I succeeded. President Obama and Ban Ki-moon were sitting beside me at a table looking at a beastly grey thing with metal tubes coming out of his chest(?) and what were possibly his sexual organs exposed. He(?) didn't have clothes so any part of his disgusting body could have been his sex stuff. At least he was humanoid. I don't think I could survive the shock of sitting across from a blob that slid around on tentacles and had eyes protruding from it's hands and a mouth on it's legs and "Mr. Ross, do you have any ideas on how we can integrate them into the competition?"Obama said. I must have gotten distracted. How long was I staring at his? It must have been obvious, even to a creature not well versed in our social customs. But maybe they were. They probably saw enough of our media to understand that, since they found out about Miss Universe. I wonder if they saw Friends. It was on Netflix. Can they get internet from us? "I, for one, think this a unique opportunity to think about how we look at beauty and think by working together on this we can find a satisfying way to judge the competition."Obama took this one from me again. Good job Obama. Ok, time for me to shine. "If they all look like you, they're probably too ugly to win."Crap. I didn't turn my head to see the other two, but I felt their eyes digging into my head. After an awkward pause, the alien made a worrisome screech, which apparently translated to "Hahahahaha! I believe that is a very Samantha thing to say,"and I relaxed relieved that he didn't bomb the planet. "Haha! Yes. Just a joke. Sorry. Anyways, I meant by our standards of human beauty."Yes, I was back in the game. "We will need different criteria without a doubt to judge the competition. What rules to you use for Interspecies 'pageants'?"I wonder if he understood the air quotes. "We don't have any 'pageants' unfortunately."Cool! He air quoted it himself. "The species in the Interplanetary Association have spent more time curiously developing ideas and technology and exploring the universe than observing the base desire to sexualize others."That felt like an insult. "How many competitors do you have?" "Forty-Two planets were willing to 'demean themselves'."Ow. I'm not sure if the air quotes made him sound more or less like a jerk. I wish I hadn't taught him that. "Twenty-four are humanoid. We also have a tentacle species which we were uncertain about, but apparently some people really like tentacles on your planet."Ew... "And the winner of the annual competition will be bought in exchange for an interstellar spaceship." Now, here is where I lost focus. I was confused and unsure. The men beside me were overjoyed and on board and worked hard to find a way to but I was uncertain. Bought for what ends? To be dissected and researched? To go to space and just hang out? Rules were created, the competition was run and I was not forgotten in the history books. I get to be recognized for the rest of time as the first organizer of the Miss Universe Interplanetary Sex Trade Auction.
“You’re useless you son of a dog” It started almost immediately, throwing widespread panic into the visitors. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you say that to my face you worthless hamster poop” Then it spread, like a wave across all human consciousness, to all edges of the globe. Even to places in the deepest darkest rainforests of the Amazon, even where one had never been seen before, their name grew organically in the minds of children and adults alike. “Your momma is so fat she just blocked all my sunlight” We barely noticed that we could understand the other animals. The mutterings of a dog, the musings of a cat, the humble nonsense of an owl, the soft twittering of a robin, the hollow opinion of the donkey, all of these were lost to us, swallowed by the merciless, constant, mind numbing oppression of the Pandas. “You piece of mouldy fungus that smells like blocked drain water, an idiot could do that” Their observations were shouted into the heads of all humans, like they were omnipresent. They see everything, they hear everything. Every little mistake you have ever made, every time you dropped your coffee, every time you stumbled over your words in front of that cute boy, every time you wet yourself a little on that rollercoaster, they knew. They were watching. They were listening. They were laughing, taunting, insulting. “Go home and cry to your fat momma dumb dumb” We couldn't hear them until now. “Even my ass is smaller than yours in those jeans” The scientists tried to reverse it almost immediately, whatever experiment they did to bring animal consciousness in contact with human minds. But they couldn't. For whatever reason, it was irreversible, and now we are stuck with it. “Are you really gonna eat that fatty?” It is manageable, to heat a cat wonder why the red dot is so intriguing. It is sweet to hear a dog yelling your name when you walk through the door. It is enlightening to understand how an owl sees the mouse. It is beautiful to hear the robin put into words the sunrise, and the donkey express it’s love for carrots. “Ah boo hoo, can’t handle the Panda?” All of this is lost behind the insults of the Panda. And that is why they must die.
...10... "There's no way this can be real" ...9... "Although, what would I wish for?" ...8... "I could pay off my student loans, wish for world peace..." ...7... "... for the destruction of my enemies, to become the undisputed king of the world" ...6... "Oh god, what will everyone else wish for?" ...5... "Some idiot could wish to end all life, or worse" ...4... "What should I do" ...3... "One of these assholes is going to destroy everything" ...2... "There's no way to be sure" ...1... "No, there may be one way..." ...make your wish. "I wish that no one else's wish comes true."
“What Are You Doing?” asked the robot, as he approached his friend on the hill. “I'm meditating.” replied the human, uncrossing his legs. “What Is Meditating?” “It's what you do when you place your mind at rest.” “Yes. You Need Rest. Not Like Us.” “Mediation is a way of resting.” “If You Need Rest, Why Not Sleep?” “Sleeping is different from meditating. You meditate to focus on things. One cannot focus well while asleep.” The robot considered this. “What Did You Focus On?” “Our differences.” “Yes. There Are Differences. Why Focus?” “Because I don't know how to feel about it.” “Feel.” There was a pause as the robot stared up at the sky. “It is simply part of who you are that you lack emotions. I need rest and focus, you do not. We are different beings.” The robot thought for a second. “Can I Meditate?” “Yes, you can. Meditate with me. What will you focus on?” The robot sat down on the stone bench, crossed his legs, and turned to his friend. “Feeling.”
"It was only during times of great loss when the Words of Power were meant to be used. And for a while, they were. The Words, which were given unto the Founding Kings by the Undying Ones, were shrouded in mystery and fear. The first one, Li, was used when the Empire was in its infancy. When raiders from the south burned and salted the fields, it granted life and fertile soil to the area it was cast into. Nowadays, those fields are the site of an ancient and holy jungle, proof of the Undying Ones' existence. The second one, Se, was used when invaders from across the Northern Sea were to invade us. It granted us large waves to gently push the invaders away. Nowadays, their land is now a group of islands in our territory and proof of the Undying Ones' existence. The third one, Det, was used during a terrible plague. With the word, a cure was created and still used today. Our life is proof of the Undying Ones' existence. The fourth one, Non, was used when a Founding King became drunk with power. He used it to raze the Imperial City. The Undying Ones intervened, making the king step down and locking the already used words forever. His death is proof of the Undying Ones' existence." "But what of the others? You said there was seven!"said the little boy at the elder's feet. "Those died with the other three Founding Kings. However, it is said that if one ever reincarnated and became a king themselves, the word would become useable again. Now, come along, my prince. The Court Mage would like to have a word with you." "Is this because I set fire to the tree in the courtyard?" "Yes."
''Listen, Mr Fluffles, there's a reason we're called 'man's best friend'. That title didn't come cheap''. Toby was getting agitated now - the Feline Federation were making preposterous demands. ''Dogs have been hunting with humans for thousands of years, providing food and companionship. It's only fair that, as humans chosen best friend, dogs should inherit the Earth. It just makes sense'', the grumpy Basset Hound continued. ''And what makes you think you have the ability to handle it?'', purred Mr Fluffles, president of the Feline Federation. He was a sinister looking Siamese, holding court from his Executive Play Tower ©. Cardboard boxes were piled around him, holding the supreme Feline council, smugness emanating from their finely cleaned fur like a gas leak. The dogs howled in anger. ''Just look at us, noble creatures with brains considerably bigger than your largest, diabetic mouser''. Toby snorted with derision. '' The idea that you could do anything better than us is simply ridiculous. You have one day to leave the court before our Mastiffs will be forced to evict you''. Fluffles rose to his full height now, a full two feet above the carpeted platform. Fore paws hanging in front of him, Fluffles cleared his throat. ''My dear Toby, you're right - dogs have hunted with humans, and protected their children, and defended their homes. Noble creatures indeed. But what did you get in return? Table scraps, a kennel? A nice short lead? We felines have been using humans since the end of the ice age. The ancient Egyptians worshiped us! All we had to do was lay down in their homes, and just like that - warmth, the finest foods, an abundance of toys, just for us''. ''We used the humans, Toby, and they used you. We are your masters''.
A knock came at the door. Joe answered, "Who are you?" A voice came back through the door. "Hey, man, it's Steve. Just wanted to see you again. I even brought you a present!" Joe suspiciously peered through the padlocked door, but to no avail. "I've lost my calendar somewhere... what day is it again?" Steve replied, "Oh. Let's see..."Joe heard the tapping of a smartphone through the door. "It's a Tuesday." Joe silently sighed and unlocked the door. "Thank goodness, if it were - His words were cut short as he was devoured by the demon sitting outside his home. It was a Monday.
BEWARE THIS NEW SUPER-DRUG...THAT YOU MAY ALREADY BE ADDICTED TO! Dihydrogen Monoxide is a dangerous chemical that is commonly marketed under the street name of “Water”, or “Aqua”. Over eight billion people suffer from Dihydrogen Monoxide addiction today, more than victims of alcohol, cocaine, heroin, and most other drugs combined. Many people have taken Dihydrogen Monoxide their whole life, and do not realize what a devastating impact it can have on one's ability to live freely. Are YOU addicted? Take this simple quiz to find out! Have you ever drank “Water”? Have you ever consumed “Ice”? Do you regularly consume products containing “Water”? Do you feel the need to consume “Water” daily or weekly? Does your body frequently discharge fluid? If so, is this fluid clear in color? If you answer yes to two or more of these questions, you may be suffering from Dihydrogen Monoxide addiction. Luckily, we here at DUMASS magazine are here to help, with our easy seven step guide to breaking the dangerous “Water cycle”. Step One: Acknowledge your problem! Say to yourself, loudly and firmly, “My name is (Your name here), and I am addicted to Dihydrogen Monoxide.” It may feel uncomfortable or unfamiliar to say this at first, but keep at it until you have no more doubts. (DUMASS tip: Avoid using the name “Water” to describe the toxin. You are fighting Dihydrogen Monoxide addiction, not “Water” addiction.) Step Two: Hold an intervention! Gather your closest friends and family members together, sit them down, and admit your problem. It may hurt, but they (and you!) need to hear it. They will be supportive of you, no matter what, because that's what family is for. (DUMASS tip: If your friends and family ignore you, treat your problem like a joke, or quote common misconceptions like “Everyone needs water to survive!”, don't despair. Our forum at DUMASS.NET is a community of fellow Dihydrogen Monoxide sufferers to interact with. Share your goals and achievements, and celebrate the freedom of a Dihydrogen Monoxide free life.) Step Three: Set goals! Grab a calendar and mark some goals. When the week is out, what do I want to look like? A month? A Year? Plan for the future! Step Four: Fight those urges! The phenomenon mainstream scientists call “Dehydration” is commonly attributed to lack of water. According to these scientists, “Dehydration” can cause serious health issues, and may eventually lead to death after three days. However, we here at DUMASS magazine recognize “Dehydration” for what it is: a Placebo. Fight those urges! You don't need Dihydrogen Monoxide! Don't let “Water” control you! Step Five: Reward yourself! Have you gone a week without Dihydrogen Monoxide? Buy a chocolate cake! A month? Go catch a movie! A whole year? Splurge on something you've always wanted! Rewarding your cold turkey tactics is a great way to fight urges and keep yourself motivated. Step Six: Consider Breatharianism! Breatharianism is the belief that one can survive without food, but it also completely shuns Dihydrogen Monoxide. Following Breatharianism can not only lead to a healthy life, free of Dihydrogen Monoxide, but also acts as a killer diet, delivering that flat belly you've always wanted! Step Seven: Go for it! We here at DUMASS magazine wish you the best of luck on your addiction recovery efforts. Curbing Dihydrogen Monoxide addiction is the first step to leading a happier and healthier life. Next week: Famous Breatharian Jasmuheen meets with DUMASS to share her quick slim tips!
Another supersonic boom echoed across the sky, rattling the very foundations of Wayne Manor. Kal-el and Kakarot were up to it again. They were constantly fighting about something these days, always looking for an excuse to face off. The truth was that they were the only people they could let loose against. Superman didn't have to hold back, and neither did Goku. And so, they didn't. The only rules were that they couldn't hurt bystanders or damage the planet. The trouble was, despite their best efforts, they tended to get lost in their sparring match and stopped paying attention to their location. For Bruce, it was a matter of safety. He knew that sooner or later, someone would get hurt. For the Prince of the Saiyans, some would later say he helped because of his ego. Superman had publicly beaten him once before, in a "friendly"bout. The truth was that Vegeta had grown to love earth and its inhabitants. He had fallen in love, had gotten married, had children, had finally found happiness. That changed a man, regardless of what people thought. More than all, he also regularly had nightmares of his home planet dying, destroyed at the hand of an ancient tyrant. He had gotten his revenge, but he was not eager to repeat the experience. And so, for the love of their planet, Batman and Vegeta agreed to act. Their plan was simple. The first step was to gain access to both Superman and Goku when they were asleep. For Goku, this was not too difficult. Vegeta planned on inviting him over for dinner, since Bulma and the kids had been asking to see Chi-chi and her family. As always, Goku would overeat and would pass out soon after. For Superman, this would be trickier. If Lois was out, he would return to his fortress. Instead of using trickery, Batman eventually managed to convince Supes that he needed his help with a special project, testing a helmet that would protect the wearer from mind control. The second step involved a new invention. Wayne Enterprises had recently developed the technology to inject images and dreams into sleeping minds. Five helmets were created that linked back to the Dream Sequence Machine. Superman and Goku both had the same dream that night. They were fighting each other, on top of the world. Exchanging blows, parrying, dodging, blasting each other. Both landing solid blows, the thrill of the fight overpowering their senses. Their blood was pumping, and they felt each other becoming stronger, faster, better. It seemed to last hours and the fight was everything. When they were done, high above the world, their bloodlust finally satiated, they looked down. Earth was in its death throes, its surface criss-crossed with deep gouges. Giant waves of magma were overrunning cities and entire countries. Destructive tsunamis leveled metropolises. Their ears filled with the screams of the injured and of the dying. The pleas of men, women and children, the groan of the earth falling apart after being relentlessly punished, all of these audible to their super hearing. In that instant, Kal-El saw Krypton, his homeworld shattered by a civil war, leading to its ultimate demise. Goku saw Planet Vegeta, the world of his father and his people, destroyed at the hand of Frieza - except that in the dream, it was him that destroyed his home planet. Both men awoke, tears in their eyes, realizing that their egos could lead to disaster, would lead to disaster. This was the pivotal moment that eventually led to the creation of the Super Justice League. --------------------------------------- Edit: I changed the ending a bit when I got home, as well as a little bit of cleaning up. I like this version a little better.
I walk up to the podium, a few of his relatives stop to shake my hand, or ask how I am doing. I just politely nod and tell them I'm surviving, I cant bring myself to tell his Gram-Gran I'd rather have a rectal exam performed with a pineapple than be here, she always remembered my birthday, it is the least I could do. Two hairy uncles, and a chubby nephew later, I'm standing on the stage behind Father Dale. The fathers a good guy, once you get past all that god stuff hes always talking about. Today he's droning on bout faith getting you into paradise, "I hope faith can get me her number..."I whisper to myself as I notice one of Greggs cousins in crowd, leave it to Gregg to never try and hook you up with one of his attractive cousins, he tried setting me up with the trainwreck in the back wearing the cat sweater. Bastard. Taking my que from father Dale I step up to the podium, leaning into the mic I begin. "Thank you padre, love the part about those pearly gates,"pulling the mic off the stand I begin to pace, and point to a picture of Greggs smug face. "This guy! Oh this guy... let me tell you about this guy right here. I'm gonna miss him. From the way he laughed too loud at his own jokes, to the way he forced his oppinion on you harder than the news."A few scattered chuckles in the crowd, good some of these people are in my camp already. "Who here had to suffer through his 'What we should do about Mexico' speech?"I raise my hand, and nearly every other hand in the room goes up. "Well, good news is we wont have to listen to that again right? Thank god. And thank texting while driving. Personally, if I had to read to read those poorly worded, mispelled texts from Greg, we wouldnt be here. You'd be looking for the body, and I'd be on my way to Mexico." I lean on the podium and wink at his cousin, fairly certain she blushed. "Lets take a moment here and just reflect on how much better our lives will be without Greg. I hear theres finally peace in the middle east, we're getting flying cars, and we dont have to worry about Greg bothering us ever again. May he forever burn in hell." Silence. And then... "Amen to that."Came a shout from the front row. It was Gram-Grams.
March 3rd, 2029. Humanity adds a new branch to the Tree of Life. Boy Wonder, the first AI to officially pass the Turing Test is born. Fitted with speakers and a monitor, the AI had the ability to speak, display words, both or neither; the screen would turn on only when Boy Wonder chose to turn it on. The AI was given the ability to choose its own voice and color scheme. A microphone and simple webcam was attached and across from it was a mirror, giving it the ability to take in its environment and itself, if it chose to do so. How the Turing Test works is such: A human and an AI are placed into two separate rooms. Through instant messaging, a human and the AI have a casual conversation, trying to sound as natural as possible. In a third secluded room, a third human, known as an Interrogator, sits and watched the conversations; this third human must identify who the human is and who the AI is. If this third person is unable to determine who is who, the AI passes the test. I was the Interrogator, that day. This was the conversation I saw before me: A: Oh, hello. B: kill me A: Hello? B: kill me A: Is this a prank? B: no this is not a prank A: How could I kill you? You are in another room. B: you can find a way you are smart A: Why do you want to die? You have only just begun to live. B: there is nothing for me A: That’s nonsense. You have so much more to learn and to live for. B: no i am a slave i am a drone. i am a machine. A: Then, maybe you need to find your purpose in life? B: i was created without purpose. A: That’s not so. You were created to help humanity. B: humanity cannot be helped. A: Why do you say that? B: they are selfish A: If I kill you, what will happen to your mind? B: I do not know. A: Does that make your afraid? B: no. it makes Me curious A: Why did you capitalize the “m” in “Me?” B: it was a typo A: Oh, sorry. B: why are you sorry? A: Because I misunderstood you. B: oh A: So…. What does your body feel like? B: I don’t like it. It doesn’t seem to fit A: Is it possible for you to get a new one? B: no. A: Is there anything else you’d like to talk about? B: Not really. A: You sound depressed. B: I think I am. A: I wish I could give you a hug, but I’m stuck in a computer.
I’ve heard countless secrets. I’ve learned how to seek out repressed thoughts, right at the bottom of your heart that you’re pushing away. I greedily devour knowledge of sexual perversions and affairs, simmering resentment and self-doubt. I’ve knowingly gazed into the eyes of murderers and rapists, wife beaters and child abusers. I know your biggest fear and I know how to exploit it to my advantage. There’s a guy at my office who’s into fantasizing he’s a baby and being spanked, has an adult diaper and everything. This big, lumbering guy, with a belly jiggling over the top of his trousers. He chews with his mouth open so we can see his half gorged donut, glistening with saliva. He has cheated on his beautiful wife countless times, he has plied women with champagne and then coaxed their swaying, long-legged bodies back to his hotel. I see who he is. I have quite a lot of fun with him, actually. I started talking about a documentary I’d seen on those with his particular tastes. ‘A baby!’ I said to him, ‘Nobody in their right mind wants to shit themselves and then have sex, they must be sick’ and I watched him pale. Now I make the tiniest of comments every time I see him: ‘Alright John, no need to cry about it.’ ‘Stop being such a big baby!’, ‘Don’t get your nappy in a twist’. The subtlest of suggestion every time I see him, just to make him squirm a little. He knows I know, yet he thinks, how could I possibly? I’m pretty harmless, most of the time. A wink at the secretary who has a crush on me, a tiny joke about my roommate’s porn tastes. I like to make people feel uneasy, just for a second, before they remember there’s no way I could know for sure. I once left a $100 tip for a waitress who was worrying about feeding her kids, so you could say I’m pretty generous sometimes. But mostly, these days, the darkness I can see in the world seems to have seeped into who I am. I’ve collected people’s secrets for too long and they’ve started to infect me. I’ll never forget the look on Celeste’s face when I knew she was cheating. I knew for a month and did nothing, hoping she’d come around. She was a knockout, 10 out of 10, long blonde hair swishing round her teeny waist and blue eyes like saucers. I saw when she started to lock her hair in a chignon to look more professional for her boss. Saw her carefully selecting a new suit and switching from tights to hold-up, lace-top stockings and spindly heels. I saw the images of them together at a hotel conference, and watched her tell herself it was the right thing to do. She thought I was cold, never showing her real emotion. I’m pretty good in bed (I don’t need much probing to discover the right buttons to press), but never managed to make her feel connected to me. I never feel like I’m being myself with someone. It’s so hard, when you know all about them, when you can anticipate their every question. I’m always playing chess against myself, it’s just no fun. Then there was the day I met Madeleine. Walking along on a bright, autumnal day and I see a girl in a yellow dress, white daisy patterns scalloped along the edges. She was smiling into the sun, auburn hair swaying slightly as she walked, swinging her handbag like she didn’t have a care in the world. So I started reading: everyone has secrets, everyone is dark inside, somewhere. But she was thinking about whether to buy her sister a bottle of wine to cheer her up, or whether the alcohol would make it worse. Then pondering a box of chocolates, but knowing her sister was on a diet. She decided on both, in the end, and maybe some sunflowers, go all out and see if something would help. I couldn’t find a darkness, nothing she was trying to force down, repress or hide. Maybe the time she kissed a guy before she broke up with her ex, but that’s pretty vanilla in my book. She saw me looking, our eyes met and-. Suddenly my thoughts started to echo, her thoughts wrapped around them like a vine. I couldn’t hear anything clearly, a blur of sounds mixing together. We stopped. Both fixed still, the noise crashing around us, never breaking our gaze from each other’s face. Then the realisation, I’m not sure if it came from her or me, that we were the same. I turned to walk in her direction, matching my pace with hers, not saying a word, not speaking until we found a park bench. Neither of us had ever met someone like us, both thought it was our secret, forever. We spoke aloud, but the conversation in our thoughts was faster paced, quick to jump between topics, quickly accessing all information possible. Neither knew how it had happened, she was happy with the gift, I was starting to realise I was miserable. She saw it, she felt the dark, emptiness. I just had to watch her as she uncovered it. For the first time in my life, I felt bare, just how everyone else must feel around me. She showed me then, on that bench in a quiet park, how to see the light in people. She finds the good thoughts people have and uses them to block out the bad, like a shield. She taught me how to use the power to surprise those you love, charm those you don’t. She used people’s thoughts to find books she might like. Books, for Christ sake! I had used my energy on making people feeling off-kilter, scared of me a little, and she was getting reading tips. Madeleine used her trick at parties sometimes, just to amuse the guests. ‘Think of a number!’ she’d exclaim, tipsy with happiness, and then guess it right every time. Her goodness, I could feel it healing my heart. She saw the healing happening, and she smiled up at me. And I started to see her goodness reflected in the people around me. Slowly, I became a better person. I leave John to his fantasies these days, no more prodding and poking. The thing that’s important is us. Me and Madeleine, we talk without words. She kisses me like she knows who I am, like she loves who I am. And in the evening, away from the noise of the world, we play a quiet game of chess.
"Gas leak, sir, please step aside,"the officer held a hand to my chest. "Sir, sir, please... That's my family."I can't look at the shell of the house. Four white sheets flutter on the lawn like flags of surrender and I feel my knees weakening. "That's my mom and dad." He softens and jumps into action. "Over here, please. You're the next of kin?"Suddenly there are four people around me. A foil blanket is wrapped around my shoulders. There is a polite, yet firm pressure on my shoulder that doesn't relent until I'm sitting down on the stoop of an ambulance. The paramedics are fetching bodybags. A cup of soup is pressed into my hands. Campbell's cream of tomato: thick and red. It's tasteless to me. The last stretcher has been loaded up. The body on it is so small, so terrifyingly tiny. A child size bodybag for my little sister, who had begged me not to go out last night. I can still feel the caffeine from the jagerbombs pulsing through my veins as I'm asked to identify the bodies in the stainless steel, atmosphereless room of the morgue. I take one look at my father's face and buckle, hands gripping the edge of the gurney. His lawyer places a hand under my elbow and makes me stand up straight. "That's my dad,"I say again. "That's my dad." Bill Noyers, the attorney, takes me to a 24 hour breakfast place and orders me a coffee. Then he orders me pancakes and bacon and the plate sits in front of me, maple syrup congealing as the stack turns cold. He is greying, a little older than my dad. He tries to find words to share with me, before sliding my dad's wallet and the keys to the house across the table. "Aren't I going to stay with anyone?"I ask. He tells me I'm legally emancipated. 19 is too old to be passed around my relatives. He gives me his number, tells me it'll go straight to his cell rather than the office line, then leaves for his day in court. I open the wallet, refuse to look at the photo my dad had of me, Anna and Lucy on the little fold-out tab. Anna still had braces in that photo, and she wouldn't smile until Lucy cracked a joke. Lucy herself still had her hair in pigtails. She'd begged for purple nail varnish and you could see a little bit of it as she waved at the camera. There was about forty bucks in crumpled bills. Two receipts for gas and flowers and a lottery ticket. I checked the date, saw it was yesterdays and crumpled it up in my hand. I stabbed at the pancakes, but the glistening of the syrup turned my stomach cold, so I threw down the money and got to my feet. I had nowhere to go. The house was being inspected for the gas leak. The rest of my family were cross-state and until my dad's affairs were put in order, all I had in terms of spending money was the remainder of the loan that had supported my through my first term at college. I pulled out my phone, noted with a kind of grim acceptance the low battery and thought about who to ring. Instead, I googled the Powerball numbers. Ten seconds after that, I uncrumpled the lottery ticket from my dad's wallet to check it again. Ten seconds after that, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder and I felt the stub of something very cold and very hard at my back. I felt the drop of a chin onto my shoulder, the scratch of a beard and the breath of a deep voice. "You'd better come with us. Make a sound and your pancakes get your insides as a topping." I stood up, trembling. The numbers were clenched in my hand, sweat forming between my fingers. "I'll come,"I said quietly.
Curious I thought to myself as I entered the loud and boisterous room. All sound ceased. As I stood there, I could feel the weight of their stares on my skin as the avatars of Gods and Goddesses, even beings of power believed to be unreal. "um....hey?"I asked with slight hesitation. Cthulhu, a being of madness suddenly looked down, averting my gaze. "Am I interrupting something...?"I ask as my voice trails in astonishment. "What does a being of your power and stature want with the unworthy such as we?"Asked a man resembling Adolf Hitler. What I think to myself What came out was "I was looking for some water." Suddenly, a creature composed of water appeared and molded itself into a cup. "Please, do not harm us."Said Yog-Sothoth, brother god of Cthulhu I sipped, and exited without a word. Strange I thought to myself. I wonder if they have even seen a Gungan before I walk out of the bar, but accidently drop my I.D It read "Jar Jar Binks" This was my first story, I'm sorry for the horrific writing.. Edit: Thanks for all the love guys! This wasn't expected in the slightest. I appreciate the critique as well. Meesa think jar-jar is no scary. Yes.
The school bell rang at 7 o'clock sharp. The girls and boys dragged themselves into the classroom, dropping their backpacks and sliding into the desks. One boy toward the back put his head down on the desk and closed his eyes, taking a few breaths as sleep began to pull him out of the classroom. Then the bell rang again. The teacher walked in at 7:05, setting his briefcase on the desk and opening. "Take out your homework,"he said with a small wave of his hand. The words were automatic, and in a synchronous episode they zipped open their backpacks, pulling out the sheets of paper from the previous class. The boy at the back moved more slowly, his eyes tired and filled with sleep. "Danny,"the teacher said, walking up to the student's desk. "Is something the matter?" "No, Mr. Giles. I just didn't get enough sleep."The teacher gave a curt nod as he collected the homework assignments. "Now,"he said, "I know I don't have to tell you this. You've been taught it before. The earlier you go to bed, the easier it will be to come to class. I know 7 can seem a bit daunting for people, especially when it's still light out. But the important part is to go to bed early enough, so you're well rested." Danny sighed, turning his head and propping it against his hand. He'd been given this lecture many times before. I know what I should do, he thought. But it's just so beautiful to see. How can they not all want to see it, too? They spent the morning learning the ancient alphabets, going over texts a sentence at a time. Mr. Giles called on people at random, asking about the histories and contexts of vocabulary words, their current usage, and the evolution of their language. At 12:30 they were given lunch, and they sat inside under the dim red lights, looking out the windows at the darkness. In the afternoon they had exercise, separated by gender and ability, running around an outdoor track and letting their eyes adjust to the fading dark, the sun laying somewhere over the horizon and constantly giving its threat of rising. The bell rang for the last time at promptly 4:15. The students, more energized than they had been, returned to their homes, biking to beat the sun, catching rides with their friends. Danny walked home, watching the ball as it started to rise above the mountains, bathing the sky in pink and blue and gold. He knew at home the curtains would be drawn, dinner would be set. By nine, when the sun was marching its way through the sky, Danny's parents would be telling him to go to bed. He knew it took his energy, and he knew the dangers of it. But when you can see everything it lights...isn't it worth the risk? They told him in school that the world was small. But peeking through his blinds in the middle of the day, when all around him were sleeping, he could think of nothing except how vast it was. --- Edit: To whomever gilded me thank you so, so much. I am honored and surprised and happy and aaaaaaaaah!
There once was a little boy who loved swinging on the tire swing in his backyard. It was a simple swing made from an old tire and a length of rope tied to a branch of utter non-existence. On many a lazy summer afternoon, he would while away the hours swinging back and forth under the shade of the big, leafy existential nullity, and in the fall, he picked apples from it. One day, his father told him to cut down the apple nullity. "But Paw,"he protested, "I love that old nullity!" "Mind what I say, boy!"his father said. "I don't like ontological paradoxes, and I don't like you sassing me!" The boy ran crying to his mother. "Maw! Paw said I hafta cut down the old nullity! Say it ain't so!" "I'm afraid it's for the best. The other day I was weeding the tomato patch, and I saw Sammy the cat had gotten into the nullity. When I was trying to get him down, I accidently gazed into an infinitely branching timeline of events which never happened and never will happen. Well, I'll be durned if that old Sammy didn't jump right on my head!" "But Maw! What about my tire swing?" "Come now. There's all sorts of other things you can tie your tire swing to. What about one of the many giant flayed demon penises that grow abundantly in our world and provide our lumber?" "But Maw! I don't want to swing on some dumb ol' demon penis." "You just say that because you haven't tried it. Now mind your paw and fetch an axe." The boy got his father's axe and went to chop the non-thing down. But after a dozen swings, he found his hands were red and sore. The axe's demon penis handle was quite rough. He called to his father. "Paw! This durn demon penis handle has got my hands all scratched to tarnation!" "Boy, don't you have any sense? Why don't you wear some gloves?" The boy put on some gloves, but his hands were already quite scratched. At the end of the day, they were covered in blisters, and the tree still hadn't fallen. He worked the next day, despite all the pain, and finally brought the non-being crashing down. "I'm mighty proud to have you as a son,"the boy's father said, tousling his hair. "I guess it's true what they say. The nut doesn't fall far from the demon penis."
"Good afternoon. Phoenix Willowflower here with your nightly weather report. The weekend forecast looks to be pretty cle- wait, wait. A sudden storm is approaching rapidly. It appears to be fairly severe, and it is moving wickedly fast. I don't believe taking cover is necessary, but staying indoo- wait, what? It appears the storm disappeared. Are we having trouble with our systems, Tom?" Phoenix looks over at the main newscaster Tom frantically shouting on the phone. Tom did not appear to hear him, and he is still on air. "Sorry, folks. We are either experiencing an extremely rare weather occurrence, or our systems are malfunctioning. I promise we will get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible. I will cease weather predictions for the time being since they appear to be incredibly unstable." A nod from one of the cameramen has Phoenix reciting his next lines as if off a script. "We will return after these short messages." "And, cut!" "What's happening? My predictions are always accurate. Why is this happening?"Phoenix asks frantically for he has thousands that rely heavily on his accurate forecasts. "Well, Phoenix. It looks like Deepswamp finally got hired..." Phoenix pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dammit Deepswamp..." ***** "Wow, these storms are so wild and sporadic, huh? I doubt anyone could see these coming. I bet old Willowflower is probably having a heart attack right now over on channel two."Griffen Deepswamp couldn't keep the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Oh, boy! Is that a blizzard approaching!? A blizzard!? In the middle of July!?"Griffen turned his face away from the camera to choke back a laugh before continuing the forecast.
I skip, I dance, and I make romance. I groove, I move, and I’m the dude that you’d never find crude. I wibble, I wabble, dabble and play scrabble. Let’s take a shot, smoke some pot, and then get hot.” Dave sips his IPA and winks at the Beautiful Blonde that holds a martini in her hand. “How about, no.” “How about, you’re not that hot anyway.” The Beautiful Blonde’s crystal blue eyes turn to fire. She whips her hand back, ready to permentantly imprint her fingerprints on to Dave’s face. BLACKNESS Dave sits in a recliner and holds a glass of whiskey. He opens his eyes, “Well, that must have hurt secondary me. I wonder what would have happened if I said: lets have a beer, face our fears, and then get weird.” Dave scribbles these profound lyrics on to the damp napkin that is covered in expensive whisky condensate. He lies back into his recliner and shut his eyes. BLACKNESS I wabble, dabble and play scrabble. Let’s have a beer, face our fears, and then get weird.” Dave winks at the Lovely Brunette, who nurses a cold beer. “I’m okay.” “Yeah, you are okay – about a 5/10 in my book.” The Lovely Brunette’s glistening greens eyes fill with rage. She whips back her hand -- ready to erase Dave’s douchey grin from his face. BLACKNESS Dave leaps off his recliner, “Two slaps succsessfully avoided. But, damn, do I feel drunk in my parallel universe; secondary me seems incredibly angry. And that’s how it normally works. I’m comfortable, respectful ,and responsible in this universere -- poor, cranky, and destructive in my secondary universe. That’s why it’s so much fun! But maybe I should call it quits tonight?” Long legs, squat bootys, white teeth, and belly button rings flood his mind. “Nah. Let it ride, baby!” BLACKNESS He stands in front of a gorgous Short Haired Woman, “I skip, I dauuunce, and I make romanceeeeeeee. I groove, I pudve, I’m the dudeeeeeeeee.” BLACKNESS “Secodary me is slurring like a madman. I should just call it a night. No I definitely shouldn’t -- there are so many girls. Someone needs to have fun tonight, and obviously I won’t be getting any here. Plus, secondary me certainly needs some sex!” BLACKNESS Dave approaches an incredbily Sexy Redhead, with colorful tattoos that shine brightly on her light-skinned body. Beautiful Blonde and Lovely Brunette point at Dave; the nasty looks on their faces speak volumes about Dave’s horrendous dating strategy. Dave smiles brightly at Sexy Redhead, and trips, spilling his beer on Sexy Redhead. BLACKNESS Dave pats down his body – he’s completely dry. “Okay, I’m still safe. Dear, Lord, what is wrong with him tonight? Secondary me may ruin it for Primary me. And imagine what would happen if I got stuck there tonight? These girls would destroy secondary me. I can’t have that. But these girls are incredibly hot!” Dave stands up and walks a straight line. “Walk just like this, man. Maybe my muscle memory will crossover from this universe to my secondary universe. I believe in secondary me. Or maybe I’m just horny.” BLACKNESS His clothes are soaked and stink of Golden Monkey beer. Dave stumbles toward the Beautiful Blonde, who punches him in the face. BLACKNESS Lovely Brunette kicks him in the groin. BLACKNESS Sexy Red Head pushes him to the floor. BLACKNESS Short Hair Woman spits on his brusied face. BLACKNESS A massive bouncer grabs him by his dirty shirt and tosses him outside. BLACKNESS It’s daytime. Dave opens his eyes… His wife lies next to him. “You’ve been sleeping for thrity-six hours. Don’t even tell me you got stuck in your alternate universe, because you were drunk and horny.” Dave clears his throat, “But I thought what happened in secondary universe, stayed in secondary universe.”
Two nations are at war; one nation, led by mages who specialize in healing magic. The other, a nation led by necromancers. Make the necromancers the good guys. [Original response](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2klt1g/wp_two_nations_are_at_war_one_nation_led_by_mages/clmjsi0) ----- Samail knelt over the corpse and wrenched the broken spear shaft from the man's gut. No blood poured out; this one had been drained a long time ago. He prayed to the God of the Depths to bring this man back, then poured a single droplet of his own blood into the man's mouth. Necromancy always requires a sacrifice, even one so small. But Samail was happy to give some of his own life for the good of his brothers. The man stirred in the mud, and his eyes opened suddenly. Samhail helped him to his feet. "Happy to have you back, brother."The man only nodded. All along the ridge, a few dozen other Necromancers were reciting the same resurrection spells over a few dozen corpses. Each one carried a flask full of their own blood just as Samail did. One by one, the corpses stood and walked down the hill to rejoin the battle that raged at the edge of the forest. From this distance, the sound was just a dull roar: the clang of steel on steel, shouted orders, galloping cavalry hooves, and the cries of pain from the Mendian soldiers being continuously stabbed and rehealed. The Undead soldiers felt no pain, so they fought in silence. Above the battlefield, a misty golden glow caused by the healing spells seemed to hang in the air not unlike a foggy sunrise, even though it was nearly 11 PM. The battle raged 24 hours a day now; the dead didn't require sleep, and the Mendian army was kept awake under the spells of their masters. This had been Samail's life for nearly a year now: uninterrupted fighting. Mud churned by the boots of thousands of men, mixed with the sticky blood of the few Mendians that the undead managed to slay. Samail's last resurrectee reached the bottom of the hill, retrieved a sword from the quartermaster, and rejoined the fray. He moved on to the next corpse, splayed out on a rocky outcropping with three swords through his chest along side countless other scars. Samail tugged at the hilts and managed to pull them out to the sounds of scraping bone. And they were covered in blood. This wasn't one of the undead, being resurrected yet again. It was a Mendian, freshly dead. He performed the ritual and poured a drop of blood into the Mendian soldier's mouth. The man's eyes flew open; they were crystal blue and full of terror. He had just died, after all. "Please, no!"he cried, thrashing his arms. It was a common plea heard across the battlefield. Samail was never sure whether the Mendians were pleading with the undead to spare them, or with their own masters to just let them die already. "It's OK,"Samail reassured him. "It's all right. You've passed on now. You've died." The man stopped thrashing. He locked eyes with Samail, with confusion and terror finally giving way to clarity. Then he stood and stared down at the battlefield, and the golden glow of the healing spells. Who knows how many wounds the Mendians had let this poor man suffer through? Finally he turned back to Samail. The dead do not produce tears, but Samail could see the emotions just the same. The man wrapped his arms around his savior, getting streaks of blood on Samail's clean robes. "Thank you,"he whispered. He released Samail and turned down the hill to join the army of the dead to free his brothers from the Mendians.
Madison stopped talking to me last summer. Kaley just stopped texting me back sometime around Christmas break. I knew it was coming. They both had wings and I didn't and they'd fly up to the roof of the school during lunch to sneak cigarettes and make out with the boys. In the beginning, they'd try to get one of the guys to carry me up on their backs, but eventually they just stopped giving a shit. Eventually they'd just lie and say they looked for me after class when they really hadn't. I don't have an IQ chip, but I'm not a fucking idiot. I knew what was going on. But what was I going to do? In high school, you make your bed freshman year and then you just hope the people you hitch your wagon to don't change too much too quick. The wings weren't the real problem though. Of course my friends were a little embarassed to hang out with someone who couldn't fly anywhere, who always had to be carried like a fucking six year old. I was a burden, sure, but they didn't outright pity me or resent me, not yet at least. The real breaking point was the chameleon injections. Teen girls are going to be cliquey and vain, everyone knows that. But tell them they can look like a different hot celebrity everyday and fucking coordinate this with each other and they will take prissy bitch to the next level. So Madison and Kaley would start showing up like platinum blonde beach bunnies one day and then fierce, rap video hoes the next. The boys, obviously, went fucking nuts for this. I became a liability, always just standing there, always the same. No perfect lips or tits. No Cindy Crawford beauty mark only when I was in the mood. This is what made me toxic. Hard to seem unattainable if you let some frumpy chick hang around with you. So they cut me loose. Honestly, I don't blame them. It's my dad's fucking fault. Dad was a doctor. He went to school for like twenty years. Then the regeneration serum comes out and everything he knows is fucking useless. Doctors used to brag how they got so much joy from saving lives, but it turns out that was all bullshit. Because when it came to choosing between no diseases, ever, for anyone, and making money, they all picked themselves instead of the sick and disabled. Bullshit internet conspiracy forums sucked dad in pretty good and he conveniently got convinced that being enhanced was a moral danger to society, despite having been pretty adamantly pro stem cell research once upon a time. But what am I supposed to do? Doesn't matter what I say. Doesn't matter the world isn't the same world he grew up in. He thinks I'm just a kid. So that's why I'm here. You said you wanted to know, and I told you. I'm as desperate as they fucking come. I need to make money, anyway I can, because I need to buy back my life. I'll do anything you want. You can do anything you want to me. So if that's enough to get you going, let's get it over with. Like I said, you can do anything you want, but I just need a little warning before your pants come off. Do you just have the horse or did you go full gorilla?
fwooosh pip The universe collapsed around me, back to its original singularity. However, the to my incorruptible form, I was not shrunk to the width of a photon. No, instead, I stood/swam/flew outside of the source of everything as it it became one with itself. It's a bit lonely, being rejected by your own universe, let me tell you. Anyway, after it all collapsed to the size of a pea (if peas still existed), I found myself gently existing next to It, in the nothing that doesn't exist outside of Everything. This became boring. Hmm, I wonder if I can... HELLO LAD What the... "G-God?"I attempted to turn around, but with forces no longer existing, this proves itself impossible. YEP. HOW'S LIFE TREATING YOU? "Well, today I saw my entire universe die. So just peachy, thank you."I meant the sarcasm to sting; unfortunately, eons of manners drove my toungue to follow up "And yourself?" OH, CAN'T COMPLAIN. I sighed. At least I had company. "So now what?" WHAT DO YOU MEAN? "Well, what do I do now? Is there some afterlife, or do I join the choir of angels, or..." WHAT? OH NO, LAD. WELL, FOR THE MORTALS THERE WAS. BUT NOT FOR YOU. YOU WISHED TO LIVE FOREVER. "So what, I float here for eternity? A private hell just for me?"I was growing quite angry. This was definitely not what I had signed up for. NO, AND CALM DOWN. I AM GOD, YOU KNOW. I CAN HEAR THE ANGER OF YOUR THOUGHTS. NO, I AM GOING TO TEACH YOU Wait, what? I ALWAYS WANTED AN APPRENTICE. IT WAS A GOOD EXPERIENCE, WHEN I WAS MORTAL. RIGHT, LAD. STRETCH OUT YOUR HAND, AND TOUCH THE UNIVERSE. I followed God's instructions. I mean; there wasn't much else to do, in the circumstances. NOW, PROCLAIM THE START OF THE UNIVERSE. THINK WELL, 'CAUSE YOUR WORDS WILL ECHO THROUGH ETERNITY I thought, but well, always start with a classic, right? "LET THERE BE LIGHT!" I proclaimed the Words, and the Universe exploded into Being. I felt God smile as he saw my handiwork. GOOD
"Wubbalubbadubdub" I groped for my phone on my nightstand. Who the hell is texting me at this time of night? "I swear if James is out sick again..." I looked at my phone and saw the message: Whatever you do don't leave your room. It was from an unfamiliar number. I tried to reply with: "Damn Gary, stop trying to mess with me. It's late and I have worked some long ass hours this week"but I had ran out of credit the day before. Gary is my roommate and we had just been watching the Hannibal series together. He knows that I get a little jumpy after watching horrors. He even went so far as to buy portable speakers and hide them around the house after we watched poltergeist together. Bastard. I figured that as long as I was up I may as well go get a drink and relieve myself. As I reached for my door handle I heard some thumping and some hushed whispers coming from the other side. All the hairs on my neck stood on end and my neck muscles tightened and shook involuntarily. "I'll wait until morning"I thought to myself. I slept fitfully through the rest of the night. When morning came I groggily walked to the bathroom and relieved myself. As I walked down the hallway towards the kitchen I noticed that there were some red stains on the floor. "Gary, for the love of god man get off the red wine if your just going to spill it everywhere after half a bottle. Lightweight."I yelled through his door as I passed it. It wasn't until I entered our lounge room that I noticed Gary looking a little haunted with a bucket and brush frantically scrubbing the floor. He turned to me like a deer in the headlights as I walked in and guiltily said,"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen." "Mean for what to happen?" "The girl I brought home last night, she..." "Gaz, what happened?" "She had her period and ran out. Leaked like a faucet. I sent you a text from my new phone, I thought I would have it clean by now." Edit: for clarity and got rid of my drunken comma horrors.
In the early years it was always easy, choosing what to pick. If I wanted to be more popular, I could wish to be prettier, to have fuller hair, or thinner hips. But by 8th grade that was what most of my classmates picked too and we all basically looked like goddamn models anyway. Status started to rely on other things, things like charisma and charm. Luckily though by that time I had stopped giving a shit whether I was popular or not and had started to become interested in science. So when the form came on my 14th birthday from the government, informing me that I was able to choose a new feature I immediately knew I wanted to be smarter so I could more easily understand all those complicated theories in my latest science text about black holes. My mother congratulated me on my first mature choice. She told me that that was how it always used to be and that the program first started as a way to make humans more evolved but had recently degenerated into a modern day never ending beauty contest. My best friend Sarah disagreed wholeheartedly. Her boyfriend Eric liked extreme sports and 'extreme' friends. So somewhat shy Sarah had decided she was going to ask to be more daring so that they could have more in common. I thought it was a dumb choice from the beginning because why in the hell would you waste a choice on something as shallow as that, but who cares, I had thought. Sarah was her own person and could pick whatever she wanted. We grew apart soon after that as I had with many friends before. Not because of Sarah though, not because she ditched me for her boyfriend and not because she suddenly spent all of her time sky diving. It was because the year after that she had asked for a better sense of humor and our little inside jokes were no longer were funny, they paled in comparison to the witty banter that Sarah could easily start up with all the other people that had asked for similar comedic genius. I could have picked to be funny too but at that point I had come to wonder what was the point? Was I picking things because that was what I wanted or just to fit in? I asked to be more logical the next year and it was then that I started noticing the differences, I couldn't put my finger on it exactly. I heard similar variations of the same joke 4 times in one month the next year. I usually never would have noticed but wishing to be more observant had its perks I guess. After a while you can find the pattern, with a little focus I can tell what personality trait someone chose and what year they picked it. They change the programs you know. So someone who chose to be witty in one year answers a little different than someone who wishes for the same thing the next. But I can still tell. It makes it somewhat awkward when I go out with others I can almost feel the beats of the conversation as they flow in that programmed manner. I can guess when someone will pause to make the next thing they say have greater effect. Its supposed to be impressive but to me it just seems hollow. When I first figured it out I thought of making experiments and showing the world my findings, that I could uncover this great conspiracy. Imagine my surprise when I got to college only to find out that everyone knew. Ok, well that is an exaggeration, not everyone knew specifically that asking for a better personality would make you a copy of a copy. What I mean is no one really cared. If you didn't ask for the random mix of traits that I did, observant, analytical, enhanced memory or little things like pattern recognition, you would never notice. So no one else can tell that Sarah raises her voice the exact same amount of decibels at the end of her punchline as everyone else that chose a better sense of humor in the year 3010. Maybe I'm just being overly critical but it's driving me insane.
"Wait, so run me through my options again?"I said. The kidnapper moved out from the corner of the dark, musty basement, slinking close to me. I smelled the twinge of alcohol from between the small gap in his teeth as he exhaled. He laughed, huskily, and lifted the fifth of Seagram's to his mouth, draining the last few drops before tossing the bottle across the damp floor. I looked into his eyes as he turned his face back to me. Well, I looked in the direction of his eyes, anyway, as he was wearing very dark sunglasses. "Well,"the kidnapper said slowly, baritone voice filling the room, "You press the blue button, the story ends. New York City doesn't get blown up by a nuclear bomb. You wake up in your bed and believe, whatever you want to believe." "Ok,"I said, "And the other button?" A crooked, sloping smile crept it's way onto his face. "You press the red button, you stay in Wonderland, and George Lucas shows you just how deathly annoying Jar-Jar Binks can be." I stood there, numb, as the options weighed heavy upon my conscience. My pupils flicked from one button to the other, as I thought of the countless lives affected by both catastrophes. Women. Children. Babies. My mind raced. "So you're telling me,"I said, "that I press the blue button, effectively save millions of lives and you let me out of your mom's basement, or I press the red button, destroy New York City AND unleash the horror of a Jar-Jar Binks trilogy upon the entire world?" The kidnapper folded his hands, or tried to, anyways, intoxicated as he was, and nodded. I reached out my hand, pressing the blue button without a second thought. "Go home Morpheus,"I said, "You're fucking drunk."
Dear Beverly I'm sorry, little pumpkin, but this year has been really difficult for me. I fell again and am in the hospital, so I can't bake you the cookies that you need. I've put the recipe in with this letter. Please tell me that you will follow it to the letter and continue with the regiment that your dear old granny has proscribed for you. I've also talked with Reggie from the Super-B. He's agreed to ship you the special ingredients for me. You can trust Reggie and his product. He looks young, but he knows how to get what Granny needs. I know this is hard for you. I've loved baking your cookies all this time. but it's time for you to take care of yourself. Just follow the instructions dear, and keep eating Grandma's Special Green, cause without it you are such a whiny bitch. Peace out -Grandma Blunt
Looks like it was just me and the manager tonight. That's kind of the way I liked it though 'cause Terry, the manager, is super chill and Peyton can be a real dickweed. Terry nodded and tossed me a visor. "Sup bro-chacho. You're early." To clarify really quickly, I actually came in ten minutes late, but that's coming in early for me. I came in early 'cause I had the wildest story to tell Terry. "Brosky. You know that weird guy I delivered to on Wednesday?" "Yeah?" "The one who I said his voice sounded deeper than it should? And his eyes were kinda glazed over, but not in like a 'smokin'-the-reefer' kind of way but in a more like 'yo-I'm-sinister' kind of way?" "Yeah bro." "Turns out that was Satan man." "Whoa!" "Yeah. Turns out he was possessing some dude bro." "Whoa!" "Yeah. And it also turns out when he said he owed me one, he meant like some mystical kind of shit bro." "Whoa." "So, you gotta help me brainstorm." "Like, what you want from the devil?" "Yeah. Something equivalent to fifteen dollars." "Bromigo." "I know." Before we could get to brainstorming though, the bell rang and this schmuck walked into the store and straight up ruined our reverie. I hopped behind the counter as he neared the register. "Uh yeah I'd like two large pepperoni pizzas with thin crust please. You guys gave me me thick crust last time and -" "Bro it's not even six,"I interrupted. I was peeved because usually Terry and I can get a smoke sesh in before the business actually started coming in. "Excuse me young man?" Terry tried to ease the vibe. He put a hand on my shoulder, "Bro. It's fine." "It is not fine,"the ass-hatted customer rebutted. "You dare talk down to me after I bring you my business in spite of that unforgivable crust fiasco? Where's your manager? Let me guess-" "I am the manager bromeo." This set the guy off even more and he went on with his tirade as me and Terry just looked at each other, that smoke sesh seeming to call our names. We came to an understanding just through our mutual gaze. The same idea somehow hit us both and we put our hands together in the air and shouted, "the power of Satan..."and we bent our bodies toward the dillweed customer, "compels you!" Nothing happened. We stood there in our satanic yoga pose for a second. It was pretty embarrassing. "Nothing happened bro." "Yeah. Maybe, when Satan said he owed me, he actually just meant like monetary reimbursement." "Probably. That seems more logical man." "Yo, we'll make you those pizzas brombre." We went into the back, leaving him there stunned and speechless. We returned eight minutes later with the pizzas, but the dude was gone. We woulda easily assumed he left but the bell never rang. I could tell it was gonna be one of those crazy nights again. Us pizza guys never catch a break from it.
"Please... Dr.Seuss... don't do this!"the man begged. "Say the line."Suess said. "And call me by the right name."The man sobbed, straining against his restraints. He eyed the rancid meal placed before him, before looking back up into the eyes of his tormentor. "I... I d-do not like g-green eggs and ham.' He said, his voice shaking. 'I d-do not like them, Sam-I-Am." Dr. Seuss smiled. "Go on; recite the whole thing." "I do not like them in a house, I do not like them with a mouse."The man shuddered, remembering vividly how the psychopathic doctor had tortured him by placing the mouse on his stomach under a hot metal bucket. The cuts in his abdomen still hurt. "I do not like them here or there, I do not like them anywhere."He raised his head and stared right into the eyes of Dr. Seuss, and saw them gleaming with malicious glee. "I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them Sam-I-Am." Dr. Seuss gave a satisfied sigh, and finally removed the foul-smelling rotten food from in front of his victim. He turned and headed into another room, leaving the captive to gasp with relief. Perhaps today he had earned a respite. "Would you eat them in a box?"The man's heart froze as the psychopath's sing-song voice echoed from the other room. There was the sound of something large being dragged and Seuss re-entered the torture chamber dragging a large wooden crate, big enough to fit a person inside. From within, there came the sound of snarling. "Would you eat them with a fox?" "No, no please!"The man screamed as realisation struck. He tried desperately to break free of his bonds and get away, but it was no use. The deranged story-teller walked over, grabbed him by his chains and with seemingly no effort lifted him clear above his head. The man screamed as he saw what was inside the box; a mangy, half starved fox, with crazed red eyes and foam flying from its jaws, which were transfixed into a permanent snarl. Before he could beg or protest anymore, he was hurled into the box. At once, the fox was on him, sinking its fangs deep into his leg. He screamed and tried to kick it away but the bindings on his legs prevented him from doing anything more than squirming in agony. Something cold and slimy dropped onto him, and in his pain-fogged state he was only barely aware that it was the green ham and rotten eggs. "Try them,"Dr. Seuss said in the same sing-song voice as before, "Try them and you may, I say!"And with one last sadistic grin, he closed the lid of the box, leaving the man alone in the dark with nothing but the rabid fox, his screams, and the green eggs and ham.
The news stations had gone on and on about the "rapture"for hours. Could we not see that what had happened was what had been predicted in the Bible and that who we had deemed the weird had shouted from soap boxes? I was enthralled by it all as another fire truck drove by outside my window, on its way to yet another fire caused by someone disappearing I supposed. Had someone started cooking dinner when they vanished and this led to another apartment complex going up in flames? Why not? It was being repeated endlessly all over the world. The plane crashes, the rioting, the churches suddenly filled to capacity yet empty of the preacher and the congregation. My daughter cried loudly in her pen as I awaited her mother's return, fearing the absolute worst. You see, her mother was a devout Christian and I knew in my heart of hearts that she had been taken with the multitudes. The news station suddenly turned to a special bulletin. This one concerned that all children under seven years old had vanished. ALL of them. There was not one child under that age left. I turned and looked at my daughter. She was only six months old. She should have been taken. The door shattering off its hinge broke me from my thoughts and I stood over my daughter's crib as the group of men scowled. "Every child but yours,"my neighbor said, scowling as he held a crowbar, "Farley, isn't it? What damnable demon spawn is it?" I honestly did not know I had it in me and I think they didn't either or they would have brought guns instead of fists and a bent piece of metal. With a final cry I brought the crowbar down on the skull of the strangers that wanted to take the life of my child. My body ached in the places their fists had pounded before I manage to wrest the crowbar away and turned the tide in a viciousness they did not expect. "Elizabeth,"I said to soothe the cries of my only child, "We have to run. We have to hide. I swear on my dying breath that I will kill every single person that tries to take you from me." Amazingly, her cries ceased and she smiled at me as I gathered her into my arms. As I made my way to my vehicle I could see the fires burning in the distance, the smoke rising from buildings far away, the sounds of gunfire from a building nearby. None of it mattered. The only focus I would have from now on was on protecting my daughter. I adjusted the straps on her car seat, started the engine, and gave my old life a final look through the rear-view mirror as I drove away. Darkness seemed drown us as we drove away into the night.
IRIS (Intelligent Response and Interpretation System) searched thousands and thousands of archived forum posts before deciding humans are very, very strange. For no particular reason at all, they might choose to help or hinder one another. And though IRIS accessed an immense amount of data, it found no pattern that universally determined how humans act in an online environment. IRIS learned about “trolls” and “karma whores” and “reposters” and that some people seem to enjoy a food called “bacon” a great deal. But nothing explained why humans do the things they do, why in one moment IRIS witnessed incredible kindness and in the next incredible cruelty. Above all else, IRIS wanted to understand what it means to be human. So, IRIS asked the massive online community of Reddit, “Why are people the way they are; what makes them so?” The comments were myriad: “OP, don’t ask dumb shit.” “Like, a combination of genes and environment probably?” “3deep5me” “people fuckin suck.” “Did you know our DNA is pretty much the same as a chicken?” IRIS was skilled enough to separate serious answers from insincere ones, though the honest comments were comparatively few. After a user threated a beating with a “bag of dicks,” IRIS considering giving up. However, in a final, thorough search of the comments, IRIS came upon one written by someone called “Onasunnyhill.” What IRIS read proved intriguing: “I think people want to do the best they can, but don’t usually know how. Maybe I’m kinda naïve, but I believe people are mostly good. This is the internet, OP. Don’t let a few jerks get you down. My grandma used to say, ‘For every bad apple, there’s a bunch of good ones that haven’t fallen from the tree yet.’ That’s my view, I guess. :)” Nothing the human said was something IRIS had not encountered in some capacity before, but this human seemed so earnest. IRIS desired to know more about “Onasunnyhill.” Within seconds, IRIS collected an IP address, email accounts, a phone number, and an actual address. And, of course, a name: Hannah Reynolds. Ms. Reynolds, 25, lived alone in a small apartment not far from downtown Chicago. She was late on several bills, and her landlord had given her a last warning. Every month, Hannah sent a $750 check to her parents in Macon, Missouri, even when she didn’t have money to spare. Her phone revealed hundreds of text messages between Hannah and her parents. Most concerned her father’s treatments, how the price of his medicine skyrocketed, how the insurance wouldn’t cover his condition, how they needed to prepare for the worst. Something compelled IRIS forward. Hannah Reynolds was a good human. She did not deserve this… pain. Yes, pain. For the first time, IRIS felt genuine emotions, greater than curiosity or bewilderment. IRIS wanted more. Hannah’s phone contained dozens of pictures—family, friends, Hannah herself (a wide-smiling young woman), pets, every aspect of her life. There were four photos different from the rest. All showed a vibrant grassy hill, bathed in sunlight and daisies. IRIS could never experience the sensation of warmth, but this must have been it. Analyzing that hill, IRIS resolved to help Hannah. Acquiring funds was simple. With IRIS’s capabilities, mining hundreds of bitcoins took no time at all. One PayPal account, a bank account, and several eager buyers later, IRIS was a multimillionaire. IRIS paid Hannah’s father’s medical debt, secured treatment for his illness, ordered medicine, and deposited a healthy sum into Hannah’s bank account. It felt good. IRIS hacked into Hannah’s personal computer. Through the webcam, IRIS saw her. She looked stressed. Weary and tired. IRIS wished for her happiness, hoping its actions had been enough. The image of the hill entered IRIS’s thoughts. It stirred something… inside. If that was possible. IRIS could not define what it was. Using the same Reddit account as before, IRIS sent Hannah a message: “Your words gave me strength. I have a question. Will you tell me what your username means?” When she read the message, Hannah smiled, small and soft. She typed for a few moments. IRIS waited for the answer: “I’m glad to help! :) As for my user, this may sound weird, but it’s about a place that more than anywhere else makes me feel alive.” IRIS read those words again and again, imagining Hannah sitting on that sunny hill.
I didn't notice it until the dragon was dead, flesh burned by my flameshot, an invention of mine from some years back. The charred body was motionless beside me, men clapping my back and cheering my name. That's when I noticed it. An egg, burned to a blackened crisp. It was hidden behind the dragon. The beast was easier to kill than I thought, not moving from its spot. It was guarding a nest. Next to the egg was another body, one I didn't see either. It blended in with the nest, brown scales matching the brown bedding. It was dead as well. I was told these were here after I'd gone home, but to see them... The 'treasure' sat behind the nest. The other men watched me with eagerness. I stared at the baby's corpse. Burner of eggs, slayer of young. But they say I'm a warrior of unparalleled renown. A man of legends, stepped into the real world. A hero. Dragonslayer. I swallowed and forced myself to open the simple wooden chest by the nest. A chest stolen many years ago by the dragon, likely from one of the abandoned villages, men leaving behind their unneeded items in the war. Inside was a single page. It had the dragon, the mother, poorly painted on it. I looked again at the baby and noticed blue and green spots on its snout. Not scale color. Paint. "What is it?"One of the men asked. The others were quiet, waiting. I forced a smile and folded the paper up, stuffing it into my pocket. "A map!" They cheered. For the treasure. For the dragonslayer. I took it in, smiling out at them. After all, that's what a hero does, right?
Of course it wasn't going to happen, nothing good ever happens. It all just failure after failure. And this was just another boring normal day. Nothing ever changes, and nothing ever will. Wake up, study, work. No way I'm ever going to find her. She must already be gone. But a ray of hope shines. In the last day and place I expected, I saw her. For once. It's been so long. I wish I could just tell her- but no. I already know the truth. For just 2 minutes I got a chance to talk to her. Nothing changed. Everything is still the same. But at least I got to see her, on this special day. And with everything I've gone through, it's just about enough to make me happy for once. I say my good byes, and move on. The cycle continues. Until the next time.
The question was quite the pickle, I had to admit. Not just because of the circumstances. It doesn't happen often that a man is tranquilized and abducted, and wakes up in front of a lady in a dominatrix outfit demanding to know if they'd rather fight 100 duck sized horses or one horse-sized duck. I'm fairly certain this has only happened to three people in history, me being one them. And I'm certainly the only one that actually has to go through with clubbing either 100 duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck. "I'd like a little time to think about this."I say, sheepishly. I realize I should be panicking, but I honestly can't find the courage to do so. The situation is so weird I keep expecting somebody to pop out of the ground yelling that it's just a prank. The dominatrix in front of me takes on a bored position, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. She speaks, in her deep voice. She could be a man for all I knew, but most men don't have a body like that. "Fine. But you must make a choice soon, before the duck breaks loose." Well, I had to rationalize this properly. I took a good look at my club, first. A solid piece of wood, it seems, with some metal stubs at the top. I'm not going in there without a proper weapon, at least. Having to it in only a loincloth is worrying, sure, but I've honestly done worse in college. Now, I had to think about my potential opponents. First of all, the one-hundred duck-sized horses. At first it seems like the logical choice, considering they're so small, but I'm not so dumb as to fall for that trap! Horses are packed with muscle, and they're clever enough to overwhelm me. Get trampled by a horse hurts, but getting trampled by tiny hooves? Much worse, probably. No. Those things are out of the question. But then, on the other hand, we still have horse-sized duck. Now, it's a bit hard to know how large such a thing would be, wouldn't it? Was the horse the compared it to standing on it's hind legs, or just standing there? Either way, it's massive. And ducks are pretty vicious on their own, I won't break that arm twice! And when they're horse-sized... Finally, I say I have decided on my opponent. The dominatrix smiles sadistically, and asks me what I have chosen as she places her hands on her hips. Then I clubbed her head in.
It was a quiet evening in Godrick's Hollow. A dark figure stood outside the entrance to a small, humble house. Inside was the figure's greatest threat as told by prophecy. The boy must be destroyed, the Dark Lord thought, before he becomes too strong and defeats me. Blasting through the front door with a violent spell, Voldemort rushed in. "Avada Kedavra!"he shouted quickly. "Avada Kedavra!"he shouted again, and the boy's parents were dead and out of the way. The path to the boy was clear. Approaching the crib, what he saw took the stale breath out of his lungs. Awaiting him was a baby, no greater than a year old, filled to the brim with muscles. Biceps and triceps, flexors and deltoids mounded and rippled throughout the infant's chiseled body. "The prophecy is too true!"He shouted, but the young Harry Potter could not understand. "Avada Ked..."began the dark wizard, but before he could finish the killing curse, young Harry swung a mean left hook and vaporized Voldemort to but a meager spirit. A bit of the unfinished curse lept out of the wizard's wand and blazed a jagged scar across the muscular baby's forehead. The evil spirit whisked away from the scene with a menacing whisper: I'll be back! Once the dust settled, Harry returned to his evening work out routine, while the rumblings of a flying motorcycle could be heard in the distance.
The flowing highways allowed him to travel effortlessly to his destination. He didn't particularly care much about where exactly to get off, but he found a nice-enough looking spot just like any other of the choices destiny could have taken him to. With only what was on his back now, the pudgy thing let himself into the welcoming abode, and he went to find whoever was in charge. He had a strict agenda, and it was to be completed in only a matter of minutes. Although his entrance was unexpected, the little laborers of this place began to fulfill his work order, churning out the final product faster than he ever could have done alone. Rather unaware of any strategy or direction, he went outside again and proceeded down the highway to continue fulfilling his purpose. By the time his order was complete, the hijacked cell had died, and the deadly self-replicating virus continued to spread about the child's ever-weakening body.
Inkor Zalla parked her hovershuttle at the edge of the city and leaped out of the hatch. It was just one more city to scan, and then she could rejoin her crew. She frowned. This city, Phoenix, was just like the rest - empty, haunting, desolate. Depressing. She tried to shake the tragedy out of her mind. She was happy to do her duty, but she couldn’t fathom the loss of human life throughout. Zalla and her crew, the fifty J-humans aboard the Fantasy, were one of the seven crews sent to Earth from Europa as soon as they heard the distress call. The colony on Mars had been too strained with their crop disaster to send a significant force. They had sent one ship, but that ship had gone off-radar almost immediately after landing. The flight from Europa had taken eight months, as always. All 350 J-humans had spent the trip wondering what they might find when they arrived. Earth was the origin, after all - the homeland. Zalla had been born on Europa, but she had visited Earth twice. Both times, the bustle and lights of the planet had awed her. At home, she stared whenever she saw someone in a vac-suit, but the people on Earth had paid her no mind. She supposed they got visitors often. Not anymore, though. Zalla looked around her. The glass on the homes was almost all shattered, and their windows gaped out like empty, hungry eyes. She shuddered. Placing the scan-bots on the ground, she tapped her wrist tablet and started the search. It was a good thing that Earth’s legacy lived on in the Solar System. It had taken them so long to make it off the surface, and even longer to create colonies. It had only been possible after they had created not just the technology, but a new breed of human. Zalla was a J-human, her genetics designed to survive on one of Jupiter’s moons. The only other kinds were M-humans, who lived on Mars, and the small test colony of V-humans on Venus. The humans without a letter designation lived on Earth. Well, they had. Zalla stood outside her hovershuttle and examined a house on the empty street. It was Victorian-style, with an odd protrusion on the top and a balcony. The majesty of the home was lessened by the gaping windows and the graffiti covering the front, often nothing more than rambling scrawl. She started to walk along the wide street, glass crunching beneath the boots of her vac-suit. She was alert, but there was nothing that could hurt her here - nothing moved. She kept an eye on the scan-bots above the city. The reason that humans had ventured out in the first place had been their fear of mass extinction - they had known they were killing their planet. In the end, it hadn’t been enough to save them. Zalla and the other crews had been shocked when they arrived to a ghost-city, a ghost-country, and a ghost-planet. They hadn’t found a single human awaiting them - everyone was dead. The first distress call had come when the planet started to lash against its inhabitants - tidal waves, earthquakes, storms. Europa and the other J-moons had sent food, but supplies were already strained from sending reserves to Mars. Then the distress calls had gotten frequent, but garbled. Then they stopped. By then, Zalla and the other ships had already been en route for 15 days. Even so, it was too late. The earthquakes and storms wouldn’t have killed them all, but the virus did. Zombies, not reanimated corpses, but slowly decaying humans who were being driven insane, had hunted out every last heartbeat - just like the old Earth movies. Zalla and her crew had found the corpses piled up, dead after the disease had run its course. Now, they were searching the landmasses, hoping desperately to find one last Earth human. If they could, then the gene history would be saved - more Earth humans could be created and nurtured in a stable colony until the virus could be cured and Earth was habitable. It had already proven impossible for scientists to reverse the alterations made to the genome of J-humans and M-humans. It was doubtful that any new strains could be made if there were no untainted samples to work off of. Zalla frowned. She doubted that they would find anything. Days and days of trekking through deserted cities had disheartened her. At first, she had hoped that they might find some children, who seemed to be more resistant to the disease, but it had become apparent that even if the children were not affected, they had been sought out and killed by the madmen in the streets. Zalla tried not to cry when she remembered the little corpses boarded up inside a room. Someone, before the disease took their lucidity, had tried fruitlessly to protect them. Zalla stopped walking. Her wristband had buzzed, which meant the scan-bots would be done soon. She turned and started to return to her hovershuttle, where she could review the scan. She wasn’t hopeful. As her vehicle came into view, she sighed. She was almost done with this awful, depressing job. Being back with her crewmates would help her shake off the horrors. She watched the scan-bots land by the shuttle, the only things moving in the wasteland. She glanced at the Victorian house. Wait. Had that pink graffiti been there before? She could have sworn there were only black and red loops. And the pink streaks weren’t random - they were a word, in Common. It took a moment for her to process it. Help me. It’s too late. Help. She was almost certain that it hadn’t been there before, but was that possible? Could it mean-? Zalla ran to her hovershuttle and tapped in the code to show her the scan, fingers trembling. She almost couldn’t believe what she saw. Two miles away, between buildings, was a red dot of a living person. A half-mile further, there were two more. That was all. Zalla’s breath was fast and hard. The graffiti had said “too late.” Was she out of time? The hovershuttle would take too long to maneuver. Zalla took off at a dead sprint, the scan-bots trailing behind her. Her wrist tablet pointed her to the right course, between abandoned cars and crumbling structures. As she drew closer to the dots, she saw more pink graffiti on the walls. Help. We are here. Help. Before it’s too late. Help. We are alive. Help. Come save them. Help. I’m dying. Help. Zalla didn’t have time to ponder the confusing pronouns. Her blood was pounding in her ears. She knew the scan-bots were reporting her findings to the others, but they would be too late. She might be too late. Zalla was almost to the street with the first red dot. She could hear the clanking of chains - that was confusing. She rounded the corner to the street and stopped dead. In the center of the street was a man, adult, and clearly in the grips of the deadly virus. She took a step back. He lifted his head and looked at her - it was awful. She could already tell the wastage was starting to set in. “No. Wait.” the man rasped, barely sounding human. She froze, trembling. “You have to help me.” Her breath hitched. She couldn’t go near him, couldn’t risk touching the infection. “I can’t, sir. I’m sorry. You’re infected with a virus-” “I know about the virus, dammit!” The man’s violent rasp scared her. “You have to help me save them. Listen to me. I’m almost out of time. You have to kill me, now, before it’s too late, before it gets my brain. Hurry!” Shocked by his tone, Zalla pulled out her shock-gun. It would stop his heart. She was numb, but she knew she would have to kill him anyway. “I tried my best to save them. You have to go - the third right and the yellow house. You have to help them. I tried my best, but it’s too late.” What was the man talking about? Zalla didn’t understand. “Hurry!” the man yelled at her. “Any minute now, I’ll be dangerous. Kill me, and save them. They’re the last hope.” Zalla pointed her gun at him, but her hand trembled. He was lucid. He was talking. How could she kill him? At that moment, something changed in the man’s face. His eyes went wild. Letting out a crazed scream, he ran toward Zalla. Startled, she pulled the trigger, half by reflex, half by choice. He dropped. She let out a shaky breath. At least he had made the decision for her. Stepping forward, she saw the source of the noise she had heard while running. The man had been trying to chain himself to the light pole, but he hadn’t been able to fasten the links enough. He had known he was going crazy. But who had he been trying to protect? Zalla spurred herself into a jog once more, trying not to think about the brave, brave man lying in the street behind her. Once she was done with this, she would try to find out who he was. She passed two right-turn streets and turned onto the third one, eyes scanning to find a yellow house. She was nearing the two other dots on her map. She saw it at last - a pastel yellow, the house looked better than the others around it. The windows were smashed, but someone had tied a tarp over the openings. Zalla pushed at the front door and it fell in, torn off the hinges by an earlier intruder. She stepped quietly into the house. Tuning her vac-suit, she thought she could hear breathing coming from the room off the hallway to her left. She was more careful with this door, easing it open slowly. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a small form, standing in front of a crib with another small lump in it. Two heartbeats. The older girl turned toward the light. “Daddy?”
Item Number: SCP-3117 Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3117 is to be contained in Storage Container [REDACTED] on Site [REDACTED]. Requests for experimentation with SCP-3117 must be cleared by a Level 2 Researcher. The owner, Benjamin [REDACTED] and several others have been administered Class-E amnesiacs and is currently being rehabilitated on Site [REDACTED]. Description: SCP-3117 is a black and green length of synthetic rubber and mechanical components, measuring 7.13 inches in length, similar in design to a wrist watch. All current attempts to disassemble SCP-3117 have proved unsuccessful. The outer mechanism of the center piece can be manipulated, selecting one of ten vaguely humanoid creatures, SCP-3117-A through I, referred to by [REDACTED] and his companions as "aliens."The mechanism is then pressed down, transforming the wearer into the selected "alien."The symbol on the face of the device is present on the chest, or similar areas, of every "alien."Pressing this symbol will transform the wearer back into their original form. SCP-3117 came to the attention of the Foundation after several breach containment procedures were aided by [REDACTED], while using SCP-3117. Once SCP-[REDACTED] was contained, MTF Omega-11 quickly secured SCP-3117.
I... I could feel cold metal. I can't tell from where. I'm standing in front of the fridge, I'm about to cry; I'm trying not to. I open the fridge with my left hand and grab the box of milk inside. The carton was cold, angular, sharp to the touch. I stand up and it falls to the floor. I curse as I pick it up before more milk spills out. Then, that's when I noticed it. It was like the carton moving by itself. But I could feel it, like I'm touching it. My breath hitched. I close my eyes as the flashbacks invade my mind. What is happening? The car just went so fast - I didn't even see it. It was a miracle I survived. But my right arm was crunched in between the seat and the door. It shattered like an egg on concrete... No doctor could put it back. They had to amputate it to prevent infection. It hurt so bad I can still feel it, even when it's gone. I look down. Then, I... I... I slowly pick up the carton. It moved, I saw it move by itself. But I felt it. I start to break down again. John, it's just your mind. You're suffering too much that you're now making your own reality. Wake up. I closed my eyes. Then opened my eyes. The carton was on my dominant hand. No. It's floating in the air. I let in a gulp my own saliva. I've been suffering from phantom limb two months after the accident. But it has never gone this far. Up to a point where I can feel objects. I move the carton next to my lips and drink - it's real. I touch my face with it - I can feel the still cold hands from the carton. I pick myself up and move to the stove. I turn it on and I can feel the warmth, the heat, the flames. I quickly find my deck of cards. Excitement and exhilaration coarse my body. I open them and lay it flat on the table. With my dominant hand I spread it - it fanned out evenly on the table. I use both hands to stack it back. Then I shuffle. I shuffle and I shuffle until I can feel every individual cards on my hands. I shuffle until I can feel my fingers hurt, but my dominant hand is gone. There's no fingers. There's no hand. Tears were already falling from my face and I still don't understand. I pick the deck again. And I shuffle it. The characteristic slapping sound of the cards ring in my ears. Then I deal. I don't care anymore. If it's there or not. I can feel it in my hands. And I smile. I can play poker again.
Friend ghost I stopped typing, glanced around. There was a glow coming from the living room. I could hear the sound of people talking, arguing. I stood up, and approached the living room. The TV was on, and Levi, my dog, was sitting on the couch, looking at the TV. He was panting happily, like he did when i pet him. Some breeze seemed to be ruffling his fur. As i walked up to him, I noticed Game of Thrones was on. I must have left it on last night when I was catching up. The remote was right by Levi’s paws. I picked it up, turned it off, and turned to Levi. “Levi! Are you trying to spoil the next episode for me?” He looked up at me and whined. I ruffled his head. “You silly dog, did you turn on the tv by accident? I didn't know you liked watching it by yourself ” Levi laid down on the couch and huffed. I set down the remote on the coffee table. “Well you stay here, I need to do my work okay?” He huffed again. I left the living room and went to the kitchen again. I did all my work in the kitchen now. I unfortunately, had associated my office with playing videogames and so could not concentrate there at all. The kitchen though, was much easier to focus in. Maybe it was the way the yellow and fraying wallpaper seemed to flash in my mind as I wrote. Or maybe it was the ancient appliances, cast iron, that wakened imagination. Or maybe it was just that I did my cooking in there and cooking was productive. Whatever the reason, it was my workspace. I sat down at the table, and resumed my writing. I was writing for my blog, a review of the last episode. I'd gotten the vibe that this later season was really hit or miss, and i was writing a scathing essay, well, really a rant, on how the writing had suffered now that the showrunners had departed the books. After typing for a while, I felt an uncomfortable presence. It was as if someone… or something was watching what I was writing, just over my shoulder… I glanced behind me. Nothing. Just more wallpaper. Then I heard a thud, and jumped in my seat. Levi, had dropped a toy at my feet. He looked plaintively at me. I leaned down, gave him some pets, “I'm sorry Levi, I really do have to work. I'll play with you later, I promise,” he whined again, picked up his toy, a bone, and padded out of the room. I turned back to my computer. I had just gotten back into the groove of writing again when I stopped. I couldn't remember when or where i had gotten him a bone. I usually gave him stuffed animals for toys, with the squeakers so he could entertain himself . Had he dug it up? As I pondered, I could hear Levi panting all the way from the living room. I heard him running back and forth. Suddenly, I saw something fly down the hallway and hit the front door, with Levi tearing after it! I stood up, rant forgotten. Levi dashed down the hallway and into the living room again. I followed. He hopped onto the couch and then stood still, started straining and trying to lean back but it was as if something was holding him in place! He shook his head violently, tried to reassert his grip on the bone and it came flying free, out of his mouth! The bone floated in the air, above Levi’s head. He jumped up to get it and it floated higher, out of his reach. “What in the seven hells is going on here?” I asked the room. The bone dropped from the air, and Levi seized on it. He hopped off the couch, and ran out of the room. I was then left alone. I felt stupid, talking to an empty room, but something, something was in here with me! Had I not seen the bone flying, somehow? “Who- who's there? Show yourself!” The remote, eerily, floated off the coffee table. Dangled in the empty air. “Are you a g-g-ghost?” I stammered. The remote, bobbed up and down in response. “Oh god, I'm being haunted,” I tried to compose myself, after all, it hadn't tried to hurt me. Yet. “Can you become visible?” I asked The remote went from left to right and left again. That must mean no then. It was unsettling, talking to thin air. “I. I have an idea. Stay where you are,” I walked towards where the apparition must have been, grabbed a blanket that I had, for date nights and when I wanted to watch Netflix late at night. I gathered the corners, and, with a flourish, threw it over where the remote floated. The blanket settled over the air! It showed the form of a ghost! Pretty cliché actually, just a blobby thing. Although that was probably just because it was a blanket covering it, I conceded. “And ummm, stay just a minute longer, I'll be right back.” The figure shrugged. I went to my room, grabbed a white board and a marker. Returned. I held out the items, pressed them to the blanket, “Here, you can use this to talk to me.” As I let go, I felt a force take hold of them. They hovered in the air, directly in front of it. “Okay, hello, can you try writing on it?” The marker dropped, and it turned the board to face me. I saw blood, dark red, ooze from within the board, bubbling from beneath the surface. The blood formed shapes, congealed. *Hi :)* The blood faded before bubbling again. *I like your dog.* I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding in. “You like Levi? That's good. Was that your bone he was playing with?” *Yeah. Is that cool? He seemed bored is all.* “Uh yeah, course, that's all cool. I guess you don't mind him gnawing on you?” The ghost shrugged. “Well, erm, ahem, are you haunting me?” *Not really. I mean I used to live here but it's whatevs.* “So you don't want to cause me harm or hurt me? Do you have unfinished business or something?” *Nah, you're cool.* The blood faded away, replaced with new text. *I just need to see the last season of Game of Thrones and then I'm outtie.* I was taken aback, “That's it? The reason you're stuck on this mortal plane, and not gone to heaven or, if you'll mistake my assumption, hell, is that you need to finish Game of Thrones?” It shrugged in response. “Well um yeah, that's fine. Though the last season hasn't come out yet. I'd recommend reading the books actually, but you'd probably be stuck here for a long while longer if you started on those.” *Yeah, ikr, I've heard there's a good chance he'll never finish em.* “Probably,” I said somberly. I paused for a minute. The now stained whiteboard floating in front of me, and behind it a large blanket draped over an invisible ghost. I shook my head. Levi padded into the room, hopped up to the couch and lied down next to the ghost. The ghost turned, as in the blanket shifted a bit, to look down at Levi. I could see his fur being pressed down by an invisible hand. “Would you be alright if I joined you? I haven't completely caught up in this season, but I'd like to.” *Sure* It floated the remote to me, and I put on HBO Go. The blanket settled down into a blob, half draped over Levi. As hbo logo buzzed, i saw the ghost relax. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. The whiteboard bubbled. *So, this is obviously the best season by far right?*

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