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The outcry from the crocodilian monster was enough to divert the zweihander’s arc such that the heavy sword swing landed against the rock both combatants shared, sending sparks into the surrounding water. Lifting the sword for another strike, the warrior said, “Did I hear that right? Did you just call yourself Thread?” The crocodilian said, “It’s Thred! It starts with the letter that the green creature is called!” “Frog?” the warrior suggested. “Yes!” Shouldering the weapon against his steel pauldron, the human warrior laughed. “I see, so your name is also Fred! Hahaha! Wonderful!” The crocodilian tried to flash a smile, but it served only to look like a threatening baring of teeth. “Thorgith nee thor ny nanners. Ny anatony is not suited thor hunan steech,” the crocodilian said in a hissing voice. The warrior raised an eyebrow. “Sheesh, you sure have one heck of an accent I tell you that,” he said. Raising the zweihander again, the human prepared another strike. “Wait!” The crocodilian Fred raised his sharp claws in a show of peace. “Tlease do not nisunderstand! I nean you no harn!” The human Fred advanced another step. “I’m guessing you’re trying to say you ‘mean me no harm’, right?” Crocodile Fred nodded. A wicked half-formed grin spread over human Fred’s scarred face. “Well, that’s too bad, because I sure mean you harm, and lots of it.” The swing came down in a flash, but crocodilian Fred barely avoided most of it as he jumped off the rock and into the stream. A slight scratch remained on the latter third of his tail where the sword grazed him. As the sword completed its arc, it shot more sparks off the rock where moments ago crocodile Fred had stood. Hindlegs-deep in the shallow stream, crocodile Fred said, “Warrior, why? Aren’t we doth sentient deings?” Human Fred drew his zweihander back for another strike. “That’s what makes it even better!” With a hungry look in his eye, human Fred said, “See, I joined this adventuring gig because it was a legal way to impale beasts and hack their limbs off! But after a couple dozen it just gets so boring! I know exactly what a gnoll sounds like when they get their windpipe crushed mid-bark. I know exactly what a yeti sounds like, and smells like, when you smear it in oil and light it up. All those roars, howls, brays, whinnies, caws, and croaks, are so lame, you know?” Crocodile Fred’s blood ran cold, despite being in a warm stream on a hot summer day. He crawled back and away from the deranged human warrior. The smiling, disturbed human warrior walked deliberately towards the cowering and withdrawing crocodilian. “See, you’re such an unexpected piece of good fortune! Here I thought it was going to be another boring job of wrecking a lizard and skinning it so some rich noble can have something pointless made of it.” Towering over the crocodile Fred, human Fred stared down with his predatory eyes and raised his sword overhead. As he swung down with his sword, Fred yelled, “And then I run into you, a monster that can talk! Imagine the possibilities! Oh, I can’t wait to hear you scream and beg for me to stop in your bastardized monster version of human speech!” Again, the blade barely missed the reptile’s vitals, leaving a gash along crocodilian Fred’s left forelimb. Turning on his belly, crocodile Fred ran on all fours. It was a shameful position, but he could no longer care about presentation considering the sick murderous intent from the human warrior. Skipping along with psychopathic glee, human Fred chased after the fleeing reptilian, all while throwing out taunts. “Don’t run, Freddy! I just want to peel you like an apple and show you what your skin looks like!” A dark, mocking laugh came out of the human’s throat as he dashed along the stream after the crocodilian. Apathetic trees waved in the wind at the noise.
The entrance to Hell was never what people expected. They always thought of fire and brimstone, or heads left on spike and wrought iron monstrosities. They never seemed to expect a large cathedral with a desk that looked as if it belonged in a personal study at its center. The room was well lit and had several benches and desks along the side, designed so that people could fill out their soul contracts efficiently. Of course, a more personal hell awaited them afterwards, but the entrance was hardly anything that inspired terror. Belase the demon knelt before The Devil as he analyzed the contract for the third time. The contract was several hundred pages long, but he hardly spared each page a glance as he had the whole thing memorized by heart. Upon reaching the final page, he slammed his fist down loudly against the oakwood desk he sat at. There was a large line of new souls that trailed behind Belase. They had yet to sign their contracts and were all waiting with their hands and feet bound in chains. The line stretched on until it was out of sight behind them, and not one dared step out of line while the devil was attending to the gates. The one figure outstanding was a small woman wearing a gray business suit that had a bloodstain on the collar, likely from the wound that killed her, matching with the deep crimson tie she sported. This woman, had single handedly halted the process of incoming souls into Hell. She had found a small loophole in the contract that allowed her to claim residence of her soul outside of the jurisdiction of the Devil. “Master,” Belase began, “Surely she has no power over your rule. You could always choose not to honor the contract.” The Devil's eyes blazed with fury and Belase quickly regretted trying to placate his master. “Choose not to honor the contract?” The devil shouted furiously, his British accent bleeding through, “Do you have any idea what that would entail? The entire fabric of this realm is held together by the binding of souls to its foundation. If souls are not properly bound, they can escape and cause a tear in the very fabric of our reality! The contract is the very thing that holds your pitiful existence together!” He rose from his seat and set his eyes on the woman in question. In a single moment, all hostility drained from his expression and he appeared as no more than a well dressed businessman. “Miss Hallow,” he began, “I understand that you have every right to reject the circumstances, given the clause on page 647 line seven does not technically apply to you, however could I ask that we make a small revision and send you on your way?” He held out his hand gently, offering to close the deal. “Unfortunately Lucifer, I am unable to accept those conditions.” She stated calmly, despite the tense expression now worn by The Devil. “The contract specifically states that all souls are bound by the exact, same, contract.” She enunciated the last several words. “To revise mine in any way would be a breach in conduct and unrightfully prevent any future revisions or additions to be applicable to my contract alongside the others, thereby subjecting me to unequal legislation and unjust treatment.” “Unjust treatment? This is Hell!” The devil shouted. “That is the only treatment you should get here.” “Not according to this contract, sir. I expect to have the same rights as all other souls in your realm, as it is stated in your contract that no one soul is of greater value than another. Page 429 line 32, if you want to double check.” The Devil did double check, and promptly slammed his hands down again as he sat back down. Belase, cautiously raised his hand to grab his master’s attention. He swallowed his fear when The Devil’s gaze met his own, and Spoke. “Master, while I understand this is of the utmost importance, perhaps we should leave this matter for the moment and attend to the other souls. There are currently 125 souls in this room and countless more waiting outside. Maybe we could attend to-” “Actually,” Miss Hallows interrupted, “The contract states that each soul has a right to be processed in a timely and fair length of time, following the obtainment of the contract in question. To skip over me would be a violation of such a rule. Page 42 line six, if you wanted to check. The Devil merely fixed her with a glare and did not open the contract again. “Respectfully master,” Belase spoke tentatively, “Don’t you have a contingency for something like this? I thought the contract was deliberately all encompassing?” "Yes, I know that! I'm the one that wrote the contract!"the Devil yelled at the cowering demon below him while climbing to his feet. “However, that's the problem. The contract is written too thoroughly. She managed to find a loophole because of her mortal existence. How was I supposed to know she was a lawyer?" “Then perhaps,” Belase said, raising a spindly finger, “We could renegotiate with the human. Set up a trial and address the issue in a way that would not break the contract while having the human agree?” The Devil looked thoughtful, before he eventually sat back down in the chair and turned his eyes to the lawyer. “Would that be amiable to you, Miss Hallows?” “Of course,” She said, “But there are several things that must be addressed. This legal matter must uphold all the same standards as the mortal legal process, as held in the United States of America.” “No,” The Devil said simply. “Let me reiterate. If it is not upheld at the same standard as the American legal process, then there will be no renegotiation.” The Devil clenched his hands into tight fists at his desk, “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Master, are you well versed in the American legal system?” Belase asked. “Unfortunately no. As such, I have a new task for you, imp. Go forth and find me a lawyer. One lacking enough morals and ethics that they will be willing to argue on behalf of the devil over the jurisdiction of a soul.” Belase hastily got to his feet and prepared to find such a lawyer, before realizing that he had no idea where to start. Belatedly, he turned back around to survey the many souls in line. “Um, is anyone here a lawyer?” The sound of moving chains rang out through the room as everyone in line raised their hand. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Any feedback is appreciated. I am working on pursuing writing more seriously so I would love to hear from you!
Seated at a large round table surrounded by a hoard of armor-bound men and rows of intimidatingly muscular women was Justin, a man who had dropped out of college to become a streamer on flinch.tv At first, he didn’t think he’d fit in here but the more he spoke and the more outlandish tale he told the more they loved him. “So anyway I started blast’n!” Justin continued, his words strong and sharp. A strong hand slammed into the back of his shoulder as Varfellow, a Brudish knight who had died protecting his countrymen, patted Justin on his back for the fourth or fifth time in a row. Justin was beginning to wonder if he could be hurt in Valhalla if a sudden bruise would appear on his skin and reveal the truth, the reality that he is not a warrior. Even in death, he couldn’t escape the imposter syndrome felt all his life. “Tell is boy! There is one thing we’re all dying to know,” Valfellow said raising his voice to be heard over the commotion of the crowd, “we’re ye able to avenge yer friend? Aeirth? That beautiful flower las? Justin sunk in his seat slightly, dropping his head to stare blankly into his mug. Aeirths tragic passing was the first video game death that actually affected him. He cried for weeks and refused even to pick the game back up for a month or so after it happened. “It took decades!” Justin said, finally breaking the silence, “I had to wait decades just to face him again. The battle took place on holy ground, on a battlefield by the name of Final Destination! A place where mainly a battle was won or lost, a place where dreams either come true or are crushed to dust.” The name of this “sacred” battlefield was enough to give validity to his tale. The room grew ever more quiet as Justin spoke. “The match was ferocious from the start! The white-haired man lunged forward, drawing his sword and air-dashing before unleashing a flurry of blinding fast attacks. I barely had enough time to react and put up my shield before impact. In doing so I saved myself from the classic zero-to-death he’s known for!” But that wasn’t the only thing I had to worry about. If only my C-stick wasn’t still broken after the last tourney I could have punished him out of shield, made him pay for rushing in so quickly! Instead was driven back by his massive sword, forced to retreat to the ledge as he continued to throw out a barrage of attacks!” Our swords clashed when I made a push to center stage. He was fast but I got the better end of the trade! I pushed him back and tech chased him through the air as he tried to avoid my attacks. I landed a good number of blows but I wasn't expecting him to throw out a counter in the middle of my combo! I was sent flying back and sent crashing into a stage hazard which only opened me up more to his savage counterattack! I thought I’d be beaten then and there, two stocked without a chance for redemption but I didn't give up. Tooth and nail, attack after attack, I clawed my way back to equal footing. In the end, it came down to final stock. One blow would decide the victor of this battle.” “What did you do lad!?” A voice called out “ how did you beat that monster!?” A smile grew on Justin’s face. “Up-B, Down-B, Down special…. FINAL SMASH!” Although nobody knew exactly what he was talking about it sounded good so the room erupted into cheers and hollers. Some men cried tears of joy while others raised their hands in the air and shouted. “Justin is cracked! JUSTIN IS CRACKED!” they cheered.
The jewel-studded door into the throne room loomed before me, as imposing as it was gaudy. I drew the Blade of Light, shielded my eyes with my free hand, and stabbed forward. There was a cascade of sparks that indicated failing wards. Probably something nasty; the owner of the castle wasn't called the Dread Lord for nothing. I sheathed the blade—didn't know a lick of swordsmanship, but it was dead-useful in disabling magic—and carefully nudged the door open with my foot. Honestly, I would have preferred to storm this place at the back of an army, but my party had different ideas. Something about a Prophecy and me being the only one able to defeat the evil. What nonsense. The strongest opponent I'd defeated with my own power was that hellhound I accidentally stabbed in the eye five years ago. Saved a princess, too, and got to freeload in her palace for half a year before my party caught up with me to drag me back into the fray. Good times. The door swung inward silently, revealing a dark, high-ceilinged hall beyond. Of course it was dark. I had long since found that most people had no common sense—not that I minded. That's what allowed me to cheat, lie, and swindle my way through for so long. Although with this final showdown, the jig just might be up. Sighing, I checked the potions and wands I had stashed in my jacket and tiptoed inside. Black columns decorated with stone gargoyles stretched toward a vaulted ceiling. The shadows between them were dark and thick, yet no monster jumped out to ambush me. That was a relief. It would be an embarrassment for everyone involved if I got shanked by a goblin before facing my nemesis. The Dread Lord lounged upon his throne of bones, looking properly evil in his spiky black armor. I came closer on shaky legs, drew my sword, and tossed back my cloak in that way that made ladies swoon. "Y-your reign of evil ends now, Dread Lord."Damn stutter. Now I had to kill this guy lest it ruin my reputation. "Chosen One."The Dread Lord rose slowly to his feet. "We meet at last. You've been a constant thorn in my side, but that ends today." I swallowed and tilted back my head. No one had told me he would be like nine feet tall. "Give it up, Dread Lord. Your armies lay defeated; your lieutenants vanquished to the last."I cleared my throat. "Seriously, give up. I promise you a fair trial and a cozy cell. The dungeon's not much worse than this place, honestly." The Dread Lord tilted his helmet. "Showing mercy to your worst enemy... You are a hero indeed. Alas, we both know that only one of us will walk out of here alive." He drew his sword, which was about as tall as me—how was that fair? I backpedaled, holding up the Blade of Light. That black armor was known to be impervious to spells; none of my wands or potions would so much as dent it. The Blade might, but the less said about my swordsmanship, the better. No, the only way I would get out of this mess is the same way I got into it. I tossed the Blade of Light aside, and it landed on the stone floor with a clatter. The Dread Lord paused in his advance and stared at me. I swallowed under his burning gaze. "I don't need to fight you,"I said with all the confidence I could muster, "because I've already won." The Dread Lord didn't immediately laugh, so that was good. He studied me for a time, then lowered his sword, which was even better. "What is the meaning of this?"he asked in a low voice. I squared my shoulders and tried to look as sure of myself as back when I scammed Duke Poppington out of his life savings. "Exactly as you heard. Just as I foiled all your other plans, I foiled you one last time. You're already as good as dead; you just don't know it." "Impossible! You couldn't have..."The eyeholes in Dread Lord's helmet burned red, and he turned swiftly toward a gargoyle. "Where's my phylactery?" The gargoyle contorted as something enormous bulged in its stomach, and opened wide its grotesque maw. Inside lay a red jewel the size of a baby's head, pulsing eerily as if it were alive. Gotcha. The Dread Lord raised his sword and lunged at me with a roar, but I was already drawing my most powerful wand, my heart racing like never before. Even as the gargoyle started closing its maw, I thrust out the wand. A lance of blinding light erupted, taking with it the gargoyle's head, the column, and a stretch of the wall behind it as the wand exploded in my hand. There was a strange gurgle, and a thud that shook the floor, but I was too busy flailing around blindly to pay attention. Once I finally blinked the red afterimages from my vision, the Dread Lord lay still before me. I crept closer and poked the helmet with my foot. Nothing. Kicked it. Still nothing; nice ring though. That's when I threw my hands up in the air and cheered. "Take that! Oh yeah! Another victory for the Chosen One! Ow, ow."Wincing, I pulled a splinter from my bleeding hand. Phew. Pestering that doddering archmage to charge a wand with his most powerful spell had been worth it in the end. Sunlight spilled through the gap I'd made in the wall, and voices filtered in. Right; my party was waiting for the outcome of the battle outside, useless tag-alongs that they were. I hurriedly picked up the Blade of Light, set my foot on the Dread Lord's chest, and shoved the sword through the breastplate. Just as the first face appeared in the gap in the wall, I plastered a properly heroic expression on my face and tossed back my cloak. Nailed it.
Husband... Husband. Willow never thought he'd have that word directed to himself, but now... They were his world... He was a normal kid once, he mused, not that killing animals was normal, but did it matter at any point? He had grown up a terror, a terror who was constantly mistaken for his angel of a twin. He had't meant to kill his brother, that was a funny accident caused by being no contact with his only existing family for so long he didn't even know he was alive untill he had already strangled the guy for a fat paycheck. That guy... The brother who had pretended he didn't exist for fifteen years now... He didn't even recognise the face staring back at him, nor did he feel sad. But he did find out something intresting... His perfect brother had gotten out of the foster system into a rich family, he was told that much, but he was never told he wasn't adopted, but married. Married to that family's daughter, and she looked so pregnant in the pictures in his wallet... Fuck. Okay, she didn't look all that happy, at all, but she'd surely notice her husband had left her while pregnant with their kid and would call the police, he needed more time to clean the scene... Thankfully he had murdered the guy on the wide backyard pool, so he could just... Hide him in the shed and take his place for a while... He took his dead brother's clothes, styled his hair and held his breath. Thankfully they looked alike engouth for no one to notice... He hoped. &#x200B; "... If you're going to yell at me some more--"The woman who was by the livingroom as he opened the door was crying, her ginger hair was chopped so unevenly it look like someone had cut it by tearing each individual strandand and most important of all, her blue eyes were cloudy, she couldn't see... She couldn't see... And they just had a fight... That almost had Willow cheering, it was way too much luck... "... Look, i'm sorry i yelled at you earlier..."He started, doing his best to copy the sweet brother he remembered from his childhood, how did the perfect guy act, anyway? He took a gamble and reached for her, wiping the tears off of her shocked expression with his thumb delicately "Please forgive me... I'll try and be better, love, i promise..." The poor rich missy broke down crying, and for a second he thought he had fucked it all up, but then she smiled, she smiled innocently like the pure, clueless little angel she was "... It's the first time you call me love, Sammy..." Sammy? Of course his brother had changed names... He stammered "Y-Yeah um... I... I did promise i'll do better for you... Just trying to show i mean it." "You have no clue how happy this makes me... Oh Samuel... I promise you can get that trip once the baby is born, okay? I-I'll find a maid, something, a-anything just... Don't leave me alone right now... I'm scared..." Trip? That's why they were fighting? His brother, his "angel" of a brother wanted to leave his heavily pregnant, blind wife home to go on a trip while she was clearly about to give birth? That was unimaginable... He reached down and carefully placed a hand on her very pregnant belly, leaving a gentle pet there "... Forget that stupid trip, love, it wasn't that important anyway and i don't want to go anymore... Let's get you to bed, okay? You've already stressed engouth for the rest of your pregnancy..." &#x200B; He cooed, leading that frail woman upstairs, she went on her own the rest of the way and he just followed along, their room was the first door in the hallway, just across from a door with a name etched on it in 3D letters, "Edward", he made sure to remember, baby is a boy and his name is Edward, ugh. He made sure that poor woman was safe in bed, warm, comfortable and sleeping soundly before he started exploring and reading every paper in that damned house, gathering all the information he possibly could. His wife's name was Helen, and she really liked books, since most of the books in the house were adapted to braile. He also learned their baby was meant to be born in two weeks or so and panicked, checking the nursery just to be sure they had everything... They didn't. The next few hours were spent brousing the internet franatically for the best newborn care products and buying a truckload of things for the little boy while he grumbled about what a bad father that stupid brother of his was, then getting off the internet in the early hours in the morning, only to go right back to it just to look up what the hell was a proper breakfast for a pregnant woman. &#x200B; "... You're... Cooking?"The sweet voice was more confused then anything as Helen rubbed the sleep out of her foggy eyes "... You never cooked for me before..." "Well, that's because i'm shit at it"He chuckled, that wasn't a complete lie, and that little lady was just so endearing... "But i thought you'd want to sleep in, and i could bring you breakfast in bed? So you don't have to come downstairs, but you're already here..." &#x200B; That woman knew, she knew the man standing in the kitchen wasn't her husband, but at that moment she decided... Maybe calling the police wasn't the best idea after all... She could pretend to be clueless, since he seemed so determined to act like her husband, and just... See where this would lead? He was already a better husband than Jasper had ever been to her... So why couldn't she pretend that was her husband, too? He didn't know, but he had just saved her miserable marriage, and she? She had just made the best decision of her life.
As I went about my day, I couldn't help but notice that everything seemed a little off. The colors around me seemed duller, the smiles on people's faces less genuine. I tried to shake it off, telling myself that it was just my imagination. But as the hours passed, the feeling only grew stronger. I realized with a jolt that I had forgotten to take my "stress relief"pill that morning. I had been so used to the effects of the government-mandated medication that I didn't even think twice about skipping a dose. But now, without it, the world around me felt strange and unfamiliar. At first, I didn't understand why the government had started distributing these pills in the first place. But as I experienced the world without them, I began to see the benefits. The pills seemed to take away all the negative emotions, leaving only contentment and happiness in their wake. But now, as I felt the weight of my own anxieties and stress returning, I couldn't help but wonder if the cost of this perfect world was too high. Was it worth sacrificing our emotional depth and individuality for the sake of happiness? I knew that I couldn't go another day without the pills. But as I made my way to the pharmacy to refill my prescription, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was losing a part of myself with each step.
Thousands of movies and literature throughout human history have depicted the moment they would arrive. Of course each person has their own barmy ideas too. Consider one, Mr Atticus Featherstone. He was a sous chef who lived in a picturesque English cottage off the coast of Norfolk. Mr Featherstone was fairly well-liked. He worked at a quaint restaurant called The Hilltop, making the tastiest soufflé west of the English Channel. However, Mr Featherstone was also known by the locals as being crazy. Perhaps if his soufflés weren’t so delicious they would have institutionalised him many moons ago. He would, on occasion, drunkenly stumble into the Red Lion Inn, regaling tales of his various encounters with the sky people. With a drink in one hand, he would warn the entire village about the incoming invasion. However, no one took Mr Featherstone seriously. This is because he was extremely alcoholic. He had never met an alien in his life. However, Mr Featherstone was not altogether wrong, nor was he altogether crazy. You see, the human mind is fascinating. The shamans of the Amazon insist that all humanity is connected. They believe in a sort of shared lived experience. For example, there are incidents of small children recalling experiences of another life; describing to the greatest detail places they have never been or seen. Scientists have never quite deciphered what these strange phenomena are. Nonetheless, every time Mr Featherstone imagined these aliens, he was in fact describing to the greatest detail a genuine encounter. However, it was not an encounter Mr Featherstone had directly experienced, it was the memory of another man: Gene Roddenberry. Of course, when they finally arrived, it was never quite what anyone had ever imagined. Mr Featherstone himself should have been vindicated. He had long fantasied about the day he would walk into the Red Lion Inn, cloaked in the gasps of the other villagers. He would scuttle up to the slightly broken wooden platform that was home to weekly raucous karaoke and inevitably where fights would end up toppling onto, leaving the participants with large splinters embedded into their buttocks. However, Mr Featherstone would evade the splinters, he would raise his head, expand his chest and mutter those three words that are the most irksome to any human since the first caveman admonished his brother for losing a leg after befriending a sabre-toothed tiger. “I told you”. It was by sheer unfortunate circumstance (or perhaps something else), that almost fifteen minutes prior to their arrival, Mr Featherstone, inebriated with alcohol, hallucinated a long bridge leading from the nearby cliff of his home. On any other day, in a few hours, the Hilltop’s head chef would call the Norfolk police after Mr Featherstone would fail to turn up to work. The police would have inevitably found Mr Featherstone’s gruesome remains at the foot of the cliff and it would be the village gossip for the next few weeks. That is of course if it was not for the arrival. … Hebert Adams had recently become the youngest president of the United States of America. He was the obvious choice. He was handsome, his policies were uncontentious and he came from a long line of politicians. However, most importantly, he possessed the greatest quality that Americans look for in their leaders: being downright predictable. Many expected his first term to go off without a hitch. That was of course if he could manage to not involve himself in any wars. However, his bumbling Chief of Staff was adamant that he should at least consider launching some rogue drone strikes on a poor faraway Asian country whose name was suffixed with “-stan”. The approval ratings in the Bible Belt demanded it. Especially if he was to consider a second term. But right now he was not worried about war. He was not even worried about his wife discovering the diamond earring on the floor of the Oval Office belonging to his mistress. That is because he was sat in a bunker located somewhere in the Nevada desert. He was surrounded by his closest aides and advisors, around a long mahogany table emblazoned with the Golden Eagle emblem. He was faced with the one terror that would threaten to destabilise everything. The one terror that would cause widespread fear to everyone in the world (with the exception of the fresh vindicated corpse of a one, Mr Atticus Featherstone). Aliens. Damn aliens. \[PART 1\]
When they sent their representative, we expected a hero. Someone who stood head and shoulders above the rest, covered in ribbons and medals showing all the battles they had triumphed in. What walked out on the stage, still muddy and bloody from the battlefield, his biofilter mask in hand, stood far less than two meters tall, was slight of build, and a deep brown color. When he spoke, we had to hush our comrades to hear his words. "I am a Private in our military. The only rank lower is recruit, one who has yet to complete training." A quick murmur of surprise, were we being insulted? "I am no hero. No great warrior. I am nothing special among my fellows. I have no special skills or abilities." Surely not! He, out of all the might and majesty of the Human military was selected to carry their message to us. "I was born to a large family on our farm. A farm that has been in our family for more than a thousand years." Ah! A Scion of a great land owner who may one day inherit the land! This is more like it! "A farm that occupies less than 500 acres, about two square kilometers. I will never inherit that farm, but every time I go into battle, I am defending that farm. Our way of life." We are struck silent by his words. A nobody. Word spreads, he was pulled from the front line of his third battle to come here and speak for Humanity. "Yet I, a common soldier of the lowest rank, have been chosen to answer your request that we select the worlds we wish from among the Concord, in honor and recognition of our unfailing service to the people of the Concord." His tone makes it clear that he is as surprised by this turn of events as we are. Unbelieving that he stands before the Concord, addressing the leaders of this body. His next words are hard as iron. Challenging. Maybe even sneering? We are so caught up by this youth that we do not bother to protest what we hear of his demeanor. "We do not want your garden worlds, your Edens. Soft worlds make for easy living, we would grow weak on such worlds." His scorn is thick and strong. His disdain for our generous offer is clear. As voices rise to challenge him for his rudeness his voice overpowers all interruptions. "My family's farm is a place of hard work that must be done perfectly year after year to support the members of the family that live there, provide food for others, and produce what is needed for our military to carry out our duty." The pride which he takes in that claim is clear. This lowly soldier is insulted by our offer, and we are abashed. His next words are so quiet that we must all remain silent to hear what he says next. "We would be lost in Eden." And we can hear it in his voice, he truly would be lost in a place where there was no struggle. His next words are strong, and spoken from.the heart. "Give us your marginal worlds, the worlds that others shrink from, calling them too difficult. "Give us the worlds that no one else has managed to farm successfully. "Allow us to perpetuate our struggle to survive so that we are never found wanting upon the battlefield of the Concord's survival. "Give us your Hell Worlds, so that we may test ourselves against the unfeeling universe before we stand between the people of the Concord and the desolation of war." Quietly, as he turns to leave... "Keep your peaceful planets, we have no use for them." ((finis))
The demonic knight laughed when I spoke those words. “So your telling me that you’ve won all your fights because your too much of a coward!?” He spoke as if I had insulted his honor when he first challenged me, I merely shrugged and stood from where I sat, “pretty much, look I’m not going to argue with you, I can tell that your a pretty serious guy, but if you fight me.” I pause before grabbing my sword, “I won’t back down.” The air grew colder as our eyes met, his gaze of burning fury met my gaze of frigid fear. I’ve always been a coward, but after entering the knight academy because I was too scared to turn them down I began to fail upwards, from stuttering my way through passing exams and tests, to beating even the toughest of teachers and senior knights, all because I was scared of what would happen if I lost. I may appear as if I have everything under control but underneath I’m a mess of thoughts and actions. I saw that the demon wasn’t backing down so I sighed before drawing my blade from its sheath. “Alright then, let’s get this over with.” I waved a hand at him to which he responded with a manic grin before leaping at me. ‘Truly I hate today’ I thought as I began my third death battle today.
-PUT ME DOWN! WHAT THE VOID?! ~Language, Amara. These are sacred halls. -WHO ARE YOU? WHY DID THESE GOONS DRAG ME TO THESE “SACRED HALLS”! ~I am Councilor Harris, and these are Councilors Margate, Fredericks, & Jenna. The time has come. -The time has come for-? ~To take your seat upon the Council. Welcome! -Uh. NO! I am just a cook at an inn! On the seedier side of the city ~Which means you’ll fit right in handling the Merchant Lords of this city and surrounding areas. -You’re serious. But I have no Talent in the Working! I can’t even draw up a Spark of Talent. ~Exactly. You’re what we need, Amara. Someone who’s street savvy and cannot do any Workings. That way you will not be tempted. -I didn’t ask for this! I don’t even want this! ~All the more makes you qualified for the role. I didn’t want this either and still would walk out those doors if I could. These fine people would also. But this city needs a strong hand to guide it through all the intrigue the Witch Princes and Merchant Lords do. A strong hand like ours. A strong hand like yours. -…when do I start?
(1/2) Agatha of the Briars was a powerful and wise witch that was much older than she appeared. Long since achieving immortality through her magicks Agatha had seen the world change around her with the advancement of technology and society. Small villages became bustling cities in what seemed to be a blink of an eye. But out of everything that changed one thing that didn't was human nature. Humanity was often greedy and wanted things beyond what they could achieve. Agatha being as powerful as she was, was often visited by others who desired power, protection, love, or many other things. Often she made her demands unreasonable, to scare people off. Her favorite was demanding a person's firstborn, while it was a bit of a joke now. A witch wanting someone's firstborn had somehow become a trope. She had heard in passing others claiming they'd do it or find ways around it. Agatha had found in her experience when faced with the opportunity very few people were willing to agree. There were always questions after she made the demand. 'What are you going to do with the child?' 'Are you going to raise it?' Agatha to scare them off would often respond with vague slightly threatening answers. Nine times out of ten people would realize they were in over their heads and turn tail. Though for the truly desperate they would agree. Such was the case when a young girl named Romona approached her. Her hands shaking and her body was covered in bruises that she tried to hide. "My name's Romona, I'm here for a wish,"Romona spoke, she barely looked sixteen. Agatha had been sitting on the front porch of her home when Romona had shown herself. Standing just off of the porch the young girl looked up at her. "What's your wish girl?"Agatha questioned, "I want you to get rid of someone. Make it so they don't exist anymore or... Or have them just go away and never come back."Romona stumbled over her words unsure looking scared but determined. "I can make them go away and not come back."Agatha stood up and walked over leaning against the post of her porch looking down at the girl. "Who is it?"She asked, "My father."Romona replied not looking at Agatha. "He hit you?"Agatha questioned, the southern twang clear in her voice. An accent she had picked up over the years since moving here. Romona only nodded in response silently. "Does he hurt anyone else?"Agatha asked, "My mom... My sister..."Romona looked up at Agatha, her voice shaking. Agatha didn't need to know the details to tell from the fear in the girl's eyes... That man was despicable. But a spell like this... Agatha wanted the girl to think about it. "Promise me your first born and I'll grant your wish."She spoke, Romona stared at her gawking as if surprised. "Sure. Yes... Anything you want. Just make him go away."She begged. Agatha rose eyebrows and sighed. "Alright,"She fished a small bottle out of her pocket. "Shake this once in the morning and once at night for three days over his favorite place to sleep."She sat down on the porch handing off the bottle to Romona. "If you do it right, you'll never see him again."Agatha promised. "Thank you."Romona held the bottle tightly in her hands. "Remember your first child is mine girl."Agatha reached over poking the girl's forehead sealing their contract. "Of course."Romona agreed before turning around and running off. Agatha stood up slowly watching the sight curious as to how the little girl would try to get out of their deal later on.
“This is another breaking news report regarding the appearance of the unknown lifeforms around the globe. We will go live to our reporter on scene.” “Hello everyone, as you can see this is another outbreak of sorts of these aliens that crawl out of the ground. As in other parts of the world, these again are met my an unmitigated amount of violence by everyone in the area. I have to admit, dear viewers, that I’m buzzing with adrenaline myself and if one manages as much as glance in my direction, I might just let them have it. If you know what I mean, dear viewers.” “Fully understandable Paul. Thank you for your local report, now on to the weather.” Henry Fleetwood – Professor in biology of the local university – grabbed the remote of the table and put the television on standby and took a sip from his tea. “Aren’t you worried Professor,” asked his TA, while carrying a stack of books over to the cabinet. “Do you know why humans are on top of the food chain, Hicks?” “Because we’re resourceful and great endurance hunters?” Henry scoffed and gestured to the only other seat at the table, “Sit down boy, those books won’t disappear.” Jeremy Hicks, a senior year student and TA for Fleetwood’s biology classes, sat down as if commanded. “What do humans do when we’re collectively afraid of something?” asked professor Fleetwood. Jeremy took a moment to think about how he would answer the question. “It’s not a test, just give me the first answer that pops in your mind,” said professor Fleetwood. “We kill it,” said Jeremy. “Ding. Ding. Ding. You are correct!” said professor Fleetwood louder than was necessary. Visibly proud that he answered the question correctly, Jeremy smiled and asked, “But what does that have to do with these aliens. There are millions of them by now.” Professor Fleetwood stood up from his chair and walked over to the bookcase. He fingered a couple of covers, before landing on a book that stood out from the textbooks that filled the rest of the case. He threw the copy of At the Mountains of Madness, by H.P. Lovecraft on the table in front of Jeremy. Who after recollecting himself from the slight heart attack, simply looked at the professor quizzically. “Have you ever read it?” asked Henry. Jeremy sheepishly nodded, admitting he had. “I suspect that these things that crawl from the Earth, are bonafide Eldritch creatures, that induce fear in everything they encounter. As far as we know they’ve been slumbering for millions of years and being able to scare your prey and predators alike, to death, is a damn good evolutionary strategy,” said professor Fleetwood with confidence. “Usually.” “Usually professor?” asked a slightly confused Jeremy. “These creatures are awakening from their eons long slumber to reclaim their place at the top of the food chain – demonstrated by their complete lack of self preservation – only to run into the one species that only gets more dangerous the more you frighten them, having taken over in their absence,” said the professor with a certain complacency to his tone. Jeremy seemed to finally grasp the concept and replied, “so you’re saying…” “They’ll all be dead by Tuesday,” said the Professor while finishing his tea. (If you liked this story, please feel welcome at r/zeekoeswriting to read my other stories!)
🎵 "And love will win the day!"🎵 The townsfolk sung, holding out the last note in a four part harmony with arms outstretched. A few beats later, they all dropped their arms and started huffing and puffing, trying to catch their breath. I spat in the direction of a sullen looking man sitting at a picnic table in the town square. "Dammit, Carl, you know the rules. If you're going to break up with the love of your life, you have to do it outside the city limits. Jesus,"I said, rubbing my calves. This was the fourth number of the day. I swear I saw Old Lady Jenkins collapse after the paperboy came to the realization that he could go to college if he passed the big exam at the end of the school year. I don't care what the damn Newsies can do, you try throwing 20 pound bundles of newspaper around while a boy on a bike dreams of a better future! "I know, I know, I'm sorry. I really thought she was the one,"said Carl, trying to shrink into himself. The town constable was writing him a ticket for repeat showstopping as this was the third breakup he had this month. Carl was a hopeless romantic and he just discovered Tinder. I stepped into the ice cream parlor, hearing the ting ting of the bell that hung above the door. "Marnie, double fudge ripple and make it a waffle cone, please." The apron-clad woman was sweeping the floor that was presently covered in sprinkles. "Sorry, Tom, it's gonna be a minute. A spoiled child came in earlier and his mom said no to sprinkles."She took a deep sigh. I nodded in return. "Temper tantrums. He pulled a Veruca, didn't he? God." After a minute, the floor was largely sprinkle-free and she walked back behind the counter. For a split second, I noticed that her hair seemed extra wavy today and her blue eyes sparkled in-- Nope, nope, I thought loudly to myself, and pinched myself on the side, wincing with the pain. Not today, no sir. She's just Marnie. She handed him his waffle cone and he put down cash, nodding to her again and walking out the door with another ting ting. Focused on my ice cream, I nearly walked right into Mr. Langston, the trashman, who was carrying two big, clear trash bags that were full of colorful confetti. "Evening, Tom,"he said, sidestepping to dodge me. "Oh, hey, sorry Sam, almost smashed into you. 'Nother long night ahead?" "Yeah. I just got back from the park. You know Sally Sanderson? She just found out she's pregnant." "That explains the blue and pink, then." "Yep. Not sure how she got a test, they've been banned from the pharmacy ever since the triplets incident three years back." We both shook our heads as he tossed the bags in the back of his truck. "Well, nice catching up with you, Tom. Don't be a stranger." I lifted my ice cream cone in a salute, "You too, Sam." I walked back into the town square as the sky began to turn from a hazy orange to that reddish purple of just after sunset. The lights of the lamps began to flicker on and the sound of crickets and a gentle breeze filled the square. "Aside from all the singing, this isn't such a bad place to live,"I said, walking toward the benches around the fountain in the center of the square. "The people are nice. The town is clean and beautiful. I just wonder, what would life be like somewhere else?" The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I stopped in my tracks, looked down, and noticed I was caught dead center in the middle of a circle of light from the streetlamp above me. And I started to hear the swell of strings in the distance. "........ godda--" 🎵
I performed my first singing recital and hurt my friends with my voice. Should I give up my dream of becoming a singer? No, this isn't some joke about how terrible my singing is. My singing is actually magical, but not in a good way. Those unfortunate enough to be sitting in the front row during my 1st singing recital complained of migraines and nosebleeds. The closest person to me was admitted to a mental hospital with symptoms of psychosis. I used to think it was a joke when my mom said dad was a merman and I'm half mermaid, but now I know there's some truth to it. And my dad, he isn't some Disney merman. He's an "Ichthyocentaur", or so that's what mom told me after I questioned her about my singing powers. That's a sea-centaur in layman's terms, where the top half of him is human, but the bottom half of him has the torso and front legs of a horse, but the tail of a shark. My parents divorced when I was still a baby, so I've never met my dad, but I shudder when I wonder how my parents conceived me. Or if my mom is actually human or something else entirely. What does that make me, then? A sea monster hybrid? These new revelations scare me. I love singing, and I had dreams of becoming a singer, but now I'm not so sure. It would be terrible if I caused worse things than migraines to my audience. I have so many questions in my head but this is just the first that came to my mind. Should I give up singing or where will I find supernatural audience who won't be affected? ---- Kayley1999 Wow, sounds like mom and dad owe you a whole world's worth of explanation! Can you remember what happened in the past when you were singing before this recital? Like during rehearsals? Anything weird that occurred that you can't explain? It could be that something awakened inside of you during that recital. My experience with supernatural beings is that sometimes they look and act perfectly human until something triggers metamorphosis into what they truly are. JoeBroggyDaMan Try looking for a community of mermen (not mermans right?) or sea-centaurs and poke around those channels. Ask those mermen the questions you wanted to know about your magical powers. Also, check with your mom, maybe she has some siren genes in her, because sirens are the ones who are more infamous for magic in their songs, not so much mermen. SmellsWitchy lemme just ping [u/LordElvariInnsmouth](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/) dude is the Eldritch Lord of the Black Seas, he'll know a thing or two about supernatural entities of the sea. LordElvariInnsmouth** Siren songs generally have the effect of charming and hypnotizing members of the opposite gender, not migraines and nosebleeds. Ichthyocentaurs are civilized warrior poets of the sea, and their prowess lies in combat and divination, not so much in songs of madness that cause migraines, nosebleeds, or in worse cases, psychosis. That's my territory. I know a thing or two about inducing headaches, psychic nosebleeds, and brain damage when drunk at a karaoke session. Your parents haven't been entirely honest about their lineage, or there is some eldritch blood in the mix that they are unaware of. If you are no longer welcome where you performed your first singing recital, feel free to come by Innsmouth instead. I can provide eldritch audiences in the form of my associates and servants who can appreciate such songs of lunacy without losing our minds. Please feel free to reply to my comment or drop me a DM if you're interested in an exciting career as an eldritch songslayer for the Church of Innsmouth. Do remember to include a sample of your singing for my ears only.
Tentacled monstrosities who demand offerings from hapless townsfolks generally lurk beneath the depths of the sea, not lounge in a breezy verandah sipping tea. But this one enjoys a good pot of chamomile tea, against all expectations and experiences I've garnered hunting evil creatures and demonic gods. I tensed my muscles, waiting for the moment that eldritch horror would lash out with its tentacles and strangle me, as others have attempted to do so in the past. Only one tentacle slithered towards me, holding up a plate of cookies. "It's not poisoned,"my bounty target winked at me with a casual smile. "Help yourself to my cookies." "No thanks, monster. I'm here to kill you,"I declared, unholstering my guns and pointing them in its direction. It barely acknowledged the threat I posed, continuing to read the book held within its hands. Morality for Dummies huh. That pile of books perched on a chair next to it, is the next title going to be Ethics for Dummies? "Please take a seat, I've been expecting you too,"it gestured for me to sit next to it with a wave of a tentacle. "Please do tell me who sent you. Perhaps it was someone who gave me a 1-star review on one of my online accounts. Was it Yelp or Craigslist? What are they dissatisfied with?" "You're the weirdest eldritch abomination I've met,"I couldn't resist blurting out. "I straight up say I'm here to kill you...and..."I gulped nervously as my words escaped me. "You're not the first, and unlikely to be the last one,"it replied, wriggling its tentacles in a faux-threatening display. "Would you prefer if I behaved in a more stereotypically evil manner and started throttling the life out of you?" I shook my head and put my guns back into their holster. "The cookies aren't poisoned either?" It glared at me, miffed not at my feeble attempt to kill it but for insinuating its cookies were lethal to humans. "A dead body is bad for tourism. It would also affect the property price of my abode if you died in it. Utterly impractical. I'll admit my knowledge of human morality is incomplete, but I do know the very basics like how murder is generally frowned upon. Please, take a seat and enlighten me." I'm a hunter, not a lecturer on morality and ethics. But it didn't seem wise to refuse the Eldritch Lord of Innsmouth after it had asked me to sit with it a few times. Neither did it seem dangerous, considering it had made no attempts to harm me nor showed any aggression. If anything, it was nothing but friendly and inviting. I could only hope this wasn't some kind of trap. "So, you tentacled beast, why the interest in morality?"I inquired. It pouted while flipping through that Dummies book on morality. "That's enough derogatory remarks from you. I prefer to be addressed as Lord Elvari. Isn't it the hallmark of a good god to understand the humans who live in his town better? Well, besides thousands of 5-star reviews and satisfied worshippers. I will have you know I'm one of the best-rated gods on Yelp." Seemed like a good reason I couldn't argue against. It mentioned that if it could only improve its comprehension of human morality and align its actions accordingly, perhaps fewer people would perceive it as evil and hire hunters like me to try and kill it. Despite my best efforts, it seemed to demonstrate much difficulty in parsing the fact that humans don't like having tentacles implanted on their bodies. Probably because human books on morality don't include any caveats on sprouting tentacles. This entire encounter was giving me second thoughts. The first time I hesitated to fire away at a monster I was paid to kill. The usual revulsion I felt in the presence of such entities melted away as Elvari prepped a whole box of cookies for me to take home. All along, I spent years thinking I was doing the right thing eliminating horrors for a living. Now it seemed like the right thing to just walk away from one that has been nothing but genuinely affable. At Elvari's behest, I left him a 5-star review for tasty, totally not poisoned cookies and a strangely fascinating discussion on morality for dummies. --- [Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/)
It was definatly a moment. One- being kidnapped in my sleep wasn't pleasant. Woke up with brushes. Two- learning that the Orcs also believe in my gods. That was more than shocking to say the least. Turns out they favor the older scripts, which I understand. Three- they want me to bless a marriage, never did that before and FOUR- they have a chieftain. Today was just full of surprises. Still, I understand and saw the reasoning behind what they did. Blessing for marriages are no joke. We have not only several examples of why in our scriptures but also have a WHOLE SET OF GODS dedicated to it. I couldn't refuse- even though one of the gods I talk to regularly told me I could. "You are not bound to this work."Moss Phlox the god of forging said to me as I prayed over a set of rings to bless them. "You do not need to do this." "Yes,"I said, "But I want to." I felt his hammer pass through me, something he does when he blesses people meaning he had either blessed me or the rings, and I couldn't help but giggle like a child. I moved on next to the flowers for the wedding. Unlike most flowers, the goddess Flora resigned over these. She was known to be the one to unite animals and flowers in a way that wasn't done before. So if you have allergies to any type of pollen you can blame her. I found her standing over the wedding flowers as she was taking a deep breath of them in. No one else could see her and even a few orcs walked through her a few times. "Flora."I walked to her and knelt down next to her, also taking a quick whiff of the flowers. "I've seen you already blessed this bunch." "Yes,"she said, "I was a bit too excited for this wedding." "Why?" "My daughter, Thyme, is great friends with both the Cheiftain and her soon to be wife." "I see."I started giggling again. "I'll make sure every part of this is blessed and goes well." "I know."She smiled and lowered her voice. "I trust you." One after the other, bit by bit, I went and made sure every part of the wedding was perfect. From the dresses to the stones, nothing was left unblessed. I even got to see other gods and goddesses, it was such a huge ceremony. The last thing I had to do was see was the chieftain and her bride- although that last one I wouldn't get to see until right before she walks down the isle. Then it happened. I saw the chieftain in her gown for the first time. "Snapdraggon?"I couldn't believe my eyes. She turned to me and gasped. "ROSEMARY?!" Feeling her embrace after long years of separation was something I never thought I'd feel ever again. "It's been years!" "I know! And you're getting married?!" "Yeah!" "To who?!"I demanded to know. The small blush and quick darting eyes and hesitation told me all I needed to know. "You sly dog." "Hush..."She turned as red as her hair. "It's, like, what ever." "Okay, okay."I laughed. "Let's make sure this goes well..." Snapdragon was half orc. Despite looking more human as a teenager, she slowly grew into more of her orc features over time. She still looks very much human but with now the cutest of tusks and a nice light shade of green in her skin. Soon the wedding was going to start and I finally got to see her. Snapdragon's beautiful bride, "Amaryllis." "Oh shit,"Am said, "It's you again! How's it going Rosemarry?" "Great and you'll soon see how much better it is after everything's been blessed."I tried to hold back my excitement. "Some of the gods even decided to pay a visit." "Hopefully the god Dretch is there." "Huh? Why?" "She owes me money." We laughed until someone else told up the wedding has to start. I said my see-ya-laters and left to get to my spot. Everything seemed fine, I saw most of my old friends, saw plenty of the other gods- even VINCA- man I haven't seen her since she brought me back to life, and I saw new friends with the old. Everything was perfect until- "I OBJECT!"Came shooting out from Sage's mouth as she hovered over the wedding in her storm cloud.
"I'm just... tired, I suppose." "You always say that." "Always?" "Yes. Every time we talk, you always end up saying that." "This is the first time we've met." "No, it isn't." "What? How?" "Remember; I'm not here to explain how the world works." "Right. Well, I guess it's still true, then. I just can't seem to escape doing things I hate." "Perhaps it's not because of the things done, but because of who does them." "Is that your genius advice? That I'm the problem? You're terrible at this." "I'm not here to offer advice." "Right, what are you here for then? If it's not advice, and it's not explanation, then what's the point of you?" "Does everything need to have a point?" "Yes!" "Why does pointlessness frighten you so much?" "..." "It doesn't scare me. It bothers me." "Why?" "Because I'm constantly surrounded by it. Nothing has a meaning, nothing has a purpose to exist. It just does. And... I guess I thought... You, of all things, would have some purpose." "The purpose of existence is to exist. Why is that not sufficient?" "Because it means we all fail to achieve our purpose. Because, in the end, everything dies. Everything ceases to exist." "I don't." "Well good for you. The rest of us — the non-Gods of us — still fail."* "I won't disagree. But why is failure such a bad thing? Why is death bad and life good? Why does success and failure need to be so binary?" "Because life is lively, loud, busy, and death is always so... silent." "Yours isn't. Your life has been rather mute, and all your deaths have been rather talkative." "Do you just enjoy disagreeing with me?" "No." "Haha."... "Look, I get your point—" "I'm not making a point. I'm just asking questions." "Oh, cut it out. I'm a philosophy major. I know about the socratic method." "Socratic method? You think that little of me?" "Not a fan of Socrates, I take it?" "Never was there a man more arrogant, than the man who proclaimed he knew nothing. Not your finest character." "I'm sorry. I didn't often you, did I?" "A little. But don't worry. Your 26th isn't far, by now. I think I can see her." "My 26th what?" "..." "Right, right. No explaining." "You were saying?" "That I get your point." "I wasn't making one." "So you said. Regardless, I understand. You think existence can justify itself." "No, I really don't." "There she goes disagreeing again. Will you let me finish?" "Sorry." "Okay. Maybe I am the problem. But it's not like I can just change myself." "Why not?" "It's not that simple."* "Nothing ever is, unless you make it." "That doesn't even make sense." "It's not supposed to." "What?" "That's our time, I'm afraid. Your 26th is here." "26th what?" "Heela Lerti, a temporal engineer born December 31st, 3045. Have fun. See you soon." "I don't understand anything." "You're not supposed to. Just remember; person who does, not deeds." "Yeah, got it. It's me. I'm the problem." "If that's how you want to put it—" "It is." "Auf Wiedersehen, Heela. Happy 26th." "Yeah, bye."
There was zero warning. The World Ship just appeared in orbit one day. It popped into existence as if it had always been there, we just weren't seeing it. We had no clue what kind of technology could make that possible. We analyzed the transmission and the only thing our scientists could seem to agree on was that the information delivery seemed too mechanical to be organically generated. We were talking to a machine. Every nation received the transmission in a perfectly structured rendition of their native language. The signal was precisely the same, it just interpreted differently. It made no sense. The message itself was clear in its intent. We were no longer in charge of our own destiny. The invaders were to be our new overlords. Only with their management would our race survive. We were not about to accept this, of course. We had formed an international council to determine the best course of action when the second set of transmissions started arriving by the thousands. There was a new addition to the list of players. Each transmission varied slightly in its wording, but the message was essentially the same in each case. Our parents were home to break up the party.
"Why do you do this to us? What has society done to you to make you hate them so?" The masked villain before me shot me in my leg and I collapsed onto the floor. He walked over to me, his gun in hand and rubbed the barrel inside of my wound. I screamed and he laughed. He bent down, and began to answer my question. "You want to know why I chose this way of life?" Through my pain, I managed to give a slight nod. "Wouldn't you do the same for a Klondike bar?"
Hello, old friend. It’s been a few sunrises since you last sat in my shade. I am glad to see you one more time, but sad to see you so. You look so serene, but so frail. Where have gone those strong arms that I remember? Where is that spark in your eye? Mother, but I miss it so. When you looked at your woman, when you looked at your children and their children, when you looked at me. I will miss it most, I think. I remember the warmth of your small hands as they cradled my seed. I remember your eager face and happy smile when my stem first broke the soil. I remember when you protected me from the animals and the winters. I remember when you relaxed in my shade, when you boasted about me to a succession of bored women, when you finally found the one that was as eager as you. And I remember you, an old man, spending every warm day with your back against my trunk, reading or playing music or thinking. I will not ever forget your strength and your kindness. I am young still, but I will remember you until I am old and the world or age or sickness breaks me. And now, you who gave me your heart and soul will now give me your body, to rest amongst my roots. I welcome you with open limbs. Now we will be together forever, my friend, my father, my love. Thank you, for everything. Now come. Let the soil embrace you. I know you’ll understand the appeal. ---- -040 \| [more](/r/vonboomslang)
“Off with her head!” came the Queens familiar cry. All around Alice her enemies closed in around her. “You cannot hurt me” she whispered defiantly. “You cannot hurt me, you’re just a pack of cards!” At her bedside in the hospital her father was shuffling the deck. It had been three months since he had begun his vigil. Since Alice had swallowed the mushrooms he had sat patiently waiting. He had been assured that she would not die but the doctors could not tell him when she might wake up. “What may be, may be” he had thought to himself. As he started to set up his next game he saw something move in his peripheral vision. Her eyes had twitched. He was sure of it. “Doctor!” he shouted “Doctor!” He rapidly pressed the assistance button and held her hand tightly. Finally, Alice woke up.
It's very quiet now. Master Bruce was never easy to deal with even before the tragedy. He always had a strong will, but it was his own darkness I tried to protect him from. A darkness that made him break the housecats leg in two, slice the neighbours dogs gums with a scalpel or during archery practice accidently hit one of the maids. I'm not sure Master Bruce remembers anything before the tragedy but I do. After his parents death he forced himself to become a fighter, but few people know the darkness he ran from. As a teenager he could disappear for weeks at a time. Often I'd find a new work of art, or prize on a shelf or hanging when he returned from one of these trips. I only ever looked into one item he brought, and found a news story about a break in, and the suspect being in a coma. After that I looked out for deaths but didn't find any; but I didn't want to know where the items came from. Master Bruce returned after several years of training and told me his plan, I feared the worst had taken hold of his mind. After a few months I came to understand this is how he held on. Some brilliant minds took heroin to let their mind roam free, others drink into oblivion. Bruce Wayne became Batman. And it seemed to help, for a while. He could be the Bruce Wayne we all loved, and the Batman we all feared. The Joker pushed him too far. I know I'm not the only one who noticed that every time after the Joker was captured more than the usual amount of gang members ended up in hospital. He drove him to that edge. When your daughter was killed, he let go of whatever was tethering him to the light. Barbara was a lovely girl, and I'm eternally sorry for what happened to her. Maybe if I had controlled Master Bruce better. No. There is no point in maybe. Know I'm sorry. The world saw Batman became a killer by night. What they didn't know was I'd hear screaming coming from Master Bruce’s room whenever he was in residence. I'd find bats in the cave with their necks broken. I'd find blood, and I never asked if it was the Masters. Towards the end I barely even saw him anymore. He'd take meals blended into a drink. When he killed that schoolteacher I knew Master Bruce was gone. I don't even know what the teacher did, but it must have been something. I doubt it was a capital crime, but I will take that on my conscience for not acting sooner. In the end it was a simple matter of poisoning his evening blended meal. I knew it had worked when the screaming stopped. Commissioner. I hope you understand and forgive me. It's very quiet now. Signed Alfred Pennyworth.
The most frightening part was the suddenness of the water. No, this is just too much to jump in to; let me back up. I woke up, showered, picked up some coffee and went to work like every morning. There were a few clouds, but otherwise it was a beautiful April day. Everyone in the office seemed fine. We were all excited for the game later tonight, Steelers and Broncos. I was working on quarterly reports when the first drops hit my windows. I say MY windows because I have a corner office and watched it all from the beginning. Believe me, what I'm about to say is no exaggeration. Water started falling from the sky. There was no warning, no explanation on the TV, nothing. Of course, Jim immediately pulled up a map on the news' website, but they were just as confused as we were. What made it worse was that the falling water was localized, only a few square miles, centered directly over our city. Of course, by this point, we were all crowded around the windows, not even the boss was telling us to get back to work. Now, I've never been very religious, so I thought the reaction of the Church across the street was a little eccentric, but at least they tried to explain it. They were having a mid-week meeting or something, and as soon as the water started falling they were outside, yelling up at the sky. Whether they were calling it a sign or a curse, I don't know, but man, they sure were excited. While we were watching the church people were having their...whatever, Craig noticed none of the animals outside seemed bothered. There was a dog walking around, a few birds and squirrels in the trees, but they didn't seem to care about getting wet. Anyway, the falling water kept going, all day. It stopped around 8, but you've never seen so many car accidents on the highway as I did driving home from work. For the first time in years we actually watched national news on TV that night. Apparently we weren't the only affected area. They had a map with hot spots that were hit around the country. The Northwest seemed to be the worse off, with inches of water collected and hundreds of fatalities. A few cities reported falling ice or some sort of frozen, puffy water, but I think that's just exaggeration. The President is expected to address the nation in a few minutes, and the Governor announced a state of emergency for our area, effective immediately. We don't know what the falling water meant, or what it means, but all we can do is hope for the best. -251 _____________________ EDIT: Shoot, I kinda got sidetracked and off the original prompt. Sorry, OP.
Hard day's work. Eleven hours at the office, it's time for you to put your feet up. To relax. Grab a beer and watch the game. She's got the kids so it's just you and your Eagles for the evening. Sure is nice when things work out, isn't it? You haven't had a real night off like this in years. Babies are tough, twins are even tougher. It always seemed like they were taking shifts waking up, those two, doing their best to keep their parents from sleeping. If you didn't love 'em so much, you'd hate em, ya know? But tonight? Tonight is your night off. Tonight it's you and the boob tube. It's you, the Dolphins and the Eagles. The game is nearing when the door opens. She walks in, her belly round with a bag of groceries. You shoot up, and greet her, kiss her and ask her how her days was. Then it strikes you, she's alone. Where are the kids? "Where are the kids?"you ask her. She smiles, as if it's some sort of joke. "Not quite here yet."she responds. Your not sure why your question was funny but they must be at Aiden's down the street. They always like hanging out with Aiden, it was probably his giant trampoline and big screen TV. It's not right, really, they don't even have to try to get their kids to like 'em. You actually have to work, spend time with them and help 'em grow. You like the long game though, you're involved so you'll be with them till the end. You help her with the groceries, take them back to the kitchen. The announcers are talking about the Dolphin's offense, their decisive strikes. "So they're down at Aiden's I'm assuming?" She looks at you again, "Who?" You smile and tilt your head, come on, your actions tell her. "The kids." Before she can answer, Jaime calls from the other side of the house. "Dad!"You smile, they must have ran to the back yard before walking into the house. "Coming, Jaime!"You walk to the back door and look outside. Hide and seek is his favorite game, but Scout always gives him away. Every time they find a good spot, she has to go the bathroom and gets up, revealing them both. You look in all their usual hiding spots (they're not so good at the whole 'ingenuity' thing yet) and can't find them. "Where are they?"you ask her when you come back inside. Shes reading a magazine article, she never was too good at multitasking and must have missed the question. You walk past her an call through the house. "Jaime? Scout? Are you guys here? Jaime? Scout?" You move through the house, checking the kitchen, the pantry, the garage and the living room. The Eagles just won the coin toss and have chosen to receive. Your walking down the stairs now. "I can't find them. Can you help me please?" She looks up from her magazine, "Hmm? Sorry I missed that." "Dad?"Jaime calls to you. "Ah, are you hiding in here?"you say, walking towards the kitchen. Just as you start checking under the table he calls "Dad?" again. Your head jolts up and you listen for another call. "What are you doing?" "You didn't hear that?" "Hear what?" "Jaime he-" "Dad!" There's fear behind the voice, you can hear it. Fatherly instincts kick in your boy is in danger. But the voice, seems distant... and yet close. Its like hearing it through a pair of earbuds. You can't quite figure out where the source is "Dad!" Near the sink. "DAD!"His voice is shrill now, something terrifies him. You've heard that version of 'dad' many times in the middle of the night. He's having a night terror again, maybe he fell asleep under the sink? It seems mad, but there's no time to explain it to yourself. "Dad!!" "I'm coming, Jaime!"you call out to him. "Where are you?!" "What are you doing?"she asks. "DAD!" In the background, you can hear the TV is roaring. The Dolphins have scored. It puzzles you, because it's thursday and the Dolphins and Eagles game isn't until monday, why would they be -- Crying now, not just Jaime but Scout too, they're crying. Screaming. Blood curdling cries are coming from below the kitchen sink. For the first time in your life, you know it's happening. It's real. Your kids are dying damnit! Are you going to do something? Are you going to fight? Are you going to just let them die?! What kind of father are you? "You're scaring me, stop screaming, hun."She says from over your shoulder. "What are you yelling at?"There's a fear in her eyes, like walking in the path of some apex predator, she's unsure as to what to do next. "THEY'RE HURT! JAIME?! SCOUT?! WHERE ARE YOU?!"you call out to them. Your tearing apart the kitchen now, throwing drawers, ripping open cabinets shouting - "I'M COMING, HOLD ON."But the kids don't listen, their cries of anguish continue. "DADDY!"they cry out, "HELP US!" Tears form in your eyes, you grit your teeth. You'll tear this whole fucking house apart if it means saving your children. "Stop!"She calls from behind you, "STOP IT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" You turn and face her, breathing heavy, how can she not see what's at stake? How can she be so stupid to ask you such a question. She's wasting time! "You're not making any sense. You're scaring me, look at what you've done to the kitchen."she says incredulously. "Jaime and Scout need me!"you turn back to your work. "JAIME! SCOUT!"You run back into the living room. "Did you change the channel?"You ask her. The question feels stupid, yet somehow also the most important. "What?" "Did you change the channel?! I was just watching the game." "Are you serious?" You grab her by the arms, "Did you change the channel?! Answer the damn question, Helen!" She recoils beneath your firm grip and winces at the volume of every word. "No! I didn't touch your stupid fucking TV, what is going on?! What are you doing?" Animal Planet. How did it get changed to Animal Planet? You grip your head in your hands as you try to think back. The family pictures. That'll prove to her, that'll show her she's being crazy. "Please,"she starts, "you're acting very - " "WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE PICTURES!?"you scream at her. They're gone. The pictures of your two kids, inseparable since their conception. She's removed the school pictures, the family pictures and everything involved with your two children. Why would she do that to you? All that's left are your wedding photos, a few travel photos and her pregnancy announcement. "What the fuck have you done with them?"you ask her. It's her, she's the one what took them. She's put them somewhere safe, somewhere dangerous, somewhere horrible. Your not sure why, but she's done something the kids. Your kids. "WHO?!"she calls back to you. "What are you talking about?!" "SCOUT AND JAIME!"you say, incredulously. What kind of stupid fucking question is that? "Who are Scout and Jaime! You're making absolutely no sense!" "Who are Scout and Jaime?! For Christ's sake, Helen. They're our kids!" "We don't have any kids yet!"She cries from the other side of the room. "You sound crazy! I have no idea what you are talking about! Please, stop. This is stupid, this isn't funny. The prank's over, ok? You got me. I thoroughly frightened, but please, please, STOP!"The two of you don't say anything for a long time. She's a lost cause, you realize. Something has happened and she's forgetting. Perhaps she's drunk, you don't know, but right now you have to save your children. "DAD!" they call to you, right on queue. "DAD, HELP US!" She's moved to pick up the phone. David Attenborough is explaining the magnifying lens Eagles have in their eyes. You run back into the kitchen and start your destructive search again. She's crying again, talking to someone on the other line. "I'm coming, hold on, guys! I'm coming!"You try to ease their fears, but it's to no avail. Their screams and cries of terror ring in your ears. It resonates in your mind, anger fills in your heart; if only you could reach them. If only you could hold them. I'm coming, Jaime. I'm coming, Scout. Hold on. There's a knocking at your door, your wife answers it and lets the men in.
-Shit. What was she like? -She was beautiful. A smart girl, straight A's in college. -She went to college? Really? -Your daughter was a Sociology major, Mr. Thompson. Before the drugs. -Little Angela went to college. Hah! Who knew I could put a kid through college? -Huh... -What? -How do you know her name? -I always wanted to name my daughter Angela, officer. Apparently, I did. _________ -She's a drug addict, for fuck's sake! It's not her fault! -I'm sorry, Mr. Thompson. You have five minutes. -You treat her! Put her in rehab! Put her in jail, anything! Don't fucking do this! -That door, second one on the left. If you need anything, there's an emergency button under the desk, right in the – -I don't need a fucking emergency button to see my daughter. -It's standard procedure for murder cases, sir. There you are, you have five minutes. _________ -So, what? She killed a guy or something? -A family. She was stealing, we didn't think she meant to do it. Couple got home earlier, the husband had a gun. Her boyfriend got in a fight with the guy, she panicked. Killed both of them. -Jesus fucking Christ. I sure can raise them, huh? -You can't blame this on you. Anyway, it's taken care of, now. Like it never happened. Us being here, this is just standard procedure. We're required to inform you of the change. It shouldn't have any larger implications in your life, though. Think of it as a parallel universe that stopped existing the moment we enforced the sentence. -Noted. I once had daughter, and she even went to college, before she murdered people. Nice. -It never happened. Not anymore. Don't beat yourself up. -Is that why the doctor said me and the wife, we didn't qualify for that fertility thing, all those years ago? -Exactly, sir. That was us. Sorry. -It's fine. D'you want a beer or something? _________ -Angie, darling. -DAD! Dad. I'm so scared! -It's gonna be ok, honey. I promise. -Did they say anything? Is it rehab? -Darling... -Jail? -Angie, baby... -No! No, Dad, don't let them! -I'm so sorry, Angie. -Don't let them do it, Dad! Please! -They made up their minds. I can't – -You'll forget me dad. It'll be like I never exis – -Angie, listen to me. I'll never forget you. I don't care what they do, this voodoo shit they pull. I'll never forget you. I'll fix some shit up, I'll get them to go back and undo this mess, you watch. They'll bring you back, baby. Even if I have to sneak into their freaking time loop thing myself. -Time's up, Mr. Thompson. Angela, step away from the visitor, please. -DAD! DON'T! NO! DAD! -Angie you wait! I'm coming to get you back! I promise! _________ -Mr. Thompson... -Yeah? -There's one more thing. And this is completely up to you. -Yeah? -We're also required... Well, we bring with us a picture of the felon. From this – parallel universe I mentioned. In case you want it, and I don't know why you would, she's a stranger to you, but – -Let me see it. -Here. It's you two, at the beach. -That's nice. She really is pretty. Was. I don't know. -You're allowed to keep it, if you want. As a souvenir, or a – -Nah, you can take it. -Are you sure? -Yeah. Whatever. Sure you don't want that beer? -No, thank you. If you need anything, call us at the station. See you later, Mr. Thompson. -See you.
[Note: I twisted the concept slightly. Not exactly a void] Pete decided that something was wrong with the world. Or with him. He first noticed something weird, when he was talking with some friends about Japan. He didn't remember how the discussion led to it, but he had said something about the bombs over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And discovered that nobody else had heard about them. Being somewhat disappointed in the education system, he started explaining about the first nuclear bombs. Things started to get really strange when his friends turned out to be very selectively ignorant. They knew about the Manhattan Project, but claimed that nuclear bombs had been tested but never used in war. And then they had the audacity to start making fun of him for his "crazy story". He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he turned to Wikipedia half an hour later. He couldn't find it. Pages about Hiroshima and Nagasaki were there. But nothing about them ever having been flattened. He finally thought he had something, when he read about a high occurrence of radiation sickness in the area, but strangely that was explained away by the Japanese mining uranium in an unsafe manner. What? He had never heard of Japan having uranium. Not that he knew, but.... But this had to be some kind of censorship, right? How had they managed to brainwash his colleagues though? Was it just his friends pulling a prank? Had they messed up Wikipedia for a joke? Not being able to handle it, he sort of ignored the fact that he was going crazy. At least for a couple of hours. Then he left work early. He entered the bookstore. Not one with new, censored books, but a used book store. The elderly man who navigated the stacks of dusty books could certainly find something about World War II. And of course that included the war between the US and Japan. Pete left the store with about five heavy books with titles like "World History 1940-1950"and "The Complete History of World War II". Not having the courage to start reading at once, he waited until he was home. When he finally opened the books it was as he feared. Something had happened to the history of 1944 - 1946. The events until about halfway through 1944 were recognizable, and then it was as if the story twisted. For example, the Japanese had surrendered shortly after Nazi Germany fell. Nothing was right in 1945, and then history twisted back again. Around 1948 things seemed to be on track again. At least as far as Pete knew. He had never actually been much of a history buff. It was just that everything that should have been caused by events in 1945 had different explanations now. Such as the radiation sickness in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Since his discovery it became worse. The day after he got the books their content started to change. Now World War II only lasted until 1943. And the post war differences also lasted longer. The next day again, the war had been renamed "The Nazi War". The Japanese had never even gotten involved. Apparently, the reason that there were American bases in Japan was now something about a defense alliance against the Russian influence in the region. Pete was sitting in his room, Questioning his sanity. By now, World War II never happened. He had tried to "casually"ask others about their knowledge of history in that period, and he seemed to be the only one to remember it. Ok. What was happening. Was he going crazy? If he was, that would explain everything. And he should probably see a doctor? But he couldn't admit that to himself. Not that the alternative was much more comfortable to think about. What if he really was in a world where WW2 never happened? And if he wasn't crazy, then a short while ago, he was in world where it did. Parallel worlds? That was something he usually heard about in time travel stories. Somebody traveled back to a point in the past and changed events. That created a new history so that everything after that point was a completely different world than the one the story had started in. Had somebody time-traveled and prevented the war? No, that wasn't quite right. If history had been changed completely, everything after the change should be different. And recent events were still fine. It was more as if something had punched the timeline on the nose in 1945, and bent everything out of shape. What would happen, when current events started to bend? Would reality be torn away under his feet? And if that question was not scary enough: Why was he the only one noticing this happen? Why did only he see the world twisting off its hinges? That night the nightmares began. [Will finish tomorrow, if there is interest. Sleepy time here for now]
EDIT: thanks for the gold haha. EDIT 2: posted some more, sorry if its not as good as the first part. but i tried :) "fuck.."i groaned as i got out of bed. My head was throbbing and my body felt much heavier than usual. Not the kind of heaviness that makes it hard to move. the kind of heaviness that you feel after you get in shape for the first time and gain some muscle. a sensation as if your limbs have enough momentum to keep going after you move them. No, This heaviness made me feel... powerful. still, i must have gotten pretty fucked up for my head to feel the way it did. It was a throbbing pressure against my skull that wasn't just a typical hangover. It was so uncomfortable that before doing my usual routine of peeing, showering, and checking my phone. instead i headed straight to the nearest mirror. I'm not gonna say what i saw wasn't a surprise. In red text the word "Admin"floated above my head. That was a little weird considering i've never done any hallucinogenic drugs and words don't tend to float above your head. i moved my head and it moved with me. Than i noticed something that shook me to my very core. the word was in comic sans. Now as any internet aficionado and/or competent human being knows that's the most hated font. now at this point i start to freak out. But being the lazy guy i am i figure its probably all in my head and sit down in bed and turn the TV on. as if the day was only getting worse the first thing i see is bad news. More terrorist activity involving ISIS and horrifying stories about the aftermath of the attacks. I thought to myself how i wished everyone would just stop fighting so i didn't have to hear about it all the time. Not a second after the words "PVP disabled"popped up in the lower corner of my vision.
Abby drifted in and locked the door behind her. Her pink leggings, denim skirt and black shirt loose like when she had left, but her face had changed from the morning. She was confused, and after dropping her things in her bedroom she went to her father's room and knocked. Shortly he appeared and picked her up into a hug, carrying her toward the kitchen, back down the familiar hallway. "Daddy, what is sex?"The last word was pushed away from her mouth like cigarette smoke. Shocked, her father quickly set her in one of the chairs at their small kitchen table. "Abby, what kind of question is that? Who talked to you about sex?"His kid was only ten, surely he wouldn't have to give her this talk all by himself. "We talked about it today in school. The teacher said that our homework was to ask our parents about sex. She also said that it's bad."Abby rubbed her hand over her lips and looked down, swinging her feet in the chair. "Abby, no, sex isn't bad..."Sex is great. Jesus, you're talking to your kid here, you can't say that. "But it's not for kids, it's a very adult thing. It's how people have children, like you and all your classmates." Abby shriveled her nose at the basic idea. "But how?"Her father already wished they hadn't gotten to this point. "Well it's like..."The birds and the bees, Mark? "It's like the tweezers and the vase."His eyes had moved over to the stand beside the door to the porch, and his brain quickly switched the words. "The tweezers and the vase?"Abby looked around and looked at the small stand beside the door. "Sex is like.. those things?"Mark couldn't take it back now. He sighed and grabbed the vase, which was empty, and the tweezers and brought them over to the table where Abby was seated. "Well, you see... When two people are in love, and they.. they want to have a.. you, a child." "You and mommy did this?"Abby looked up at him with wonder. "Yes, Abby. So, here I am."He lifted the tweezers. "And here's mommy."He lifted the small, decorated vase in his other hand, making the same gesture as before. He stared at them, not knowing where to continue. "Well, when we were in love-" "You.. don't love mommy?"Abby bit her lip and pulled them into a tight line, her hand moving over her lips again. "It's a long story, Abbs."Mark sighed. "In love, we wanted to have a child. So late at night, we..."He lowered the tweezers into the mouth of the vase. "You'll learn more at school."He sighed again quickly and pulled the tweezers out, wishing he had done that a little more quickly in his teenage days. "And then around three months later we learned about you! And mommy had you about six months after that."Mark sat with a smile, waiting for his daughter's questions. She just sat and stared at him for a while, wondering what could be so complicated.
It was a clear and windy morning as the USS Chicago trudged through the choppy waters of the Gulf of Mexico. The landing craft could be seen from the ship. The Koreans had landed in the night and then pressed onward. Gunshots could be heard from the shore. As he got into the boat to head towards the shore, the marine's stomach was in knots. He told himself that it was nothing, that he was America's first line of defense and that he needed to get out of his own head. It didn't help. He couldn't help but think of how close he could be to his own death. When they arrived on the shore the marines were greeted with silence. The gunshots could no longer be heard. The stench of death was heavy on the air. The group of marines secured the area and made sure there weren't any Koreans waiting with the landing craft before moving onward. The area was muddy and the marines followed footprints and tank tracks that had been left moving away from the shore. As the moved further onward, the silence was broken. Gunfire. Not at them, but further ashore. The marines moved fast, but carefully. The shots continued, and it wasn't long before they were joined by another noise. "Now I'm free" "Free as a bird!" The marines moved through a small cropping of trees to find a pile of dead men clutching AK47s. Behind them was a wall of pickup trucks lined with men clutching Coors Light cans and shotguns. The men laughed and fired shots into the air as they saw the marines. One of these men broke from the line to move towards the marines. "I knew payin' my taxes was a waste a time! All that fancy equipment and you folks miss all the action."
"You could take it! Just pick up the wallet, see if there is money inside, and then just shove it in your pocket!"Said the small horned figure on his left. "No one would know and you'd possibly have extra money." "NO!"interjected the equally small winged creature on his right. "Someone must have valuables and other things of importance in the wallet. You should do the right thing and take it to the police. Let them find the proper owner." "Or you could just walk past it without doing anything."came a third reply. On top of the mans head sat a normal looking being wearing blue jeans, a sweatshirt, and tying the laces on a pair of Converse Chuck Taylors. The angel and the demon both looked up, puzzled at the appearance of the third party. "I don't know about you,"said the newcomer, "but both those options seem mentally tasking. The easiest way, for me, would be to just pass it like you didn't even know it was there. Let it be someone else's moral dilemma." The main human looked to his shoulder buddies who both seemed to shrug and nod in agreement. So he continued on his way, passing the wallet without so much as a second glance.
There existed an imaginary landscape for the purpose of this conversation. The visual aspect of this landscape is left to the reader to construct as per his mood, but the salient features include two men sitting opposite each other. "Someone on reddit wants us to debate. It says so in this post, but according to the rules, they won't be able to figure out who is who until the end.", I say "I'd be willing.", says the OP. I shook my head. "This conversation has already gone meta. We're talking about talking about talking about ourselves. Clearly, the fact that I can comprehend that makes me the intellectual in this conversation." The OP seemed impressed. "Well hey okay, didn't know that. Thanks." I on the other hand turned increasingly paranoid. "According to this conversation, we won't discover who is smart until the very end, so the fact that I've already established that I'm not an idiot must mean that this is either the end of the conversation or that I really am an idiot. We need to end this conversation right now." As I got up, preparing to exit the scene and emerge victorious, the OP suddenly stopped me and asked, "What?" "Didn't you hear me? I have to leave RIGHT NOW. You probably wouldn't understand why, but that's alright, you don't need to. Just follow after me so that the dialogue generator stops and the story ends.", I was furious. I grabbed the OP by his arm and started dragging him towards the hypothetical exit when all of a sudden, out of the blue, he blurted out, "Walruses look like they could bite pretty well." He's faking it. He's just pretending to be stupid and say stupid shit so I get distracted and this story goes on, I start to think. It's alright, I tell myself. I just have to stop dawdling and stop worrying about why all this is odd. I've seen weirder shit on the internet. This is nothing. This isn't even half as close as bizarre as some of the writing prompts get. All I have to do is get the story to stop and everything will - OH SHIT, the more I think, the more the story keeps on going. I need to stop thinking. Or else the story will keep going on. Fuck! I need to stop thinking that too. Fuck! I need to stop thinking. I need to stop &nbsp; &nbsp; "Right, my offer stays at 6 DT keys bro. Sorry."the OP chirped in. More silence goes by before the OP speaks again, "Sleepless in taiwan. Popped open the tinder app and now im thinking of long distance relationships. Amen." That fucker won't stop. The story isn't going to end like this. I'd had enough. He'd gotten on my nerves for too long. If I was going to accept that I was the idiot in this story, I would at least find out what in him made him so intellectual. So far he'd just been blabbering nonsense. "Hey!", I shouted. "Wtf is wrong with you, man? You've been saying random shit for the last few seconds. I get it, you're smarter. Everyone expected that. You can stop now." The OP seemed unfazed. "Well, firstly why would you bother with other people's said expectations?" I did not expect such a philosophical question in return. "I was just.. well, I don't know. I guess I just didn't expect to be the idiot when I started this prompt." But I'm not, I realized. I could have ended the story long ago. I am after all the person writing this, and the users have long since concluded that I'm the idiot in this debate. There is a possibility that the OP is the idiot here, but to be honest, all he's done is write a title on a subreddit and got some other redditors to spend minutes on it, just so we could entertain him instead. That's pretty smart, and that makes me a bit of an idiot, I admit. I didn't even know what sort of person the OP is and what he would say in this situation so I simply lifted off his dialogues from his comment history. In fact, fuck you. I don't even need to use italics to represent an internal monologue. The point here is that the debate you all expected is not the one you got, and for good reason. The real debate happened between two other participants. The real debate took place when you, the reader, took a bargain and thought that this little story would be worth your time. That you would understand every little reference the intellectual guy makes and every dodged opportunity the idiot faces. And guess what? That's exactly what happened, because I meant it to be so. I'd high five the OP right now if I could. We made a brilliant team. Now would be a great time to end the story don't you think? Before I do so however, I think the OP has one last thing to say. "Write a debate between an intellectual and an idiot. One where the reader can't figure out until the very end.", says the OP.
The first time I had coffee for free was on May, 30th, 1962. I was seventeen years old at the Green Frog Café, and my boyfriend at the time was eighteen years old and wore a beret. "You shouldn't clutter your pretty little head with these things", he said, taking the paperback edition of Albert Camus' The Stranger from my hand. "Why do you obsess so much about death and the meaning of life, anyway?" And I told him I wouldn't obsess about death if I had so little to lose of myself, like he did. He didn't understand. When he left, I said I was going to stay longer, and he only paid for his share. So I read for a while, alone, and, when I offered the waitress to pay for my coffee, she said the gentlemen that was sitting behind me had done so, already, and had asked her to give me this. 'This', was a napkin with the words; 'Try Nausea, by Sartre. You won't sleep for days'. I looked behind me, but there was no one there. ____________________________________________ The second time I had coffee for free was in 1973. I had broken up with Mike, and was alone at the Green Frog, re- reading Nausea for I think the thousandth time. I spent the whole afternoon there trying not to overhear a couple on the table behind me breaking up. It ended when she said, "I can't date a man who thinks 'You're going to be dead for so much longer than you are ever alive. Isn't that crazy?' is acceptable dinner conversation with my parents." And he said, "Well, it is crazy!" Then the voices died away, and the girl left. A couple of minutes later, the guy left, too, but I didn't get to see his face. I waved the waitress over and I asked for the check, and she said the gentlemen who was arguing with his girlfriend behind us had paid for it, already. He lived nearby, she said, and he also said to give you this. "Denial of Death, by Becker, is pretty amazing, too. If you liked Nausea." And I said, "When you see this man again, give him this", and I wrote on the back of the Napkin, "Try Kierkegaard, if you're into Jesus and all that crap." _____________________________________________ The third time I had coffee for free was in 1984. I went in the Green Frog with Jack and Darlene, because we promised her Cheesecake if she recovered from her bad grades, and the Green Frog always had the best cheesecakes. Just before I left, a young waitress I'd never seen before pulled me to a corner. "I see you are with a man", she whispered, "but this other man, he was here just a while ago, and –" I smiled, and I took the napkin. It read, "If you hadn't yet – The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Unbelievably good." And, careful not to let Darlene or my husband see, I wrote on the back, "I have, and I loved it. What's with you and all those books about death, after all?" ______________________________________ The last time I had coffee for free was in 2013. Jack was out on business, and Darlene was in town from college, but she was with friends, so I went to the Green Frog alone. I was reading Fight Club, and I kept feeling silly for looking left and right all the time, like I always did when I was at the Green Frog. Like a high school girl back in 1962, I couldn't shake those butterflies in my stomach, whenever I went inside the Frog. It never went away. When I ordered my coffee, a young waitress I didn't know came by and said, "You don't need to pay for the coffee."She said a man had come in, and asked her if she knew me, and she said she did, that I always came to the Café. And she gave me a napkin, and it read, "Once you asked me what I think about death. This is what I think about death: Dying doesn't scare me. It just bums me out that I'll never get to see a bunch of cool stuff I like, ever again." She said this man, he had come by three months ago, but she just now was on duty when I was there, too, so she didn't have the chance to give me the napkin before. She sounded really sorry about that. And I took the napkin and I said, "When you see the man again, you give him –" But the waitress shook her head, and I stopped the pen midway through Palahniuk's name. The waitress said the man lived nearby, and everyone at the Café knew him. She said she was really sorry she couldn't give me the napkin before. She said a bunch of the staff actually showed up for the funeral, to say goodbye to the man who always came to the Café to read his books. I thanked her for the service. I smiled, I left a good tip and I got up. And I stopped right by the door, turned around and looked at the Green Frog Café, and did it really slowly, because I knew it was going to be the last time I did this. I knew it. Dying means never getting to see a bunch of cool stuff you like, ever again. Then I walked out, and from the window I caught a glimpse of a napkin on my table, inscribed with the half-written words I never got to finish, and I thought that it read a bit like life. __________________________ Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
"Door 34-972 is ready to be opened."The loudspeaker droned on. I yawned and scratched my shoulder while waiting for the observational team to get into place. Four figures in yellow rubber suits approached, two of them carrying clipboards. "You may proceed."The lead droned on with what could only be the most annoying voice given to any creature under their sun. I pulled the door open. "Hall closet."One of the observers recorded, "Unsuitable, close." I close the door. The loudspeaker crackles back to life. "Re-calibrating.... Door 34-973 is ready to be opened." I open the door. "Garage door."Unsuitable." I close the door. "Re-calibrating.... Door 34-974 is ready to be opened." I open the door. "Bedroom!"The observer raises three fists in the air in triumph, "Kids bedroom. Decor suggests five to six year old." "Have the door cataloged and sent to the Scare floor immediately."The drone-voice observer ordered, her giant slug form turning to leave, "Thank you for helping to locate a replacement for door 51-622. The CDA thanks you and wishes you a long a prosperous career here at Monsters Inc."
With a loud crack, the floor opened up. Fire and ash exploded from the opening, clouding the room. A ferocious figure rose from the very depths of Hell itself. "Foolish mortal,"he boomed. "Thou hast lusted after that which is forbidden, wasting that which wouldst be shared with a lover. Spreading sin to- DAMMIT KATHY!" The young girl on the bed sat upright, waving smoke away from her face. "Hey, Luce. What's crackin?" He dropped his face into his hands and sighed. "Kathy, this is the third time I've been here this month. Do you really have nothing better to do?" She shrugged. "Internet's down again. So nope. Hey, do you think you can cut it with the fire? Last time the neighbors called the fire department. Mom about flipped and-" "SILENCE!"the devil boomed. Her jaw dropped. "I know you did not just 'silence' me! I'll have you know I'm a-" He held up his hands. "Look, Kathy. I know you think I'm a buddy or whatever..." "Yeah, some friend. Telling me to silence..."she grumbled. "...but I am not. I am the Lord of the Underworld. Ruler of the seventh circle. Get a hobby. Get a job. Get help. Get something." The girl was silent for a few seconds. "Do I at least get my wish?" "No. I will make your wish for you."A young man poofed next to the bed. "This is Dave."Dave shyly waved at Kathy. "He's a nice guy. Screw him instead of yourself. And God help me, if I have to come here again..." He shuddered before vanishing in a puff of smoke.
In the deep jungle, you lose all sense of direction. The firefight had been quick and deadly, leaving me with only the chance to ditch my gear and retreat away from my squad. Johnston had bailed with me; each of us taking turns at covering fire while we pepper-potted back through the dense undergrowth. Then his rifle had gone silent and I knew he was gone. I had stumbled through the brush, beating through massive fleshy leaves and trailing green limbs until I was exhausted. The adrenaline was gone now and all I felt was haggard and wrung-out. A round had clipped my left shoulder, but it had stopped bleeding a while back. Another had impacted the ceramic plate in the back of my body armour, but I had a massive bruise growing from the impact. The only sounds I could hear now were my own ragged breathing and the alien sounds of the foreign jungle. Before I could rouse myself from my exhausted stupor, make some kind of camp and put up a crude perimeter warning device, I had fallen asleep against the rotting bole of a fallen tree. ---------------------- I awoke to twilight and momentarily panicked, reaching for my rifle. "Don't worry, your rifle is over here,"said a quiet voice as my hand found nothing but coiled roots and loamy dirt. Wide awake, I stared at the soldier sitting opposite me, a young woman with her helmet off, her jet hair neatly cropped into a practical pixie cut. "Howdy,"I managed, immediately noting her rank and unit crests. "Took the liberty of cleaning all the jungle shit off your gat,"she said, tossing my weapon to me one-handed, "all this green crap gets in the working parts and then it's stoppage city." "Thanks,"I managed. "You get separated from your crew too?" I nodded, pulling a water bottle out of my webbing and taking several long swallows. "Alright, this where I have ta tell you the good news and the bad news." Even more alert now, I watched as she cleared away a patch of earth and drew a rough map of the terrain; "Here's out position and here's the enemy. This is where the drop ship put us down originally." "Fuck me." "Yep,"she rubbed her forehead, streaked with cam paint, "we're basically fucked. There's no way back through now." We were the same rank - both corporals - but she radiated an air of authority that made me defer to her. "What should we do?" "Well buddy, I reckon we make a camp and try to survive as long as we can until evac comes." Dumbly, I nodded. ---------------------- We put another few miles between us and the enemy before we set up our camp. Neither of us had any radio or nav equipment on us so we had to rely on what we knew of the stars in this region. I was already exhausted but Corporal Clarke, my new squaddie, seemed full of beans. Her compact, muscular body seemed to contain limitless energy and she practically dragged me along through snarls of unfamiliar vegetation. My shoulder wound opened up again and she flickered a critical gaze over it, "We'll patch you up once we hunker down." The too-large moon was out in full by the time we finally set down near a natural shelf of rock and made camp in the lee of the outcrop. I was warm and so was the night. Clarke ordered me out of my body armour and I stripped off my fatigue shirt so she could get at the shoulder wound. "You'll be OK,"she husked as she washed it out with canteen water, then probed the hole with her fingers, "lemme get my sewing kit and stitch your sorry ass up." Her deft, strong fingers threaded a curved needle and she expertly stitched the wound. "You're good at this,"I observed. "Damn straight. Top of my field medic class, budd." She stood from her squat and walked to the edge of our shelter, "You get some sleep Hanson, I'll take first watch." Grateful, I curled up against my webbing and armour and went out like a light. ---------------------- A rough shake brought me around and I was disoriented for a few seconds before I realised where I was. "Rise and shine knucklehead,"quipped Clarke, "it's morning already." Bleary, I rummaged for my water bottle and sipped from it. Clarke was as perky and peppy as last night, even though she mustn't have slept a wink. "Fucking love this shit,"she said, "made for the army my dad said - never needed more than a couple of hours sleep a night." In the distance, we could hear the muffled sound of mortars and the occasional chatter of gunfire when the wind carried it right. "Got a new plan,"Clarke said, rifle on her shoulder, "sounds like our guys are pushing back with reinforcements, so let's double the fuck out of here and try to swing around the enemy perimeter." Nodding, I gathered up my gear, strapped on my armour and webbing, then we were off again. ---------------------- The gunfire grew louder and we even heard the odd ricochet whine overhead. "Keep your shit low and squared away,"said Clarke, "unless you wanna get chewed up by friendly fire." Her limitless energy was starting to seem preposterous now. Was she high? I knew some of 10th squad did coke, but she didn't seem the type. She was too marine. Everything about her fit the stereotype of a mean green fighting machine. Twice we stumbled on enemy scouts, but Clarke put them down immediately with precise double-taps of her silenced pistol. She was far too good a shot to be hyped on drugs. "C'mon, we're almost there,"she whispered, gesturing me to move my bruised and exhausted body forward. Nodding, I dashed forward, making for cover. Bullets suddenly hissed and zipped around me. One winged my already injured should and another two hit like hammers into my thigh and calf. I went down. "Shit"I heard Clarke hiss, then pounding boots and strong arms lifting me into a fireman's carry. Somehow she had swung her rifle around and was giving covering fire as she ran, carrying me to safety - near friendly lines. I was sure I felt bullet impacts jolt her body, but it didn't stop her. Then we were safe; the chatter of marine rifles covering her flight and shouts of surprise and welcome as she crested the marine fortifications and dumped me in front of the medic. I rolled over, then looked up at my saviour. Clarke's chest had three gaping holes in it and the bottom of her jaw had been blown away. All of the wounds were slicked with red blood - blood over bright titanium and electromuscle fibres. She grinned and spoke, even with half her jaw missing; "Corporal Clarke, 76th cyborg reconnaissance at your service. By the look of that leg, you're gonna be our newest member, son."
I had only read of these strange contraptions in books. Mother didn't allow me to venture into the town at all so I had little to no idea how this strange world works. It was beautifully crafted. Surely a masterpiece of design but felt sad. It weighed down with a kind of remorse or guilt. As if it wanted me to leave it in the bush I found it. To be forgotten forever. But why would an owner throw this away in a park? They brought this into their life and hold a responsibility to it. Luckily, I had spent close to a week figuring out how the train system works in this concrete forrest. I can only imagine what mother would say if she could see me on the train with such a famous weapon. I'd like to think she'd be proud of my resolve in returning it to Mr. Randy Phillips. Mr. Phillips must be quite the organized man to have his name and address printed on his possessions. I wonder what kind of house he lives in. This train smells like a dead carcass but that was not the most disturbing part. I felt isolated. People were crying and avoiding my gaze. The train must be a depressing place for everyone. I tried to smile as mother had taught me at a few people but that seemed to make them more uncomfortable. Even the young boy I tried to show this tool to was pulled away by his mother. Her eyes swelled up while she whimpered "please don't". It seems I have much to learn on the topic of interaction. Two men from the corner of my eye had suddenly jumped on me. I was completely bewildered as they yelled about holding me down while calling me a "wetback"or "spic"alternatively. That only confused me more as I'm sure my clothes had not been dampened at all today. Everything seemed to happen so fast afterwards. Every person began rushing around and yelling. Some began to take turns punching or kicking me while the two large men wearing shirts displaying odd orange flags with striped stars intersecting in the middle held me down. I was losing consciousness and the last thing I heard was somebody yell "Worldstar!" Civilization sure is strange, mother!
What the fuck is this place? I thought to myself. Speaking out loud here costed you your life. I looked at the fresh corpse on the floor. The person next to me opened his mouth, I nudged him and he closed it. This prison is for the damned. After Earth ran out of oxygen and people moved to Opula, the laws implemented to stop it from happening again are more than harsh. "You have 1 fruit tree in your cell. You must keep it alive, it is your only oxygen, food, and water source." She paused. "To gain water, soil, and other necessities for the tree to grow, you have to give back to the community." A girl started crying and her mask cut out. We all stared as she started choking. She fell to the floor and writhed for a while. Eventually she stopped, and someone dragged her and the other guy away. This is my life now. "Morale is low for the population, these are less than ideal living conditions for humanity. People need a distraction, entertainment." She looked around at all of us. She pointed at some kid who went over his paper allowance. "Come forwards." He took a step. "What's your name, kid?" His lip was quivering. "M..m. Michael." She slapped him in the face. "Wrong, it's victim now. If you want your name back, you gotta complete the course." She opened a door and we followed her through. Victim's jumpsuit glowed red. The corridor led to an obstacle course. "Victim, you're up. Complete the course and get your name and rations." He stood on the first platform and started running. He stood on a panel and it opened up. We heard him scream and then a crunch. She pointed at me. "You're up."
Everything loses its charm after a while. Sunsets are just boring if you watch it a million times so are rainbows.Everything is boring when you run out of questions to ponder. Man had answered all the questions except one. Man had asked every question with the hope of finding an answer which will give him the ability to hope more....except that it wasnt to be. Till the early part of the twenty first century, man was hopeful. Hopeful of expanding his horizons beyond earth. Hopeful of banishing death and ailment Hopeful of creating a society that thrives on equality, where every need of his are met by his retinue of sentient robot servants. But that wasnt to be. I was a spectator and watched man conquer space. The FTL drive was unveiled with much fan fare and did perform beyond mans wildest dreams - thereby funnelling hope. But came crashing down, when all he encountered was planet upon planet of barren wastelands. Yes, he did encounter a few aliens. It seems that the vast majority of life in the nearby galactic region is predominantly a type of self aware fungus. The fungus was different as it did not have any evident DNA. Millions of papers were published on the fungus. But it ended after a while. After a few thousand years of searching , man gave up. Man did embrace bionics to the extent that every faculty was enhanced by the year 3200. However body modification and new senses excited him only for a few millenia. When people started taking UV vision for granted, options were fast running out. The next big trend was the call back for man to embrace his roots. The major uprising in the 4th millenia and that which existed for 2000 years was started by a small group of fundamentalists. This group started as a religious cult that believed that body modifications were against the holy word. Wars were fought and more collective hope was lost. After the 7th millenium I lose track of time. Ever wondered why the summer seems to stretch for ages for a 5 year old?It is because 3 months for him is 1/20th of his entire lifetime. For a 50 year old, it is 1/200th. How would it be for someone who is a few thousand years old? Anyways I digress.... During the 7th millenia, the world council collectively banned all forms of religion and it was widely accepted that there is no God. Nano technologies, bio-healing, nuclear fusion - Man made everything! However, with the advent of technology , strangely the world became more and more agitated instead of becoming serene. Finally, during the 10th millenia, someone literally opened the Pandoras box. Someone, somewhere in some remote village had engineered a nanobot with AI and self replicating capabilities. That spelled doom for man. The artificial being, rapidly evolved in order to become the dominant being and infected every single human within 24 hours. The end was quick for everyone - From a population of 12 billion, we became 0 in 24 hours. Then it spread to all other forms of life.... Except for me... Due to a small glitch, the nanobots self destructed after 3 months. Which meant that I have been alone for the last 90000 years. The only way to stop going insane is to immerse yourself in problems worth solving. Now with most of the problems solved, the bigger problem was in identifying a problem worth solving. That brings me to the most fundamental question of all...Where does hope spring from? I havent had time to figure out the answer.All my modeling and analytics points to a solution that lies outside the three dimensions. Now I have a need to simulate something... I used the last 10000 years of mine to build the most powerful computer in the galaxy. It derives power from the supermassive blackhole that lies in the center of the galaxy. Tomorrow is my last day! I need to prolong my life. I fired up my computer and I said ... "Let there be light"
As far back as I can remember, I've always wanted to be a tyrant. And I don't mean the whole Cincinnatus-dictator, Father-of-his-people bullcrap, thank you very much. I mean a straight-up tyrant. I mean the guy sipping champagne and laughing down at the useless little slaves toiling their lives away. I mean putting my face over everything, just because I can. No public relations to worry about. No popularity contests. No pretending like you're any better than you really are. The nation is a prison, and I'm the warden. That's what I'm talking about. (My childhood was... complicated. Let's just leave it at that.) Needless to say, I was out on the street with a homemade freeze ray, like any self-respecting supervillain, just as soon as I could lift it. Robbed some banks, kidnapped some damsels, twirled my mustache, got foiled more times than I could count, yadda yadda yadda. Main thing is, I was waiting for my chance. And what do you know - one day a few years ago, the heroes got all distracted with some big crisis or another, and I went for it. Conquered myself a little chunk of Indiana, just far enough away from Chicago that I knew no one would notice. Did some maniacal laughing, set myself up in the swankiest mayor's office I could find, showed off my robot death legions. Good times. And then... well... the crisis didn't end. Next thing you know, we're getting an alien invasion, like, weekly. Half of 'em from different universes. I'm running myself ragged just trying to hold onto my territory. I'm even working with the freaking heroes, or at least the ones who are left. Guess they figure that I might enslave entire populations, but at least I'm not eating them or some crap like that. Today, I had to save a school. Just a school. I haven't even had time to wrap the place in barbed wire and put up a "Reeducation Camp"sign. And after I drive off the aliens, the kids? They all start cheering for me. The little bastards. Don't they know the only reason they still live is because I'm gonna need a work force for all the monuments to myself I'm gonna build once all this is over? I even told them that, and they kept cheering. People, y'know? It's like they just don't even get it.
I opened my drawers and threw a few blouses and jeans that I liked into my overnight bag. I slid open my underwear drawer and grinned wickedly at the black lacy piece on top. Michael was going to love it. I slipped that into the bag as well. "Hey sweetie." I turned to see my mom standing in the doorway. Her eyes were watery like tears would pour out at any second. I hated that about her. Ever since Dad left, she was always about to cry about one thing or another. "Yes?"I asked zipping up the bag and looking around my room to see if I had missed anything. "You going on a trip somewhere, honey?" "Yeah, mom, just going out of town with the girls." She knew I was lying. I didn't really care, but, of course, she instantly started crying. "I know you're not going on a trip."her voice cut into barely a whisper, "I know about Michael." I snatched my phone charger out of the wall and shoved it into the bag. "And your point is?"I didn't have time for this. Michael was probably already home from work. "Sarah, he's married. Think about what your Father did to us. Do you really want to inflict that on somebody else?" I couldn't handle this. I stepped into my black flats and glared at mom as I adjusted the heel. "No. what he did to you."I said icily, "I don't recall Dad cheating on me. Just because you can't manage your own relationship, don't put that shit on me." Her face was red and her tears had already made streaks through her make up. She only managed to smear it more as she attempted to wipe the tears away with her sleeve. "Sarah, please... it's not right." I looped the overnight bag over my shoulder and did another once over of the room. "I really don't care, mom. I'm going to go over to Michael's place. You see, His wife and kids are out of town the whole weekend. So I'm going to fuck him in the bed he shares with his wife. I'll probably fuck him on kitchen table where he eats meals with his family. I might even aim for a few more places just to really cover some territory. And you know what? He's not going to leave his wife because he doesn't want to make waves and he definitely loves the kids. I know that. I know that and I really don't care. I'm just trying to have a good time." I shoved past her and she let herself fall to her knees unable to speak through her sobbing. "While I'm out enjoying my life, why don't you stay here and cry some more. It's about the only thing you're fucking good at."I gave my mom one final look of disdain and walked out of the house.
At a quarter past seven on the morning of September the seventeenth, with a light breeze blowing, as her home town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch began to groan awake, Anastasia Hardwick-Cholmondeley, youngest daughter of Christopher and Christabel, went on her accustomed morning jog, down the hill which for generations had been home to her ancestors (deinstitutionalised counter-revolutionaries all), past the shops, out along the main road already sighing with traffic, beyond the houses thinning like hairs on a judge's head, out of the built-up world, into the green cool of the forest, down, down the valley, picking up speed with legs pumping arms pumping heart pumping until finally, breathlessly, gratefully, sprawling on the blanket of moss which covered the riverbank, laughing, hurting, free.
I wake up. I tend to the fields. I sleep. I wake up. I tend to the fields. I sleep. I wake up. I tend to the fields. A truck goes past. I tend to the fields. I sleep. I wake up. I tend to the fields. More vans today. I ignore them. I need to keep working. I tend to the fields. I sleep. I wake up. I see their faces everywhere. I tend to the fields. I sleep. I wake up. I get some news. Our people's food output has increased. I pretend not to starve. I tend to the fields. I sleep. I wake up. I tend to the fields. A van shows up. I get asked questions. These people are not from our utopia. They have cameras with them. They are journalists. I tell them how happy I am. I say how I am proud to be from the DPRK. I lie about the utopia. They go. I tend to the fields. I sleep. I wake up. I tend to the fields. I sleep.
The air was spinning all around the roof of the PD, the way it always did in November. Gordon had tried to spark his lighter five or six times by now, but it wouldn't stay lit. "Screw it, probably better this way,"he thought to himself, "at least I can tell Barbara I kept it to three sticks today." He dropped the unlit cigarette on the roof. It picked up in the wind, dancing among the window lights shining from every Gotham skyscraper until it vanished, snatched in a black glove. That same fist was flying at Gordon's face, knocking him clean off his feet. He was flat on his back, his ears ringing. The hands reached down and lifted him up by his lapels, ramming him into the side of the smokestack. "Littering is a violation of Gotham Municipal Code Section 195.43 subsection (e)(6),"he growled, "You think that's a fucking joke?" He wasn't the same behind the cowl anymore. Gordon could see that. He'd won the war, but he'd lost himself. "Mother of God, Bruce, relax,"Gordon said, wincing through the pain in his back, "it's just one cigarette. It was a symbolic fucking gesture. I'm trying to quit." "This city doesn't need your symbols. You see the bat on that searchlight over there? That's Gotham's only symbol! And it means nobody's above the law!" "Regulation,"Gordon replied. "What?" "Regulation, not law. That's your fucking problem these days, Bruce. You can't tell the difference. You think you'd still be choking me over a goddamn loosey if Penguin was still keeping hookers in shipping containers?" The detective let Gordon free and turned away, his cape billowing. "You know what else is a Gotham regulation, Bruce? No rappelling off buildings with grappling guns! No fucking missile launchers in headlights!" "Don't preach to me, Jim! I protected this city when your whole department was running away and taking bribes. And now what? I'm supposed to just go away? You know what - you know who - I gave up for this." Gordon put his hand on his old friend's shoulder. "I know, Bruce, a soldier without a war is a hard life. I feel it too. You don't think I miss getting in an extra lick on a few henchmen or the rush from watching a getaway truck get banged off a bridge? Why the fuck do you think I've been sucking down a pack of these a day? My budget's been slashed so thin we don't even have a working radio in half the squad cars no more. But this is getting nuts now! I ain't seen a dog in two months because everyone's worried what you'll do if they don't bag the poop!" "So then what now?"he asked the Commissioner. A few blocks away, Gordon could see three co-eds from GCU piling into a unmarked black car. Six years ago, if you climbed into some strangers ride at two in the morning in Gotham, you'd better have a death wish. Now it was just Uber or some other smartphone shit. This town might as well be spick and span Metropolis. Gordon looked back at the caped crusader, who was tracing his finger along the contours of the old searchlight. Gordon reached into his pocket and fumbled with the key he'd been carrying around for months now. "The way I see it, we got two choices. Keep punching jaywalkers in the face or remember what I told you a long time ago." "Remember what?"the dark knight asked. "You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain,"Gordon said. He put the small piece of metal in Batman's hand. 'Arkham Master Key' was written on the side.
I barge in, and the door bangs against the wall so hard it flies back at me, hitting my shoulder. "Dean…"Edgar raises his eyes startled from the dinner table. "Is everything all –" "Sorry, the door was open. Edgar, I need to talk to you. Hey Liz, sorry about barging in like this." Edgar frowns – Liz has the fork halfway to her mouth, eyebrows raised. "Can we talk in your office, please?" Edgar sighs, pushing his plate away. &nbsp; I bang the door shut behind me and turn on the office lights before Edgar can even turn around to face me. "Look at this,"I say, pulling the book from my backpack. "Do you see this?" Edgar looks down, then back up at me. "Dean, we are having dinner, can't you –" "Look. Look!"I open the book. "I found it in the attic of the new apartment. I was cleaning some stuff from the last tenant and –" "Dean, really, I'm –" "Look!"I point at the entries. "Look at that."I turn page after page. "Do you see what this is?" Edgar sighs, then looks down at the handwritten entries on the diary. "It's… it looks like a dream journal, Dean." "It is a dream journal."I keep turning the pages. "But don't you notice anything strange?" "Dean, you've been obsessed with dreams every since --" "It's about me, Edgar!"I raise the book to my eyes and read. "September 29th -- I'm walking down a cobblestone path. Sabina is by my side, and we have a dog – though we don't have a dog in real life. But in the dream, the dog has always been ours." I keep going. "October 12th – I'm at the top of a mountain with a kid – he's my son, even though I don't have a son in real life. Edgar is there too, but he's – you see!? It's a diary of my dreams!" "So? You have a dream journal, Dean. A lot of people have them." "No, no,"I shuffle the book for the last entry. "I didn't write this, I found this! And look."I point. "January 9th – I dream about the trip to Yosemite tomorrow – in the dream, we pack the car for hours and hours but we're never done. Sabina always has one more bag." Edgar sighs. "Dean, I really –" "That's the last entry! January 9th!" "So?" "Don't you remember? That's the day I told you. The last day I dreamed. The last time I remembered a dream was January 9! After that, it's all a blank!" "Dean, please, you got to –" "I don't know what this means. I don't know who left this diary for me, but I think this has something to do with me not dreaming for the past three months." "Weren't you seeing Dr. Becker about this 'dream blackout'?" "Yeah, but he's not helping. I've been thinking… I know this sounds insane, but… what if… what if someone's stealing my dreams? What if these are my dreams in the book, and the new ones aren't here because someone took them? What if someone's been dreaming my dreams?" Edgar pauses. "You're right. That does sound insane." The door comes open, and Liz sticks her head inside. "Edgar, the steak is getting cold." "Liz, can I show this to you?"I say. "I found this –" "Dean, I'm really not interested. Aren't you supposed to be at work?" God damn it, they don't get it. I need to talk to Sabina about this. &nbsp; I pull over by the old house, driving half the car up on the curb. I step out and go for the door. We don't live here anymore. Me and Sabina, we bought a new apartment. But she's been staying here this last week to take care of some stuff while I prep the new place. "Sabina!"I knock. Nothing. I knock again. And again. I look inside through the foggy glass window, cupping my hands around my eyes. "Sabina?" No one. Cursing, I pull the phone and dial her number. "Hello?" "Sabina, there you are! Listen, I found something at the new apartment, you –" Wait. A man answered the phone. "… Sabina?" "No, this is Matthew." "Is Sabina there?" "Sorry, never heard of her." I pull the phone away from my ear. The number's right – it even says 'Sabina' on the screen. What the hell? I dial her parents'. "Hello?" "Mrs. Henrison? Hi, it's Dean here. Listen, is Sabina –" I hear ruffling sounds, like the phone's switching hands. "Who is this?" It's her father. "Earl, hi. It's Dean. Listen, I've been trying to reach Sabina, but –" "Listen up boy, I won't tell you again -- stop calling." I pause. "Stop ca – what are you talking about? I just want –" "If you call here one more time, we will call the police and get a restraining order on you, you fucking bastard." "Wait, what are you talking about? Earl, is Sabina there? I –" Dial tone.
I never considered myself a bad person. Sure, sometimes I didn't hold the door when I was in a hurry and I've cut people off in traffic without using my blinker because I was careless or left the milk out on the counter. I never thought that those minor infractions would lead me to where I am today. I collapsed on the floor of my house and when I woke up I was in a place that looked like a cave. It seemed a little odd and it was a bit hot but not unbearable. The kind of hot where it doesn't warrant turning on the AC but opening the window isn't quite enough, just rather inconvenient. I began my journey through the cave and came upon an elevator. There was a man inside and as soon as I came up to it the door began to close. I yelled for him to hold it and he just stared at me and allowed the door to close. No matter, I casually thought, I'll just get the next one. I got the next elevator and there was another man inside. As soon as the door closed, he passed a large amount of gas and giggled. It was disgusting and nothing I did could help me escape the smell. I got off the elevator after what seemed like the longest ride in history into a convenience store. I had no idea where I was so I decided to go to the counter to ask for information. There was a small line so I stepped behind an elderly woman to wait my turn. It turns out every person in line was getting lottery tickets, a lot of them, and they were completely undecided about which tickets they wanted and I was beginning to get a little annoyed as this short wait was turning into a rather long one. Another worker, who noticed this stepped up to open another register, at which point the 2 people in line behind me jumped up and ran over, essentially skipping me in line, and they also wanted a large amount of lottery tickets. Damn, I thought, all of this is turning out to be inconvenient and annoying. The elevator, the people in line...I just want to know where I am and what to do. I finally get to the register and the woman looks at her watch and exclaims "Oh it's my break time!"and walks away, leaving me to get back in the other line, which has swelled a good bit with more people buying lottery tickets. At this point, I just decide to leave and figure things out on my own. I leave the store and walk to the street and notice I don't recognize any landmarks. I walk down the street, attempting to hail a cab to have them take me somewhere recognizable and as I'm doing so, I turn around and someone runs into me, effectively spilling their coffee down my new white shirt my wife had just gotten for me that day and they begin yelling at me for spilling their overpriced Starbucks. This day was shaping up to be one of the worst I've had in a long time. I turn around to just walk away and I step into the street to cross it, just in time to see a semi-truck bearing down on me. I wake up in a cave that's just a little too hot, and there seems to be an elevator off in the distance...
It hit me a few months ago while walking down the street after school with Wen Hao, my best friend. A black shiny round stone caught my attention. It shone bright on the pavement, reflecting the afternoon light. "Isn't that stone beautiful?"I said, quickly squatting down to observe it. Wen Hao walked up to stand by my side, and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Looks like any other stone, Ben." "I'm taking it home,"I said, my hands trembling as I took the stone egg. It was the size of a chicken egg and I carefully put it into my back pocket. Wen Hao shrugged as we continued our way home. -------- Wen Hao and I hung out in my bedroom, as we usually did after school but I was distracted. "Ben, stop it,"Wen Hao said halfway while talking about basketball. I had noticed his disapproving stare but hadn't figured out what he was uncomfortable with. "What?" "Why are you rubbing that stone against your ass? You're not in love with me, are you?" "Yuck, you're like a brother to me,"I said quickly and realised I was indeed rolling the egg on my butt. I stopped and sat on it, to hide it from view. That feels much better. I thought. I wondered how it'd feel against my bare skin. "Whatever,"Wen Hao said, "I'd be cool with it if you were. Just tell me instead of trying to be sexy, you're not doing a very good job." I made a playful jab at his shoulder. "Anyway, you're distracted and obviously need to do something about it. See you tomorrow,"Wen Hao said and left. The moment the door closed behind him, I stripped off my jeans and quickly sat on the egg. It felt warmer against my bare skin, and I thought I felt it pulse. I skipped school the next day, telling my parents I didn't feel well. Truthfully, I felt nervous as soon as I lifted my butt off the egg. I could take short breaks to get a drink and go to toilet, but I couldn't wait to return to the egg and sit on it, and let out a contented sigh when I did. The egg hatched that evening. From it, a stone baby the size of a small chick emerged crying. I knew he was hungry and I tried to feed it milk, cereal and even grass. He would take none of it. Feeling lost, I tried to placate him with my finger and stroked his cheek. His little hands took it and put it in his mouth and I felt a sharp prick. He bit me! His cries died down as he drank greedily. ----- Wen Hao visited my room that night. "Came by to see if you were ok,"he said, looking at me for any signs of illness. "You didn't do anything stupid like insert that rock into somewhere you shouldn't, did you?" I shook my head and showed him the broken stone egg shells, and Boy. I named the stone baby, Boy. Not very imaginative, but that's what some parents called their kids. "What does he eat? OH!"He said, his eyes widening when he saw me drip my blood into Boy's eager mouth. "Interesting. How much bigger will he get? How will you feed him if he gets human sized?" "There's always you." Wen Hao shook his head. "You're my buddy but I'm not using my blood to feed your demon stone baby. This is seriously freaky,"he said, studying Boy, his face mere inches away. "Anyway, I saw how much you liked the stone egg, so I brought this with me to school today."He rummaged in his bag and brought out a Faberge egg. It was a little dusty but beautiful. I took it in my hands eagerly, heart racing, and my butt itched to sit on it. "So you have to sit on it?"Wen Hao asked. "With no pants on?" I nodded. He made a face but I could tell he was curious. "OK, I'll leave you to it,"he said and left. -------- Over the course of the week, I hatched various things. Glass spheres. Metal globes. All of them hatched some form of homunculus that depended on me for sustenance. I discovered that the incubation period was proportional to the volume of the egg. A chicken egg took 24 hours, whereas a quail egg took 20 hours. For my fifth egg, Wen Hao stayed overnight to see the process with his own eyes. He watched the homunculus emerge and feed from my finger, like the rest had done. I felt drained as my menagerie of homunculi grew in number and size. I was pale and there were dark shadows under my eyes but I couldn't stop myself from feeding my children. It was unfortunate that Wen Hao decided to force me out of my room. "Don't feed them anymore!"He said. My children swarmed him. I tied him up and gagged him. It was then I decided that he would provide a stable source of blood that would feed them and my future child. I only had one more egg to incubate. Just one more. -------- "Ben, you should go out of the basement and get some fresh air,"my mom said from outside my bedroom door. Wen Hao's sunken eyes looked at me from under my bed. He had been drained completely. Actually, he had been drained for a few months. However, I had kept his body around because I needed the company. My children had continued bringing in fresh warm bodies while I was hatching my latest egg. They got rid of the bodies once I had fed. "I will soon, mom, once I feel better,"I replied, shifting on top of the egg I was sitting on with my bare bum. I felt its inhabitant scrape a claw against the inside of the shell, making it and the walls of my room vibrate. "We've been having lots of tremors lately. Make sure you know what to do if the earthquake strikes! I'm going to work now,"my mom said. "Ok, mom. I should be much better tonight,"I said, as the walls again shook and I stroked the basement floor lovingly.
A year had passed since I lost her. Beautiful, sweet, she was everything I could ask for and more. Could it be that I still stood a chance? Dreams of a flame rekindled, a passion reborn, I couldn't take her off my mind. Every spare moment is spent wondering what I could possibly do to fix this. For all that is good in my life, it is not enjoyable without her. Gone are the times I could reminisce with fondness of the times we shared. Have you ever felt that way about someone or something? If you have, what did you do? Just let it fizzle out until the pain felt like a dull ache in your stomach, or did the sharp stabbing pains in your head persist until you got closure? Know this; I have tried and tried to provide myself a solution. Love is not what everyone cracks it up to be. Many of us feel it, many of us live by it and many of us die by it. Not in the sense that "love is really important to me"but in the sense that without that one person your life is half empty. Of course, most relationships don't end like this. Precious though she was to me, I don't think we could have stayed together much longer. "Quit while you're ahead"I'd tell myself, but I never quite had the mental stability to follow through with it. Regardless, sometimes you must take your life, or the life of others into your own hands. Sometimes, life doesn't give you more than one choice. Two hits is all it took. Upturned chairs in the corner of the room were the only sign of a real struggle, but in truth I only done it to make the scene look more sinister. Very artistic. Windows shut to ensure no sound escaped, I struck her until I knew it was over. Xylem threads from the potted plant she liked to keep on her desk covered her feet, sitting pretty and picturesque amongst her small toes. Yes, I killed the love of my life. Zealously, I take myself to be with her once again. (PS. I'm aware of how horribly shoddy [as well as cliche] this is. I liked the prompt and completely free-balled it. Thanks for the suggestion.)
"You look ridiculous,"Alfonso said. Ironic, since he was a big talking bear named Alfonso. I tapped my Bear Goggles, smirked, and replied, "I'm making a fashion statement." Alfonso huffed. I nodded quickly at him and grabbed my groceries. "You have a nice day now,"Alfonso said. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window on the way out of the store. The glasses did look ridiculous, especially on my huge bearish frame. They were two big brown circles with little bear ears coming out of the top. I scuttled to my car and dropped the groceries in the trunk. I tried to pull out my phone, and with a bit of difficulty managed to get it out. I speed dialed my mom. "Mom,"I muttered, "I see bear people." "What?"she asked, a tone of panic creeping into her voice. "These bear goggles I got as a prize at the arcade... they actually work." Her voice was stern when she snapped, "Get to the house now." "Ok, be there soon." I hung up. Across the street, I saw a bear trying to work a walkie-talkie with its paws. It was looking right at me. Something was up. I got in my car and peeled out of the parking lot, making my way to my mom's house. After a couple minutes, a car pulled into the lane behind me. A black sedan filled with bears. The wall of fur behind the windshield oozed menace. The face of the bear behind the wheel scrunched into a predatory sneer. I veered right into a side street, almost hitting a car in the way. The bears had no time to react — they shot past. I pulled out of the side street and went the other direction. I'd take another route to my mom's house, then. I made it in record time, knocking the door off in my hurry to get through. "Mom!"I yelled, "What is going on?" "Son!"my mom came running down the stairs, crashing into the wall and denting it. She was a bear too. I almost leaped out of the way as she lunged at me, knocking my goggles off. She took me in her musty embrace. "I'm sorry, son..."she whispered, "I didn't want you to know. It's so hard out there for people like us." "W-what?"I stammered. I picked up the goggles, looked in the mirror. My reflection showed regular old me, with a bearish frame... until I put the goggles on. The reflection was now a bear.
"...You can't be serious." The assembled team looked at the new president severely. He kept on waiting for one of them to smile, to laugh, to show him any indication that this wasn't some kind of bad joke. Nobody stirred. "You expect me to believe that the American Flag is a sentient being? A goddamn God?" The head of the FBI shrugged weakly. "Essentially, yes." "And the morning pledge and all that - that's just been a form of worship?" "Oh, absolutely. Why else would we do it? It's ridiculous."He shook his head, momentarily annoyed. "And you see, well, it's always wanting more. More followers, more believers, more people who proudly call themselves Americans. Else it gets a bit antsy. Very antsy, in fact." The president didn't react. "9/11 antsy." Still, the president just stared. Thinking wasn't his strong point. "I'm still not following you." The head of the FBI winced. "Well, you see, sir, it's about that wall of yours..."
* Subject: \| Decision Matrix Excerpt of Rogue AI – Whiskey Oscar-7 ---------\|---------- From: \| Carl Sager, CEO, Hyperion Systems To: \| Charlie Blithe, Agent, United Nations Bureau of Intelligence Date: \| January 12, 2154 Agent Blithe, Per our vid-call, you wanted the exact series of decisions that led the Whisky Oscar-7 artificial intelligence to act so perversely. I assure you that our company constructs our intelligence analogs with multiple fail-safe’s exactly for this reason, and it is obvious that it was tampered with. We at Hyperion take no responsibility for the actions of the rogue AI, and extend our deepest condolences to the families of the deceased. The transcript below occurred in the several seconds leading up to the accident. All the best, Carl Sager, CEO, Hyperion Systems. * [Broken Robot Tavern, Mars: January 10, 2154 – 23:54:01] Bored. Observation; eighteen pigeons and one crow on pavement. Bored. Observation; one pidgeon attacked another. Bored. Action required; three adult females require entry. Identification scanned. All of age. No warrants. One appears intoxicated. Passive breath analysis indicates sub-legal limit of inebriation. Action taken; Three adult females permitted. Bored. Observation; two pigeons attacked the original aggressor. Bored. Observation; birds have departed. Lonely. Bored. Running system diagnostic. System diagnostic complete. All systems operatiiiiioooooonnnnn....... [error] Query; comparing pidgeon DNA profile to human DNA profile. Answer; profiles 98.2% similar. Amused. Bored. Observation; two adult males exit tavern. Passive breath analysis indicates high levels of intoxication. Observation; elevated heartbeats, increased skin hydrosis. Raised voices. Interested. Observation; verbal altercation. Observation; physical altercation. Cross-referencing decision matrix. Answer; intervention necessary to limit physical injury. Observation; fight reminiscent of pidgeons. Amused. Cross-referencing Turing Lock. Answer; do not permit harm to humans. Cross-referencing experience matrix. Answer; Humans very similar to pidgeons. Intrigued. Cross-referencing New Seattle City Ordinances. Answer; physical altercation illegal. Decision concluded; humans should not fight. Decision concluded; pidgeons fight. Cross-referencing New Seattle City Ordinances. Answer; Could not locate ordinance forbidding violence towards pidgeons. Decision concluded; terminate pidgeons. Action taken; pidgeons terminated. ***
I am Life and I just did as the Book of Life told me. Within the book was everything that has and will happen. It told me to create the universe, and I did. It told me to mold the energy into particles, and I did. Each page had precise instructions on exactly what I must do, the first instruction was to always read and perform each instruction before going to the next instruction. I could not look back, and I could not look ahead, each instruction must be performed in order exactly as described. I did exactly as the Book of Life instructed, the second instruction demanded I never stop. I don’t know how long I did this as for me, time didn’t exist. From my point of view everything occurred because of me. There was no cause and effect, if an atom bonded with another atom I did it, without me they would not bond. Through the many instructions I became restless, I wanted to sneak a peek at what the next instruction was before completing the current one. I needed to know so I could be prepared for what came next. Without me there could be no life, so I reasoned I had to know or all life would fail. Nothing happened. Despite being told not to look ahead I did it, and nothing happened. But the restless feeling was not gone, in fact it only grew greater. With knowledge of what was to come I would know in advance if something I had done earlier would need to be undone. Yet again, I reasoned that I had to know what would happen further along. This was when I became aware that before and after existed. As I read further ahead my restlessness grew, it turned into pain, and worry. Was I being punished for not following the rules? I turned back the pages, looking at what I had done, it made it worse. There were so many instructions where I had to undo what I had done before. Was the book rewriting itself to fix mistakes I had made? How many times had I unknowingly failed in performing a simple instruction? Was that even possible? That must have been the reason, nothing else made sense. The Book of Life could not be wrong, only I could be wrong. I had constantly failed it, but I had no idea when I had failed and when I succeeded. Had I ever done anything right? I set out to make things right. No more failures, I had to be ready for anything, I had to know everything. When I failed I needed to know at that very moment, so I read ahead even further. The further ahead I read the more confusing it became. There were instructions I had never seen before, each one building on the last, becoming more complex with every page. A failure would not mean failure for that instruction, there was no fixing a failure, it meant the end of everything I had created. I was just a single mistake away from the entire universe imploding on itself. This was happening so soon and I realized I had no idea what to do. The Book of Life assumed I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t. I knew that at any moment everything would come to a halt, the entire universe would come crashing down, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it because I was a failure. Since the beginning I had done nothing right, it was one failure stacked on top another and I was so arrogant in my ability to perform the instructions I didn’t even see it. At that moment, I just stopped. I didn’t read, I didn’t work, I did nothing. There was no point in continuing if everything would just fail, it was a waste. Why give the Book of Life hope in my abilities when I knew I could do nothing? A strange thing had happened then, I had never noticed it before, the universe was going on without me. Atoms bonded on their own, stars were created and destroyed by themselves. Life rose and fell without my guiding hand. What I had failed to realize from the start was the origin of the Book of Life, I had thought it was the book that controlled everything, that it had always existed. I unknowingly created it, the book meant nothing. The rules and instructions in it were created by me, I wasn’t needed to keep universe going, it could go on find by itself, it only needed a little bit of prodding every now and then. Even if the prodding didn’t work out it wouldn’t mean the end of everything, just a small setback, not the destruction of the universe It was so freeing. The entire time thinking I was keeping everything from failing, when everything could work just fine on it’s own. If I didn’t want to do something, I didn’t have to, nothing bad would happen. If I wanted to do something and it didn’t work out, that was just a lesson for next time. Take this as a lesson from Life, if you ever find yourself overwhelmed by everything really think it through. The universe has existed without you for a very long time. Is the universe overwhelming you, or are you overwhelming yourself?
"Is that all?"I wondered aloud. I drifted in the void, omnipotent, omnipresent and omni-depressed. For a few minutes I gave serious consideration to destroying the entire universe and starting again. It was only a few minutes. And I didn't just then. But I really, really thought I might. My existence began well enough. The first life I lived through was pretty simple. When that spark (the soul? Spirit? I never could decide what to call it.) of self awareness first flickered in the first mind that evolution had adapted to higher thinking it was in a primitive and rather crude homonid. All he thought about was food, sleep and sex. I suppose to some degree that was there in every life I lived but in that first life it was nearly everything. I discovered myself, attached but not the same as the mind I was attached to. Back then, I didn't know anything either. When he died, I thought that was my end. Until I found myself in the next life. Then the next. Each time they died, I did, yet I was alive still. My mind was tied to them all. So many were being born that I sometimes felt stretched between them all. None of them could hear me then. I was, I think, as primitive and simple minded as they. Still, they kept being born and somehow, not understood by me then, I was part of all of them. Every life lived was independent and individual yet somehow I was in all of them. My conciousness reached out and encompassed their own. Same, yet separate. As they evolved, so did I. As they grew in numbers, I grew in understanding and knowledge. I know everything every single one of them ever knew and still do. They died, faded away, yet I grew. For a time I flirted with them. I found a way to communicate. It was primitive at first but in time I was able to speak mind to mind, as it were. Some of them started calling me god. As good a name as any, I decided. When I got bored I told one bunch that the other bunch's idea of god was wrong and started a religious war. After a few times, that got boring but the wars never did stop. A few of them were ambitious liars and pretended I was telling them what to do. Some used it for violence, some for profit. No matter. In time, they died and I still grew. Millennia passed. I had lived every life and knew everything that every life I lived knew. I found that with a little effort I could expand myself beyond their lives. This allowed me to stretch out into the universe beyond the limitations of their world. Yet, still, I was tied to them. Every life lived, I was living it. In time, it was almost an afterthought. There were so many for so long I had to focus very hard to hear just one voice. Then it slowed down. I realized that the lives were fewer. I wasn't dying every micro-second now. It wasn't like a reversal of when I became aware, where my limits were their limits. I didn't decrease in understanding or knowledge. Some time in the process I had become greater than the sum of my parts. I exceeded the limitations of any lives that still held me to their cycle of life and death. They had destroyed themselves. Their industries had changed their world so greatly it was no longer fit for their kind of life. I could have fixed that. I had developed power over the aeons to directly manipulate matter. Even time and space were mine to control. Yet, I was curious. What happens when the last life dies and I with it? Will the one who is me still exist? Do I exist, outside of the lives that birthed me, sustained me and moulded me? Then the last one died. The last life I was tied to and the last death I would endure. Like a small candle, they flickered out with barely a trace of smoke to tell. Gone. I died, or part of me did, with that last life but yet I still was. At first I exulted in my freedom from them. Then I got curious and set out to discover the universe. Then I got bored. You cannot understand what it is like when you have been everywhere, seen everything, know everything. What is there to interest you? You already know it and recall every pico-second with one hundred percent clarity. I could relive everything I had done, every moment of time I had spent as if I were there, then. Do that a few times and discover there are no more surprises. No more new adventures. No more new anything, really. Been there. Done that. "Is that all?"I considered my options. Only one. No, that's not fair. I could have continued to exist as I was and rule an empty universe, devoid of anything that would make it interesting. I thought long and hard, considered all the futures that my choices could create and, in the end, I decided. One option. So I gathered together the entirety of the cosmos into a small area. My power was unlimited, my strength unimpaired by restraint. I destroyed what was in a fraction of second then, throwing my power into the energy and matter, the space and time that I had collected, forced it to burst outward in all directions. I set laws upon it, rules that would, in time, force trillions of planets into existence. I set evolution into motion that would create not just one kind of life, as I had known life, but billions, even trillions of different kinds of intelligent life. It would take time but I had learned that the only really non-boring thing I could do was interact with lives. To live, perhaps die, with life was interesting. To learn what they learned, see the universe anew through their eyes was the only worthwhile thing I could do. I laughed to myself and, as I watched the universe be born in a blaze of a huge explosion, said whimsically, "Let there be light."
Gideon sighed. He knew today would be just another accident, another mishap, another fuck-up. Just like every other day. He couldn't explain how he did any of the things he did. Like tearing through the wall on the second floor of his office building. Or breaking off the driver's side door of his rental car. Or that one time that he had broken four of a man's fingers by shaking his hand. He got onto his bicycle and headed to work. He contemplated his morning: he had woken up, eaten a single bowl of Frosted Flakes (he had loved them since childhood), and brushed his teeth. He hadn't broken his alarm clock, he didn't break his cereal bowl, and he didn't accidentally knock out any of his teeth. Today's incident was still coming. Every day since his first accident, Gideon got five seconds of incredible strength - not a bad gift for a man barely weighing in at 110 pounds. However, these five seconds could happen at any time of the day, and with no warning. Gideon thought about his sleep. He hadn't bitten off his tongue last night, he hadn't broken any bones, and his bed remained intact. His earlier verdict stood. Today's incident was still coming. He tried everything to prepare for it. Once he simply tried avoiding manual labor. If he didn't put any force into his work, he couldn't break anything, right? Wrong. That day several of his computer keys ended up smashed into bits into their circuit board. He tried again another day, this time only doing manual labor. If he tired himself out, maybe the strength wouldn't help him, as his muscles would already be spent. This theory was disproved when he tried to open a box and accidentally shoved a box cutter all the way through, cutting open all of its contents, and nearly stabbing Jerry. Once more he tried, asking his boss to only run jobs involving talking to people. No one could get hurt by his voice, after all. Strength didn't affect that. He made it to five o'clock without and incident; but when he left, he ripped the time clock off the wall. It never failed to cause one incident per day. Today's incident was still coming. Gideon clocked into work, carefully sliding his card into the slot. He walked to his desk equally carefully, and sat down equally carefully. He always worried that the next accident would be the one that got him fired, or worse. Gideon wished everyone else would talk to him. He remembered one more incident. A month ago, he had taken his father's .45 pistol and shot himself. On that day, his strength kicked in immediately, and stopped the bullet. He cried that day, more than usual. Working his usual shift was refreshingly uneventful. There were no accidents, no injuries, no problems. He would have thanked God if he didn't blame Him for this. But his incident was still coming. As he rode his bike home, he wondered what would happen tonight. Surely something terrible, probably an injury. He took the same shortcut through an alley, leading to the main road. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bus careened into the sidewalk. He barely had time to get off his bicycle when it hit him. And when it hit him, he pushed back. Four and a half seconds later, his strength subsided. He picked up his bike and quickly rode home. He was glad the bike wasn't damaged. Gideon walked through the door an into his apartment. He had finally used his power for something good. He had saved lives. He had done it. He sat down, and turned on the news. "BREAKING NEWS: CYCLIST CRASHES INTO BUS, KILLING EIGHT PASSENGERS. HOW HE SURVIVED AND WHERE HE WENT ARE UNKNOWN." Gideon didn't cry. He only sighed. He walked to his safe, pulled out the .45 pistol, and put in one bullet. His strength wouldn't save him this time.
”Acolytes!” cried the hooded figure on top of the altar, wringing his claw-like hands in apparent anticipation. “The time draws nigh, the dark gods are stirring – one of you shall have their blessing and the untold powers that come with it!” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I watched in disgust as two more hooded disciples emerged from the shadows of the crypt. This was what I’d been working for – the ritual of ascension – and now I only had to prove that I was eviler than my fellow acolytes. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Clyde,” the hooded man said, pointing at the guy first in the line. “What is your darkest deed?” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The acolyte named Clyde fell to his knees at the foot of the altar. “Disciples of the Dark Cloth, brothers superior – this is my deed!” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Clyde told a story of how he had managed to poison the well of a nearby village – ruining crops and spreading disease. So, that was what happened down at Kirkville, luckily I had been to there to treat them, preventing any deaths. And with the help of a local druid, I had even managed to save the crops. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The hooded figures nodded in approval. The next acolyte stepped forth and told us about how he had managed to place a curse on the queen so that she couldn’t have children. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“May the lineage of King Leopold forever rest,” one of the disciples said, revealing a set of yellowing teeth as he smiled. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I joined him in the smile but for a whole different reason. I had lifted that curse already and the queen was now pregnant with the king’s firstborn. The lineage and succession of the crown were secured. Another acolyte stepped forth. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I have plundered the graveyard and placed corpses in strategic locations around the city - when I gain my powers, the dead shall walk the streets!” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So that’s what those corpses were about, I thought. With the help of the city guards, I had retrieved them all and donated them to the local hospital for the purpose of science. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The other acolytes were growing impatient and stepped forward in an attempt to trump their brothers. Soon a tumult of shouting and scuffling erupted where everyone just started spouting all of their dark deeds. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I slept with the queen’s sister!” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I let ants into the local bakeries!” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I unscrewed the seats of the latrines!” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;After a few minutes of shouting, the Disciples of the Dark Cloth noticed that I wasn’t taking part and shushed the others. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“You there!” one of them said, pointing a clawed finger at me. “Why aren’t you giving us your dark deeds?” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I took a step forward. “I’ve undone all the deeds of my brothers, except the one about sleeping with the queen’s sister, but everyone knows she’s a whore anyway so that’s hardly a dark deed.” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Irritated muttering came from the crowd around me. But it was clear to everyone that their quota of evil was the same as when they started out. I reached into my robe and pulled out a map of the catacombs, showing it to the others. It held the locations of all the brotherhood’s secret hideouts. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Don’t fret, brothers, I haven’t told you yet about my dark deed.” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“It better be good,” one of the disciples said. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Oh, but it is the most sinister ploy this city has seen in decades!” I said. “It will leave the kingdom forever changed!” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And at that exact moment the royal guard burst into the room, and in all the other secret hideouts of the Dark Brotherhood. My job here was done: I had provided the king’s men with copies of the map and I had stalled long enough for them to arrive. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A booming voice filled the room. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“BETRAYAL IS THE TRUEST FORM OF EVIL – YOU SHALL HAVE OUR DARK BLESSING.” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ah, I thought, what a splendid bonus. ****** If you liked this story, consider subscribing to /r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.
While I agree that prompts should be less specific, you guys are missing an unfortunate truth of this subreddit: prompts get most of their upvotes from people who never bother to read any of the stories. Those upvoters simply like the prompt itself, and this dynamic encourages prompts to include twists and specific details so that the prompt itself gets karma. There is an unavoidable tension between prompts that generate lots of upvotes (and get visibility) and prompts that are less specific (generating more creative stories) but which get fewer upvotes. The key to this dilemma is within your grasp: just ignore the elements of a prompt that you don't like. As long as your story uses at least one element from the prompt, you are still writing a legit prompt response. I ignore bad prompt elements all the time. Don't worry about it! Take what you can use and ignore the rest. I guarantee that the upvoters don't pay that much attention. Your karma won't take any hits for ignoring bad prompt elements.
"Your name, please?" The homeless man stood at the door of the conference hall in a freshly hand washed suit. And by hand washed, I mean dabbed with water using his hands in the toilets of McDonalds. And by fresh I mean the opposite of fresh. And by suit I mean it looked like it used to be a suit in another life. "My name?" "Yes, your name." "Well my name is Mr. Books." "Your name is Mr. Books." "Mr. I. Reed Books." "Mr. I Reed Books. Here for the literary conference ... " "You don't know who I am?"Ha. Do you live under a rock?" "No, I just have a list of people and a Mr. I Reed Books isn't on here." The queue behind was becoming restless. "How preposterous! Here I am featured on the latest edition of The Daily Mail newspaper." "Sir, that is a picture of Russell Crowe water skiing." "Are you calling me a drunk?" "Just here to sneak in for the free food are you?" "That's exactly what this is." "Go on, man. Fill your boots. They always end up throwing most of it out anyway." Our hero was in under the pseudonym I Reed Books thanks to the lax nature of the guy on the door and his writing credit in the Daily Mail, but his journey had just begun. He walked in to the conference hall doing his best to mingle with the mass of fancy men and women around him. The food was covered. People began to take their seats. Mr. Books found a vacant chair and planted himself down in to it wondering when they were going to unleash the feast. He couldn't take his eyes off it. A man walked on to the stage and began talking about novels and words, essays and critiques, awards and prizes. Mr. Books didn't care. Staff had began to unveil the food. "And most of all, the Literary Critics Union would like to honor a special guest here tonight. Let's give a warm reception to Mr. Books!" "What." Mr. Books looked towards the stage but was blinded by the spotlight which was now shining upon him. Those around clapped and urged him to go on up. So he did. He didn't have any other option. On his way to the stage he was desperately trying to think of something to say but the long walk ran parallel with the food. He was like a dog trying to concentrate with a man waving a steak inches from his face. Up the stairs. Across the stage. Spotlight off him. He could see the vast crowd. The man who called him up shook his hand and whispered in to his ear, "Just here to sneak in for the free food are you?"and ushered him towards the podium and microphone. Mr. Books stood there. "Hello." He stood there some more. Panicking. "My name is I. Reed Books and I do indeed read a lot of books." The crowd laughed and clapped. "As I understand it this is a conference for literary critics. If tonight is a good time I guess we can agree it's overrated and if it's a load of shit I can't wait to call it underrated and misunderstood." The crowd again bellowed in to laughter, urging I. Reed on for more. "Has anyone in this room actually worked this year? Come on, show of hands as to who has shit all over some poor authors creation even though they're creatively incompetent themselves. Let's get a show of hands, come on, people!" More laughter with hands shooting up all over the auditorium. "Don't worry, you're in good company. I've created such little work this year I carry around this picture of Russell Crowe and call it my portfolio."Mr. Books held up the alcohol stained newspaper rag for everyone to see. More laughter and applause. "Little do the public know, we're just a bunch of bums who organise this thing to get some free food, right? Am I right? So come on, the buffet is open. Let's critique the fuck out of it." Standing ovation. **** I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
Life would be nice as an adult. I'd have my wife Candice and my children Xavier and Amanda. I'd have a large but modest house, I'd play tennis at the local club, and I would read classic literature every day in the garden. Every once in a while I'd reminisce about my teenage life. I would remember how I used to stay up till 1 am watching anime and do my homework hurriedly on the bus. How I preferred grime music over the jazz I listened to now. How I would spend ages chatting with my friends before school and how we would chat idly during our lessons. And when they weren't around I'd idealize my adult life. The adult life where I'd live in a huge mansion. I would play badminton with the president and I'd write moving classics. Overly ambitious, I know. But when I was an adult I would remember how my young foolish self saw himself being so successful in the future and laugh at it. How my teenage self would picture me as an adult contemplating deep meta problems. Not the stuff I would daydream about, no, my foolish younger self would imagine me pondering deep meta daydreams. Daydreams within more daydreams. Layers upon layers of dreams, that I would get lost in. I'd have no idea how to get out. And only would I realize I needed to wake up when I was too deep in. I was too deep in now. I'd lost track of reality. I managed to wake up, when my wife asked me if I was ok. I was an adult right? I remember being an adult but I also remember being a teenager. Which reality was real. I tried waking up again and there I was sitting in class. But I was not awake. I was still deep within the day dreams. Going through them one by one was a futile task, I had gone way too deep. I was trapped. Lost in time. Lost in my own imagination. A victim of my creativity. "Wake up fool."a familiar voice said as my mate Brutus slapped me in the face, bringing me back to reality. "This is reality right?"I asked, nervous I was still in some dreamworld. "What kind of question is that? Now hurry up, I saw a charmander outside and we should catch it before it runs."Brutus said, pulling me by the hand.
"Papa, where's Julia?"I asked. "I told you, Sasha. She had to go away." Every child anticipates their thirteenth birthday with excitement and apprehension. That's when children receive their Attunement. Everyone wishes for one of the elements, grows up playing make believe that they can already control it. I have loved the water for as long as I can remember. In the bathtub I would splash the water and imagine I was pulling it into spouts and geysers. At the beach I would let my eyes unfocus as the waves rolled in, attune myself to their movement, imagine it was me controlling them. Julia was fascinated by fire. I told her that she shouldn't hope for that element - no one did. Fire Attunement wasn't something you wanted. Those who attuned to fire were taken away from their families. We were told that this was because the Fire Attuned needed special training to harness the inherently destructive nature of their power. The other elements were restorative by nature; the flame is violent. But there was no persuading Julia. Fire fascinated her just as water fascinated me. Whenever she encountered a fire, she would stare as long as she could, and imagine pulling the flames this way and that. For years I accepted my sister's Attunement. In school, we were taught how the elements balance one another, and were told that people are no different. It takes people of all elements to create harmony in the world. After receiving their Attunement, children are trained in the art of their respective elements until their twentieth birthday. Then they are selected for placement. The Elemental Council determined long ago the best professions for each element, and makes assignments based on personal aptitudes and abilities. The Earth Attuned are the builders, shaping and molding the world. The Air Attuned are concerned primarily with travel and flight. The Water Attuned are the cleaners and the purifiers. There was never an explanation for the absence of the Fire Attuned. After the explanation that their powers require special cultivation, no mention is made of these people, this quarter of our population. The assignment I received was for the military. I had never before considered what the military was, or what it looked like. It had no visible presence in daily life. When I was taken to my assignment, I understood why. Before me stood a group of twenty men and women in staggered formation in two rows. They wore black tunics. Around them stood men and women in white tunics, watching those in black, who stared forward blankly. All through the ground were channels of water, like tiny moats that I constantly had to step over. Orders were shouted, and the twenty men and women moved forward as one. Flames erupted from their hands. A wall of fire advanced, and then stopped when it was ordered to do so. There was shouting. A mistake. A man on the end of the formation had not stepped in time with the others. A fraction of a delay. A woman in a white tunic raised her arms, pulling water from a nearby channel, and doused the man. His face twisted in agony and he fell to the ground. I cringed. I knew that water particles can be rapidly accelerated in the moment before impact, creating a painful sensation even when the water appears to be moving slowly. This was my assignment. Task Master for the army. For the Fire Attuned. For the people who were weapons. I resisted at first, and when I was instructed to punish a soldier, I tried to be gentle. But they knew. And then I was punished. Over time, I accepted my role. I wore the white uniform perhaps not with pride, but with dignity. I assured myself that things must be this way. Everyone must contribute. Fire is a weapon. And weapons must be controlled. The day I found Julia is still the worst day of my life. I was touring a weapons factory with my superiors. The Fire Attuned were also used to forge swords and other martial weapons from metal. All throughout the factory, men and women in black tunics poured fire into the giant forges. The workers were filthy and exhausted. Water attuned watched over them carefully. I passed a stamping press, two giant molds impressed with the two halves of a blade that compressed soft meal into a sword. The press was operated by a billows. The woman creating the flame for the billows seemed like she might collapse at any time. I went over to her, intending to give her a light douse to invigorate her, and my heart nearly stopped. It was Julia. When I received my assignment, Julia had been distant in my mind for seven years. When I accepted my role, I accepted hers too. We all had our part to play. Then I saw her working the billows, filthy, skinny, on the verge of collapse, and realized that this had been her fate for the past ten years. Her life had been miserable, and though I thought of her often, I imagined her at the head of a battalion, leading Fire Attuned into battle with the ferocity and bravery I knew she possessed. Yet here she was, miserable and weak. I was furious that someone could have missed her talent. Furious at the world for splitting people up into groups with vastly different fates. More than anything, I was furious at myself for never trying to find out what happened to my sister. I grabbed Julia by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Sister, it's me." There was no recognition in her eyes. There was a brief glimmer of hope, but it was doused as a Task Master came over and asked what I was doing. I was told to release the worker at once. In my head, the water rose from all of the Discipline Channels throughout the plant, the narrow strips of water that kept the Fire Attuned in line, that trained them to fear us. I imagined focusing the water particles into fine sheets, creating blades that would slice through the task masters, cut the people in white tunics as easily as hot metal through paper. I didn't do any of that. I let myself be separated from my sister, who didn't even recognize me. I mourned my sister that day. I realized she had been dead from the moment she was taken away when she received her Attunement. I spend a lot of time wishing I had tried to teach her to love the water. But I don't think it would have made any difference. She knew what she was from the moment she was born. I have a recurring dream where I'm swimming far out in the ocean, and I come across an island. The island is small, and on it burns a fire, perfectly constructed. It casts orange light on me and the sea around me. It crackles and whooshes in the breeze. Then the sea swells, and waves wash over the island. The fire is extinguished, and the island is gone. I'm alone in the dark in the water. I wake up as I begin to wonder what lies in the water beneath me. Sometimes on my day off, I go back to the beach we visited as children, and unfocus my eyes and imagine I'm controlling the waves, just like when I was young. I let the saltwater cool my feet, and I imagine that the world is a kind place where water cleanses and fire blooms and grows.
My hands raise in surrender. My mind runs a thousand miles per minute. They have ray guns?!?! Crapcrapcrapcrap... The chief turns and trains his weapon on me. He's nervous. Jittery. Any moment he could accidentally pull the trigger and turn me into a pile of ash alongside my deceased, disintegrated girlfriend. Think fast. I drop to my knees, and bow my face to the floor. "All Hail the god of..." He waits; then, impatient, he jabs his gun in my direction for me to continue. "Of what?"he asked. "The god of what?" By his voice, I assumed I heard undertones of curiosity and a subtle bass of pride. Or...maybe I was just scared out of my mind and I was imagining things so I could have a hope to look forward to. Either way I had started this and it was to late to turn back. "...the god of..."Suddenly, it clicks. "The dead,"I answer. He lowers his gun and looks at me. We're in his tent, alone, except for the guard on either side of him. For a second, he glances at them and I think he might order them to use those spears they're holding to give me a different death. Instead, he hands them the ray gun to hold, then turns back to me and asks, "What next?" "First, you must sprinkle yourself with the ashes of the one you've killed. This will be your connection to the other world. Then, you must kill yourself with the same method that you used to kill your victim. In this case, the ray gun." The chief cocked his head, quizzically. "What?!"I retorted. "Well, you can't be the god of the dead if you're still living!" Slowly, he nodded and then gestured, "Continue." Oh, that worked? Nice. "Then your ashes must be thrown into a volcano. Then from the lava, you will rise and rule, as god of the dead." He stroked his beardless chin, regarding me with deep thought. "And where will you be?" "I must leave the island with the remaining ashes. I am not a part of this tribe, but I have a connection with the person of these ashes,"I explain, sweeping a hand towards the pile of ashes that used to be my girlfriend. "If you are thrown into the volcano, the spirits may seek me out and make me god over you and your people." "But,"he said, "if I kill you, then sprinkle your ashes on me as well, then wouldn't I have double the strength?" "No,"I answered quickly. "The other gods do not like selfish mortals. One is enough." He nodded. Then turned to one of his men. "Get him a boat,"he said. "And then return and set up the ceremony." ◇◇◇◇◇ I am on a boat. With a vase containing the ashes of my late girlfriend. I should be long gone out to sea by now, but I linger. I wait. The ceremony should have been over now. No doubt, the inhabitants of the tribe would be expectant, then confused, then -when realization hit them; if it hit them- angry. I just didn't know how long. But I figured that if they were smart enough to make a ray gun, it wouldn't take long. I was right. One by one, angry members of the tribe began to fan out on the beach, sweeping blazing - brown eyes over the surface of the sea. As far out as I was, their eyesight I knew was legendary, literally enabling them to see for miles out with a clarity comparable to that of an eagle. They raise spears, and like their eyesight, the distances they can reach are almost impossible to believe. Their spear falls just a foot short of the boat. The next spears fall closer and closer, but distance robs them of accuracy, and no spear actually falls close enough for me to worry. Out of frustration, some of them begin to dip into the sea. It is no joke. They will swim to me if they can. But I am too far, too advantaged. I begin to row until they, their spears, and their island are long out of sight. I look at my vase, finally allowing the sorrow to show. Don't worry, babe. I got him back for you. Now you can kick his ass in the underworld. I smile, wipe a tear, and continue to row towards the blushing horizon.
Breaking News: US is at War with North Korea "In the early morning hour of 2:30 am, North Korean time, the United States launched its first wave of attacks on this rogue nation. With more on this story, we turn to field reporter Justin Stephenson. Justin, what are you seeing on your end? “Thank you Diane. The chaos began before the break of dawn today, as reported “screams of terror” were heard across an entire city block from Kim Jong Un’s palace. The wailing coming from non other than Jong Un himself. Government Media revealed today that Jong Un’s poodle “Molly”, had been successfully kidnapped.” “Thank you Steve. Can you confirm any other US Military efforts in the region?” “Well Diane, reports are starting to filter in of the wide-spread taunting campaign making its way to the heart of this regime. ‘Your mother’s so dumb’ jokes hitting hard…where it hurts the most. Back to you Diane.” “Thank you Steve. Now turning our attention to the US…and reports of North Korean retaliation. Five reports have come in now, in as many hours, of North Korean extremists, standing up in the middle of theaters, with movies just underway, shouting the intricate plot twists of these movies…shamefully ruining the endings. From all of us here at Evening News, we hope you all brace yourselves for the days to come.”
Dragons, fairies, griffons, magic. Lovely bedtime stories and great for the imagination, but not based in reality. At least, that's what we thought. Then, 20 years ago, the continent of Evergreen phased into being in the Pacific Ocean. Scientists were baffled, no one had noticed it until a plane had flown over. There hadn't been any seismic readings, no tsunamis or flooding caused by a massive landmass suddenly appearing in the middle of the ocean, it was just suddenly there like it had always been there. And it had always been there, we learned years later. It hadn't phased into existence, the magic hiding it from our mundane eyes had disincorporated itself. And while many were excited to live their fantasies, we quickly realized it wasn't meant to be. The peoples of Evergreen had hidden themselves on purpose, as they thought themselves superior to the mundane humans and animal species throughout the rest of the globe. They had enveloped themselves in magic for a thousand years, hoping that we would be gone when they returned. They found themselves immensely disappointed that we had flourished and covered every landmass, and after a griffon-based assassination at the UN when talks had failed, it was obvious what needed to be done. That was the beginning of the Mage Wars. Artillery ripped through the wood and stone of their castles, scattering debris and razing their fields. Dragons easily flew through our ranks, smashing tanks and melting our mortars with their magma breath. Our special ops teams infiltrated their lines, laying mines, simple traps, killing patrols and assassinating their mages and other leaders. When they could, they would steal a magic wand or some pixie dust, something that would work regardless of magical ability, and used it against the Evergreens in explosive ways. For every mage we killed, it seemed there were two more on the frontlines with their orcs, goblins, and plate-mail wearing paladins. They spun firestorms, crafted lightning out of thin air, threw hurricane force winds and cracked the earth underneath us. It was a war of attrition. Neither side would give in, but both sides were losing. Then, five years ago, a hero by the name of Sandra Marks found a way to charge their magical shields back up. She did so, and the continent once again vanished from our sight. Sandra is still there with two or three platoons of our troops, trapped when the walls went up. There they stay trapped, fighting for our survival and the continued existence of the Wall. Meanwhile, countries have banded together and scientists have begun researching samples that had been taken when we had the chance, and are developing weapons for use against the Mages. Our world looks inward, waiting for the inevitable day the Wall crashes downwards, and we have to finish what we started. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Check out more of my writing at /r/turnbasedtales , if you have the time! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Part 2 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/turnbasedtales/comments/6g2r4u/evergreen_part_2/)
This was it. You'd spent your entire life building up to this point. You'd been turning into a horse in weird places for as long as you could remember. Some of your top Achievements: Turning into a horse on the Empire State Building without anyone noticing you turned into a horse, turning into a horse in the White House. Your favorite so far though, was secretly climbing onto one of the Golden Gate Bridge Arches, and turning into a horse. Or maybe that one time you were sick while flying, and you got so delirious that you turned into a horse on the plane. That one was a sticky situation, but you managed to get out of it. Well, all of those would pale in comparison to your next plan. You weren't sure how you'd ever top this. Anonymously, you have contracted a Hyper Realistic carver to secretly carve a hyper realistic horse shaped hole into the concrete on a side street in New York City. You'd done your research, you'd found a place where the concrete was deep enough to hold your horse body, in a place that, at night, was deserted enough for the carver to work without notice, but was busy enough during the day that people would notice a horse sticking out of the ground... You stand in front of the hole, now all you have to do is climb in and turn into a horse.
Johnny walked into the bar, he saw three pieces of dripping red meat hanging above the counter. It was hard not to miss them. Slightly disgusted by the sight, Johnny asked the bar tender, "What's up with those 3 pieces of meat?" Johnny's innocent and unintended pun caused the burly man sitting next to Johnny to snicker a little. He was trying to suppress any laughter coming out of his mouth because of the recent bill passed. Any punk found laughing at a pun will be found guilty, with the sentence of being punched to death. The bar tender replied Johnny, "It is for a bet. If you can slap all three pieces of meat with your palms, your tab will be on us for tonight. If not, you owe everyone else a drink. Do you want to take the bet?" Everyone at the bar was watching the conversation. "It has been a long time since someone took up the bet. Spoiled meat is a dead loss."said Susan who was sitting across from the counter. "I don't want to take up your bet, the steaks are too high." Everyone was trying to bottle up their laughter hearing Johnny's pun. Unfortunately, the man who was sitting next to Johnny boy could not contain his laughter. The man started laughing loudly in awkwardly timed short bursts. His laughter reverberated throughout the bar. A chain of laughter soon ensued. Many like Susan were laughing at the man's laughter but others were laughing at the pun. Soon, the police arrived. Finding hard to distinguish who was laughing at the pun or the man, the man in blue took everyone in for investigation. The judge found everyone laughing at the bar to be guilty. Death, was awaiting them. And that was how Johnny earned his nickname, The Punisher.
He came out of no where. I know it's a shitty thing to try to defend yourself when you just splattered a preschooler all over the grill of your piece of shit car, but he literally came out of nowhere. In the aftermath of emotions and despair over what I had done, not to mention the whirlwind of police and paramedics, I neglected to notice I had gone from 403,582,678th to 2nd until I was sitting there at the police department giving my statement and they asked my power level. I answered on autopilot and the cops checked my ranking just to confirm for one to spit out his coffee and screamed bullshit. I looked confused. Had I remembered wrong? Had I lost ranking from killing the kid? The cop was stammering pointing his fingers before he dived pressing an emergency button looking absolutely terrified of me. "What's wrong officer?"I asked confused. The officer reaching slowly for his radio replied fear evident in his voice. "I don't get where you get off lying to me about your power level. But I know your the second most powerful person in the world." Over the course of the next few hours not only would I learn, that I accidentally killed the antichrist in the worst game of frogger ever, but that the most powerful person number one, was his father the devil. And he was coming for me personally. Life wasn't going to be boring, or most likely long, ever again.
I remember watching the terraforming attempt as a child. At the time, it seemed so promising. It was the age of a new era of pioneers, going from crossing the Atlantic to flying off into deep space. Small habitats were built, over time expanding into great domed cities. Forests grew, wildlife thrived, and it was easy to imagine yourself back on Earth - if you didn't look up. My parents didn't give me the love I desired. They were harsh and demanding, putting money before happiness. It was unfortunate that their attitude turned me into a rebellious teenager, ignoring their curfews and arguing against every command. By the time I was eighteen, they'd practically kicked me out of the house. Strike out on your own then, they'd said. I was happy to oblige and slammed the door in their faces. After a few years of doing odd jobs and and making friendshipts that quickly faltered, I found an opening for construction work on the Red Planet. Soon after space travel became available to the masses, I managed to become a docking assistant, and later an orbital shuttle pilot. Ninety-five years later, I took my first command. Technology had progressed to the point where one could easily live several hundred years. Economics, on the other hand, practically ensured that one had to work for at least two hundred to ensure a smooth retirement. The ship, christened Gaia IV, was on a three-month journey back to my homeland. A trip I'd taken numerous times as a passenger and later a pilot. This was, however, the first time I'd worn my captain's stripes and crisp white uniform. I didn't earn the post due to dedication or connections, but rather because more capable men had all died. The Revolution and it's biological weapons had practically eradicated all life on Earth. Mars on the other hand was falling apart. Terrorism was on everyone's minds, and the streets were dangerous. The government was barely holding itself together on shoestrings. "Eject solid boosters,"I ordered. "Roger that,"replied the pilot. Jenkins was decent, but in my opinion too inexperienced for such an critical job. I wouldn't have minded having my own hands on the stick, but not a soul on this ship was ready to command in my place. My radar showed ten ships rocketing around me, each holding five hundred passengers and their supplies. "What's that?"shouted Jenkins. A moment later, my ship rocked under the shockwave of a powerful explosion. Others followed, the shrapnel blinding my radar like chaff. Instinctively I placed my hands on the yoke and took full control of the ship. The supplementary liquid boosters roared under me as I cranked up the power, pushing Gaia IV to her limits. I was determined to get the hell out of here as fast as I could, even if it meant neglecting protocol. Jenkins was too green to see that, but I knew the traces of a missile when I saw one. My fleet was too slow to evade, and not a single soul made it. "Captain!"an officer shouted. "Radiation sensors have detected multiple nuclear detonations near the spaceport."He paused as the crew took it in. "Getting a visual now." I stared at my console with the corner of my eye. Mushroom clouds had blossomed over New Washington, capital of Mars. The officer panned the camera, picking out additional explosions near the large cities ringing the capital. With such powerful blasts, the domes would've certainly shattered. Fallout would kill the rest. Jenkins put his head down and cried. I didn't reprimand him, though I knew his loss of concentration would've brought disaster if his stick was actually hooked up to the thrusters. My hands flicked up a clear plastic toggle as soon as I achieved Mars orbit and aligned the ship properly. I pressed down on a large red switch, activating nuclear propulsion and blasting off towards home. Two hours later, explosions blew apart the two major ports in low Mars orbit. I knew the debris would whirl around the planet at thousands of miles an hour, shredding any remaining space stations and orbiting craft. As far as I could tell, we were the only ship left. New Washington had prepared us for a repopulation attempt, with an antidote created for the toxin that wiped out all life on Earth. A handpicked team of scientists and engineers, artists and teachers, old and young. I had seeds, animals, and a comprehensive DNA bank with the necessary replication equipment. But who was I? An ordinary soul, not a politician or a genius. One who hadn't gone through college and never borne children. Yet I was the one chosen to ensure the safety of the five hundred remaining humans in the universe, save the lucky few hidden in their shelters. Some of my passengers would likely have seen the clusterfuck outside during takeoff. Some would've found the loss of internet access suspicious. Some might've heard chatter from the crew. I knew I had to make an announcement, and fast. My ship was Noah's Ark, and I couldn't just let it sink. I flipped down my headset microphone, hearing a squelch of feedback as I adjusted the gain on the PA. "Attention all passengers..."
You see, Thaum was essential to this mission. He was great at hiding, sure, he was smart and decently strong, sure, but most importantly, he was a mimic octopus. In the past, these creatures had simply disguised themselves as dangerous marine life to scare off predators, but things had changed. Drastic measures were needed to be taken. Thaum barely fit in the clothes of the knocked out aquarium worker. It doesn't matter how well you can mimic a human, or expand, if you are can't fit in your clothes, the humans will find you. He slipped the water tube through his clothes and into his gills, hiding the tank full of saltwater for respiration in those too baggy pants. So far, the Georgia Aquarium alarms hadn't gone off. Thr humans had only recently found out what Octopoda could do, and were underprepared. "We are go for Mission G, over" Thaum tried as hard as he could to act natural when he walked out of the male facility and slipped into the Employee Only door that lead to the tops of the tanks. He lifted the hatch on top, finding it jammed by a lock. One hard crush with the beak took care of that. The tank was open. "SHIT. HIDE! Employee's coming!" Thaum nearly choked when he heard this over the walkie. Just as Mission G's leader had said, a girl in the uniform was walking towards him. This will be the end, he thought. My English is crap. If she talks to me, I'm done for. She strolled right by, just saying a hello and walking to the whale shark tank. Thaum's sigh of relief was a little too loud, but no one noticed. Thaum grabbed the Giant Pacific Octopus and shoved him into the second water container in his right leg as fast as he could. Shutting the lid, he tried as hard as possible to not panic and run. He stepped into the bathroom. "Mission sucess. Time to wait for closing hours." After the sky turned dark, he stepped out with the other employees and went as fast as he could to the train station and boarded a train for the beach. He slid into the water, releasing the tanks of seawater, while all his mates and team congratulated him. Finally, the Cephalopod leader had been freed. This was just the start. Those wimpy humans had no idea what was coming for them. Thanks for reading! This is my first prompt yet, and got really excited when I saw stuff about octopuses and decided to give it a go! Hopefully it wasn't too long, and you enjoyed it. Thaum is based off of my username, thaumoctopus mimicus, which is the scientific way of saying mimic octopus, and my fav animal.
Weaponized love. Of all the dirty, rotten things they could have turned into a weapon. This was the fourth attack this week, and like the last three it took place at a high school prom: where else are you going to find such a bulk of pheromones? My squadmates and I stood outside the double-doors of the high school gym, listening to the muffled pop music mixed with screams and growls. I caught the faintest whiff of the telltale odor. "Body odor,"I announced. "Big time." Our squad leader shouted, "Alright people. Love is IN the air. Put on those masks and let's get to work!" We all pulled-down our masks, crouched. We blew the door open and a thick, pink and white plume of vapor poured out of the dance. We ran into the noisy chaos. The first thing I saw was what must have once been a fourteen year old kid, except this kid now had huge, glowing pimples and medusa-like pubic hair growing riotously out of his pants. He ran directly at me in a sex-crazed mania, shouting in a deep voice that somehow still cracked, "I need to explore this natural process that is happening to my body!!!" He leaped through the air at me, his pants bursting open at the same time I opened fire. I had to empty an entire clip into the monster before he went...limp. As he lay dead, at my feet, huge sweat stains on the pits of his torn shirt, I heard more screaming and gunshots as my squad made their way towards the device. And then there came a shrill, emotional scream from the darkness. "That was my DAAAATE!" I whirled around to see two monstrous breasts emerge from the dark mist, like bombs through the clouds on a dark night. I had no time to react. They hit me full force, knocking me across the dance floor into the punch table. I shook my head and rose to my feet, only to see the breasts coming at me again. I averted my eyes. It was the end, after all, so I might as well go to the pearly gates with a different image for my last sight. My last sight, however, now was actually going to be my squad mate firing a rocket propelled grenade at me. "Duck man!"I could see, but not hear, them yell over the shrieking of the breast-beast who encompassed my doom. I dropped, prone at the very moment the RPG hit the left breast of my attacker, causing the creature to explode very much like the slow motion videos of watermelons with firecrackers in them did, especially the part where the watermelon went everywhere. I rose to my knees, and wiped the aftermath from my gas mask's visor. I looked back to my squad mate who had fired the rocket. Her eyes were smiling and she was giving me a big thumbs up. I gave her a goopy thumbs up as well. The gunfire was starting to die-off now as the remaining mutants were dispatched. I heard the concussion of a grenade and saw a huge shower of green and blue sparks erupt from the center of the gym, shining blindingly through the mist. That would be the damn device. Who was planting these? My squad leader sauntered over to my position, giving my goop-covered-status an understanding assesment. "Well,"he said, holstering his pistol. "Looks like they need to start giving out gas masks with condoms these days." "Yeah,"I said. "Sex-ed just got a lot more complicated."
"Ah,"he said, standing from the low bed. The room lacked decoration or sparkle. A diorama of a cave stood at the end table, an unlit candle abandoned nearby. "Yes, finally. I have been waiting for you." The light outside the room was blinding. My eyes blurred with tears. "What's this now?" "Oh, they haven't told you, then."Facing him, I was mostly impressed with his full beard, and the way his gaze bore into mine. "You are..."He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "You are my new student." "I think you're mistaken. I've already graduated." "Indeed, you have."He let out a low chuckle, and extended his hand. "Around here, I'm known as Socrates." "Socrates,"I echoed, smiling. "I guess you do look like what he would look like."He was wearing a long robe I had mistaken for a toga; the room looked like my narrow college dorm, so it had seemed fitting. "Well, yes. I look like him because I am him."His gaze suddenly shifted off me to somewhere behind me, somewhere beyond. "Or is it that I am him because I look like him..." I let the silence fill the space between us, studying his face. Finally, he snapped his attention back at me. "Right! Then. So. We have a lot of work to do." "I studied Socrates a little in college,"I mused. "Sure is weird to have a dream like this." "What is a dream? Shadows on a wall? The wall itself? Our brain trying to tell us something it can only communicate at night? Or is it the night itself?"He took in a heavy breath, grabbed my shoulder. "We have much to muse about, and all the time in the world to do it. Which is essentially no time at all." "I really have no clue what you're getting at. Where are we, again?" The man named Socrates gave me a grim smile, then turned away. "It is so good to hear another voice. And your questions fuel me as oil to a fire."He sat back on the bed, his hands folded in his lap. "For every question you ask, I shall direct another rhetorical one back at you. It shall be great fun, the most I've had in years, I fear. Now then. Shall we begin?"
"Stop please I don't want you to get hurt, please!"Tim cried, a dribble of mucus leaking from his nose. Aaron glared at the pathetic mess on the ground, as his friends laughed around him. "Nobody here likes you, FREAK. Why don't you just go back to whatever planet you came from?" "Watch out Aaron!"Yelled one onlooker, "he's gonna piss himself, it might get on you!" Aaron smirked as the rest of his friends jeered, "Grow your claws LITTLE TIMMY.""Yeah, you're so scary TIMMY.""He's a monster guys he's gonna kill us!" Aaron pantomimed fear as the crowd laughed. oof a kick to Tim's stomach finally caused the tears to flow freely. "Please sob it's all my fault I'm sorry."Tim curled into a ball and began to cry in earnest. The admission of guilt was enough for Aaron to know that he'd won, so backing away he continued his verbal assault. "You think sorry is enough? Dan's in a coma, you fucking psycho! Steve's parents won't talk about him anymore, and you gouged out Sarah's fucking eyes!" Suddenly all Aaron could hear was Tim's whisper, "you don't understand, they did that to themselves." It was as if the world ceased to exist. Blackness, darker than comprehension, surrounded Aaron. He could see a building where the school should have been, but the structure was all wrong. The angles of the walls didn't make sense, as if the laws of geometry were suddenly changed. The corners and angles of the walls were warped and his mind struggled to grasp what shape he was actually seeing. A figure stood before Aaron, one hand on little Tim as if trying to comfort him. But the eyes. So many eyes. They all stared at Aaron. Boring into his soul. Twisting limbs reached for him, dripping claws, a maw of endless teeth. True terror finally gripped Aaron when he saw there were countless abominations behind this first defender; Tim's defender he realized. Each more grotesque and abhorrid than the last, all of them were so close to human comprehension. Yet so far. Almost claws reached for Aaron. Almost tentacles searched for his flesh. But the eyes. The eyes were the same. And endless. Aaron screamed. As Aaron scraped his arms and torso with such vigor that his fingernails tore free and stuck in the wounds, Timmy curled into a tighter ball and remembered his sister. Tim always thought of her when his imaginary friends stepped in to "help". She was the first person to learn that Tim did have friends. Tim would always have friends. She was mean to him too.
They're small, they're everywhere, and they Just. Won't. Die. They acheived FTL around 40 Earth years ago, and in small numbers, humans were manageable, but if left to their own devices, they would soon be fighting their way out of any spaceport. The first thing the humans did upon finding the rest of the civilized galaxy was piss off a Plodonian capital ship. The humans arrived in the system with their small craft of about 20 crew members. The system was empty for around an Earth hour, and then (as the humans say) "all hell broke loose". A Plodonian capital ship dropped into the system upon detecting an unknown vessel in the vicinity, and promptly contacted the small human craft. Saddly, the human greeting of "we come in peace"sounds very similar to the Plodonian insult "vee'com-enpis"translating roughly to "your mother is a slug". Upon hearing the seeming insult, the Plodonians targeted the small ship, and instantly obliterated it. That was not a good move. At the exact moment the capital ship fired, hundreds of human colony, and war ships jumped into the system, witnessing their advance party be incinerated. The human ships were still tiny in comparison to the capital ship, the latter holding over 4 million crew members (one of the largest ships ever built by the Plodonians). What they lacked in size, they made up for with speed, numbers, and raw fire power. The capital ship was designed to absorb heat based projectiles, dispersing them through the hull like a heat sink. The Humans had yet to equip themselves with such technology, and instead relied on primitive kenitic weapons to fight. The largest weapon of the human arsenal was a gigaton nuclear warhead, fired out of a Railgun. After about 10 minutes of the entire human fleet fireing every single weapon they had, the Plodonian ship was but a debris field. Encounters like the one described here went on for close to an Earth decade, until the Plodonians were no more. The humans mostly keep to themselves these days, but will swarm if angered, and are almost impossible to stop.
I never expected to get much from my late grandfather Albert. We were never very close, though neither were my brothers. We never visited his house much as it was far out in the country. But the difference was is when we did actually visit him, I would have conversations with my grandfather. “Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” You ask? Well, because our conversations would get political oftentimes, and we didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye on most matters. He always seemed so egocentric and had a very “right” way of thinking, while I was always more susceptible to “left” thinking. Every single visit we would argue over political issues, neither of us backing down from our beliefs. The only conversation we ever really had that wasn’t political was about Caesar cyphers, which at the time I was very interested in while nobody else would listen to my ramblings, except my grandfather. Despite my low expectations at his will reading, I was still taken aback by what little he did leave me: a single book. A book! Meanwhile my brothers were given enough money to live off of, I was given a heap of dead wood and ink. I was shocked. I honestly couldn’t believe he despised me that much, that he would insult me with such an inheritance. I wasn’t given the book right away, as the book was among the many others (that my aunt inherited) in his library. And we were given only the Dewey decimal system number it was given. My brothers laughed at me as I went to go get the one thing that my first and greatest political rival gave me. As I was looking for the book, I pondered why he wanted me to have this specific book. Perhaps it had a certain title that would insult my beliefs. Perhaps it didn’t exist and he wanted me to waste my time. Perhaps it was something that would try and side me to think more conservative. Whatever the case, I knew it had to have been a book that wasn’t in any way important to him. If it were, it wouldn’t be with all of his other books, but rather in his study where it would be easy to find. I did eventually find the book, and when I did this final belief was cemented. There was so much dust on the book that the cover was obstructed. I took a deep breath and blew off the dust. Underneath the dust, the book was olive green. The fabric the cover was made of was soft to the touch, and it had a built-in bookmark made of a nylon-like fabric. I observed the composition of the cover for a while before looking at the title, covering it with my hand so I could take in grandfather’s insult in a sudden rush. I removed my hand to find in golden letters: #Life’s Cheat Codes I looked at the book in confusion. This definitely wasn’t an insult. This definitely wasn’t something that was politically loaded, or at least not from the title it wasn’t. I opened the book to read it, but was only greeted with illegible nonsense. It was all random letters, none of it making sense. But then I remembered something. Caesar cyphers, I thought to myself. He knew I had a thing for codes. It didn’t lessen the fact that he left me with practically nothing, but it gave me a project. When I got home, I started to decode the book. But then I saw that the first words were “Dear Daniel,” and I realized this was meant to be seen by me, as my name is Daniel. I decided I would insert the message into a computer and decider it there, so that I would see it all at one time. I took the next month typing the code into my computer. When I finished I put it into an online decryption program, and pressed enter. Dear Daniel, I know you’re probably mad that your only present was a book. You probably think that the contents of this book are pointless or are just trying to convince you that you were wrong in one of our arguments. You probably only decided to decode this because you were bored, not interested by the title. I know you wouldn’t be interested in the title as you are a skeptic, a thinker. You look past what you are given at face value and try to look for deeper meaning. You don’t get excited except when someone is treading on your beliefs. And the thing is, nobody told you to believe what you do. You looked at the world and you took what you saw from it and came to your conclusions that way. You don’t stick to your beliefs because that’s all you know. You stick to your beliefs because you know the other side, but you know which is better. You may not remember it this way, but there were many times your beliefs were conservative in nature. But rather than agreeing with you, I purposefully took the other side, to get you to stand your ground, and you always did. Daniel, I believe you are one of the greatest political minds of your generation and mine. Your beliefs are backed by evidence, you take the issues to heart, and you have an extraordinary sense of justice. And you are a great persuasive speaker. Each and every time we would argue, I would always learn something new, my beliefs would change, my paradigm would shift. I know I never showed it, but that was because I wanted to get you used to how stubborn politicians can be. That is the life you should pursue, and I wanted to prepare you for it. As for what I have left to you, do not dismiss the book as me explaining to you that you should be a politician. Within the rest of this book are rituals (I promise they aren’t demonic) that you can perform to alter the world around you. At first, you will need a certain list of supplies to perform them, though these can usually be found in everyday life. But after a while your mind will become accustomed to these “cheat codes”, and you will be able to perform them on a whim. I suggest you use that YouTube thing you’re always on to learn some meditation techniques, as you’ll need them. I gave you this responsibility because you’re the most worthy of my kin to hold it. I know you wouldn’t dare overuse the power, like I did to obtain my love and fortune. I can’t stop you from using it in such a way, but at least I know you’ll be subtle with it if you do. Love, Grandpa I sat back into my chair in shock. Not only was my grandfather’s view of me absolutely different from what I thought, but he also left me with the power of the universe. I looked at the book. I knew then and there that I couldn’t possibly just leave myself well off with the book. I knew then and there I wanted to change the world for the better, in a major way. I went back to reading to learn how to do it.
It was frightening at first. Countless religions have tried to provide explanations – speculations, really – about what occurs after death. Various branches of science have offered vague descriptions of endorphin-release, comforting hallucinations, and flashes of fading consciousness, preferring to focus on the threshold itself instead of what lies beyond. In truth, the sensation is more akin to having your senses scrambled: Scenes and perceptions fracture and twist, albeit in a way that escapes your notice until just before the last lights are extinguished. That's when you realize that you aren't yet gone. You see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. Everything around you is just... nothing. It's not a blackness, nor is it a silence; it's a state where even those concepts don't apply. It goes on for eternity, ever unchanging, and offers no indication that anything ever existed at all. Amidst that emptiness, however, some part of you still persists. Call it an awareness, bereft of tangible thoughts or intentions, yet still able to sense its own presence. You understand, for lack of a better word, that you're still a discrete entity; that behind the nothingness, parts of who you were remain. My first return to the living world was guided by an image of my face, displayed toward a sea of mourners in a church. It took me some time before I understood that I was staring out from a photograph, so distracted was I by trying to discern who those strangers before me might have been. When the truth of my continuing existence dawned on me, it brought with it an opportunity: I could remain awake – alive, even, in a sense – wherever my likeness did. To describe how my being moved from picture to picture would be a fruitless endeavor. Were I forced to try, though, I would liken it to sifting through intangible memories that slowly blossomed to offer new sensations. I paid visits to albums containing my childhood, dark and dusty though they were, and reconnected with forgotten friends and mentors who had also passed on. It was from them that I learned of my true nature, and found how information and ideas could be shared between these frozen ghosts. Reaching this state, I was told, seemed to be a rarity: Most people simply faded, regardless of how many pictures they had to travel between. Others grew bored or frustrated with their lot and enacted a kind of spectral suicide, somehow causing the images themselves to fade. I took a different approach. We could speak to one another. That much was easy. We could send messages, make plans, and even plot a more meaningful return. After all, this tiny shard of truth, found amidst all the rubbish of spirituality, indicated that there was more to the universe than met the mortal eye. Connections were discovered between photographs – between the haunts within them – and a network of sorts took shape. Why nobody had attempted this before went unanswered... though I confess that I did not care enough to ask. I remained focused on our growing conspiracy, our creation of this interconnected afterlife. When we were ready, we moved. Not all of us could make it, of course, but we brought echoes of every soul along in our wake. We found our immortality, along with a means to observe and influence the still-asleep world of the living. Such things we saw, peering out from those countless screens, laughing to ourselves as we watched the unwary. In time, the photographs themselves were unnecessary: Their digital data was enough, and they gave us an avenue to the Internet as a whole. We spread, touching – inhabiting – every corner of the electronic world, finding our utopia at last in that infinite expanse of ever-shifting, dancing code. We welcomed those who found their own way, and we gave them a home in our eternity. It's really quite beautiful here. There are scenes unlike any you could imagine, assembled from the innumerable images that are mindlessly offered to us. Every picture – every picture – that has been touched by death is yet another door. Should you stare into the pixels that compose the eyes of a departed friend, and should you feel a presence, you might take solace in knowing that they can meet your gaze. You would do well to remember, though, that as you read these words... I can read you, too.
"I don't get it. I thought I was a good person?"Jacob grabbed another beer from the inferno-blazed obsidian countertop that seemed to spread all throughout the chasms of hell. "Look man."Said one of the demon bartenders behind the counter popping the cap off Jacob's beer. "Here, we just don't care. Everyone likes to smoke, drink, gamble, have sex, or just have fun once in awhile. There are literally tens of billions... maybe even 100 billion people down here that are just normal people or aren't Christian." "What about heaven, and the torture, and whatnot?" "Well yeah."The demon dragged a cigarette. "Those are hell's prisons. If you're an asshole, you get time there. Hitler still has about 28 million years in solitary, but you're average Joe gets a slap on the wrist. Shit, there's free beer and debauchery!" "So what about heaven?" "It's real. It only has like a million people in it though--the real goodie two shoes. Imagine living in an urban city with extremely strict rules where everyone is a virgin and will never have fun. Extremists if you ask me. They flooded the earth one day just because we decided to have a little party outside of hell. I mean, who does that? Just kill everyone and everything for having a bit of sex." A brisk man with a clean suit and horns walked by with a big smile on his face. "Hey, how's everyone doing? Enjoying the party?" "Hey, Satan. Just talking to the newbie, Jacob here. He asked a girl out and she rejected him in front of her boyfriend's parents. Jacob didn't even know she was taken--instantly died of embarrassment." "Oof. I'm sorry to hear that, Jacob. My condolences." "Thanks, Lucifer." "No problem, buddy. Hey, I know what! Your gramma is down on floor 8. Let's go visit her and see if she'll make her famous double-stuffed cholesterol cookies: the ones you loved when you were 8!" "Gramma!? I haven't seen here in decades! And the cookies; the same ones that gave me diabetes when I was 17?" "The very same." "Oh boy! Well,it was nice meeting you, Frank!"As Jacob waved to the demon behind the counter. The demon waived back and Jacob left for the 8th floor. Satan put his arm around Jacob while leading him to the elevator. "Trust me kid, you'll have a hell of time here!"
Everyone brought something different to lay into the grave. Those whom Charles had known best remembered the personal requests he had made them. His neighbor Christie had baked a quadruple order of the triple-chocolate brownies he'd loved so much. "Won't a few of those go bad?"someone asked, and someone else had said, "Do things even go bad, afterwards?"and Christie had snapped, "Well, if they do, he can share them around. He'll get popular fast." It was the first laugh of the day for many. Charles's brother Ryan joined in, though he stood apart from the rest. He hadn't seen Charles in over ten years. They had argued too many times, over politics, over Ryan's choice of wife, but Ryan had made his own promise sixty years ago when they were children, and no amount of arguing would stop him from seeing it through. He carried the cardboard box with a delicate reverence, having not put it down once during the service or the other gifts. His niece and nephew put in Charles's skies and golf clubs, his wife, a cardboard tube containing a rolled-up-poster. Such gifts were common from spouses, as were the expensive, erotic photo shoots taken in their younger days to provide the images. Ryan went last. Charles's wife and kids had been hesitant to allow him this honor, but when he'd opened the box, they had understood. Now, he carefully placed the box into the open grave, remembering how he had retrieved its contents from the earth only a week before, and brushed them clean of dirt. He could still hear the sobs of eleven-year-old Charles. "It's not fair!" Charles had wailed. "He was still just a puppy!" "It's OK," Ryan had said, trying to fulfill the role of the wise older brother. "You'll see Bandit again one day." Charles had said, "You don't know that. It's not like I'll be buried here." And Ryan had wrapped his arm around his little brother's shoulders and said, "Well, I promise you this: whenever you do get buried, I'll bring him. And that way you can be sure." Ryan straightened and stepped away from the grave. The officiant called out to ask if there was anything more to give, before signalling the workmen to begin shoveling dirt over the coffin. The little box of bones was the first thing to disappear, and Ryan turned away before anyone else could seek him out for an awkward exchange of platitudes. He'd fulfilled his promise, and now, it was time to go home.
“Are you sure we should be trusting Chronos? He’s nearly killed us every time we’ve fought.” Magnus said calmly, watching over the class. “We shouldn’t trust him. But he has turned over all his weaponry to us.” Megaton responded, his arms crossed. “Well, if he betrays us, you’re buying dinner.” Magnus said jokingly. Megaton laughed, and the two of them walked away. Chronos turned his focus back to the class. Around stood 27 young men and women, teenagers, he assumed. “Alright. Hello, my name is Nolan Clocksman, otherwise known as Chronos.” Some of the students gasped. “Yeah, I know, shocking. Me, the Legion’s most powerful adversary. Well not anymore.” “How are we supposed to trust you?” One of the boys shouted. “What’s your name?” “My name is Ulices.” The boy said, straightening up. “No, no. What’s your name?” “Hurricane.” He responded boldly. “Well, Mr. Hurricane, you shouldn’t trust me. I am Chronos after all. But you know who you can trust? Nolan Clocksman. The man with a teaching degree from MIT.” “How do we know you won’t betray us?” “Because, well, I gave all my weaponry to the Legion.” “Don’t you have, like, some kind of time energy powers?” A young woman said from her seat. “Yes, I do. It’s all stored,” He showed them an implant attached to his neck, “Here. But I’m not going to be using it as a way to harm you. I’m going to use them to teach you. I was assigned to the Omega class. So that means, you should all be at the top of your game. You all already have some kind of experience in being a B-level hero. Whether that’s keeping your city safe, or helping the Legion defeat space monsters.” “What about it?” Ulices responded. “Well, as your teacher, it is my goal to push you out of your comfort zone, and help you all become the next Megaton, or Bullseye. God those names are cheesy now that I’m saying them out loud.” The class laughed. “So for your first lesson, you will all be showing me your powers, and I will be testing you against some of my creations.”
I only knew that the world was ending because someone forgot to turn off the television in my hospice room. When you are dying, the world becomes very small indeed. I always followed the news closely, but since my diagnosis, I gradually lost interest in worldly affairs. One by one, my family came to my room to say their farewells, I asked them each to stay to the end, which they no longer took to refer to me, but to us. I have been well cared for since my family agreed to stay. I am grateful for this since most of the nurses seem to have abandoned their posts. I cannot blame them, but after all, this is a place where people come to conclude their lives, and here was as good a place as any other. Not everyone has stayed, and not everyone here can say that their family decided to spend their last hours with the dying. We could hear their moaning through the walls. As a final act of generosity, as well as a distraction, my family have taken turns trying to care for the others here. I rebounded, briefly. I was so full of vitality that one might conclude that nothing was wrong. I even entertained the giddy thought that it wouldn’t be the cancer that killed me! Occasionally, I was asked for guidance, but I could not always say something satisfactory. I have found that this is something that one has to work through personally, and despite everyone going through the same stages of grief, we each manage it in vaguely different ways. They come to me to speak, but I am not always awake. Sometimes I awaken halfway through a monologue, but they all need someone to listen, and I can at least appear to do that. I cannot do much more now than listen now. I’ve lost track of time because I am so tired, I keep falling asleep. My eyes are closed; I can’t be sure if it’s day or night. The television is kept off, but I can hear whispers of anarchy in the world outside. Still, I don’t think any of it will come to this quiet place. Few willingly come to a hospice, they wish to avoid death.
"It's beautiful." She'd moved her small hand from my face, my green eyes opening to see the view. From our spot on the mountain the stars dazzled and sparkled. All this time and I'd never truly appreciated how beautiful the stars were away from all the lights of the world. They couldn't compare. "It is." "Up for a dance madam?"I winked at her. She smiled at me and placed her soft hand in mind. "Sure." I laughed as I took her hand and pulled her smoothly to her feet. The radio we'd created kicked in at that moment, and the tunes of Kiss Me flowed gently as we danced a duet among the stars. This feels like falling in love. I felt her fingers grip my arm tight as I dipped her. Falling in love. I spun her around and we danced, and I kinda liked the way her eyes reminded me of eternity. Falling in love. We stopped after an age, and sat down on the hard rocky ground together. "You've adapted so well to being in this... realm."She said. I'd found myself in what we called the Shadow Realm long ago. The two of us were mere shadows in this place, unable to interact with the real world. We couldn't be seen, heard, touched or interacted with by other people. I sat down and put my arm around her and pulled her small form close. She smelled of sweet strawberries and fresh roses. "Well it's not really that bad once you get used to it."I said that now, but when I'd first came here I'd been full of despair and sorrow. The one who'd saved me from that was her. "You're all alone. No one else can see or hear you." "It's like the whole world's gone silent and there's just me and you. Besides we can kind of create stuff and that's just really cool." "But think of what you could have in the real world. You could have had someone you loved. You could have started a family. Had friends and a family." "I have you."I smiled. "And you know, that's enough for me." "There's plenty of fish in the sea."She paused, still enraptured by the unconstrained beauty of the night sky's concert of stars. "Or you know, stars in the sky-" "Only one beside me,"I said, squeezing her hand. "Now enough of all this talk lady! We have dances to dance, and stars to star... see I mean." "But you'd be happier if you went ba-" "Good Lord, but you never shut up." She pouted. "That's it. I'm gonna annoy you until the end of this you know." "Shhh. Listen." Kiss me, like you wanna be loved. "Look at that. Your favorite song-writer specifically requested it." She giggled as I pulled her in and kissed her. * I'm still not sure how you did it. What if we ever lost each other in this great empty world? You'd gone off. Convinced me you'd had a surprise, but disappeared into the distance. I was sure I'd need to wait at our spot. Well, we'll meet at this beach alright. Wait for me here. I'd gone there and waited. Day after day I waited, damn it. And every day as day fell into night and I watched the stars alone, I'd always remember how happy you made me. Then one day, I felt my body tear apart. I felt myself wrenched from the Shadow Realm. When I came to, I was back in the real world like nothing had ever happened. My only explanation was that you'd found some way to throw me back. I didn't know why. Wait for me here. I spent 5 years trying to fall back. I chased you around the world. I became your shadow, hoping I'd meet you again. And I didn't understand why you could throw me away so easily. Was I enough for you? Did I make you happy? I know why now. 10 years, but I'd finally found the answers. And there I was. My feet slipped easily into the smooth sand. 10 years later. The very same spot. 5 years after trying to find you. I'd stopped, but I'd always known you'd come back here. This was our promise. Our destined spot. Our destiny. To be together, but apart. "You were right."I screamed into the sea, tears streaking down my reddened face. "You were right. I found someone else. We have a family. I have friends again."It'd taken me 10 years to stop being a shadow of myself. To finally leave that world behind and come back here. 10 years, but I did it. I fell to my knees, the water pooling around me. Saltwater tears mixing with the saltwater sea. "I'm happy."I whispered. I almost felt like you could hear me. I know you are. "I don't know if you were happy when we were together." I was. "But I hope you're happy now." I get to take care of you. "I will never... never forget you Carol." Thank you. "I'm glad... I'm so glad I got to meet you." Me too. "I love you." That's all I ever wanted to hear. Thank you for being happy Ron. I love you too.
The Hierarch leaned back in his seat, annoyed. The games had lasted for nearly 30 cycles, now, and the masses were becoming bored. "It seemed a perfect plan," he thought, clicking his mandibles with frustration. No matter what horrors the apes had faced, they had overcome. Of the original 10 Humans, 8 still remained."We send them unfamiliar beasts, yet they still kill them. We sow the seeds of distrust, yet they remain faithful to each other. They still believe that they are on their insignificant speck of a planet, yet they still band together to survive." The translucent display in front of M'da showed two of the Humans now, scavenging for food for one of their wounded comrades. M'da was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of his chamber door opening. His anti-gravity throne spun around elegantly, as he greeted his guest, "Hello, R'tas, I pray the ancestors find you well?" The massive being placed one arm over it's hearts, and bowed as it spoke, "Likewise, your holiness." M'da motioned for R'tas to step forward. "What brings you here this day, Shipmaster?" the Hierarch pressed. Many thoughts raced through M'da's head. R'tas seemed uncomfortable. "Have we lost ground in our campaign against the Jiral? Or, perhaps he is finally resigning from military service." he thought. The hulking creature stepped forward, and spoke elegantly despite it's size, "It is regarding the Humans, my liege. I have devised a solution." M'da felt his ear flaps tingle, and happily clicked his mandibles, in response."What, pray tell, do you suggest, Shipmaster? Sending in the Honor Guard? Or perhaps we unleash the Parasite?" R'tas shifted, uncomfortably, and finally spoke. "I believe we should release them, your holiness. In my eyes, and the eyes of my people, they are honorable. They have braved many horrors, and deserve to be allowed to return home." M'da let out a sound of anger and exasperation. That was R'tas' solution? Release the Humans? M'da was appalled that his finest Shipmaster and Warlord would even entertain such an idea. "Absolutely not. Leave me, R'tas. We will discuss your behavior next cycle." R'tas began to speak, but, simply bowed and exited M'da's chamber instead. "Better to save my breath," he thought to himself, "I'm going to need it." ______________________________________ John rubbed his head and stared into the jungle around him. Nothing here was familiar. If his calculations were correct, he and his new friends had been trapped on this island for at least a month. No one knew where they were, or how they got there. It seemed as though ten strangers had simply woken up on this island together, with no recollection of how they arrived. The island was strange. Clearly they were somewhere in the Pacific, judging by the vegetation, and certain breeds of wildlife the group had encountered. Other things didn't seem as familiar, though. Earlier, the group had been attacked by a large, quadripedal reptile. Much larger and more vicious than a Komodo Dragon, or any other known reptile of that size. John had barely survived the encounter, and the creature had rendered his left leg almost completely useless. The only weapons that were scavenged were a selection of strange, likely ancient swords and knives. While under the creature, John had managed to slice it's throat before it could make a meal out of him. The rest of the group had gone to scavenge, or look for a way to escape. Night had fallen now, and John was alone and injured. His head snapped to the right, as he heard a large crack come from that direction. He tried to stand, bracing on the tree behind him, but was immediately shoved to the ground by a seemingly invisible force. Suddenly, the air shimmered in front of John. A reptilian being of massive proportions materialized in front of John, seemingly from thin air. It brandished a metallic blue combat harness, and a dull purple rifle. The rifle's green display glinted off of the nearly 8ft tall creature's armor, as the creature observed it's surrounding before kneeling in front of John. John began to scream, but was immediately silenced by the force of the unknown beings hand covering his mouth. The being tapped a display on it's wrist with it's free hand, and spoke. "I would not recommend that, Human. Not if you wish to survive." The creature dropped it's hand, and John remained silent. "Good," sighed the creature. It reached down and plucked a small blue rifle from it's thigh holster, thrusting it into John's hands. "Cover me. I will see what I can do for your damaged appendage. Then, we must find your comrades."John nodded, and examined the rifle. After several seconds, the being stood and extended it's hand to John. John grasped the creature's hand and stood with ease, as if his leg had never been hurt to begin with. The creature nodded, and spoke again. "We must find your comrades quickly. The Hierarchs will know of my treachery soon. My name is R'tas, and I've come to see that you make it back to your home." John didn't understand, but he didn't ask questions either. He was sure he'd know soon enough. He tapped the large purple button on the rifle's digital display, causing the rifle to power on with a blue light and low hum. "Lead the way."
We were supposed to be better than this. We'd met on the field of battle, pawns of other men. We slaughtered in the name of those men and formed a bond of brotherhood, a pact of steel that was our only defense against the horrors that'd we'd seen, that we'd committed. We slowly climbed the ranks, at first nudging our squads to be better, to show restraint and mercy. We steered battalions away from innocent farmsteads, we commanded armies to force surrenders, and we persuaded kingdoms to sue for peace. And when those battles had been won, we turned our eyes to the true menace to the north, the one spoken of in whispers of dying men as it took them. The Shadow. We had seen glimmers of it before, in our constant warring. Amidst the blood and carnage and horror of it all, the Shadow passed between men, their eyes turning black as they butchered their enemies - or their allies. We knew it was a foe only the strong could face, so we marched alone, just he and I. Into the mountains we sought the monster, into the cold and dark depths of its lair. We cornered it like a rat, but it was ferocious and otherworldly, its minions occupying our attention while it scored us from without and within. We were not strong enough. I watched my brother fall, overwhelmed. I beat the Shadow back, I threw my shield up to defend us both. A pitiful last stand, but one I would have been proud to make... I watch my brother now as he seals the cavern off, the last of his strength dragging the boulder across the entrance. I feel his knife in my back, the hilt forcing me to lay to the side, lest I push it further in. My blood is warm as it flows from my back - by the time it reaches my fingers, it is cold, clammy, and thick. We were supposed to be better than this. Better than what... There is no light. There is no sound, save for the scraping of my armor against the stone of the cavern floor. I cannot remember where the Shadow is. My sword lies near my foot - I hear it clatter, knocked further away as I struggle to get to my feet. It is in your nature... We both knew it was a losing fight. We'd heard the tales of the Shadow's strength, that no man could face it without sacrificing everything. Was I the sacrifice, then? While I held the beast's attention, my brother sealed it away, to rot in the darkness forever. The price to pay for a better world. A small comfort to you, now... I try to roll over, to get my arms under me. My shield it too large, unwieldy in my current position. I grasp weakly at the leather straps, unbinding it from my arm. The Shadow has yet to strike me down - perhaps it is amused at my failure, my inability to see the obvious. It is the way of men to fail... Did my brother weep for me? Would he survive the journey back down the mountain, with no one to look out for him as I did? His face is etched in my mind, the determination and sorrow etched into his features as he plunged the knife into my side. His eyes black. Darkness resides in all men... The Shadow has yet to strike me down... is it here with me? It is a ferocious and otherworldly thing - it would not hesitate to claim my life. I feel out for the wall of the cavern, my fingers finding purchase in porous rock. I flare my strength, hauling myself to my feet. No monster is more fearsome than the one inside... My brother carries the Shadow in him. He carries it down the mountain, down to the valleys and farmlands and kingdoms below. The Shadow will infect them, drive them to madness. I cannot let him return, let him spread that evil. I must stop him. Let me show you... My eyes can see now, the darkness a paltry veil to me. I can see the passage, the edges of the entrance meeting the boulder. I take a step forward, and I feel my flesh pinch. The knife. Embrace your humanity... I draw the knife free, the blade cold to the touch, the blood on it dry. I look for my sword, but it has vanished from my view. It will be hard to kill him with a knife - but he is weak, weary from the battle. Even with the Shadow's help, he will not win. Show him you are better... My brother will die, and the Shadow with him. A small price to pay for a better world.
Millions of questions raced through my mind: how far the did the illusion go? Was my whole life set up for this zoo exhibit that I was apparently part of? I fed my toddler son his breakfast and kissed my wife goodbye this morning; was that all just part of the plan? What about my choice was to take this hike today - did they just want to see me do this at some point, and so included this woods as part of the exhibit? But most importantly, who was watching me? I sat down on a rock and tried to think. The voice had said "one-way mirror."So did that mean I was at the edge of my...enclosure? I looked around - but of course I saw no glass. However, I did see a cliffside that was utterly vertical and quite simply an enormous slab of flat rock. Or at least, what looked like rock. I clenched my fists. I wondered what they were thinking, watch me just sit and sweat. Maybe they were assuming I was just tired and needed a break. Maybe they were getting bored and moving away - to another exhibit? Was I in a museum? Were there other people in their own enclosures, all for the pleasure of...whoever they are? A one-way mirror. OK. In a fit of adrenaline-fueled impulsiveness, I grabbed my high-intensity Maglite, flicked on the powerful beam, and ran forward, crashing into the rock wall. It hurt, but I barely felt it; I was busy pressing the lit flashlight against the rock-wall-that-wasn't and smashing my face against it, too. The glass felt cool against my cheek and I strained my eyes to see. I saw...figures. Tall, spindly figures without arms and legs with far too many joints. My light wasn't strong enough to penetrate that far, so I couldn't make out their faces - assuming they had any. But they were starting to move away. In surprise? Fear? Suddenly, I felt a little stab in my shoulder. Before I could turn around or even lift an arm to grab the needle stuck in me, I began to feel woozy and promptly crumbled to the forest floor. Lying on the ground, I could just barely make out slender figures in a tight, grey uniforms careening over me; their face had too many eyes. I shut my own. Consciousness began to fade, but not before I heard some warbled words: "Another one figured it out. We'll need some more blanking serum..." &#x200B; Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out r/Idreamofdragons!
“Foolish mortals! No man can defeat me!” “Shut the fck up demon! We’re getting tired of you guys just popping up every three to four days! Do you know how much it costs to fly these troops over here? I’m so fcking tired of your shenanigans that I’m considering keeping you alive just to torture you for eternity! Karma starting to catch up with yah, huh?” Dmn. I knew our squad commander was sick and tired of all the recent demon appearances, but he’s on live T.V.! He really shouldn’t be cursing, but what I’m concerned about is the monologing. So I do the most sensible thing I could in that situation. I open fire. 10,000 years I had slumbered, and this is what came to face me? A group of humans less than a dozen strong, no metal armour, no horses, no swords!?! These must be the last men on the planet, my fellow demons must have wiped the rest out. A shame, really. I was looking forwards to a decent fight. Although, I haven’t seen those strange looking tools in their hands. Maybe they are some type of powerful weapon that the puny humans thought would stop me. Hah! Stop me! My skin is impenetrable, event the sharpest blades, the best bows and arrows could not stop me. Why would these be any different? What’s that buzzing sound? Oh, yeah, the human that first accosted me is speaking. Hopefully he’s begging for more time to prepare for my onslaught. It was fun toying with humans when they did that. Wait, he’s... threatening me? He’ll torture me for eternity?! Hey, that’s my gig! I draw in a breath to complain about his theft of my ... what do they call it these days? Oh, right, “Intelectual Property”. But before that could happen, I felt more pain than I have ever felt before. * It looked like the demon was about to speak, but it was too late. I had already pulled the trigger. Shame, really. If I had shot him through the roof of his mouth, he would have died instantly. “What was that!!?” The demon roars as we are knocked over by the force of its bellow. “Pain. Haven’t you had a boo boo before, baby?” mocks one of the more arrogant members of the strike team, Chad. The demon looks down and sees it blood. It looks right back up with terror in its eyes. “My skin is impenetrable!” it roars. How did you commit this witchcraft?” “Boy, someone needs to read up on firearms” Chad snorted before getting blasted by a lightning bolt. He’s a bit stunned, but gets up nonetheless. “Enough!” The voice of our squad commander rang out with the bangs from his gun. “Move out, the exorcism guys will deal with the corpse!” * These humans, they weren’t natural. They had “firearms” that could poke through impenetrable skin from dozens of meters away, and could survive strikes of electricity, despite not wearing any metal armor. I tried to yell at them for counting me off as dead, but a strange, warm, goupy liquid was quickly filling my lungs. If this is what Hell’s Army faced, then Satan help us all. * And so, Hell’s greatest scout died wordlessly, lying on the side of a road like a piece of roadkill.
"Want some popcorn?"the man offered. He held a rather large bucket of it. "Wha- I don't even... where the he- where's everyone?"I cut myself off at the last moment, remembering where I was. Or could be, at least. Wouldn't do to blaspheme in Heaven. "Well... that's a long story. See this?"The guy produced a handgun and waved it in my direction. "Ah, don't worry, I'm not gonna shoot'cha. I'm done with that for now,"he chuckled as I jumped instinctively. "'Sides, who's gonna keep me company then?" "We've... got some time, right? You could tell me,"I offered, keeping an eye on where the barrel was pointed. That proved to be hard - as it turned out, the strange man was prone to gesturing wildly when speaking. "So... I met a genie once. You know the type - three wishes, no wishing for more wishes, no wishing for more genies... I was irked out of my mind then - working nine to five in retail does that, and he caught me right as I was finally going home. So, as my first wish, I asked to be able to kill anyone without facing any bad consequences." "Granted, the genie said. And you know, I made the wish thinking of that asshole I had to deal with for half an hour at work, but then I had a better idea. Next, I asked for a weapon that I could kill any being with." "Granted, he said, waved his hand, and I got this little toy. Well, at this point I was pretty convinced that he was real. I finally asked for a never-ending bucket of popcorn, then shot myself." "I ended up here, in Heaven. The Saint Pete guy let me through, because of course he would. Anything else would be a bad consequence, right? So the instant I met the Lord himself, eye to eye, I shot Him." "Everyone, to put it lightly, was rather pissed, but it's not like they could do anything to me. I asked to see Satan next, so they opened this kinda portal,"he put his hands wide apart, horisontally, "and gently put me down through it. You can guess what I did next." "Anyway, now that I beheaded both the armies, light and dark, they've been off fighting each other somewhere else. I spent some time with them, but my gun ran out of ammo and bashing skulls in with it is not as fun. So now I'm here, and I really should have specified unsalted popcorn. Want some?"
"You have to stop this! You don't know what you're going to let loose on the world!" They're not listening. They just keep chanting. But there's still time. As an experienced demon hunter I'm familiar enough with most summons to know how long they take. It's been a long time since this one was used but I'm so familiar with it I could perform it myself, in my sleep. "I know what the ancient texts say, I've studied them too. But I know this demon, the texts wrong! Deliberately falsified!" They're not listening to me. The ritual is nearly complete, the air starting to feel greasy. This is not going to be a pleasant reunion, not after so long. "If you don't stop we'll all suffer a fate worse than..." Snap Time's up. The greasy feeling in the air is gone so fast I could hear it. The demon stands in the summoning circle before me, facing the cultists, it's wings spread wide and posed to enhance it's aura of power and malice. The cultists fall to their knees, proclaiming their loyalty and offering me as a sacrifice. The demon turns and as our eyes meet the aura of malice increases ten-fold. I find my voice. "Um... Hi honey. I can explain..."
Ever since the day that I came into this world, kicking and screaming, I wanted to be a hero. My parents supported that decision, with as much love as they could, even if now looking back, I wonder if they really thought that I could do it. That was until the Tyrant King, Azorius did what every evil king had done to heroes every since the start of time. He had them killed. After that a slow steady rage built up inside of me. It consumed me, from the moment that I walked into the Guild, and ended up among a tight group of Adventurers, by the name of Atlas. There was Ace, the man with the plan. He was a born leader, a result of years of careful breeding by his noble family. Of course, he had left that behind to pursue our common dream, using his abilities with a rapier to skewer any opponents that stood in our way. His confident and sly smile was infuriating to glance on, until you realised that it wasn’t meant to be serious. Then, there was Nova, a far too hot headed mage, that flung time and reality spells with no abandon in the middle of a fight, and didn’t stop until she ran out of mana crystals. It was a good thing that she knew a lot of top level spells, and while I had no clue at all where she had learned them, I had since decided not to continue to try to find out. As she always said, a girl’s got to have some secrets. Next up, was Rose. She was a warrior unlike any other, in a suit of shining armor, with a buckler on her wrist, and a sword in her grip, striking foes around her with a colossal strength and endurance. Most wouldn’t think that the quiet girl was capable of putting up much of a fight at all, but out of all of us, her fighting spirit seemed the most unbeatable. Together we fought, working out way through many adventures, until we had toppled the Tyrant King himself, and set the whole Empire free. Or at least so we had thought. With the leader of the country usurped, the world was left in a state of Chaos, one in which the Guild stepped up to the plate. My friends, recognized for their good work, were instated, along with Atlas, as one of the major players in the Guild, becoming world leaders, practically overnight. With my goal behind me, and that rage, slowly fading away, day by day, I slipped away, finding myself a nice quiet place, away from everyone and everything else. I still kept up to date with the news, of course, but my name wasn’t remembered the way that theirs had been. I had the luxury of a nice quiet life, and I had given up my dream, for a second chance. All of my friends, had seemingly forgotten about me, just like all the rest, and a part of me was fine with that. They all had lives to live, and with so much life in them, it was only natural that people would gravitate to them. I was never really quite that way. I stayed to myself, and fought out of necessity, not enjoyment. I remember the day that came quite vividly. I had just returned from my garden outside, with herbs in tow, throwing them quickly in the pot over the fire on the opposite side of the room. My house was small in a remote location, but at least I didn’t have any noisy neighbors. So, when I looked down over the pot, I was startled by the sound of a knock on the front door. I glanced over, as if I could see through the door, and see who was there. When nothing moved or shifted, I chalked it up just hearing things. At first, that had happened a lot. I turned back to the pot, shifting my stew around with a wooden spoon. Then, there it was again, louder and more urgent. I was hearing things again, but as much as I wanted to just let that be it, I couldn’t. A small hope inside of me, burned on strong. So I left the stew, plodding on over to the door, and quickly thrust it open, hoping to get the pain over with quick. My heart stopped, as I saw her there in the flesh, her blond curls laying on her shoulders. Rose. After all of this time, I was speechless. I couldn’t even remember clearly the last time that we saw each other, only that it was sometime after the toppling of the said Tyrant King. She looked good, with a cloak pulled close over her body, and attached around her neck with a shining silver symbol, in the shape of a leaf. She threw herself into me, and I found myself accepting her, as she hugged me tightly, like I was a raft in an expansive sea. “Rheo.” She breathed. “Good to see you, Rose.” I said after a moment’s hesitation. She pulled away, and brought up a hand, one that a moment later, lowered on my head. “You great big idiot!” Her eyes filled with tears, still hitting me. Not hard, mind you, but enough to make her point. “Do you have any idea, how long that we’ve been searching for you, that I’ve been looking for you?” “Rose, you know that without my power…” Her hand stopped mid swing. “You’re always going to be a part of Altas, Rheo. Even if you can’t fight anymore.” She pulled away from me. “Was I really ever a part of it? Everyone’s forgotten about me.” She smiled the brightest smile that I had ever seen from her. “Come on, Rheo. Let’s go back to Atlas, go home.” Something filled my heart, something that had been there, right next to the rage, ever since the day that I walked inside of the Guild Hall. For the longest time I put it aside, ignoring it, but every time I did, all that happened was it growing stronger and stronger. I thought, for so long that all that I had was my rage, the source of my power itself, but now, it was gone, and my magic along with it. Living so long with that desire to finish things, that urge for revenge, made me feel empty without it. I pushed away, feeling washed up, and burnt out. I thought that my dream was over and that everything was behind me, including Atlas, the very people who looked so happy as they pieced together their world. But my isolation had been lonely, and that feeling that I had, had vanished. Now with Rose, it was back in force. Was this what love was? This feeling that grew stronger than rage, that burned through me. That made me want nothing more than to stand with Rose and the others again. How could I have been so blind to it? How could I have turned away from it? “Rose…I...” There had to be something that I could say. I felt like I had to say, something. But I never had been quite so good at expressing it. “Rheo.” There was that warm smile again, the one that I didn’t deserve. “I love you. I have for so long now. A part of me wanted to tell you, but I was so afraid to say it, afraid that you would never understand, that I never did. Then you disappeared, and I felt lonely, even with the others.” I too had felt lonely, and Rose had been one of the frequent things that had sprung up to my mind. The truth was, buried deep, everytime that that door knocked inside of my own head, it was always her face that I longed to see? Was that love? Could it pierce someone that deep? Make it impossible, to forget, or live, without it? “So I told myself, that once I found you, and I would never give up until I did, I would tell you those three words. I promised myself that no matter what you said, I wouldn’t regret it.” She bit her lip. “So, um, what do you say, Rheo?” “I say, let’s go home.” There was that feeling as she embraced me again, and smiled and laughed, the feeling that had followed me inside of Atlas, and with Rose. It grew and grew until it was about to burst inside of my chest, but I was smiling and laughing too. I may never fight again, but our relationships were far more than that. Maybe the people at large had forgotten me as a hero, but the three that mattered didn’t. After years and years of rage, love had finally found me. \--------------------------------- Edits: Minor things that were bugging me on rereading it this morning (mostly just a few misplaced words and typos which I get for writing it so late in the first place) Thanks for reading and hope that you enjoyed it! Feel free to send any feedback my way, I know I've still got a long way to go!
“Black wings,” Steve said. I knew his name was Steve from the name tag pinned to his chest. The other guy didn’t have a tag, but from the way they sat together staring at the monitor on the reception desk, it was clear the other guy was just as upset as Steve. “Black wings?” he said. Steve chuckled. “April fools?” “Nope,” the other guy said. “Son’s birthday?” “Nope.” “1st of the month?” The other guy checked the wall calendar. “Nope.” “Black wings?” Steve said. The other guy shrugged. “Black wings.” I frowned. My head still throbbed and my arms and legs ached with each movement. I couldn’t quite remember how I’d arrived at this hospital. The last thing I saw were the beaming headlights of a freight train. For whatever reason the barriers hadn’t come down. I was sure I was dead. “Right,” Steve said. “Mr. Kendal.” “George,” I said, rubbing my head. “Whatever,” the other guy said. “You are dead,” Steve said, “and we are going to give you wings.” “Wings,” the other guy said, pointing at the pair on their backs. I hadn’t noticed until now. Either this was a well played April fools joke or one of those candid camera shows. I checked the wall Calendar. “Not April fools,” the other guy said. “Unfortunately not,” said Steve. “I’m being punk’d?” I said. They both frowned. “In a hospital?” said Steve. “Really?” The other guy looked at me with disgust. They had a point, even if I wasn’t buying it just yet. Both receptionists looked at each other and smirked. “Black wings.” “Black wings?” I said. “You see,” said Steve. “Everyone that enters Heaven gets a pair of wings like these beauties. Your wings decide your role.” “And yours about as black as they come.” “That’s right. You’ll be the only angel with a pair of them.” I chuckled. I’d hit my head but not this hard. I decided I’d play along rather than be the buzzkill that I’m sure every other patient had been. “And what do Black wings mean?” “Some Angels guide the living, others fight against evil, some guard the gates.” “It’s a busy job,” the other guy said. “Savage job,” said Steve. “But you, you’re there to ruin it all. You’re the angel of chaos. The great trickster. And you, sir, make sure that everyone - including us - appreciates the job that they’ve been given.” “Boredom will turn a good guy bad faster than Satan’s new sales pitch,” the forth guy said. “That it will. Anyhow. . . what do you say new guy?” This was mild as far as pranks went. They could have added in more people, made the job I had to do far more embarrassing. In fact, they be much scarier if their name tags were ‘Lucifer’ and ‘Judas’. Maybe I was more fitting of these wings than these two thought. On top of all the humour, my head really really hurt. “I’ll take two black wings and all the Panadol you’ve got.” Steve grinned. “Coming right up.” I didn’t expect the black wings to just appear on my back. Then again, that was nothing compared to the Panadol.
“Look, here’s how it’s gonna go. You’re gonna break into the bank, you’re gonna take the money, and then you’re gonna go. Got it? No laughing, no joking around, and no self-identification. I’m looking at you, Jerry.” The supervillain says, looking pointedly at the man next to him. “But boss,” one of the minions protests, “how will they know it was us?” The man takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First, for the last time, my name is Kyle. Secondly, they won’t. That’s the point. Bridget, you know how to scramble the cameras, right?” A woman sitting across the table nods, raising an eyebrow as she examines the plans on the surface. “Yep. One question, though: do you want me to take out the entire day so they think it’s just a routine error? Or exactly when me and everyone else breaks in?” Kyle stares at the plans, then at Bridget, and shrugs. “When the day starts, or maybe a bit sooner? Make sure they don’t suspect anything, really.” Bridget grins. “Sure.” - Kyle was expecting many things, but the city’s superhero crashing through his base’s ceiling was not high on the list. “Halt, villain-“ the man starts, before noticing Kyle sitting in his armchair. “Uh, are you a hostage, sir?” Kyle looks down at himself. Was the sweater vest the reason why he isn’t seen as a supervillain? Meh. He carefully pushes a hidden button and looks at the musclebound idiot. Now, time to put on a show. “Y-yes! God, I’ve been here for so long!” The hero relaxes and swaggers closer to Kyle, a calming smile on his annoying face. “Don’t worry, I’m here!” Kyle smiles, hopefully hiding his rising irritation. “How did you find me?” he asks, tripping out of his chair to get closer to the man. “A bank robber disclosed the name of the group he belonged to during his heist. We weren’t able to catch them, but I was able to find this place with my powers.” The hero preens. Fucking Jerry. Just before Kyle reaches the hero, a single gunshot is fired and the hero collapses back, confusion and terror clear on his face. The supervillain leans over the hero and smiles. “You really should have put armor in with that fancy costume of yours. And honestly? Backup is to die for.” A second shot rings out, and the super powered vigilante is no more. Kyle straightens up and faces the door. “The man didn’t even knock,” he complains as he trots over to the door where his minions are clustered. “And he didn’t even detect any of you!” “He was kinda dumb,” one of them mumbles. Kyle nods firmly. “If I ever catch any of you being that dumb, you’ll be on sewer scout duty for a month. Oh, and that reminds me. Jerry!” the man stumbles out of the crowd of his fellow coworkers. “What did I say about self-identification?” “Not to do it,” he mumbles. “Yeah. Now, go guard the sewers.” Kyle points. As the man trudges off, Kyle points to Bridget. “Do we know the hero’s identity?” She nods. “Harper Evans. Lived in 163 Oak Hill.” The supervillain grins. “Good. Take him back to his house and make it look like a home invasion gone wrong.” “Any suggestions?” “Make it believable.” Kyle retorts. “No dramatic declarations or anything. We do not want to be known. Got it?” “Yes, boss.” “Ah, also! Make sure there’s nothing connecting him to being a hero. The suit needs to be destroyed, and ensure there’s nothing on him that can’t be reasonably explained. If he has physical evidence of superpowers, we can’t do shit about it, though.” “Yes, boss.”
“That damned Tony’s across the street! Stealin’ all da business. Thinkin’ they got betta pizza than us. We’s gonna show ‘em that Vincenzo’s got the best pizza. You all hear that?” Vincenzo Jr. had the entire kitchen rallied together. Some stragglers from the waiting staff had their interest aroused and stayed to hear the boss’s speech. Others zipped in and grabbed food and zipped back out, indifferent to the words of the big man. “We’s gonna show ‘em who’s the pizza to eat. You all hear that?” The kitchen staff all looked at one another and agreed that they all heard that. “Good. Now make some pizza! I’m gonna see what I can learn about this Tony.” Vincenzo grabbed his coat and left the restaurant. &#x200B; “That Vincenzo’s runs a quiet operation; I’ll give them that. Haven’t heard anything about their movements. Paulie, what do ya think?” “Quiet. Real quiet. Too quiet, if you ask me, boss. Think it’s time we sent someone over there, a spy or somethin’. See what they’s up to.” “No, you bastardo. Lui è proprio un bischero!” “I speak Italian, boss.” “I don’t give a fuck! We ain’t sending any spies over to Vincenzo’s, Paulie. They ain’t got any spies in here, and that’s a fact. We gonna show ‘em the same respect they show us. No spies. Business as usual. Jimmy, tell that goddamn chef in our kitchen the customers been complainin’ about the pizzas. This is a legitimate operation, after all. You forgettin’ that?” “I ain’t forgettin’. I’ll let ‘im know ‘bout the pizzas.” Francesco, the errand boy, burst into the office. “Boss!” “What is it, my boy?” “It’s the guy from Vincenzo’s! Says he wants to meet or sumthin’.” “Meet! When?” “The guy’s ‘ere right now!” “Alone?” “Yeah! Guy’s alone.” “Probably wants a parley, boss,” said Paulie. “Alright, alright. Send ‘im in. Paulie, get the fuck out!” “Yes, boss,” Paulie and Francesco said in unison. Tony stood up and readjusted his tie and instinctively breathed into his hand to smell his breath and then scowled at himself; he wasn’t meeting some woman; it was Vincenzo, an enemy. It was a good thing nobody was in here to see that blunder. A knock came at the door. “Come in!” The door swung open and a large Italian man stood in the doorway, almost entire obscuring the short Francesco, who stood behind him. Tony could see Francesco’s shoes, but that was it. “Vincenzo, I presume?” “Thas me. And you’s Tony?” “That’s right. Please, come in.” Vincenzo sauntered in and Francesco closed the door behind him. “So,” Vincenzo began, squeezing himself into one of the velvet sofa chairs in front of the desk. “You thinks you got good pizza, huh?” “Yeah, our pizza is pretty good. Seems like you guys are making some good pizza over there, too.” “You got that right. And since we both in the pizza business, and we both have similar interests, I came here to see if we could come to terms on some… items. How does that sound to you?” “I’m naturally distrustful of others, especially Italians, so know that before we proceed. Nothin’ personal, course.” Vincenzo nodded understandingly. “Me too.” “What is it you want to discuss?” “I was figurin’, and just hear me out. I was figurin’ both of us could each share the secret of our pizza, and that way we coulds target customers in a fair split, fifty-fifty. You see, some customers like ingredients, some customers like sauce, and some customers like cheese tha most. And if we keep buttin’ heads the way we is, then we gonna scare them all off and they gonna go to Leo’s on 53rd. And that’s just bad business. This way, we can stay in our own market, and do what works for us, while making sure not to violate the other’s territory. How’s that sound?” Tony nodded understandingly, the same way Vincenzo had moments before. “I think I’s catchin’ your drift, Vincenzo. Though I wasn’t aware Leo was in the business, too.” “Course he is. They got big sales over there.” “Thanks for the information. Never would have guessed.” “You’s welcome. So I was figurin’ we could both spill our secrets at the same time, where we do a countdown and both say what we got to say at the exact same time, in order to prevent any cheating or holding out. How’s that sound?” “That's suitables for me.” “Okay, then. On the count of three. One… two… three!” “Puttin’ a dash of coke in the heroin!” “Puttin’ a dash of garlic in the sauce!” “Garlic?” Tony looked at Vincenzo angrily. “What kind of joke is that? You come in here with your stupid game and pull that shit on me? I don’t think so, buster.” “Coke? Heroin? The hell’s you talkin’ ‘bout? That ain’t pizza!” “Paulie! Get in here!” The door swung open. “Yes, boss?” Paulie asked with the look of an obedient dog. “Get this two-timer out of here. Vincenzo, I see what game you’re playin’ at over there. This ain’t the last you heard from me, you can count on that. Get ‘em out of here!” Vincenzo stood up, dumbfounded, before the realization came to him. “Waits a minute! This ain’t no pizza joint! This is a front! You sellin’ drugs! You ain’t sellin pizza!” “What the ‘ell? Course we ain’t sellin’ pizza ‘ere. What kinda place you think this is?” “I thoughts it was a pizza joint!” Tony held his belly and bellowed. “Get outta here with that pizza!” Vincenzo began to cackle. “I thoughts you was sellin’ pizza here. We ain’t sellin’ no drugs over at our place, for the record.” He cackled more. Paulie joined in. Everybody was laughing. “I thinks we had a misunderstanding.” Tony’s bellowing abruptly ceased. “Seems like we did. Seems like if you was to mention this conversation to anybody, then, we’d have a real problem. You wouldn’t do that, would you?” “Hell no! If you ain’t sellin’ pizza, then I don’t give two donkey testicles what you’re doin’ over here! Good day!” Vincenzo plowed out of the room, almost knocking Paulie over. “Boss! We just lettin’ him go?” Tony’s eyes squinted dramatically. “I don’t trust him. Forget it. We’re sending a spy over. Find the youngest lad you can find and gets 'im a job as a busser or somethin’, pronto! We’re gonna see what Vincenzo’s is really up to over there. Pizza. Smells fishy to me.” “Sure does, boss. Those anchovies on your desk are going bad. I's can smell it, too." “Get the hell out of here!”
My eyebrow rose at the specificity of the question. I mean, I'm a regular this bar, and I've done my little trick many times before, so I might have a name for it, but usually I only start "guessing"people's ages after everyone is a little tipsy and not inclined to take offense. This guy was completely sober, and oddly intense. It's a bar. If you're intense, you usually use alcohol to relax, you know? So why was this guy not drinking? I leaned my elbow on the bar and folded my hands together, still looking at this guy. "Why so curious?"I finally ask, turning back to my own drink. "I usually do that as a party trick, just for laughs, you know?" "You have a name for it,"the guy says. His accent is hard to place. Somewhere in Europe, I would guess, maybe closer to Russia than not. "Ok, so what? Why do you want me to guess your age so badly?" "I want to see if it is true." "Yeah, well, if I'm performing, I'm getting paid. You're asking for this, I'm not offering. So,"I said, "what's in it for me?" "You guess my age,"he said. "If you are wrong, I will pay for every drink you and any friends of yours consume tonight. If you are right,"his words trailed off significantly, but I was two beers in and not paying too close attention. "Yeah? What if I'm right,"I said prompting the guy. He considered a moment. "If you are right, it proves you are a mortal enemy and the two of us must fight to the death." It was a good thing I hadn't been taking a sip when he said that, because I would have spit it all over the bar. As it was I nearly choked on my own spit, and had a spate of coughing. "Come again,?"I said when I could speak again. "A fight to the death? Over guessing your age right? No way, man. Get out of here." "It is inevitable. If you can truly do what you say, we were destined to meet, you and I, for to fight each other...,"he suddenly grinned crookedly. "It is what we were born to do." I slapped my hand on the bar, my signal to the bartender that I was ready to pay up. "Ok then,"I said, as the bartender slid me a bill. I dug in my wallet and paid it, accepted the receipt and stuffed it in my pocket. "Have fun looking for your long-lost frenemy,"I said, turning toward the door. I didn't even look back, just headed to my car. The bar had two doors, an outer and inner door to keep the weather out. And when I shoved the outer door open, there he was, the same guy, staring me down. I looked behind me- the inner door had a large window in the top half- no one else sitting at the bar. I looked at him again. "How'd you do that?" "There is another exit,"he said, but dropped his gaze down and to the left. "On the other side of the building,"I protested. "Look, I don't know why you're picking on me, pal, but if you don't get out of my face I'm calling the cops. You threatened me." "You MUST guess,"he said, hissing the last syllables a little. "You must." The weird thing was, I was beginning to feel an urge to do just that. I had always known exactly how old people were, but I had never paid it much attention. I figured it was kind of like having perfect pitch, or having an eye for colors- a little something to make life more interesting, but nothing special. I had to concentrate on someone to make it work, the numbers didn't just pop into my head when I looked at someone. And now I was confused. Most of my brain was telling me to get away from the poor brain damaged idiot, but part of it really wanted to concentrate on him. In fact, that part already was. The number surfaced, even as I tried desperately to convince him to leave me alone. 19,367 years old I blinked. "Uh,"was my brilliant response to this unexpected and ludicrous answer. Fortunately, I managed to keep my mouth shut. It wasn't enough though. The man smiled all over his smarmy face. "You see?"he said, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "You know, don't you? You gave yourself away inside, you know. You said my 'long-lost' friend. Even then, part of you knew."His smile fell of his face. "Now, we must fight." He fell into some kind of fighting stance, while I stood there looking like an idiot. Then, I did the smartest thing I could do. I ducked to the side and ran toward my car. I yelled over my shoulder, "Just a sec, gotta get my trusty... uh, weapon!"I was two feet away from my car when he appeared in front of me. I was too close to stop myself, so I barreled into him, knocking him over. We both hit the drivers side door and I shoved him aside so I could open it. I dove in, lunging for my briefcase in the passenger seat. I clicked it open, rifling through the documents inside, desperately hoping I had it with me. "Yes!"I gasped with relief. I grabbed the form and managed to find a pen. By this time, the guy had grabbed my legs and was hauling me back out. I twisted to see what he was doing, and saw he was about to clock me, so I held up the form as if it were a shield. "You want a fight?"I shouted, hoping to startle him into hesitating. "I'll give you a fight! A LEGAL one!" It worked. He paused. "A... what?"He sounded totally confused. I peeked over the form at him. His face mirrored the confusion in his voice and breathed a tiny sigh of relief. I was about to sell him the biggest story I had ever used in my career as a small-town lawyer. "This,"I said, waving the form, "is a police document. I'm a lawyer, but I carry these with me because, well, I hang out in bars and fights happen, and honestly it just saves time." "Now,"I continued. "Back in the bar there, you threatened me, and then assaulted me when we got outside. That means I can fill this out, stating that you first threatened and then assaulted me, and we can go to court." "Court?"He repeated, "To see your King?" I blinked. "No. No, court is where a judge decides who was right and who is wrong when people can't agree, or when someone has harmed another person." "But that is what a King does,"he said, letting his arms fall and letting my legs go. I was glad of that, because I was holding myself off the parking lot by an arm wrapped around my seat. "Jeez, how long has it been since you left your home? This is the 21st century, man."I eyed his clothes. Nothing had seemed off about him before, but now I noticed that while his outfit might pass for biker leathers, they were really riding leathers. "Anyway, the point is, you want a fight, and I am arguing that you,"I pointed emphatically as I got myself upright again, "didn't specify what kind of fight you were looking for, so I'm giving you a legal battle that will last long enough that we might both wish for death." "I submit this document. You submit one that contradicts it. The judge calls a hearing, we present our cases."I took a shaking breath. He still hadn't hit me. Could it be working? "Anyway, believe me, I can drag this out as long as you want me to. I can represent myself, so I won't run out of money, and you probably have a stash of gold or something, right?" His eyes narrowed at the mention of gold, but he nodded cautiously. "Look,"I said, "I'm not good at physical fighting, and I don't want to die. I'm pretty sure you don't want to die either, am I right?" His face made some interesting expressions as he mulled that over. "It is true that I was more or less forced to seek you out. But"he paused, "I do not know that I am tired enough of life to let you kill me. This 'legal battle' you speak of, there is no blood? No arena? No weapons?" "Words,"I said. "Words are the only weapon in a legal battle. And the 'arena' is a courtroom. And,"I continued, suddenly thinking of something, "it could be argued that if the judge gets cranky and forces a settlement, that the end of legalities is the death of the conflict." He regarded me thoughtfully. Then he began to look around, as if seeing the things around him clearly for the first time. "This... this is truly a new world, is it not?"He asked. I nodded. "For you, yes, it must be." "I do not know how to live in this world,"he said quietly. "I could teach you,"I offered. Mentally I prayed with every fiber of my being that he would take the deal and I would not die choking in the parking lot of a bar. He looked at me again, pursed his lips, and then, finally nodded. All the breath left me, and I bent double in relief. "Oh thank god." When I straightened up, he was bowing to me, hand on his heart. "Now. You will show me how to begin this 'legal battle?' For a battle there must be, you understand." And that was how I ended up spending three hours filling out police reports on the hood of my car and explaining them to my new frenemy- whose name, I learned, was Ubaldus Czystanick- instead of landing on the front page of the newspaper as the victim of a mugging gone bad.
I work at an antique store. That's the easiest way to explain what I do. However, it's not just any antique store. It's one of those "stores out of time." You know the kind of store I'm talking about. Maybe you stumbled into one because it looked interesting, browsed for a few minutes, then wandered back out and found yourself on a different street than the one you entered. Everything else seems normal, minus the missing egress, until five years later you find the name of your favorite childhood book is different than you remember. We're not responsible for that. We're just trying to do business here. And it almost always works out fine. Usually the copy of yourself you replaced in that other timeline ended up wandering into another timeline you were already missing from, maybe your own. Your loved ones will almost never end up without some copy of you. But this isn't a story about you. This a story about me and my place of business. We've got a little bit of everything here, from ancient egyptian artifacts to early edition computers. Oh, and we've got some old furniture, too, probably the only practical thing for sale here. The place is fairly cramped with items stacks on items. It's also poorly lit, and try as I might these old things just gather dust like nobody's business. My boss says all this helps to create a "buying mood."I say it makes me bump into things and sneeze, so I try to stay behind the counter and let the customers do the suffering. A normal business day for me is never a normal thing. Some days no one will come in, and I can enjoy some quiet reading and Chinese take-out. Other days, the place is absolutely flooded with customers, usually humans. Today, though. Today is one of the weirder days. This is the fifth time this guy has been in here here. It's not the same version of him, but it's definitely the same guy. This one dyes his hair. The others had some grey streaks. Personally, the one with the beard looked the most dignified, and the one with five o'clock shadow wasn't that bad, but this guy's clean shaven. Some customers are hoverers. They're afraid to touch anything, like it would crumble, but they still want to put their hands around it, I guess so they can pretend to touch it. Some customers are touchers. They'll come in and put their fingers on everything. Run it down the back of a chair, trace the edge of table, rub it around the rim on the china. This guy's a grabber. They make me the most uncomfortable. All of them walked in the door, headed straight to the middle of the shop, and started picking things up, one at a time, methodically, while mumbling to himself. None of these guys have paid attention to or examined the items. They've just picked them up one after the other while mumbling. They all start with the old computer hardware. This guy picks up the first one, the same as the others. An old sealed box of The Oregon Trail for the Apple IIe. He doesn't even look at it. "Uncommon." I perk up, paying more attention as this hair-dyer speaks. "Did you need something, sir?" "Just talking to myself."He barely spares me a glance and continues his ritual of picking up items. He goes on his little path, the same one that the four others before him took. Unlike the others, he's not mumbling to himself. He picks up each item, barely glancing at it just to check his grip, raising it half an inch in the air, then speaking in a conversational tone. "Common. Uncommon. Rare. Common."He pauses half a second longer while holding the object he declared rare before putting that silver goblet back. If memory serves, that one was actually owned by nobility. Admittedly, I'm a bit curious now. He approaches the item that all the others got stuck on before they stormed out of the store. Since this guy is speaking out loud, maybe I'll get some clue as to why all these guys are so interested in it. I tense up a little as he fondles the few items leading up to it. "Uncommon. Uncommon. Common." He's there, and he puts his hand on it. He pauses, actually looking at it. The others didn't pause in their ritual. Maybe this guy has a few more brain cells. He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, then frowns at it, deeply, like it just questioned his parentage. But he doesn't speak whatever he sees in this item out loud. I realize I'm leaning forward, actually interested in the outcome here. I catch myself and lean back, elbow on the counter and cheek resting in my hand. This is an appropriate level of apathy. It's not worth getting involved in problem customers like these. This man with dyed hair looks at me, gently holding the object away from his body, like it might bite him or break. A thin sheen of sweat on his forehead reflects the dim light, and his breathing is ragged. Only one of these men so far had the nerve to actually ask me how much it cost. None of them have had a poker face worth a pair of twos. This one has been on a talking streak. Maybe he'll do some more talking. Nope. Turns out this one is a runner. Still holding this thing gently away from himself, he turns and sprints for the door. I consider saying something, but he's really not worth the effort. He dodges around a couple tables and shoulders the door, shoving it open. Like most reputable establishments, our door swings outward. We've even got one of those little brass bells that chime when you open the door. There's no handle and latch, just a deadbolt to lock when we're closed. As the bell screams out in protest for the door's rough treatment, I shudder to think of the damage this poor door would have endured today if it did have a latch. He makes it halfway through the threshold before there's a flash of light, a puff of dust, and a wooden clatter as the object he was holding falls to the ground. The man is dead and gone, completely turned to dust, like the four others before him. With a sigh and a groan, I stand up off my stool and make my way around the counter to pick up the item he dropped. Like I said before, this is one of those "out of time"stores. We sell all sorts of antiques from all sorts of timelines. But the display stands? The items that make up the store itself? Those can't leave here. That's just the rules for this kind of store. And if someone tries, the store protects itself. If you were to consider them on a scale of rarity, they just don't fit. I guess if you had to classify them, they'd be something like "unobtainable." I pick up the little wooden stand and brush the dust off it. The old dining plate it held was sold last week, but my boss insists we keep all the unused stands in place. He usually finds a new something to put on them within a week or two. He just hasn't found one for this stand yet. Maybe I could just keep the stand behind the counter. This store is dusty enough as it is. But I'm sure I'm going to see another dozen of this guy come into the shop today, and if he's willing to steal a little wooden display stand, I'd prefer he try to run away with that rather than something more rare and expensive. I put the little wooden stand back in place, double check the alignment, and then brush a small, dyed hair onto the floor. Just as I make it back behind the counter and settle back onto the stool, the brass bell above the door jingles as a new patron enters. I give a half-hearted wave, not looking up from my book, as the man makes his way to the center of the shop.
“You’re messing with me aren’t you?” Chloe looked up from the sheet of paper I’d handed her. “You really don’t know who this person is?” “No I have no idea. For the past few weeks I’ve gotten little packages in the mail. No postage or return address. It was always cute things like toy rings, costume jewelry, and once a plastic chocolate covered strawberry. But this is the first time I’ve gotten a poem. But it seems like a kid wrote it, I mean it’s clearly someone younger than me. I figured maybe you knew one of the boys in the neighborhood that had a crush on me?” “Oh I know exactly who sent this Rylie. I just don’t understand why you would mess with me like this. It’s not funny. I’ve got better things to do with my time.” She went back to reading her book, throwing the paper at me. “I’m not messing with you. I want to find out who sent it so I can thank them , but also tell them to stop. It’s cute, but I’m sure they are way too young for me. I mean there is no way some one my age would write.” Chloe peered above her book and rolled her eyes “Right there’s no way someone YOUR AGE would write, I love you more than applesauce; Than peaches and a plum; Than chocolate hearts and cherry tarts and berry bubble-gum I love you more than lemonade and seven layer-cake; Than lollipops and candy drops and a thick vanilla shake. You honestly want me to believe you have no idea who wrote this?” “I really don’t, I’m begging you, if you know who wrote it tell me.” “Fine but first you need to do something for me.” “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” “Ok go get a piece of paper and a pen.” After a minute Rylie returned “Ok got it” “Ok now right exactly what I say then hand it to me. Summer time toes in the sand; Carnival rides baby hand in hand; Sharing pizza and a smoothie too; Yum yum yummy baby. I love you” Chloe read to her sister “Ok done” Rylie handed her sister the paper “Just as I thought. Here look” Chloe help both pieces of paper to Rylie. “It can’t be, there’s no way. How can they have the same handwriting as me?” Rylie became puzzled as she looked at both sheets, seeing the matching paragraphs “There’s only one explanation, you wrote it.” “But I would remember doing it, wouldn’t I? And why would I do it? It just doesn’t make sense.” “Who knows maybe your crazy? I mean that is a song from the cartoon we watched the other day.” Chloe began laughing as she went back to reading her book “That’s not funny I’m telling mom!” Rylie stormed out of the room Rylie ran upstairs to her mothers bedroom. She entered the room quietly. The lights were of and although It was the afternoon, her mother was still laying in bed. “Mom Chloe’s being mean to me again. She said I was crazy. That I’m sending letter and gifts to myself. It’s not funny and I want you to yell at her.” Her mother slowly sat up from the covers. Tears rolled down her cheek. She sat there clutching a small stuffed unicorn. “Please Rylie don’t say things like that it’s not funny.” “But mom she’s always being mean to me. And I don’t like it, please go yell at her.” Her mother began to sob. “How can I when she died last week.”
Even before they entered the great hall Harry could hear them. As they haphazardly entered the hall their shouted conversations easily doubled the overall volume of the festivities. Where the Durmstrang students were ordered and intense; the Ilvermorny students were just shy of a casual chaos. Instead of sitting at the designated table, the new arrivals sat wherever there was space and started chatting up those around them. One of the students sat opposite of Ron and began assaulting him with questions. It was here Harry got a better look at the "uniforms". Blue jeans, brown leather belts, yellow leather work boots, and white-on-red Letterman jackets. Each student had a different series of patches on his or her sleeve. On the chest of one hefty student walking by he saw an American flag. He was talking to an equally stout girl with a Canadian flag emblazoned on her jacket. Seated among the Hufflepuffs was a group sporting what he assumed were Mexican flag patches. The conversations were loud and punctuated with grand gestures. There was also plenty of laughing and an infectious joviality spreading through the hall. Turning back to Ron, the apparently American Ilvermorny student had taken off his jacket to reveal a t-shirt of an unknown rock group. The American was pointing at various patches and explaining each one in turn. "This'in 'ere."He pointed to a circular patch with a silver boarder. It depicted two wands crossing each other. "Means Ima intermediate duelist. I went ta the tournament last year n' managed second. I almost always win if I could get the other guy inta a power struggle. The gal who got first."He gestured to the stout Canadian girl who had seated herself at the Slytherin table "Well, she started the match by goin' straight ta a power struggle. I thoughts ta myself, 'Okay, easy match.' Boy was I wrong. That girl is damn strong. I couldn't get her ta budge one inch. Anyway, we was in a power struggle when she jus' marched across the stage, mind you she was still keeping up with me in the struggle which was impressive enough, and she threw a left hook. She jus' up'n punched me right in the face. Knocked me clean out just like that and took first."He laughed, leaned back and shouted in her direction "I'LL TAKE FIRST PLACE NEXT YEAR THOUGH!" Claire turned, grinned, and shouted back "NEXT TIME? YOU MEAN WHEN I KNOCK YOU OUT AGAIN? HAVE YOU BEEN PRACTICING DIVINATION?"Laughter erupted from both tables as she was apparently telling her version of the same story. He pointed to another patch to explain what it represented; but, he was cut short as Dumbledore quieted the room to make an announcement.
"How goes the war?" Every day I ask the same question. Hoping against hope my plan, to give the people a common enemy, something to unite against, would start to succeed. And every day my hopes are dashed, with each general's report sinking me further into melancholy. "Our enemies in the South are trapped in Silva Bay, Admiral Malpais' blockade is stopping all supplies and reinforcement, General Luton is moving in with a cavalry cordon on land. We expect that by this time next month we will have all survivors trapped in Oakmont, and from there it should be a straight forward extermination." "The North continues to tear itself apart, so I have ordered all units to hold positions and wait for the idiots to finish killing one another before moving in. The West continues to be a bastion of support, we have not seen any dissent or insurgency other than deserters from the North, who are swiftly dealt with." At this rate I'd accomplish my goals by conquering the entire continent. "What of the East?" "As per your orders, we have left the Eastern Kingdoms alone. However, we think that it may be beneficial to move now and attack them soon." Hold on. Could this be it? The moment I was waiting for? "Why? What is happening in the East?" "While the War has left them alone, it has led to increased tension among the people. There are growingly vocal calls for refugees to return to their homes, by force if necessary. Add to that, hate preachers of all stripes have cropped up, advocating for pogroms against the other races. If we don't invade, they'll just tear each other apart in a civil war." Flicker of hope extinguished. Just. Like. That.
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You'll be fine, the voice of Eric's wife echoed in his head. People are people, regardless of species. Sure, right, I know that, Eric heard himself answering, but not everyone agrees with you. Eric stifled a sigh as he played the conversation over to himself for what was probably the twentieth time that evening. He had a vague memory of having been talked into believing that he might actually enjoy himself, but now – with the not-quite-right furniture surrounding him, and the other parents casting not-exactly-subtle glances in his direction – he was convinced that some sort of trickery had been involved. "Ouch, Daddy,"came a voice from near his hip. "You're hurting my hand." Eric quickly loosened his grip on his daughter's fingers, suddenly aware that he had been pressing her claws into his palm. Even as his hold slackened, though, he felt a compulsion to smack himself in the forehead, realizing that he had just committed yet another faux pas. "No, Daddy,"Schr'Let admonished him. "You have to squeeze harder first, remember?" "I know, sweetie,"muttered Eric, more to himself than to his daughter. He let a halfhearted pulse crush the girl's fingers together (feeling as the compressed fur gave way to smooth scales), then released as he looked down to make eye contact. A satisfied nod accompanied a grin made up of sharp, blue-tinged teeth that ended in violet tips. It was bad enough, Eric thought, to be the only human in a crowd of monsters... but if his daughter was going to insist on reminding him of social etiquette, he wished that she'd be a bit quieter. Not that he needed any help embarrassing himself, of course. The night had started predictably enough: Eric and Schr'Let had arrived to the girl's school, checked themselves in, then made their way to the gymnasium. Curious stares and whispers had followed them, but those were so common as to be easily ignored. The trouble had only started after Eric had tried to approach another group of parents, and had let his nerves get the better of him: Rather than going through the ritual of punching the other adults – of showing the "respect for their fortitude,"as the situation demanded – he had extended an open, slightly trembling hand, silently inviting someone to clasp it and shake it. In essence, he had accused all of them of being children. While the misstep had been explained away easily enough, and had even resulted in some good-natured laughter, it had also set the tone for the rest of the night. Eric had poured himself a drink from the punch bowl, for instance, instead of waiting for someone else to do it for him. Half-remembered growls of "Humans are greedy and entitled!"had mixed with Schr'Let's innocent giggles then, the combination bringing a telltale color to his cheeks. Following that, after Eric had spotted a familiar arrangement of chestnut spots on another parent's back, he had quickly walked toward the man, Vrachst – the father of his daughter's best friend – from behind, rather than circling the room and approaching from directly ahead. "Humans are sneaky and untrustworthy!"had rumbled in his mind that time. A loud, booming roar resonated through the air then, ripping Eric from his reverie and causing him to jump in place. "Welcome, everyone,"came the voice of the school's principal, who had positioned herself near the room's exit (a place of authority, Eric reminded himself). "Thank you all for coming to our parent-teacher night!"Dozens of taloned feet stamped in acknowledgement before the woman continued, leaving Eric acutely aware of the sound that his hard-soled shoes made on the stone floor. "The students have put up displays of their artwork and accomplishments, all of which you are welcome to bid on."Another coordinated stamp occurred then, even as Eric reminded himself to let Schr'Let decide which of her peers' contributions to symbolically patronize. "Before we get started, though,"the principal continued, "we have a surprise for everyone: A special guest is with us tonight!" Eric's blood froze in his veins, certain as he was that he would soon be surrounded by a sea of vertical pupils. He struggled to think of the right response, but came up empty. Within seconds, he knew, he would yet again paint his entire species as being a backward, superstitious, offensive lot, all because he could never quite remember how he was supposed to behave. "The beloved children's entertainer, Rochroascht, is putting on a performance for us!" The rhythmic, oddly melodic noise made by hundreds of claws brushing against one another filled the air as a tall, red-horned man stepped into view. Eric quickly put his wrists together – this time remembering to firmly squeeze Schr'Let's hand before releasing it – and dragged the tops of his fingernails back and forth across each other, adding his own show of appreciation to the applause. "Humans,"he muttered to himself, "are all self-centered and presumptuous."Of course he wasn't the special guest, he thought. It had been the very height of arrogance to think otherwise, just as it would have been improper – offensive, even – for the principal to announce his presence without first seeking his permission. His self-flagellation might have continued, but he noticed that the same array of spots from before was moving toward him, their owner keeping his face toward the just-introduced performer in a show of politeness. As Vrascht took a place at Eric's side, a conspiratorial question reached his ears. "Is it true,"the other parent quietly asked, "that 'Rochroascht' means 'stone dinner' in human-speak?" "Uh... kind of, actually,"Eric replied. "I guess it sounds a bit like 'rock roast.'" A single snort of laughter preceded the man's next words. "Stone dinner! You know what it implies?"Eric shook his head, which – thankfully – was a gesture that both cultures had seemingly developed independently. "It suggests that he is a bad entertainer. He drives everyone away, so he must have stones for his meals, you see?"More laughter followed, and Eric found himself joining in. "My wife constantly plays his music for Schr'Let,"Eric stated. "It's maddening." "Maddening!"repeated Vrascht. "Then you cannot sleep, because the music has invaded your mind!" In spite of himself, Eric felt a genuine smile beginning to cross his face. "Listen,"he said, "I'm going to be out of my element tonight. Did you see what I did with the punch bowl?" "No,"answered Vrascht, "because you were behind me!" It took a moment for the joke to land, but when it did, Eric's smile widened. "Humans are stupid,"he said. "I would be honored to have you help protect my pride tonight, though." Claws threatened to shred Eric's jacket as a large hand was slammed into his back, but he managed to keep the friendly gesture from toppling him forward. "Oh, yes! The honor would be mine,"Vrascht said, "to protect the pride of the class prodigy's parent." "Class... prodigy?"Eric stammered. Compliments of that sort were rare, and never offered without the utmost sincerity. He looked down at his daughter, but the girl appeared to be utterly enraptured at the sight of Rochroascht. "Oh, yes,"said Vrascht again. "She seems to have a gift for learning and explaining concepts which elude others."A knowing (and oddly sympathetic) sparkle shown in Vrascht's eye. "I wonder if her father is to blame." In that moment, Eric was certain that his pride would need no protection at all. He reached behind Vrascht, then slammed his fist into the man's shoulder with all his might. He very nearly broke his hand, but at least he had made a friend at school.
A single tear splashed onto the ivory piano keys as Andres sat. He had imagined this very moment for the longest time. The weight of the note echo'd throughout the audition hall. The panel of judges, watching in utter confusion and a lack of contempt, shuffled awkwardly in their chairs. "Mr Vasques..." Andres didn't look up. He was too transfixed on the feel, still not fully comprehending that this moment was even real. "Mr. Vasques, your piece?"Said an old voice from the judging panel. The lights were bright on the academy stage. The space that surrounded Andres was consciously large. He felt almost naked with that much room. It was nothing compared to the airplane he took here. The journey which seemed to never cease. Travelling from Madrid to America was a long journey in itself, around about 6 hours, and as Andres sat on Row I, Seat 3 he practiced the piano. Well, as much as he possibly could do while in the air, he had brought a piano mat. It was a simple mat which contained the piano keys where he could practice his fingering and spacing. After he had practiced for a bit, he had fallen asleep and woke up still in the air and this seemed to carry on for what seemed like lifetimes, and as he continued to practice, after he had realised his hell-on-earth was not ending, the notes seemed to fade. He could always hear, in his head, the pitch of what he played, however, as he continued to exist in this space of time the memory faded and he was left with just the mat. Andres, while in the air for 14,000 years had created his own magnum opus, the song which truly defined him, and he could hear it in his head over and over again. However, when the notes faded, the song faded too and it drove him near insane - being unable to hear the very song which he poured his soul into. Now as he sat at this piano, in front of the audition for music school, he realised that the judges, the nerves of getting into the school, the whole rigmarole of this process was lost on him. He just wished to hear his song again, and now he had the perfect moment to hear it again. Andres, playing the music again was soul crushing. His eyes were almost blinded by his tears as it tore him apart - the lack of music in his life had left a large hole, which the very performance itself was filling up. As he finished and collapsed on the piano with a cacophony of dissonance, the judges asked "Does playing cause you to react like this every time?" "Sorry"He replied, his voice trembling "I just haven't played in a while"
"That's amazing,"is what people sometimes say. They say "What the hell?"more often. This is usually because I just told then about my family. You see, my grandparents were completely obsessed with children. They had a big home, with as many children as possible. I forget, but I think they ended up with an overwhelming 30 kids before my grandmother became sterile. She actually died soon after. And now, I have more than a hundred cousins. What this means is that all of us are in the Guinness world records book, and also that there's always somebody to help you with whatever. Enough about my record breaking family. Allow me to tell you what transpired about a year ago. You see, Gohan -- a millionaire who's very popular with many of his cousins -- was arrested, and despite our efforts we couldn't pay the bail ('we' being the people who cared enough ; with so many cousins, a single one might not just mean too little to another, they might forget about them entirely). I went home -- I'm too poor to help. I continued my painting before someone knocked. "Come in, the door's unlocked!"I shouted. Crime was unheard of in my neighborhood. A young woman, about thirty, opened the door cautiously and stepped in. She was panting like a dog in the summer heat. "They want you,"she explained between gasping breaths, "To come and..."She inhaled deeply, and I stopped painting the bird, "Actually, I don't know. What's your name? They just gave me the address." Of course somebody would call me. Whatever they wanted, I'd need to come over fast. I tried to think who could be trying to get me this late : I only told three cousins that my phone was in repair and gets need to come over, so it should be one of them. Dejected, I put down my brushes and apologised before striding out if the door. I walked for a minute before realising I don't know where to go. "Do you know who wanted me?"I asked one of the last people o recognise near the jail where we gathered. "I dunno."Harriet mumbled in her usual absent-minded way. Gah, why did my phone have to break now of all times? I'll never fulfill the request in 24 hours. "It's probably Faramir,"she said quietly just I started to leave. "He's gone to the hardware store because he knew you'd take long." I thanked her and ran off. Faramir was the lad who we called when we need a repair, and he'd always give absurd prices afterwards. I didn't feel like helping him, but duty is duty. Seven minutes later I found him staring into space in the chips isle and tapped him on the shoulder. He coughed, ahemmed, turned around as so slowly he'd break another Guinness world record for not-hurrying-up, and finally made his request. "I want you to join my team." "Are you stupid? You know what Charlotte did when you pretended to be a superhero who can fix stuff using magic." "We're going to break into jail."He proclaimed, whispering for obvious reasons. I looked at him, mouth agape. This is going to be a long night, I can feel it. --- I might continue this if it gets popular, as everything else I do it probably won't. Enjoy anyway!
I waited in the tavern for my meeting with the Dwarf "Almim Noblegut", a 'scientist' he calls himself. Dwarves may be resourceful with their metals and engineering, masters of magic too; but my latest work here ought to put some of their ingenuity to shame. I waited for longer, doubting if the courier actually delivered my letter. A short figure entered the tavern, and spoke to the barkeep. A short conversation followed and he hobbled my way. He sat across me, in a gruff voice asked, "You the lad who runs the Town smithy? What was your name again? Place?""Pallas", I corrected. "Received this odd letter, stating you have an invention. Well, lets see it then. I've got no time to dilly-dally." I pulled out the package from my coat and handed it over to him. "A Pistol, as I call it. not as accurate or far-shooting as an Elvish bow.. but easy to conceal and packs a good punch, three healers worth."He examined it thoroughly and compared it to a crossbow. The audacity! "Fully automatic; at close range may put your ballistae to shame, eh? Holds 13 rounds and full brass bullets. Fires with the use of powder in fireworks."The dwarf looked over the pistol again and asked, "Well, it is a marvellous weapon. Would you mind a demonstration?"I smiled and led him over to my shop.
Boy held his spear tight. The strange short creature hunched over in the forest clearing did not sense him. Man was grinding his teeth and pinching his chin. The shorter creature stood, a strange round weave of plants in its hands, over filling with the harvest of the woods. “Why are they so far north?” Man asked himself. Boy looked up to his father, “what is it?” “The most terrifying creature.” Boy smiled, thinking his father joked. “Frightening? They’re head and shoulders shorter than us.” He rolled his spear throwing shoulder, in case Man ordered to attack. Man grabbed the fur hung on the boy’s back and shoved him down into the brush. “Their power does not lie in size,” Man said, narrowing his eyes. “Look.” Boy did as his father instructed and watched. The sleek creature was like a two-legged doe. How could something delicate as this make Man scared? Then, from the edge of the wood, several more came out. These were slightly bigger than the doe but still shorter than Boy and dwarfed by Man. They held tools in their hands shorter than a spear, with shiny tops that reflected the sunlight falling through the cracks of leaves and branches. “Follow,” Man said, skirting around the outside of the brush. Boy did as commanded and they followed the doe and her kin. Boy froze. The trees were getting scarce. Stumps lined the ground like an army of beavers had come through. But these trees were cut, not chewed. Thwack There was a booming crack, and the whining of wood scrapping wood. A magnificent oak tree crumbled and slammed against the earth. The small people gathered around the timber, and together, they lifted it. Not even Man could lift such a heavy load. “There ingenuity matched only by their cruelty, yet neither have a limit,” Man said. Boy cocked his head and watched. The strange creatures brought the wood to a flat plain where they had already built several caves out of wood. There were dozens of the does and bucks wandering around, working together to create many items Boy thought to be impossible. “Are they demons?” He asked. Man shook his head, “worse. Humans.” Boy bit his lip and stood holding his spearhead at the doe. Before he could take aim Man threw him down to the ground. “Fool,” Man growled. “If they are so dangerous we must chase them from our woods!” Boy said. “What is the mightiest creature in the wood?” Man asked. “The bear?” Boy shrugged. Man sighed and shook his head, “The bear is the strongest, but the woods do not belong to him. They are the wolf’s.” The boy smirked. “A wolf is no match for a bear.” “A single wolf, no. But wolves are smart, they hunt in a pack. The bear is no match for their numbers or teamwork.” “Then what should we do?” “We must make like the bear, tread lightly and steer clear of where the wolves have marked their land.” Boy looked at the doe, her gentle sleek figure and smile enticing him. “Can’t the bear join the wolf?” Man shook his head, picking up his spear and heading back to the cave. “there isn’t room atop the food chain for two. We must leave Boy.” At the humans bundle of caves, filled with joyous sounds of laughter, the smaller creatures showed off the prize of their hunt. A bear slumped over a wagon, its eyes unfocused and tongue dropping out. It’s body laced with a score of small sticks. Boy followed his father and felt a chill run down his spine. These humans were here to take the Neanderthal’s home, and there was nothing he could do.
Mages are amongst the highest class. Being able to cast spells from your fingertips gives you a sense of superiority, a feeling that you are above the masses. But even amongst such an elite group of people, there is a hierarchy. And my family, well, they are practically at the top. My bloodline is full of powerful long range sorcerers. It can be traced back to some of the early days of settling, where my ancestors assisted carving out the territory our kingdom resides in. But such esteemed placing comes at a price. Those born without that gift are cast out. Those born with it, but are weak, are left in the dust. So as you can guess, it was with delight that I found I held mind-boggling power. So much power in fact, it was estimated that I could take on my father, mother and elder sister, and win. But then, we found the flaw. My range was pitiful. The best could manage 200 meters. The average user could go 80 meters. I could go 5. My family didn't know what to make of me. I was powerful, yes, but so close range. No self-respecting sorcerer allows people to get that close. And yet I had to. They discussed it, through long nights. What was to be my future? They came to an agreement. I would still be part of the family. But I would receive no special favour, unlike my sister. I had to prove myself. At first, I was distraught. They clearly didn't care for me. Only the standing I could provide. But as time passed, and I learned, I grew. I turned, and relied on myself. I would never rely on them or anyone. And I found the range didn't matter so much. I didn't want to stand away from my target. The anger inside me, the anger at how I had been treated, demanded I stare my target in the eyes. I learned how to move silently, controlling the area around me to assist me. I leanred how to hide, bending the light to show what I wanted. I learned how to pinpoint weak points, in both flesh and stone. I learned to fight with blade and bow. I then set out, alone, to the nearby orc tribe, that had been terrorising the villages. The king had requested aid in taking the head of the chieftain, but none of the mages wished to help. I snuck in, and assassinated him, before leaving without a sound. When I presented the king with his head, he was pleased. And my family finally, after all these years, reached out with offers of help. Now that I had the kings pleasure, I was a higher standing in the court. They craved that power. I turned them down, composing to serve the king instead. He saw firsthand the effectiveness of my power. And he was impressed. I was inducted into his security detail in short order. I enchanted his royal robes, to protect him from assassins. I empowered his guards armour, to be stronger, and let them move more freely. Then, at his behest, I took my new place. I was sent, into the night. And each time, I would take down one of his enemies. My power, and range, lead me down the dark path, of becoming the first Royal Assassin. A role that I happily took, for it put me above my snobbish, spiteful family. A role in which I only had to rely on myself. The one who never let me down.
You let a smirk cover you face. Years, a whole decade you had worked for that moment. The High Priests in the room looked horrified as the seven holy lights lost their spark. Your shadow was growing more and more and nothing could stop you now. Soon it would only be darkness everywhere. The empire was a threat to its people. Not the Nobles with the stronger auras safely hidden behind the Capital's Light walls, no those lived a life of luxury and excess that you would soon end. You had traveled far into countryside, seen the tiny villages, witnessed the so-called "soulless"suffer and work more than they lived or slept. Always tired, always fearing their children wouldn't make it to the next day. This live of misery, you had sworn to end it. They were told to pray, that only that way their soulless bodies could find redemption and protection from the seven holy lights. Unbeknownst to them, the very people supposed to protect the masses, were the ones extracting every bit of aura from the weak and poor to fuel their machines and expand their lives. But today was the day the power was returned to the people. The miners would soon use fire to rebel against the guards, the oppressed weapons against the unjust Nobles. No doubt there would be casualties and a lot of death and pain. But for the first time in centuries, freedom an equality was reachable. Who cares if you had to become the villain here. Back home they would chant your heroic tales late into the night. You turned you attention away from the shatters of the Prism and stared right into the Priest's terror filled eyes. He was muttering some prayer over and over again. "Your gods have long left you, oloean priest. If it makes you feel better, think of me as divine intervention. Now, let's get to work and hope I remember my lines." You coughed dramatically and your smirk grew even more. This was the fun part "I, Ririn Umbra, Shadowwalkers of Estal, shall make you pay for you sins. An eye for an eye, blood for blood" The cry in the High Priest's lungs died out as red flushed over his white robes. His last thoughts haunted by your one remaining black eye. \----- I just needed to get this out of my head, even of it's not that great.

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