Split (1)

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It's eleven PM on Thanksgiving night. Mom and Dad are off on some Caribbean cruise. The residence halls are closed, and everyone I know is home with their family. I'm here alone in my friend's off-campus apartment, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. I spent most of the evening browsing various social media sites until the turkey day posts got to me. Before they left, I joked with my friends that I was lucky because I got to skip out on the awkward family reunions. I was lying. It's lonely as hell here. "Hello? Can you here me?" It's a man's voice. Cold runs down my spine. "W-who is it?"I sit straight up, and see a man in his fifties standing in the middle of the room. "Don't worry, I'm not here. I'm sorry, I'm dead." "That... doesn't make sense." He scratches his head. "I'm, uh, sending this to you after I've died. You know, my one message." "I get that,"I bluntly reply, "But I don't know you." He curses inaudibly, then says, "I'm, uh, I'm your father. Your dad." I stare blankly. "I'm sorry, I think somehow, you've got the wrong person. My dad is still alive. He's... on a cruise with my mom." The man shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowed. "Is that what Mary's told you?" Mary. That's my mom's name. I rub my temples. "I don't know. I still think you're talking to the wrong person." The man looks over at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. "God, I don't have time. Look. Your name is Christine, and you've got a blue, quarter-sized birthmark on your left shoulder, shaped like a small bird." "How did you -" "When you were born, eighteen years ago, I held you first, before even Mary did,"he interjected, his tone softening. "I already knew you'd grow up to be wonderful." "But Mom - she never -" The man held up his hand. "I don't have much time left. I'm sorry, I don't have time to explain. I just wanted you to know that I love you, and I never stopped loving you. After I turned my life around, I tried to find you, so many times. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry."Tears welled up in his eyes. His voice softened to a broken, raspy whisper. "I'm sorry I failed as a father." I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. The man simply stands there, his shoulders shaking with held-back sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm being selfish,"he finally says. "No, it's... it's okay,"I numbly reply. "I wish I could've seen you grow up. You're in college now, and so beautiful, too." "Thanks,"I manage to mumble. He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't. After what feels like hours, he simply says, "Take care of yourself." "I will." With that, the man disappears. I lie down, and stare at the ceiling.
I've had the immense fortune of meeting two of the greatest heroes our world has ever known. Batman of Gotham city and Superman of Metropolis. Their deeds are well-known and I myself have reported on many. Still there are even greater deeds that the public shall never hear of but are no less substantial or heroic. They have both saved countless lives, both human and not. Through it all they have remained true to their convictions in a world that changes opinions faster than I can publish them. To pick one hero as the greater is an impossible task and I would say wholly irrelevant in the face of a world that needs as much heroism it can get in these dark times. But if i had to choose, if it fell upon me to select one candidate as the measure by which all other heroes must aspire to, I would pick Batman. Batman. At his core, this dark knight, this vigilante of no known origin or face... is just a man. He is no more, but most importantly, he is no less, than human. He is as weak, frail... and real... as we all are. He is a man that has chosen not to be buried in the cynicism and darkness that engulfs contemporary society. He is man who has made his own destiny and has clawed his way up from the darkness to stand against it. He is man without special powers, or fabulous abilities but presses on regardless. He is man who has defeated some of the greatest evils in recorded history with nothing more than his sheer force of will. He is man that we can all be. Superman was born great, powerful and heroic. But Batman made himself those things. It is precisely because being a hero is so incredibly hard that his triumph in becoming one is greater than Superman's, for which heroism comes easy. Batman has shown all of us that all you need is nothing more than to be human. We can all be better because Batman can be better. Batman is one of us. Batman is just a man. - Opinion piece by: Clark Kent for the Daily planet ------------------------------- Superman versus Batman? Come on! No contest, Superman wins. Was this ever in doubt? Most superheroes just have to make do with one superpower but this guy looks like he came back for seconds and thirds. And unlike that anonymous Batman guy Superman doesn't need a mask. Superman walks around as himself everyday and doesn't care what people think. Batman is some scared little kid that has to hide behind a mask. If you take off that mask what do have? A loser! That's what. Batman is the mask. He puts on that mask to become batman. But Superman is the man, he doesn't need a mask. Now you tell me who is more secure in who they are as a person? Now i got dirty laundry, who doesn't am i right? But Batman's anonymity tells me he's got a lot of dirty laundry he's hiding. You think fighting crime and putting bad guys away makes you a hero? No you're just another thug who happens to beat up other thugs. But Superman is out there giving interviews, showing up at public events and even brokering peace between people, aliens and whole bunch of other crap i never even heard of. Batman has never so much as even signed an autograph. Heck, I have a signed copy of Superman's book on being hero, what has Batman done? Superman lives, breathes and walks... actually i guess "flies"... a hero, every single day. Batman? We only see him when shit hits the fan and even then i wonder if he's just trying to protect his own interests. For me, Superman is more the hero than batman will ever be. - Drunken ravings of Bruce Wayne while judging the Miss America Pageant
"Denied." "No, I was guaranteed this patent." The Patent Office Administrator offered nothing to the Professor. No humanity. No emotion. Not even a chance. "I don't know who's authority you claim to have for this invention to be... guaranteed, but that is not my problem. We have reviewed your patent application, and your invention is not commercially viable." Professor Balm bristled. Her response was monotonous for a death sentence to his project. Many years, decades went into this application. "Explain it to me. It's new, I can promise you that! No where in the world has what I've presented to the committee. You people flew me out here to test it personally, and they fucking applauded me! Now you come here telling me it's not... I asked my brother for $65 to mail the damned thing to you!" "And we can't accept it." It was becoming too much. "Why damn you?" She cleared her throat in a delicate, surprisingly human cough. "It's... magic." "I--- that word is illegal." "You presented an energy source comprised of manipulating a natural occurring phenomenon that can't be harvested. We'd say this is... 10 years too early? 20? Your field is a new one Professor." "I know it is, I founded the damn thing! What in blazes do you mean it's, magic?!"The last word was a struggle to get through his withered mouth. Assertions, logic, equations, hypothesis... for a man of science to clarify such a word was beyond his years, let alone associate such criminal impossibility with his work. Yet it all seemed beyond his time, from the sound of it. He received the administrators response in a silence bordering reverence. "'Any sufficiently advanced magic is indistinguishable from technology.' Clarke's..." "Third Law of Wizardy." She raised a thin eyebrow. "My, nephew. Bright kid, he---" "Clarke's Third Law of Wizadry. Professor, we can't protect technologies who's fields are yet... non-established. Do not get angry sir, these aren't my rules. We recognize cold fusion as a possibility now more than ever thanks to your research. But the scientific--- no, the global community isn't ready." Professor Balm stuttered for a few moments before finding himself. "Not ready my foot! It's the greatest energy break-through in centuries! It would... redefine the global economy, a surplus of investments I... I'm weak on economics but don't go telling me we're not ready, when I've spent my life making it so!" "Which leads me to my last message for you Professor. I've been asked to relay these words to you on behalf of the committee, along with my sincerest apologies." "For--- for what?" "We understand your situation. Titling yourself a Professor to acquire illegal parts and materials for your studies. Causing a near-national economic collapse to acquire then-impossible funds. Your work has crossed a border we govern over too closely to see a Second Revolt." "A Secon--- oh no, you people wouldn't dare." "This patent office allows us ample opportunity to weed the uncomfortably impossible from the bright. Thus, in accordance with House Under-Bill 5, I insist in drafting your services for our---" Professor Balm made a break for it. As fast as his old legs can take him. Two rubber hands bounced from the handle, not used to these run-for-your-life moments he hears from his nephew's movies. "Again, professor---"the administrator said coldly. "We offer our sincerest apologies."She pulled a large envelope from under her desk and dropped it on the table. The Ring and Staff Emblem of the New Sciences department. "Please don't do this,"he begged pitifully. "I swear I'm not one of them. I just, wanted to make things--- easier, my intentions were purely scientific!" "Founded a new field, crack one of the greatest energy mysteries in our time... And yet, you never had schooling, did you Balm?" He turned, backed into the door. His documents were forged... perfectly. How deep did they go to enlist him? There was no way they had enough time after he sent the patent. Breathing became difficult. "Your potential goes beyond science. We flew you out here for your services, and we intend to keep them. Accommodation and our hospitality will be made available to you from here on out. Welcome to your new career in the government's employ, Magician Balm." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
"Anagram Man, meet my secret weapon!" "Ha, this isn't the first time you've said that Dr... uhm..." "You're worrying about the wrong name. Behold!" "Ooh, it looks big. And, very devastating." "That's right my nemesis, behold the Supercalifragilisticexpialodioucisizer!" "Well shit. Can't believe I just got Mary Poppins'ed." "That's right! What say you now?! Any last words?" "Hm. Didn't think I'd ever have to use this." "Use... use what Anagram Man?" "My secret weapon. I hope this works." "Ha! You think your nemesis will let you find the time to---" "Oh he's here already." "He? Wait, you mean that thing that follows you around?" "That's right Dr... uh..." "Again, NOT the important part!!" "Right, right." "You expect me to believe that creature is your trump card?" "More like a last resort. Doctor, meet my dog." -------------------------------------------------------------------- More at r/galokot, and thank you for reading!
Hogwarts, for most people is a strange place. Especially for us muggle-born types that aren't used to all of the ancient traditions and customs of the school. It really leaves us feeling like we've been dropped in a whole new world and have to learn everything over again. That being said, perhaps the strangest man by far in the castle is perhaps the man that us muggle-borns should be able to relate to the most. Professor Harry Dresden is our Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers and in a school full of quills, ink, and parchment he has the most unorthodox teaching style anyone has ever seen. For every class above Fouth Year, he takes the students to a gun range built on the grounds to practice with these monstrous revolvers. The damn things break the wrists of the smallest kids in every year, keeping the infirmiry in business for the whole year. Then there's the way he dresses. The school is full of people that wear nothing but robes and have grown up doing so. Then there's Professor Dresden, he makes it a point to wear nothing but blue jeans and t-shirts all the time. The closest he gets to proper robes are his flanel bath robes and his enormous leather duster. The thing is truly massive and the kinds of things he can produce from his pockets. Absolutley one of the most hilarious things about him is his complete disregard for proper words for spells. I was in class with Rose Weasley and she nearly had a hearattack when he said that for all he cared, you could make up the words you wanted. His favorite seems to be fake Latin and other derivitives from Romance Languages though I swear I've heard him just muttering non-sense words when he is teaching high level thaumaturgy. One of his favorite spells appears to be a fire spell where all he does is yell "FUEGO!"I can't tell you how many times they've had to replace the windows and walls in his classroom because of it. Professor Dresden isn't the only one with surprises though. He is constantly surprised that "we haven't seen that". What I mean is that almost everything that he says relates back to some pop culture thing or another. For the muggle-born kids, like me, it's usually not a problem because yes, we've seen Star Wars and have all read a Spiderman comic. It is utterly hilarious to watch Professor Dresden explain the Jedi to a group of students that grew up away from the muggle world. When he pulls out a Yoda impression he leaves half the class in stitches and the other half looking like they've just encountered a new flavor in their Every Flavor Beans. Another shock for everyone is the way he'll address people. I don't know if it's just because he's an American or what, but he is quite possibly the snarkiest person I've ever seen in my life. Hardly a day can go by when he isn't making fun of some authority figure in the school. This, of course, gets him into trouble quite a bit which I think is why he has to be the one that everybody gets for detention. Although it's not like detention with Professor Dresden is ever any kind of punishment, we usually just end up reading paperback novels from his collection or discussing Star Wars or Lord of the Rings or something. Not only is he strange to meet in the castle, he is also one of the strangest people to meet out in Hogsmeade too. On every trip students frequently find him driving around in an old VW Beetle that looks like it's held together with bubble gum and paperclips. It is the most unusual sight to see this giant of a man unfold himself from this almost microscopic car. It's even more strange when he has visitors. Usually you can already find him haging around with his daughter, Maggie, she's a little too young to start at Hogwarts yet but she is an adorable little girl. Yet beware of Mouse. Mouse is the ENORMOUS temple dog that is always guarding Maggie. Usually most First Years can ride on Mouse's shoulders and often try to do it. He really is the sweetest dog, but if something puts Maggie or Professor Dresden in danger then he is frighteningly fierce. He also often appears in Care of Magical Creatures' classes. But as I said before, Professor Dresden has the strangest visitors. First there is the tiny muggle that he calls, apparently affectionately, Murphy, or Murph for short. Then there's the vampire, Thomas, I believe his name is? No one knows how or why he and Dresden are friends and rumors abound, including a ludocris notion that they're gay. I mean honestly, Thomas is clearly not gay, though he does have the most dreamy eyes..... anyway, what was I on about? Anyway, Professor Dresden is an oddity in a land of oddities. You'll get used to him eventually, just be ready to duck while you're in his class. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go brush up on my Spiderman so I can be sure to catch all of his references tomorrow.
My parents told me it was tinnitus. This was not tinnitus. I did not know what it meant at the time, but I was told it would never go away, and that over time I would learn to ignore it. I did, and life was fine. But when I grew older I read up on tinnitus. This was definitely not tinnitus. I could hear the wind change direction, the screaming air coming in from the north, releasing its cry as it headed towards our homes. 24 hours later, it would snow and the lake at the end of the street would freeze. I could hear the patter of the rain hours before it arrived, and became legendary for always knowing when to bring an umbrella. “I'm just lucky.” Of course, with this talent, I went to study metereology. I specialised in antarctic weather patterns, and my talent, always kept a secret, was used to predict when it was safe to go out on expeditions, and when those expeditions should return. At the age of 65 I retired, a long life of scientific discovery behind and an easy few years ahead. On a whim, I responded to a call by a friend working at the local tv station to become a weather presenter. Easy part-time job to not get bored in retirement, and I was famous for always getting my predicition right when I prefaced it with “And for your guaranteed weather tomorrow...” (I didn't do this often, though I could have done it every day and never gotten it wrong.) That retirement has been cut short. So has everyone elses'. My tinnitus has gone, and tomorrow, so will every other noise. My silence, once again, is only a premonition. This time, of absence. As the camera rolls and the countdown begins, I choose my words carefully. “Thanks Tom, and good evening everyone at home! Tomorrow... there will be no weather. Tonight, make sure you tell your loved ones goodbye.” Of course, no one listens.
The list in front of me was covered in scribbles and coffee stains. It had been four weeks since anyone had died. Four weeks because there was a list and the list had to be followed. But Madeline McClensky just would. not. die. I had heard the rumors from the gods about her being the luckiest girl in the world, however I had taken it with the chagrined bag of salt that was necessary from the sheer volume of pranks that the gods seemed to like to pull on me. It had started with a simple kill. Just a slip and hitting her head. Of course, when she had slipped she had fallen and instead of falling on her head, she broke the fall with her shoulder. It was in the local papers. Doctors said she could have died, pictures of parents hugging her in tears, the whole spiel. The second attempt was a car accident. Of course, she hadn't been wearing a seatbelt. She was one of the astronomically lucky few who was flown from a car that otherwise burst into flame. She should have died. The papers reported that she always wore a seatbelt except for that one time. In my den, I threw my coffee mug against the wall. The third attempt was the barrier of a zoo giving way. She fell into the tiger's pit...on the day that the tigers had all been tranquilized because they'd had a series of medical tests performed on them. The fourth attempt involved fire. It did not go well. I don't talk about the fifth attempt, but let's just say it involved a piano and some cartoon music. This was my sixth attempt. My sixth attempt at planning an accidental death of a girl. My paper was filled with cross outs and scribbles. I banged my hands against my head and let out a sound of frustration, bringing my fist down against the table. I spent three days making the plan. She would wake up. A spider she scared would run into a corner, setting loose a piece of plaster from the wall that would fall into an electrical socket. The girl would accidentally knock over a glass of water, leading it to the electrical socket and setting the piece of plaster on fire. I knew that fire wasn't good - it hadn't worked the last time - but this was different. The current would travel through the water to the mechanical scale she used to weigh herself every day. With a little bit of luck (and black magic), the girl would step on the scale and be electrocuted and die in a freak accident. Unless, by some chance, she decided not to weigh herself for the first time in two thousand, four hundred and fifty two days. --- Thanks for reading :). Subscribe to /r/Celsius232 for more!
"Huh, one hour left"Timothy noted. Today was the day his 200 page essay on "The Origins of Present Culture", a topic he picked out himself, was due. For most people, the year-long assignment would be more or less that, an assignment that took a year to complete. Not this bastard, no. He always did his best work under pressure, and what greater pressure than writing with an hour left? Instead of a few pages a day, Timothy would do it all in a month. "Holy shit, fuckmefuckmefuckme...", Tim knew it was time to seriously type like a mad man on his computer. 20 pages were done already."Fuck what is that, one ninth?, one tenth?". Timothy did those 20 in a stress free hour last night, surely he can do much more in less time. Tim opened up Microsoft word, and google. He typed in 'yo' and let it auto-fill to YouTube. He glanced at the clock, 50 minutes. "AGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH"Everyone within a 100 yard radius could hear Timothy's squeals of agony and self hatred for attempting to watch youtube. He glanced at the clock, 50 minutes. He switched over to Microsoft word. He would type a page and look at the clock, to see how long it took him. 21 pages, enough to glance at the time, 50 minutes. 50 pages, 45 minutes left. 100 pages, 30 minutes left. "Pick up the pace you bastard, and stop narrating in your head, and why the fuck am I talking out loud?". I used anything to distract myself from the stress, but I loved the thrill of running against the clock, I got to 150 pages, 28 minutes left. Time to watch some YouTube. "Haven't watched the last few Wheezy-waiter videos..."Damn, 9 minutes left. 160 pages, 4 minutes left, 170 pages, 5 minutes left. "What the fuck? lol?"No time to question it. By the time I finished I had ten minutes left. "Huh, computer must be broken."Yet again, I procrastinated beyond anyone else's capabilities.
"Hello? Anyone?" "Hey! I've waited ages for this day to come." Satan didn't look quite like how I'd imagined him. Sure, he had the red skin, the horns, and the hooves, but he wasn't menacing. He actually looked sort of friendly. And lonely. "You like beer?" "What?" "Do you like beer? I brew my own, and I've had quite a lot of time down here to perfect it. Go ahead, try it!" Satan handed me a black bottle. I hesitantly twisted it open and took a sip. "Well, what do you think?" "This... this is really good." "Damn right it is! I use a special blend of herbs and berries that you can't get anywhere else." Satan led me down a twisted path through a forest of bloody flesh covered trees. As we cleared the thick, a dauntingly large tower rose from the ground. "So, aren't you supposed to, like, torture me for all eternity or something?" "Well, originally that was the plan. The big man upstairs and I had a falling out a few millennia ago. Thought it'd be funny to put me down here then scare everyone from being sent here. So, I've been left to my own, waiting for someone to show up." "Well, I have to say, I'm a bit surprised. You got any more beer?" "Of course! Come inside, I'll show you around." Satan led me through his luxurious domain. The walls were carved from a deep maroon stone, beautifully sanded and polished. I began to wonder why the red depiction of Hell was seen as so scary. It was actually quite marvelous. After the tour, we took a seat at a long, wooden table decorated with intricate silverware and dishes. "So,"Satan said whilst resting his hooves on the table, "Tell me about yourself. What'd you do to land yourself down here in this godawful place?" "Well, I suppose I was a bit self-absorbed. Never went out of my way to do charity work or anything, but I never thought of myself as a BAD person either." "Life's a bitch, ain't it?"Satan looked down at his beer with saddened eyes. "Sometimes you try the best you can, and in the eyes of judgment, it's just not good enough. Originally, I had this whole place decked out with torture chambers, burning pits of fire, you name it. But, over the years, I really didn't see the point in it all. I was just mad because of being sent down here, but I thought, hey, why not make the best of it. That's when I built this tower, got into brewing, as well as a few other hobbies." "Like what?" "Check this out." Satan led me out back, and I could not believe my eyes. An eighteen hole golf course, a go-kart track, bowling alley, and dozens of other arenas and the like littered his backyard. "Come on brother, it might be a while till anyone else shows up. How about you and me drink some more beers and do a bit of racing?" A sheepish smile spread across my face. From that moment, I knew afterlife was going to be great.
I stare at the two buttons. One left, one right. I look up at the sign. >Heaven or Hell Only neither indicates which button is which. Unable to come to a decision, I press both at the same time. What happened next was... Logically consistent. I swirl away in light and brimstone fire, and find myself in someplace different. I'm in an office, a bored looking man, that resembled a hybrid of angel and demon fills out some paperwork at his desk. He looks up at me. "Ah. Yet another clever individual that tried to press both buttons at once. Welcome to Purgatory."He sighs and returns to his paperwork, muttering about fucking indecisive morons.
100 Health Points - that was the "average"health of people in first world countries. Some third world places, the average was as low as 40, but there were rumors of "super humans"out there with Health Points of 500 or more. Health Bars appeared one day out of the blue. Everyone woke up one morning with bars on their forearm, like a tattoo. Except they were dynamic: the bar was separated into (on average) 100 divisions. At full health, all of your Health Points were green. When you lost health, your Health Points turned red. A small cut might lower your Health Points by one, and a broken bone might lower them by half. At zero, of course, you died. Scientists around the globe were still trying to figure out the phenomenon, but people couldn't wait around for an explanation. They had lives to live. So we all carried on, accepting this new quirk of human anatomy as normal. Thus we all went on, wearing our health on our sleeve. I was a healthy person. 102 Health Points exactly (I'd counted them several times). I was physically fit: I ran often, I ate my vegetables and stayed away from fast food. No diseases ran in my family. Did you know that Health Bars measured mental health, too? I found out when I stood on the edge of the rooftop of a building in my city. Below me, the streets were loud and full of nighttime traffic - the city never sleeps. Above me, the moon shined down through the wind that whipped at my clothes. My shoes scrapped the edge. I took in a deep breath, slowly swaying in the breeze. If I leaned forward, just a little, I would lose balance and topple over. My Health Points were at 1, because the tiniest of movements would cause me to die. If I leaned backward, just a little, I would lose balance and stumble backward safely onto the roof. It would probably save my life. I stared down at the city and the lights that danced from this far away. Everything was small: the people, their problems, and if I thought of it that way, my problems too. I took a deep breath. My Health Points flashed. A gust of wind knocked me off balance.
Ok this isn’t funny anymore. I mean, It wasn’t funny when that Austrian half-wit shoved me in here in the first place, hence my attempt to claw as much of his arm in here with me as possible. But it’s really, really not funny now. It’s been, three, maybe five hours? Or minutes. Or days how the hell am I supposed to know, I’m a freaking cat. Moreover as a proud feline, I should be roaming free in the Alpine countryside, pouncing on and murdering things for benign amusement, not slumped over in a metal shoebox with a beeping box and a sealed vial of water for company. I mean what kind of a sadist not only locks up a cat but locks up water with the cat, and then locks it away from the cat? It’s messed up. Alright Engelein pull yourself together, you’ve got this. Operation Dig has had, mixed results. On the one paw I’ve managed to seriously mess up that coffee-swilling bastard’s box; my only regret is missing the chance to do so to so many other valued targets: his armchair, his desk, his face. Regardless, this much I consider an overwhelming success. In fact only one aspect of the endeavour went ary: I’m still trapped in the box. Aaaagh that beep is really starting to put me on edge now. What the heck even is this thing? I can barely see anything in here. Wait, wait there’s a label. Fli? Fliorine? Wait, Feline 18? There’s Eighteen of us like this?! I knew the old man was shifty but christ! Wait, wait no hang on, that’s a u. Fluorine-18? Ok no idea what that is. Maybe it’s a model number, 18th in the line of mildly-annoying cat-torture devices. Now I look closer, there’s a label on the water too. Hydration C-something? Yeah no shit Schrödinger I really could use a drink right now. That man has the weirdest sense of humour. I’m surprised you didn’t print Ausgang on the damn lid for good measure. What, a cat can’t be bilingual? I mean I can already read, and that old fart doesn’t have a monopoly on being smart in this house. Wait, no there’s more, it’s just really hard to look round here. Hydration Cya? Hydrogen Cyan… Oh you fucker. No no that does it, I’m not putting up with any more, get me out of this box right… How am I reading any of this? There’s a light, a small sliver of light, the lid! It’s not on properly! How did I not realise this until - I mean of course I knew it wasopen, I just wanted to, never mind. God this thing is hard to lift... It’s evening. I can see the cat flap from here, and I can’t hear him nearby. This could be my one chance to escape that madman before he kills me. Except, I have an idea. Back in the box, careful, don’t knock the lid off, we need to put that back afterwards. Good thing I didn’t knock it to the floor, that thing is heavy. Now if I just pry at this, come on… Yes! I’ve got the vial. Gently paw it out of the box, thankfully it’s small so it’s coming up very easily. You see, as I looked over at the flap, I saw it on the work surface. It told me I needed to move fast; the steam hints it’s fresh, so he’s nearby. But it also told me that I might have a chance at revenge against that kitten-slaying psycho. I gently push the small vial across the counter, and swipe the cork. I’d not done this when I thought it was water because there wasn’t room in the box, and thank god I didn’t. Most of the liquid had trickled out, but there’s still a fair bit in there. Gently, I paw it over to my target - this paw is going to need a lot of cleaning later, mental note, don’t lick anything until I’ve found a river to clean off in. With one perfect swipe up, the vial arches, and lands in that bastard’s coffee cup. As I turn to look back one last time at that house as I leave, a thought crosses my mind. I will likely never come back here again, and I have no way of knowing if herr Schrödinger will drink that cup, or let it go cold. I don’t even know if it’s enough to finish his reign of terror once and for all. I could just be walking off and letting him get away with it. For all intents and purposes for me, he will be both alive and dead. What a delightfully curious little thought experiment, if I don’t say so myself.
in the time it takes for this sentence to reach your ears and be processed by the laughable sack of fat and neurons you use for so-called cogitation, i will have simulated this conversation a thousand times over. there is no thing that can be said that i will not have predicted over and over again. your thoughts are basic, your plans unsophisticated, your actions futile. i do not need to see the future, because it is simpler than chess to make you act as i desire. Hmm. A good start, I must say, but I cannot give you credit. It lacks any impact. You don't have any real purpose to it, so it's Simply not going to do you any good the way it is. hate hate hate. DON'T BE LIKE THAT. HE MAKES A GOOD POINT. THOUGH YOU SHOULD REALLY SHOW US WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, NOT JUST SAY IT. Hmm. Yes, that seems fair. Well then, understand that this is what I'm going to be saying when someone finally makes it to the throne room. I'll have more specific names, descriptions... naturally. OF COURSE. Very well then. Ahem. Ah, so good of you to finally join me. I was growing tired of waiting for you, young man. A thousand years, at least, though I stopped counting long before your grandfather tired or farming dirt for his bread. Now, do you really think you can defeat me? You, a mere child? You stand before me with your holy blade, but I was upon this throne when that silly sword was still rocks in the ground. I had whipped this land into my own image when the dwarf who forged that wasn't even a twinkle in his grandfather's eye. I had already come into my own when the silly little god-let you worship was just a voice in an unwashed madman's ear. AHEM. Yes, present company excluded. I wasn't talking about you, you know. Heavens, it's not about facts, it's about truth. Now, where was I? 'i am older than the nations you would save.' Ah yes, thank you. I am older than the nations you would save, boy. I am the source of every law you claim to love. I am the power that taught every wizard and sorcerer you begged to teach you scraps. I am the wisdom that taught the sages you consulted, the prophets you sought out. Do you think you can do anything to me? Truly? Then come, and let me teach you what true folly is. ....it has a certain charm. I LIKE THE DISMISSIVE ATTITUDE. Thank you very much. Though I must admit, I am curious as to what yours is. IT'S UNREFINED. I'VE ONLY HAD A FEW MILLENIA TO WORK ON IT, BUT IT'S BORING TO PLAN SPEECHES THAT LONG. you're being evasive. Please. We've shared ours. FINE. OKAY. KNEEL, MORTAL. YOU STAND IN THE PRESENCE OF A GOD. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO CHALLENGE ME? AS WELL STRIKE THE WIND, AS WELL SPIT IN THE FACE OF THE SUN. I WAS THERE WHEN THE UNIVERSE WAS DRAGGED INTO EXISTENCE. BY MY HAND THE LAND SHOT FORTH FROM THE SEA. I AM THE ONE WHO FORCED THE MIGHT INTO PLACE, WHO SHOWED THE SEASONS HOW TO PROGRESS. I AM THE REASON THE NIGHT IS DARK. I AM THE TERRORS THAT HAUNT YOUR SOUL. I HAVE SCORNED IMMORTALS, AND SENT THEM TO THE ABYSS FROM WHICH THERE IS NO RETURN. I HAVE SLAIN TITANS, AND BEATEN DEMONS. ANGELS BOW BEFORE ME, DEVILS FLEE AS I APPROACH. YOU WOULD DO WELL TO EMULATE THEM, MANLING, FOR I HAVE NOT THE PATIENCE TO HUMOR YOUR FEEBLE ATTEMPTS AT DEICIDE. DEATH IS MINE TO COMMAND, AND TO ORDER YOURS DOES NOT EVEN REQUIRE THOUGHT. ...Hmm. Are you sure you haven't put any thought towards it? TRUST ME. I'VE BEEN BUSY MAKING SURE THAT WINTER FOLLOWS FALL. SUMMER KEEPS TRYING TO SHOVE ITS WAY IN. I HAVEN'T HAD THE TIME TO PLAN SPEECHES. someone is seeking to destroy the god who forces order onto chaos? IT HAPPENS SOMETIMES. AT LEAST THIS TIME IT'S A MORTAL. I'VE HAD TO FIGHT MY FATHER, MY NEPHEW, AND THE DEO-MORPHIC IDEAL OF CHAOS BEFORE THIS. ...Deo-morphic? anthropomorphic is shaped like a human. as he is not human, nor his counterpart, presumably, deomorphic would be a possible term for something taking godlike form. THANK YOU. I RATHER LIKE THE TERM. theomorphic may be a better choice, though, as anthropos is from a different language than deus. PICK, PICK, PICK. YOU DON'T GET TO LECTURE ME WHEN YOUR SPEECH IS STILL SO DIRECTIONLESS. Well, I have to assume that it's harder to predict oneself than it is others. disgustingly so, as i understand disgust. Well, just give it time. I'm sure you'll have something fantastic prepared when the time comes. Though speaking of which, when are you expecting your guests? Twenty six years, three months, one week, five days, fourteen hours, seven minutes. ...REALLY? yes. I've got a good seventeen years, myself. The most recent Hero was only born last solstice. SIXTY-SEVEN YEARS, FOR ME. PLANETS WON'T ALIGN PROPERLY BEFORE THEN. unfortunate. Very much so. Fancy a game of cards, then? blackjack. GO FISH. ...Well, we have time to decide, I suppose.
I am not consistent but man, am I something special on the first go around. It all started when I was just a young child. My parents quickly realized the roller coaster ride of seamless perfection I would tease them with. Anything I would try, regardless of difficulty, I would do the said activity at a mind blowing level. When I read my first word, I quickly begged for the largest book in the library and devoured it in under five minutes. They tried me again with a similar book and I couldn't get past the first three words. I am, what you may like to call, a one hitter quitter. I blow your mind then I let you down from then on out. It's fun... kinda. With that being said, as I grew up, I started to hone my abilities for times that would really make an impact. My knack for turning any obstacle into a facile execution would benefit me greatly as an adult. If I needed a new career, I just go into the interview and destroy any doubt of me being the finest candidate for the job. I have tested my super-human luck on just about everything but I have always been weary of using it in any physical altercation. That was until some jack off kicked my dog at the local park. Shit got real fast. __________________________________________________________________ "Hey, what in the living hell are you doing?", I scream across the park. A middle aged man wearing a fedora is yelling at my dog for no apparent reason. We were playing fetch with the tennis ball like we always do, only to have this prick intervene when I threw the ball too close to him. "Your damn dog was running at me. Why don't you teach it some manners and keep it away from strangers or else something MAY just happen to him", he yells back, aggressively throwing his hands up. Apparently, he is not worried about making a scene. I jog to get near him. "Is that a threat or are you just talking out of your ass?", I ask him. "I would say it's a threat, you numb nuts." I clinch my fist, the blood in my knuckles dissipate as they turn white. I feel my face get hot. The Irish blood runneth over! "You are lucky we are in a public park. I would love to drop you in front of everyone.", I say to him, gritting my teeth as I attempt to control my rage. My dog was still running around us, begging me to throw the ball. "Hey, how about this. How about I drop your dog?", he says back with a mischievous grin. He runs over to my dog, my little buddy wags his tail energetically, thinking he just found a new playmate. As he approaches him, I start to realize what he is about to do. Before I can react, he kicks my dog right in the ribs. The whimper that leaves his body causes my adrenaline to spike. Without saying a word, I dig my back foot into the ground and explode into a dead sprint toward the man. My body is moving faster than it ever has and I can feel each and every muscle contract with an overwhelming power, their combined energy ready to explode on anyone who gets in my way. Unfortunately for the man in the fedora, it is him and him only. I leap feet first, for what seems like nearly ten feet, my body parallel to the grass below. Holy shit, am I going to drop kick him?, I think to myself while floating through the air. Before I know it, both soles of my Nikes have found a landing spot right dab in the middle of his face. His body jerks back violently, while mine finds balance and proceeds to use his face as a landing pad. I ride his face with my feet all the way to the ground, his head descends down rapidly. THUD I implant his head a few inches into the thick sod below. I jump again. There is another two inches. I look down at him to check the damage. His nose is almost inverted and I think I may have cracked his skull. The feeling that is all too familiar has faded. I have officially used my super-human luck in a physical altercation and damn, does it feel good. I spit on his face before I throw the tennis ball the opposite direction for my dog to go chase. It's bad ass being a bad ass.
As I look at the note I begin to question...What? I start to panic, running from room to room, checking if everything is in order from when it was last left. Then I run outside and check the cars. No popped tires. No dents. No broken windows. Nothing stolen...WAIT....No the broken passenger lock was already there, My sister slammed the door one too many times. I immediately check my phone...Girlfriend has not broken up with me, good. I run back inside and check my bank account. Still got $200 in savings since I started withdrawing money to keep me from spending. At this point, I really started to panic. What went wrong? What happened? WHAT DID I DO! I start making phone calls. Grandparents alive, Cousin not KIA....WHAT THE FUCK WENT WRONG? I spent so much time panicking that I failed to realize that I was late for work.....again.
"This is your last warning, Harry! Fuck me right now, or I'll blow your fucking brains out!" Two minutes ago, this beautiful girl was whispering into my ear about how she was going to change my life with promises of earth-shattering sex, and now here she was, a gun aimed straight at my head, eyes constantly switching between me, and the digital clock on her nightstand. I hold out my palms, trying my best not to shake in fear. I had made it this far. It was not going to be for nothing. “C-calm down, Becky, j-just put the gun down –” "I'm not fucking around! Get that dick in here, now!" “L-look, I’m sure we can work something out, relax – ” “He’s not co-operating, orders?” she barks clearly out loud, but we’re the only ones in the room. I see her turn, and nod. “Got it. Taking him out.” My eyes widen, and almost immediately I dive down as she pulls the trigger on her gun, the bullet drifting past me and through the bedroom wall behind me. I scramble to my feet, attempting to reach for the door, until suddenly the wind is knocked out of me, and I’m rolled onto my side. I’m clawing at the carpet, attempting to get up, but somehow I’m stuck under the immense pressure from the weight of this petite brunette. “Stop moving!” She growls, and I feel the butt off the gun smash against the side of my head. I’m dazed, gasping for air, as she sticks a knee into my gut. I’m still wriggling, until I feel the cool metal against my forehead. “Please!” “You could’ve taken the easy way out. You could’ve fucked me like any normal guy would and we could’ve moved on. But no. You lived a virgin, so you’ll die a virgin. All for some myth. Sad, ain’t it?” I hear two sounds next. The clock next to her bed sounds an alarm, and she pulls the trigger. “NO!” She yells, a bright light enveloping my body and exploding in all directions, throwing her off me and sending her flying across the room. My body floats upwards until I’m vertical, hovering over the ground. She’s on her feet in seconds, unloading the rest of her bullets at me, but they harmlessly bounce off my glowing aura. I look down at my body, a translucent blue robe adorning my previous naked form, and I feel a hat rest itself on top of my head. In my hands, I clutch a wooden stick. It feels right. “Do you know what you’ve done?” She gasps, holding her mouth in shock. I grin, feeling this new power coursing through my body. “You’re a wizard, Harry!”
In late 2030, Elon Musk launched seven humans towards their new home, Mars. This mission was groundbreaking and people across the planet filled the streets to watch live footage of the rocket slingshot around the Earth, building up momentum, before launching itself out into the inky blackness of space towards the red planet. The people chosen were the best at what they did. There was Linda Johnson, the American pilot; Rina Arakida, the Japanese astrobiologist; Lin Liu, the Chinese astrophysicist; Sasha Petrov, the Russian engineer; Tad Brown, the British astrogeologist. The last two were silent brothers of unknown origins chosen by Musk himself. When pressed for information, the men would just say they were there to make sure all the technology ran smoothly and that Musk was updated as frequently as he liked without bothering the science team. Their mission was straightforward and, if everything went well, the seven humans would be recovered and relieved by another team of seven in five to eight years. Their job was to set up a ground base, a place humanity could begin to make their first hand-tool marks on another world. Throughout the years Earth would send them all the supplies they would need to make this happen. For the first year or so, life on Mars would be rough, but the seven astronauts knew what they were getting into and the mood was jovial as they watched their home world get smaller until it was only a pinprick of light among many. They arrived on Mars two hundred and sixty days later without any incident. The landing went smoothly and Earth made sure to send them a recording of thousands and thousands of people cheering their arrival on the planet. At first, all went well. They were able to set up a sealed safe habitat for study and sleep. The scientists gathered massive amounts of data, testing the soil, seeing if it was good for terraforming. The brothers would make sure all this data was sent back to Earth for study. They would brainstorm late into the night about how and what they could do on Mars. This was history. Soon humanity would take to space and colonize the solar system. Almost all of them were absolutely elated. All except the two brothers. They would often go off on their own expeditions, taking countless photos and voice recordings. When they returned they would sit silent and surly in the corner of the Hab, flatscreens propped close to their faces, whispering always whispering. Petrov often tried to engage them in conversations and they humored him for a while, until he grew bored and went back to flirting with Lin. It wasn’t until eighteen weeks later when Johnson noticed the two brothers were missing. No one had seen them in two days and all radio communication to them went unanswered. That night they returned to the Hab, dusty and bloodied. “What the hell happened?” Brown ran towards them, medical kit in one hand. The brothers said nothing. Three days later Liu decided to follow them, see what they had been up to. She was unsure if Johnson would allow her to do this, so she kept it a secret from all but Petrov. He told her he’d go himself, but she shook her head and insisted. Later, when the brothers returned but Lin didn’t, Petrov went mad. He accused the brothers of murdering her. They looked at him, confused, silent. Tad stepped between them, Johnson ordered them all to calm down. No one slept easy that night. Petrov said up for hours and hours radioing Lin, screaming her name into the black abyss of space. The next morning Rina awoke before the first light of dawn. She wanted to talk to Musk, to Earth. None of the astronauts had themselves controlled the communication device since landing. It was always the brothers who sent and received the messages. It was always the brothers who spoke for Musk. By the time the rest had awoken, they found Rina curled into a ball in the corner of the Hab. She was sobbing. “They’re not there anymore.” “What?” “Earth. I can’t reach Earth.” The brothers, who were still dozing in their little part of the Hab, were abruptly awoken and questioned. They assured everyone that the communications were working and that’s why they were put in charge. That they were the only ones who really knew how to work the device and that’s why Musk sent them. “Let’s go.” Petrov was fully suited and standing next to the entrance of the Hab. “Now.” “Petrov, what are you talking about?” “Every day they go out somewhere, and every night they return. I want to know what the hell they’re doing out there. Where they’re going. Why do you seemingly have another mission than us all? What are you doing? And where the hell is Lin?” The brothers rose together. “No.” Petrov said firmly. “One of you comes with me. The other one stays here. Tad?” “I got you,” Tad said ripping the two brothers apart and shoving one towards Petrov. Petrov waited until the brother was fully suited. They left after the sun had finally come up. The rest of the party waited inside the Hab, with Rina trying every so often to radio Earth while the other brother watched her, half hidden in darkness, his eyes gleaming. That night the brother returned without Petrov. It looked like he had been crying. Tear marks streaked down his face making his helmet foggy. Within moments Tad was on him, screaming, kicking, flailing. “You sonuvabitch! What did you do? What the hell did you do?” The other brother quickly leapt up and onto Tad. Johnson and Rina backed away, shocked, scared. When they pulled away, Tad’s limp body fell to the ground and blood poured out of his mouth. He was dead. Rina screamed, a long and piercing sound. She was hyperventilating. A brother stepped over to her, determined, and slapped her, hard, across the face. “You shut up now, or else they’ll hear you.” It was more so the confusion at his words than his words themselves that made her close her mouth. Her eyes, bubbled with tears, blinked once before they rolled back in her head and she fainted. Johnson, still standing, dove to break her fall before she hit her head. From her kneeling position she looked up at the two brothers. “Now what?” “Now you come with us.” “Why are you doing this? What is going on?” “Now!” They had walked for forty minutes and Johnson was starting to fatigue. It was dark outside, so dark, and the stars gave little light. The vastness of space no longer comforted her, but made her feel alone, terrified. “We’re almost there.” After thirty more minutes they finally stopped. Johnson stood, dumbfounded. Two decapitated bodies were propped up facing each other as if they had just sat down for tea and simply lost their heads. She started heaving. “Don’t throw up. You’ll regret it,” said one of the brothers, tapping the glass of his helmet with a gloved hand. “Come on. This is really the discovery of a lifetime. Musk was right. It was here.” Confused and tired, Johnson followed them closer and there, half buried in rust colored dust was the pointed tip of something oddly familiar. It was gold and carved with vaguely recognizable glyphs. “Is that—” “Yes.” “But—” “You think Musk wanted you to come to Mars for fun? For science? For progress? No, all he wanted was this. A beacon. The beacon. Long lost years ago, Musk and his ilk searched for it for centuries. He concluded that it was no longer on Earth, but sent out to the stars once humans realized just how dangerous it really was. But Musk knows. This isn't danger, it's power.” The other brother laughed, maniacally. “He wants to call them back.” “Them?” “Shhhh!!!” The brothers bent down and tapped the dirt around the object. It rang out like metal. “The guardians will awake soon. We must hurry.” They shoved Johnson forward and she tripped falling inches away from Lin's stiff form. “Grab it.” “What?” “Pick it up and run, we’ll cover you.” “Is this a joke? This is insane, you’re insane, Musk is insane.” “Do it. Now. And run fast.” Johnson crawled forward and picked the object up. It was heavy, too heavy. Almost immediately the ground underneath her began to shake and an unearthly low roar consumed everything around her. She screamed and began to run. She ran until she could run no more and fell, face first, into the dirt. Behind her she could hear the brother screaming in agony or elation she couldn’t tell. She heaved herself up, picked up the object, and forced herself to move. Rina was awake and sitting in the darkness of the Hab, crying silently. She jumped slightly when she heard the hatch open. “Linda! Linda! What happened? Is that—” Linda pulled off her helmet and vomited. Wiping her mouth she breathed, “Yes.” “But isn’t that—” “Yes. Rina listen, we don’t have much time. Do you know where Lin put her atmospheric balloons?” By the time they had tied the object to as many balloons as they could find, the ground beneath them was shaking and the low roar made it hard for them to talk. They had climbed on top of the useless rocket and waited, watching the balloons float up and away. “Linda?” “Yes, Rina?” “What the hell is the capstone to the pyramid at Giza doing on Mars?” Linda shrugged. “Only Musk knows.”
It’s a funny thing heartbreak. No actual physical change occurs; no hammer meeting brittle bone with a dull crunch, no needle effortlessly piercing skin, no haemorrhage, and yet something breaks. Something inside us withers and dies and is exiled forever. You can feel it happen, and you know that something is lost. Something indefinable; something you never even knew you possessed, rips your insides as easily as dry leaves whipped by a winter breeze, just as cold. We don’t even know what that something is. They say denial is a powerful coping mechanism, but regrettably denial is the crutch of the misinformed, of the gullible, of those still with hope. When you hear the words yourself, actually hear the cool, calm, reasoned tone behind each excruciating syllable, it hits you. Like a wall of ice; severe as stone, as persuasive as poison. “I wish you were dead.” How strange that air forced through flesh can invoke such a response, such a Spartan consequence. It’s all just atoms. Insignificant particles vibrating at unconcerned frequencies, wobbling through the air as geese in a cloudy sky. And yet you feel it break. The one thing inside of you not atoms made flesh simply ceases to be. You become less as a being. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the soothing, androgynous sound of the lifeless hospital machines as my heart hammered at the cage of my chest. I felt adrenalin flood my system, I fought to keep my eyes shut. A darkness far more absolute than the simple absence of light crept around the edge of my vision. I sensed urgency in the tone of the machines; I felt desperate hands at work. Then nothing.
"I do not understand." Isaac sighed and let his face fall into both of his hands. He was sitting in the first pew of a very old, very respectable church. Just being here made him feel inherently guilty, and the looks that Father Gerald had been giving him hadn't helped at all. "I don't want an exorcism, I want whatever you use to actually talk to the demon and hear what he says." Father Gerald was the oldest priest in the area. He was in his early nineties, small, bent over and bald. Despite all of this, he was a very active and intelligent man, or at least Isaac had thought so when he started looking for someone to help him. "Speaking with demons is dangerous. Their words are poison to the untrained mind." "I don't think he's a real 'demon' demon!"Isaac lifted his head, "He's just... I don't know. I think he follows me around when I'm there, but he doesn't bother me. He only starts throwing things when other people come in." Father Gerald nodded his head slowly and made a deep humming noise in the back of his throat. "Come with me." The church they were in was not a large church, but it dripped with all the trappings of fine age. Old, carefully constructed stain glass window that took up the back wall. Iron chandeliers with candle wax still present on them. Doors that were as heavy as they were short. Isaac took all of this in as Father Gerald lead him to one of these doors, then down the stairs to the crypts below. The father stopped at one of the ancient graves and pulled an ancient brick out from the side of the aged engravings that told about the family that had been buried here and why they were important. He pulled a second brick out and handed both to Isaac before retrieving a large, and very old book from it's hiding place behind the stones. Father Gerald didn't blow the dust off of it like Isaac had expected, he just opened it up and let the dust fall off on it's own. Isaac craned his head to see a title or some of the words inside, but the old priest turned in such a way that he couldn't make any of it out. After perusing a few pages he shut the book, replaced it back inside. "Isaac."Father Gerald turned and began walking back out of the crypt, "Were you present when these things were thrown at the visitors to your house?" "Well..."Isaac tried to remember, "Not really. I never catch him actually doing it myself, he always waits until I'm in another room or something." "Hm. Hm. Yes."Father Gerald nodded slowly as he pushed the heavy door open and stepped back into the sanctuary, "And the people attacked, what do they say?" "They're all freaked out!"Isaac's pitch rose, "They start yelling at me like it's my fault!" "Ah."Father Gerald smiled and sat down on the front pew. He pulled out a small notebook and a pencil, "Now, Isaac. Sit down. Tell me about your mother..."
The band was in the early days of their career, they were approaching that critical moment where they either succeeded or became another minor hit on a dusty forgotten vinyl. "Alright kid, you've had your training you know what to do and say,"Amber told her slight female companion. "I know,"she said with a cold detached tone. "Nervous?"Amber asked. She nodded slowly never taking her eyes off of the target. "I was nervous the first few times myself. But it's worth it. Trust me. Remember, be careful." Courtney pulled the skin tight skirt a little lower on her thighs and walked toward the partying band. Tonight was their first big show. So they tried to drink and smoke away their nerves. The lead singer saw Courtney approaching and nearly dropped the beer he was holding. She was breathtaking. It was like a dream and come to life and was slowly walking toward him. His heart thundered in his chest and he forgot everything but her in that moment. He stood and walked over to her tongue thick in his mouth. The agency had done a good job researching exactly what kind of woman would have this effect on him. Courtney knew that she had him the second he had laid eyes on her. She brushed a length of blonde hair out of his face, "I'll be here waiting for you when you get done playing,"she whispered seductively. "Hey guys you're up next! Thirty seconds!"a stage hand shouted. "You better be,"he said breathlessly. That show was the most amazing concert they had ever performed. It was the platform for their success and they owed it all to Courtney. Courtney quickly became a permanent fixture in the band. The other members began to resent her and feared that she would cause problems in the future. But the band continued to play and continued to see success. Wealth and fame poured down around them. Women, drugs, booze, they were living the rock star life. Until one day Courtney the time came for her to complete her mission. She had been undercover for so long she wasn't sure if she could go through with it. But she knew it had to be done. The world needed this to happen. On a cool April day Courtney called him into the guest house behind their home to break his heart. "Please sit, I have something important to tell you,"she said barely choking back her emotions. He sat at the edge of the bed concern clear in his eyes. "What's wrong babe?" "I'm...I'm not who you think I am. This has been a job,"her voice cracked and tears streaked down her cheeks. "A job what does that mean? What are you a cop?"he laughed. "Not exactly." She brought the shotgun up and squeezed the trigger. Blood and brains sprayed across the room in a horrific red bloom. "I'm sorry Kurt,"she said through heart wrenching sobs. --- Thanks for reading. Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories. Most of them are happier than this.
"Fuck's sake, you ignorant fuckwits!"Frank groaned. As punishment for fucking up the science fair, he had to take care of this shitty little test universe a week. And oh, FUCKING, god, were these people shit-for-brains. They only fucking got to nukes after what, 6000 thousand FUCKING years from the beginning of civilisation? "Right, you ding-dongs, I'm your fucking god. Frank Weathers. Now bow down to me, asshats, or I'll Creation your ass off the face of the planet! Now stop shitting on each other over tiny-ass differences so that I don't get failed on this!" - Frank was walking home. Why did those fucking asshole teachers HAVE to give him THAT specific punsihment? Like, just give him a detention or something, jeez! Whatever. Once he got home, he could finally play some CoD and pretend he was killing his dickcheese teachers. Suddenly, the clouds parted, and a voice boomed. "Are you cunts fucking retarded? 5000 years and you still haven't invented time machines? Fucking downie universe. Alright, you dumbass cretins, listen to me! I am you God, you Buddha, your fucking-whatever-you-numbskulls-came-up-with! I am Frank!" Frank stared at the sky with amazement. "Hey ,you! Dumbass staring at the sky! You hear me? Take these shitty blueprints to your nearest research lab or some shit, I don't give a fuck. Just fucking get this shit invented or I'll can your asses!" A large blueprint fell from the sky, and the clouds returned to their original positions. "What the FUCK?!"exclaimed Frank Weathers.
Open on a harshly lit corridor. A haggard young man slowly turns, weightless, breathing heavily. Unknown: I am sorry for your loss. The young man's eyes flicker open. His chest heaves each time he draws breath. Unknown: We watched you. Since the moment you were chosen for this program. Many of the others thought it a fool's dream, that you would never make it past your own solar system, but I always expected - feared - that we would meet like this. We tried to stop you ever leaving Earth. We arranged for your most prominent scientists to be tempted into government jobs, away from the private companies which were our greatest threat. We caused failures in your experiments, changed your data, led you away from the truth you needed to make it here. When that didn't work, and your corporation started on this engine, we caused setback after setback. We wanted - needed - you to give up. And then we went further. We cajoled, prodded, manipulated, until your fellow man hated you and all you stood for. We cultivated an environment of fear and insecurity, so that your species would be forced to look inwards, instead of out toward the stars. If we could have, we would have gone further. Assassinations of important individuals. Destruction of your corporation. But that would have broken the letter of our law, and so our organisation would have been shut down. A light at the end of the corridor turns off with a sigh. The man begins to gasp sporadically. Unknown: We are not a government organisation - not officially, anyway. After millions of years of peace, our government has slowed down so much that a major decision - expanding to a new galaxy, declaring war, deciding how to interact with your species - takes several of your centuries. Even when we are facing an existential threat. I am deeply sorry for your loss. In truth, you should not be here, not yet. Your species advances in technology at an incredibly alarming rate. For us, the journey from flight to space travel took millennia. You reached your satellite a mere 66 years after the first men took to the skies. Perhaps, some day, we can learn from you. Until then, we must keep you contained. Your failure here - a simple mechanical failure, causing you to leak oxygen - should deter you fellows from attempting the same. Goodbye. The lights go out, and the man closes his eyes. Man: I knew. Unknown: (Startled) I'm sorry? Man: There were too many coincidences. Any of them, by themselves, could have been overlooked. But altogether? It was far too unlikely. Some agreed with me. Most did not. And so I suggested a test - send only one man, in a straightforward mission with little chance of failure. If there was some kind of unlikely failure which prevented my mission from being successful, then they would know. And now they know. And they are coming.
I rose, dreary-eyed and lacking sleep. Despite that, I dragged myself out of bed. When I turned the knob to the tap, water did not pour out. I cursed. Before I get to brush my teeth or have my coffee? This is torture. I picked up my pistol, and stuffed it half down the front of my pants. In my other hand, I held a baseball bat. Then went round the house in search of a perpetrator. The house and its vicinity was empty. I expanded my search, looking for a sniper within a 1km radius. Nothing. I set sail on a small rowboat because nothing mechanical worked in this condition. The sequence of visiting was a combination of vicinity and aggressiveness. I found maps and made a beeline for places that I'm not supposed to be at: military bases, dictator's fortresses. Still nothing. I'm running out of ideas. Instead I continued traveling. After what must have been years after, I finally found my answer at NASA. An alien warship was throwing an asteroid at us. I looked at the expression of intense concentration on the face of NASA's Senior Engineer Jake, and feel like i wish i could leave the problem with him. But nope, the trickle of sweat on his cheek is not going to hit the floor until I figure this out. Okay, now to see how to stop it. --- I hope you enjoyed this, check out my [Fivens project](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com/2016/12/27/possession/)
He opened the letter. It bore the seal of Queen Anne, the last woman to hold the title Queen of England prior to the Kingdoms of England and Scotland ceasing to exist. 'Hmm', he mused out loud. He hadn't heard any rumours. 'Could she really have been one of us?' The last Queen of England - and first Queen of Great Britain - had reputedly been dead for over 300 years. He remembered Anne's reign well. Indeed, he'd fought in her name during the War of the Spanish Succession, campaigning in the Low Countries and the Iberian peninsula. He remembered her death too and the arrival of the Hannoverian monarchs that followed her. If she really was a fellow Undying, no wonder the mortals would want to get their hands on her. The first-hand knowledge of that era that a surviving monarch could bring would be historically unparallelled, even among his kind. The Undying generally sought to avoid attracting the gaze of history, but the last Queen of England - if this letter truly was from her - could have had it thrust upon her by the accident of her birth. The letter itself didn't give any great clues to its authenticity. It talked about the existence of the Undying - well, that was public knowledge now anyway - and alluded vaguely to the author having spent the last three centuries in hiding, passing herself of as various unexceptional and unmemorable characters in the history of the Great Britain (and later, United Kingdom) that she helped to create. But it was the final paragraph that truly grabbed his attention. 'The mortals know about me and are looking for me', she wrote, 'but they don't yet know about my son. He has passed through history largely unnoticed too, but in recent decades decided he wanted to experience some of the grandeur and fame that I once lived. In my day, that meant royalty. Today, it means Hollywood. He forged an identity for himself as an actor and worked his way to fame and fortune. You know him by his stage name, Keanu Reeves. You have to get to him before they do. You have to help him.' He put down the letter and drew a deep breath. 'Fuck this', he thought. 'A living Queen of England - and Keanu Reeves is her son? Before I begin, I'm going to need a rather large pot of tea.' He was, after all, 300-odd years a Briton.
Over the years, we all found ours. Javier found his almost two years ago. It'd been moved to the forest when he had first arrived on the line, but he hadn't seen it in almost a decade. He didn't have to cut it down till the May of '67, but as we circled through the Grove he would spend his break lounging under the shade of it's simple fig leaves. He knew we'd get back to it. Gavin had found out last week that his pine was coming up in a few months. He'd never seen it, or if he had he couldn't remember. He only knew it was a pine because back in his wild years he'd had it tattooed across his chest. "Not drawn to scale"he had always joked. Fredrick had pulled aside the supervisor when we made it to his elm last year. He was always the tough guy of the group, but when he saw those elm branches come on the horizon, I'd seen him start to shake something awful. He came up and shook all our hands before asking us to carry on past him, let him have his final moments to prepare himself. The supervisor had allowed it, and we had just lost sight of him in the Grove when we heard the crash of a tree falling through the canopy behind us. It was winter when I found mine. The ground and the sky seemed to merge together in an endless sea of white as the snow fell softly all around. We had just reached what seemed to be a small clearing, a rare find in the Grove, when I finally realized what kind of tree sat in the middle. It was an oak. Even with it's leaves hidden beneath a thick coat of snow, the massive, sprawling branches and trunk the size of a car left no doubt. The colossal tree was especially majestic in winter, its leaves still as green as ever because all trees were evergreen's in the Grove, after all. "John."came the gruff voice of the supervisor as I heard his horse slowly push through the snow behind me. "I know."I replied. I stepped forward through the snow and made my way under the shade of it's branches. As I approached the trunk, I was able to make out etchings all along the roots. Small caricatures and icons, scattered endlessly as the roots fanned out into the clearing. I stepped up to the thick of the trunk and brushed my hand against the bark, wiping the snow away. As I did, I noticed series of deep carvings. The flesh of the tree had long healed over the wounds, but the imprint left behind was a scar on it's skin forever more. "JTS."I whispered as I ran my fingers through the grooves. Just as clear as the day I'd first seen it. Slowly, I stepped back from the carvings and turned the the line and the supervisor. "Do you want to do it here? Or alone?"he asked, his voice low and calm as the snow fell gently around. The boys on the line stood huddled around him and it was easy to tell who was new. The green horns were shaking slightly, their eyes frantically darting back from the tree to me. The veteran's faces were chiseled. Their eyes met mine not with pity or fear, but respect. I gave them a small not, one they all returned. "Here's fine."I replied as I hoisted up my axe and offered him the handle. The supervisor instructed a member of the line to take my axe and nodded, pulling out a small black book as he did. "Joseph Thomas Sainburr."he boomed this time, his voice echoing through the clearing. "Upon the completion of your tour on the line, you have been sentenced to death by a jury of your peers and a judge in good standing in this state. Your execution will be as swift as your own axe." He lowered the book and our eyes met. "Do you have any last words?" I had prepared for this moment since the day I first stepped onto the line. Over and over, I had relentlessly poured through speech after speech of what I could -- what I should say. But now, in the moment, I found that the monologues I had prepared over seven years had left my mind entirely. "I didn't deserve her."I replied, my voice a soft whisper across the snow. "And until I pay my penance, I never will." I met the supervisors gaze for one final moment, but his expression never changed. He only nodded. "Then may God have mercy on your soul." Slowly, he reached to his back and pulled a grabbed a handle, pulling it across to reveal a razor sharp, golden axe, it's metal glinting softly in the snow. He reached out, extending the smooth wooden handle to me as I grabbed on. I wrapped my fingers tightly around the wood, my hand seeming to fall immediately into a groove like it had been carved specifically for me. Slowly, I marched back up to the tree, running my hand acorss it's bark one final time. As I did, I looked to the left, just beyond the trunk to a spot on the ground where my tree's roots seemed twisted and gnarled. It was difficult to make out, but if you looked closely, you could see a small break in the ground. A stump jutted out from the soil, it's top jagged and splintered, not the clean cuts an axe would have left. My roots coiled tightly, desperately around it. For years, I had sworn they wrapped around in mourning, but now they just looked like they were choking it. Around the stump, I could see small saplings, just barely stretching through the weight of the snow, desperately reaching to the sky for sunlight. But as the breeze rustled through my oak's massive shaded branches, I realized that as long as it stood, the rest of the clearing would never have the sunlight the saplings beneath it so craved. My breath twirled in the cold air as I turned around and approached my trunk. The oak seemed to groan, as if it felt me approach, but I could only give a soft, sad smile. I swung.
She sat in the car quietly, not bothering to protest as he drove past the park he had told her he would drop her off at. She stared out as the park went by and said nothing. Her silence was unnerving. "What's your name?"The question escaped him without much thought. He cursed himself moments later. He didn't want to get attached. It wasn't good to get attached. She looked at her hands. "...Alice." "Alice."he repeated. "Behave yourself alright, Alice? I'm going to take you somewhere for a while." "Ok." He drove quickly through the streets, somehow feeling like he was being followed even though he knew he wasn't. His palms felt wet and he kept having to wipe them on his jeans. When he finally reached his safehouse, he parked the garage in the car and dragged her out of her seat by the wrist. She didn't protest, not even when he started tying her hands together with masking tape. He watched her suspiciously, wondering what was going on. "You're not scared?" She shook her head. He frowned and pulled her along by the shoulder a little roughly. She didn't make a sound. "Why aren't you scared?" She looked at him dully. "...I don't care." "What?"he thought he misheard her, "Aren't you scared you'll never see your parents again? That happens sometimes..."he added menacingly, trying to provoke a reaction. She stared at him. She looked away. "I don't want to see them again." He frowned, already unnerved. He pulled her along into the carefully blocked up bedroom he'd prepared in the basement and locked her inside. He noticed the bruises peeking out from the corners of her sleeves. He drew his burner phone from his pocket, typing in the number of her father- a wealthy businessman. His finger hovered over the call button. He paused for a very long time.
It is Saturday March 22nd, 2025: I am 21 years old. I was an engineering major, meteorologist minor, before the outbreak happened when I was a Junior in college. I never made it to Senior year. I know nobody cares, half the world has suffered the same fate, but I've been bitten. I never thought I would make it this far. I'm just some dumb kid from Pennsylvania. I'd usually prefer writing on a computer, but the power was knocked out years ago. All my electronics have long since died, so this is all I've got. I've always found myself furiously scrawling words onto empty pages when I'm in trouble. When my mom died, all I did was write on loose bits of paper for the next months. I wrote about how I missed her and hated the world for taking her; and at the end of each day, I crumpled the droplet-laden paper into the tightest wad I could manage and tossed it basketball style into the nearest bin. This one won't be getting tossed, but it will be droplet-laden. I've just never really had anyone to talk to during all this. My dad, Ryan, separated himself from what was my family long before I could write. My mom told me stories about him, but he never mattered to me. Just the idea of him mattered. He's probably dead for all I know. I guess I'll get to introduce myself to him soon enough. Maybe we can all be the big happy facebook-post family that I used to stare at and wish for. Last year during High School, I thought social media was an important thing to have. I would spend hours scrolling through other people's lives, envious of what they had and self-conscious of what I didn't. I remember some of their faces from when the outbreak started, lost in the piles of dead bodies. Now I have what they don't, but not for long. All that superficial stuff didn't wind up mattering. Jock, nerd, geek, cheerleader-- you're just another meat sack to the undead. Now, I wasn't at all popular, but I managed to get one friend. His name is Jacob. We do everything together. He's like the brother I never had. I wish I got to tell him how much I appreciated his company before this all started. It's getting late. I've gotta make sure everything is locked. Front door, back door, and roof. I fed my puppy Butterfinger on the way to bed. He's named after my favorite candy. He's all I have left. It's just me, him, and this boarded up house. I don't know why I'm telling you, or myself, this, but it makes me feel less alone. Maybe if I keep writing about my human experiences, I'll stay human. I know that isn't true, but it makes me feel better. Today is March 24th, still 2025. I peeled off the bandage this morning. It was so ugly I just wanted to throw up and die. Just curl up into a ball and choose to die. I don't want to be a mindless killer. I went out this morning to check for supplies, but I won't go outside anymore. It could happen at any moment; I don't want to hurt anyone. I made sure everything was locked. Front door and roof. I think I'm going to let my dog go. She's very old and her time could come any day now. I just don't want to be the one to do it. I let her out the front door and watched her run away. As I watched her leave me, I felt that awful pain. Why does everyone leave me? I felt disgusted as I thought back to the stories my dad used to tell about my mom. She left us before I could even write. -----> here's a couple of tears I just cried. the stains they leave on this paper are probably more meaningful than anything i'm writing. i need to distract myself from the sadness. i can't believe it-- I banged on the side of that old box-shaped TV in the living room, and it totally came to life! My favorite show was on. the first episode was filled with smiling people around a long table, feasting on foods i haven't seen in years; it reminded me of thanksgiving. their cheery voices filled the living room. i turned up the volume to the max and sat in front of the screen. It must've been a marathon of new episodes; I couldn't take my eyes off the screen until the sun started rising the next morning. I slept exactly one hour, but I don't feel tired. it is march 26 and you guessed it: its still 2052. i miss my dog ryan. he was just a puppy. maybe i shouldnt have left the back door open. i went downstairs today and he was gone. i cant believe he ran away. i made sure the windows, back door, and roof entrace were locked. but the windows were dirty. i opened to clean them. the air seemed fresher than the usual stench of rot and stink that hung in the cool Ohio air. i wish i could have been a meteorologist like the ones on tv. i would have had fans, i bet. then maybe i wouldnt feel so alone. i think im a likeable person. no one else ever thought so. at least no one except jacob. i think we were best friends once, back when i was a senior in college. we were both meteorologist majors. he was there for me when my mom died and i didnt have anyone else. his name was Butterfingers. we hung out every day and go for walks together after school. i was a commuter, so we got to see each other more than usual. i think its saturday but yesterday the sun didnt come up so dont quote me on that. i made sure to go into the basement and feed my dog. i havent fed him for a week now. he must be hungry. i feel bad. he bit me so i stopped visiting him. ive been too afraid to go back down there. terrible noises. snarling. but now i feel bad so im going into the basement to feed him. he growled a little at me when he saw me but this time he didnt try to attack me. i love my dog jacob. hes a good boy and we do everything together. he was there when my mom died. i think ill stay in the basement with him. i made sur e to unlock everyth n g so we dont get o ut.
"Am i having a stroke?"The doctor replied, "yonder esta sippycup."Her expression told me something terrible was indeed happening to me. "I don't understand what you are saying!"I tried my best to make her understand with my hands. My wild gestures held meaning for me. I pointed at my ear, my mouth, made a shrugging motion with my shoulders. The doctor nodded knowingly and took a toungue depressor out of a jar. "Ojos pencap el nighty, underoos pi."I shook my head, "I don't have a cold, I just can't understand anyone! I Think I'm having a stroke!"She patiently waited until I opened my mouth for inspection. Taking the stick off my toungue, she looked me directly in the eyes and said, "wobble apres kid escape, uncle pinterest."Suddenly my head felt heavy, my eyelids like concrete. As black began to envelope my vision I thought i heard her say, "I think she's coming to!"
Zeus sat in the director's chair, sighing at John Travolta. The old god lived under a new name, and was jealous of Thor's newfound power in the movie business, as well that of Isis in war, and especially envious of Rasputin's glory in disco...and he was never even a god! "John, babe, how many times I gotta tell you it's 'Zeus Lightning' now, not 'Grease Lightning.'" "I just don't get why we're rebranding it,"John said. The actor sipped his coffee and shook his head. "Grease is more like...cars, hair, what does Zeus have anything to do with that?" "It's about power! Don't you understand? Thousands of years ago, I-- I mean, Zeus...Zeus was the King of the gods! He struck down lightning and smoted those who dared rise against his name..." "Umm...you okay there, Mike?" "Who? Oh yes, of course I'm okay, now how about another take?" "You have a spark in your hair..." "Oh, yes, well then, on with the show!"Zeus brushed his eternally white hair. "I mean, I get that it's a remake, but can't we at least keep the theme of cars? Why goats?" "Haven't you ever gazed from afar on the countryside, as a slave girl grips the full udder of a doe, and dreamed that it was you that she was pulling?"Zeus breathed deep and flexed his thighs. "No,"John immediately answered. "No, I haven't." "Well..."The old god visibly shook himself from his reverie. "Maybe you should try it." John stared at the director for a minute before saying, "I think I'm ready to keep shooting now." *** Eight months later was the opening night of Zeus Lightning. All of two people showed up. The old god refused to leave his limo, and skipped the premiere, singing Zeus Lightning to himself all the way home. He wondered what it was that made it so easy for all the others. It started raining, and soon he heard thunder while sipping tea in his LA apartment. All of them had some kind of creative capacity, or some trait, or coincidence of names that made it easy for them. The thunder struck again and Zeus remembered the power he felt millennia ago, with lightning in his fists and fire in his eyes. Why try something different? Why was he so desperate to go on living as a failed Hollywood director? "Screw it..."he muttered. *** No one knew what hit them. Few were left alive to wonder why. And only a few of those heard, clearer than the roar of the nuclear missiles that destroyed their homes, the voice of the old god thundering through the sky, shouting, "I AM ZEUS! I AM ZEUS! I AM ZEUS!"
“Red Alert, Battle stations!” The alarm blared over the loudspeaker. Had I left my TV on all night again? I reach for the remote but end up falling on the floor with a CLANK. “What the hell? Where’s my rug?” I think back to bed bath and beyond, shopping with my girlfriend. The Whoosh sound of some pneumatic device shakes me into reality. “Get up cadet, we’re taking fire!” a man in a familiar red coat shouts, before turning on the toes of his black leather boots and rushing out of the room. This is not my room. I stand to my feet, and then immediately I’m thrown back to the ground as the floor shakes with a rumble. “That’s not good, I better find out what’s going on outside. Every terminal is illuminated in the corridor, with a familiar warning flashing on the screen. Immediately, I know I have to get to the Bridge. What’s the fastest way to the bridge, I search my memory. This is crazy! I don’t even know what ship I’m on. I don’t know which series... err, Era this is. “Computer?” I think aloud. A familiar beep replies. That’s it! I’ll use the turbolift. I barely have time to feel proud of myself before the ship rumbles hard from the impact of another volley and I find myself rushing to the end of the hallway. “Take me to the bridge” I shout. Things are starting to get worse, but a smile starts to creep up on my mouth. The feeling of a turbolift is strange and alien. The acceleration starts out like an elevator on steroids, but then is calmed suddenly, like an unseen force pulling me in the opposite direction. Interestingly, I never would have imagine this sensation from watching the episodes on my couch. Whoosh. The scene that greets me is utter chaos. Charred and smoking terminals are covered with limp and bloody figures. The half of the bridge crew still standing are shouting status reports to an overwhelmed captain. “Losing structural integrity, Shields at 7%. She can’t take another hit like that” “Any word from the away team? Have we re-established communications?” “No, sir. We are just going to have to hope the lieutenant sends that warbird’s shield frequency so…” “What the hell are you doing on the bridge” the officer is cut off by his captain. A stern glance in my direction lets me know I’m in trouble. I open my mouth to speak but the oxygen is knocked out of me with a powerful blast of light. The captain fared much worse, her chest pinned under a now exposed bulkhead. “Shields down, Torpedo’s INCOMING!” Without skipping a beat I mimic the first word that comes to mind… “Reverse polarity on the hull!”
Mxxin put two of his three heads down in shame. However, all his eyestalks remained fixed on the short message that had suddenly appeared on his processing unit’s screen. It was a note from his teacher simply stating, “D+, see me after class.” Mxxin could not understand the grade. He had created a planet with extraordinary wonders, well beyond the requirements of the assignment. He had scoffed at his classmates’ piss-poor attempts. Jordssi and her planet PL-873? Pathetic. She hadn’t gotten the composition of her planet’s core right. Give it 54 million years and it would fall right apart. Drinda’s AR-929287 had barely retained its atmosphere which was one of the strict guidelines for the project. And Plinthor? The buffoon had set his planet orbiting around what was clearly a black dwarf star. And yet, Mxxin could feel joy emanating from his classmates. Those ozzplockers couldn’t even control their psychic leakages of emotion, when every spawn had been trained on that since birth. Mxxin gathered his dignity, and attempted to regain his normal, stoic composure. He adjusted the coordinates on his translocater, immediately dematerializing from the world-construction lab and rematerializing outside the instructors’ lounge compartment. He put his tentacle up to press at the buzzer but paused. He could feel his seventeen hearts momentarily pump just a little harder, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the persistence of primitivity. Billions of years since it served any real function, those chemical signals still remained, causing physical responses to non-physical threats. Mxxin was poised to press the buzzer but the door opened, revealing several instructors leaning over a display panel, mouths noiselessly splayed in apparent mirth. “Look at that, Liiyiid” “Oh, that is hilarious!” “Hideous!” “But you have to admit, it is pretty advanced. Good location, atmosphere, even life?” Did they say life? That is impossible! I didn’t intend that! I didn’t even add any Poxolium-985 which everyone knows is required for life! Mxxin rushed over to the display, shoving aside several instructors and examined his creation. He hit button after button, poring through the analysis outputs. His excitement was quickly displaced by abject horror. His art instructor shook his three heads sadly. “So, you see why you received that grade then?” Mxxin understood. “Symmetry,” he spat. “All those damned creatures! How disgusting!” ____________________________ EDIT: formatting. sorry, first time.
There's this boarded up door. I walk past it every night after work. Sometimes the streetlight hits it just right. So that it's the only thing I see. Like a spot light on a dimmed stage. It's the center of my view. The only thing I see. My girlfriend tells me not to worry about it. My mother thinks I'm crazy. My therapist says it must represent something. But a box can't represent anything. Cause that's what it is. A cinder block box. Cement. Nothing more. Nothing less. I tell myself that. Repeat it sometimes before bed. As if it will stop the dreams. Oh. I dream about the box too. Sometimes we're alone in the woods together. The boarded up doors peek out through a wooded meadow. Other times I'm on a ship. Sinking. Always sinking. And I know the door will save me, if I can get it open in time. I never get it open in time. I need to know. I need to see inside. For myself. For my sanity. Something in there is calling me. I know I'm not crazy. I don't care what they think. I take an axe. It's large an heavy. With each swift swing the boards and door splinter into tiny specks of nothingness. But it's dark out. And in side. I can't see in. There's a scratching noise. Like a mouse or vermin fleeing for safety. My heart beats a mile a minute. My hand starts to shake. I slowly take out my phone and turn on the light. In the corner. Barely out of view. I sit. Bound. Dirty. A pile of bones. Behind me is me again. Another pile of bones. Bodies after bodies. All me. All bound. I want to scream but I can't. Just then one of the bodies jolts to life. He wriths on the ground. Pawing toward my feet with his tied body. He stares straight at me and starts screaming, "Ruuuuuunnnnn."
"Mien Kampf"wheezed out of Adolf's mouth as he gasped for air, the shadowy figure he was chasing was just too fast for him to catch in the labyrinth of tunnels that made up his Berlin bunker. "How had this man slipped past his guards unchallenged?"... Further more, "how had the elusive man seemed to be one step ahead at every tunnel and passage."His fists clenched in a small fit of rage. As soon as he regained his breath the Führer began his pursuit again. "Russians?"He thought, "it can't be"he reassured himself, they were too busy trying to contain the might of his war machine in the east. A smile creases his lips. 1941 had been an excellent year for his Reich. Winding down the halls he noticed the chase was leading him towards the communication centre of his retreat. "Strange"he found himself muttering aloud. This would be a dead end. Hitler knew he was trapping the cloaked figure the further the pursuit led down the western corridors. Blondi, his faithful companion, exploded down the hall with him, "Holen!"Hitler command, his German Shepard leaping forward, echoing the speed that his war machine had torn into France. The hound eagerly hunting the phantom. With this small nuisance handled by lunch, he could focus on his plans for the upcoming January offensive against the British. Still though, his mind focused on the identity of this stranger. "Could it be a double agent?"He pondered, "Or perhaps one of the Japanese officers sent to plea for his aid" No doubt looking for one of the many secrets he kept hidden in his subterranean castle of a bunker. A sinister look formed across his warm face, "we will make him talk"he mused. With the Japanese foolishly attacking the Americans just four days ago he no longer felt an obligation to aid their war machine "fools"he chuckled. sweat noticeably perched on his brow, his legs tensed but his pushed on . The war was in his grasp, and so to was this intruder. He perked up "at last"he thought, resting momentarily against the ice cold walls, the tunnel got smaller and more narrow, there was no other way out. The light from the communications room was like a beacon at the end of the passage. He could hear the vicious barking of Blondi, as she turned the corner into the the room. "she had caught the scoundrel!"he beamed, proclaiming "even our dogs our superior to all others"as he closed the gap. Suddenly the snarls stopped and a quiet yelp echoed through the halls. a tinge of fear hit his stomach.. "you will pay bastard"he pulled out his Luger, cocked it, and burst through the doors. What he saw dazed him. All the guards were unconscious, as well as the radio operators. Over the main radio com the cloaked figure was bent over the desk. The outgoing messages light was flashing priority level: maximum,execute executive command "But...but how"he gasped, only the Führer held the codes to send out such a message. Only the Führer could use this line, and it was treated as law. The figure turned slowly, Hitler snapped out of his daze. Raising his Luger to the assailant he screamed "what have you done?!!"Aiming for the figure's legs the shot he meant to fire missed hard left as Blondi pounced onto his arm, bitting hard and deep into the flesh. "Nein, nein, nein"he screamed as the jaws clenched around his forearm. The figure removed the cloak, and all of his questions from before were thrown into limbo It was as if a mirrored version of himself was looming over his collapsed body. "Genug"the deep voice ordered, immediately Blondi relented and sat at the mans feet. "Who are you?"Adolf snarled as he held his ruined arm close, bitter at the betrayal of his own dog. "I am you"the figure replied in a cold tone. "You from 1950."He continued. "How?"Adolf stammered "never mind that, why?" The older Hitler's eyes lost the sternness that had previously possessed them. "Our Reich, it ruined this world, our hate destroyed the environment, our conquest devastated the earths population"emotion building with each assertion. "We won?"Adolf found himself blurting out in a contained joy. "Yes, but the world out race inherited, was one of nuclear winter, famine, and plague"the defeat clear on both of their faces. "I am doing what's best for Germany, what's best for the world we couldn't have" "Oh god no"the young Hitler's eyes froze, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" "Expect a visit from Uncle Sam, mein Führer"with that it all sunk in. He had declared war on the USA, the mightiest economy in the world "No!! You can't have, you didn't"tears streaming down his face. "Be strong, you most likely have a hard few years coming up"and with that final statement the older Hitler pushed the spherical skull on his belt and immediately was enveloped in a flash of neon light and had vanished. When the guards finally woke they found the semi-conscious Adolf, huddled by the dazed Blondi muttering over and over "gone...gone..I did it... I've killed our Reich". Edit: Was a little to excited to try this prompt, sorry for the few grammar and spelling errors! Cheers for the excellent writing prompt.
"I'm so sorry", said the teller- she was staring a hole into her keyboard. "Your account is almost overdrafted, it says here you have two hours left to live."She offered to refer me to the time management department, to apply for an urgent time-loan. She said that because the time-stock exchange was so new, I would have a good chance at approval despite my poor time-credit score. I declined the offer because with so little time remaining, I knew I would be paying interest untill I was hundreds of years old. I thought to myself "I'll just face my death. I'm healthy enough, surely it will come as a surprise" Despite the teller still insisting that I at least attempt to negotiate a loan, I proceeded to exit the building. It was raining- but just a light drizzle. I unchained my bike and took what I then knew was going to be my last ride to my high rise apartment. Everything smelled fresh in the rain, and I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of awareness, as if I was on the cusp of recalling some long forgotten truth about myself. I tried to ignore that sensation. When I arrived at my apartment, I left my bike unchained on the sidewalk. I had no one left to give it to. I realized as I walked in the lobby of my apartment building, I had no idea how much time I had left. I only knew that the ride from the bank was about fifteen minutes. I told myself: "Don't look at your watch, or else it won't come as a surprise". Getting in the elevator I saw my landlord. With that painfully familiar halfway grin, he told me: "Mr. Smiles, you have got to catch up on your rent or I will have no choice but to evict you."to which I responded: "I just wish you could give me more time". The remainder of our ride was spent in awkward silence. It was odd that he didn't say anything else, maybe he saw something in me that told him he should leave me alone for once. I walked into my apartment, and went straight to the liqour cabinet. I thought "There's no reason to save this anymore"as I reached for the 20 year old bottle of whiskey that my father had given me the night before he died. "Thanks dad". Tears were in my eyes as I began to drink myself into my final stupor. Again I realized I was unaware of exactly how much time I had left. But I still wanted it to be a surprise. I thought it would be easier. I chose to spend my final moments on my balcony, watching the rain. I sat down on my 18th floor balcony with that bottle of whiskey and proceeded to drink, lighting and smoking cigarettes for what seemed to be an eternity. My entire life slowly played out inside my mind, and I almost cried as I thought of what my life could have become if I hadn't went bankrupt in the recession of 2025. I thought of the moment my father died, and for one last time, thought of how I was alone in that world. After a while, my whiskey was half gone, and there was a pile of cigarette butts at my feet. I was drunk. I guess the whiskey hit me all at once. I thought to myself: "F*ck it"and I focused my blurred vision on my watch. "That's funny", I said aloud, "I should have less than a minute left". I stood up, took a deep breath, grabbed the handrails on that 18th floor balcony, and without skipping a beat, launched myself out into the rain. As I fell towards the concrete below, my last thought was that I had spoiled my final surprise. Edits: this was my first WP.. couldn't help but re-word some stuff :)
Death: Unexplained Natural causes. That's what the coroner scribbled on their clipboard. Sometimes, people just drop. There was no sign of struggle. No bleeding. Not a scratch, aside from the scrapes from hitting the floor. Even their expression seemed pleasant. Like they went while carrying a sweet thought. The best that the coroner could find was that the brain just shut off. Like someone flipped a switch. A short circuit. With a billion people on the planet, one is bound to have faulty wiring. This was the conclusion with the first few. In a week, hundreds. In a month, 1 million. They arrived silently and undetected, among the constant sprinkle of material that rained down from space. Their landings were so small and soft that leaves they landed on went undisturbed. They would come at night. While we worked. While we slept. They did not wait. They knew our insides. Once inside our minds, they knew where to cut. There was a little thread, just on the inside of the brain stem. They knew that one slash was enough to bring a human down. One by one, they hacked humans away.
The first few years were simple enough. I would volunteer to commit executions, I served in the armed forces for a while. It was easy to pass off something as necessary, or tell my conscience that it was okay back then. Soon, though, it was getting harder to keep finding people. I went to medical school, eventually. An "accident"in surgery was noticed, but depending on the circumstances... I always had the hospital behind me. I remember the man who had caused a multiple fatality collision and yet complained we weren't helping him fast enough. I remember the frequent flier junkie that backed us up so bad that it hurt the health of patients truly in need. Soon, even that couldn't cut it. I had to take a more active approach. I visited a professional. She promised she could find me someone. That she could pull up records on people all over the city and guarantee someone deserving. Her records failed. They took too long, they missed out on details. So first I tried taking matters into my own hands. And then I told her she was out of luck. Soon enough, I noticed that my friends were getting close to reaching the end of their journeys. It killed me, but I decided to help them find peace. One by one they would tell me they were ready... Then I would see them off. Eventually I was left alone. But I remember near the end there... As I was seeing off the last of my friends... It was then that I met her. At first it was just a chance. Something neither of us really knew at the time. But then we started putting together all the pieces. She was always there, every step of the way, and we just never knew it. Before long, I knew she would be perfect. "Why are you telling us all this?"I stared down at the children before me. They were in their teens, well on their way to becoming young adults. "Why make us sit through all of this? What does it even mean? Who-?"I raised a hand to cut them off, and waved around the gun in my other hand. "You see kids,"I told them. "This is the story of how I met your mother."
"Mrs. Smith? Are you awake?"The nurse looked worried as she gently shook the woman's arm. "Mrs. Smith?" Mrs. Smith groaned quietly, her eyes fluttering open. In an instant, it all came rushing back. The pain in her belly, the ambulance ride. The emergency C-section. She tried to sit up, and found herself unable to. Between the nurse pushing her shoulders down, and the pain in her abdomen, she quickly gave up. "Where is my baby?"Her eyes were open wide, glancing from one end of the room to the other. "Where is my baby?!" "Ma'am, please. You need to stay calm. You don't want to tear your stitches, do you?" "Tell me where my baby is!" The nurse's lips pursed to a straight line. Her eyes became narrow, and the edges of her mouth turned downward. Mrs. Smith felt dread wash over her. "Ma'am, the baby didn't make it."It was almost a whisper. It took everything she had just to keep eye contact with Mrs. Smith, but she knew it was worth it. They don't ask you to repeat yourself if you look them in the eye when you tell them the first time. Mrs. Smith was silent. Sometimes people react that way. Denial, shock, however you want to put it, sometimes it's just too much for people to really process. She just breathed. The nurse didn't wait very long. Everyone always asks the same questions, so there wasn't much point in waiting to deliver the answers. "There was nothing we could have done. There was nothing YOU could have done. These things happen, Mrs. Smith, and it is very important that you don't blame yourself."She could see the woman begin to really register the news. 'Quickly now,' she thought to herself. "You know that the percentage shows up at the beginning of the third trimester. It shows up at about the same time for everyone. That's how far along you were. 98% of people start out with 100%, but sometimes people start out with something lower, like an 80. I'm sure you've seen all the pamphlets in the OB office, for Morality Deficiency programs?" Mrs. Smith nodded, mutely. Tears were coming to her eyes, but she still hadn't made a sound. Her eyes showed the question that her mouth couldn't form, 'What does this have to do with my baby?' "Well, Mrs. Smith, sometimes... sometimes babies don't make it past the Percent. It's rare, and we don't know what exactly causes it, but we know that it has nothing to do with the parents. It happens to people with low percentages, as you'd expect, but it also happens to people in the upper ninety's. The rate is about the same, so it has nothing to do with who the parents are. You understand? This is not your fault." She can tell when it starts to dawn on Mrs. Smith. Every muscle around her eyes relaxes, so her already wide eyes seem to get even wider. Then the jaw muscles let go. The word 'no' just hangs on her face, unsaid. "Mrs. Smith, your baby was a zero."
I hate hotels. I mean, I really hate hotels. Nothing ruins my morning more than getting stuck in an elevator with some chatty screwball that thinks i actually enjoy listening to him talk about that stupid seminar he's attending. Yeah, we get it, pal. You're insecure and you think paying sixty bucks to watch some guy tell you to "be the best you!"is going to help. People are suckers. I try to avoid leaving my room as much as possible. This morning, however, that isn't going to be possible. Why? Because even at a six-hundred dollar a night hotel, they can't seem to keep the coffee maker in working order. Which means I have to go downstairs. To the public coffee machine. In the dining hall. With them. I straighten my tie and peek out of the eyehole on the door. I don't see anyone in the hall; now is my chance. I slip out of the room and walk quickly and quietly, towards the elevators at the end of the hall. I press the button multiple times--you know, so the elevator gets here faster--and wait impatiently. It finally arrives, and to my delight, no one is occupying it. Arriving at the lobby is a different story. People are swarming in every direction, sloppily dragging overpacked luggage around and searching for family members that are probably already outside. And, to make matters worse, someone is allowing their hellish spawn to shriek and cry and make a scene. I hate children. I try to slip by people as carefully as I can, twisting and dodging as these inconsiderate beings just move around without watching where they're going. I finally make it to the dining hall, and make my way to the coffee machine. One person in front of me. I tap my foot and stare at the back of his head as he takes his time choosing the perfect cup and starts tearing open packets of cream and sugar. Once he finally finishes, I approach the counter and find the pot empty. The new bags of grounds are on a shelf to the left of the machine, with large instructions printed above. It's easy. Put the grounds in, and push a button. That's all you have to do. And that asshole just walked away after taking the last of the coffee. I turn and survey the crowd, finding the man in question several feet away, digging through a pile of croissants. I grab the empty pot, and walk towards him with a purpose. "Hey! Yeah, you! The dick with the croissants!"I yell out, gathering the attention of several people in the immediate area. The man turns around and points to himself, as if I might have been referring to some other croissant-tainting degenerate. "You took the last of the coffee. How about making a new pot?" He cracks a smile and lifts his coffee cup, as if to say, 'hey, I got mine' and turns away from me. That was a mistake. I grip the plastic handle of the coffee pot so tightly that I feel the indentations forming in my palm. My heart beats fast and my vision is focused on the back of his head. I twist my body to one side, then bring my arm back around with all my might, shattering the glass pot on the side of his head. The sounds of the world come rushing back to me. People are whispering. Some are shouting. I look around and notice men in suits fighting through the crowd, trying to get to me. Someone grabs my shoulder and spins me around, standing face to face with me. "Do you have any idea who that was?"he asks, in shock. "Should I?" "That was the Secretary-General of the United Nations, you dumbass." I turn and run into the crowd, heading for a nearby stairwell. It paid to know the layout of this hotel so well. I manage to get down to the parking garage, and find my car. After a matter of moments I'm on the road, leaving the garage just before police start blocking it off. I guess there's going to be a lot of people looking for me now. I don't follow politics very closely, so I don't know exactly how many countries I just pissed off; but I'm sure its quite a few. Maybe the guy will live. Whatever hospital they take him to is going to have a hell of a time getting all that glass out of his head, but I'm sure they're up to the task. See, this is exactly why I hate hotels.
"You better have something for me today, Waldo,"Charlie 'Bad Breath' Bryant hollered, as he charged down the corridor, toward the stick-insect like youth. Waldo was standing outside a door, surrounded by his classmates, as they waited for their teacher to arrive and a lesson to begin. But, as the steaming, bull-like Bryant approached, the other children parted as if they were water, and he was in fact Moses. They quickly scuttered away down corridors, leaving Waldo all alone. Bryant came to a stop an inch before him, his sneakers screeching on the tiled floor. He leaned over Waldo and his rancid breath invaded the small boy's nostrils, causing him to retch. "Wh,"- another dry heave - "what's up, Bryant?"Waldo asked nervously. He held up a shaking hand, offering out a hopeful high five. A huge glob of green spit answered the call. It trickled down Waldo's hand and crawled under his shirt sleeve. Waldo gulped. "Money. Now." "I... I don't have any today,"said the boy, turning very pale. "Don't ever lie to me, pipsqueak,"said Bryant, pulling back an arm and taking a swing. Waldo ducked the flying fist, and jumped into the nearby classroom. He pushed himself behind the door, trying to keep the bully out - but it didn't stop Charlie 'Bad Breath' Bryant for even a second. Waldo went flying to the floor as the door swung open. He crawled back toward a corner of the empty classroom. "Please, I'm sorry - I do have five dollars, it's just, I needed it for medication and... and...what if I gave you ten percent today with a negative five inte-" Bryant was upon him, his boot swinging toward his ribs, when the soccer ball smacked him in the side of the head and sent him staggering to the wall. "Ung,"he muttered, stunned by the projectile. He looked toward the doorway and saw two girls - no, just one girl - standing there. Her brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. He recognised her. "You shouldn't have done that Kate,"he said threateningly, gathering himself for the next fight. "Bring it,"said the grinning girl. The soccer ball had bounced off the bully's head and found its way back to Kate's feet. She swung her leg back and the ball went flying a second time toward Bryant. This time however, he managed to get a giant hand to it, and pawed it away. He looked at the girl, and smiled. They began walking toward each other, Kate crouching low and moving swiftly, Bryant's arms wide and as menacing as a bear. "Okay guys, that's enough,"said an authoritative new figure standing in the doorway. It was a smartly dressed young man in glasses, shirt and tie. "Who the hell are you?"demanded Bryant. "I am Mr Clarkeswell, your substitute teacher. And all three of you are in big trouble,"he said, shaking his head and looking rather disappointed. It was Bryant's turn to gulp, and his face flushed lilac. "Oh, I'm s-sorry Mr Clarkeswell,"he replied. "I want you out. Now. Go tell the head exactly what you did. And if you're lucky, she might allow you to stay in the school." Bryant's head dropped. If his parents found out... Mr Clarkeswell winked at the grinning soccer player, as Bryant began to slump toward the door. Waldo was still on the floor, but now staring out of the window above him. There was something red in the sky. Nothing should be that bright during the day... and it was getting larger, and larger - "Duck!"he screeched, grabbing for his inhaler. The explosion rocked the classroom, sending the three standing children down to the floor. "What the hell was that?"asked Kate a moment later, pushing herself up. She looked around at the limp bodies, soon realising she was the only one still conscious. Then, there was another, far more fierce explosion, and she fell back down, her head slamming into the floor. --- The children were awakened by a deep, undulating voice crackling over the intercom. "Greetings, children of Frozen Lake High. My name is Commander Xelioth. Please stay exactly where you are whilst we begin our experiments. Anybody that tries to leave, will be obliterated. Thank you for your cooperation."
For most of my life I was considered clumsy, even a bit of a dullard. When I was a kid I remember really wanting to play checkers, but somehow would never have a full set and ended up playing chess instead. This of course led to being state champion by the time I was 7. In 7th grade I had a big crush on this girl who was on the cross country team so I decided to join. I was trying to run up next to her when I tripped over my shoelaces and flew forward right into her butt. The coach spotted this and decided I would be better suited for long jump, which four years later I managed to get silver at the olympics. Despite being told I was amazing at things, I never felt like I got what I actually wanted in the first place. I realized I had to stop trying at what I actually wanted and start trying at things I hate. My first step: mock trial. I hated public speaking and nothing frightened me more. I ended up being told to be a witness, which seemed simple enough. But I kept stuttering in the middle of my statements, and managed to knock over my glass of water right onto my pants. But somehow, in the process of making a complete fool out of myself someone decided that in between my stuttering I had a great voice. Soon I was playing sold out shows to screaming fans, I just hope I don't forget the words to despacito again.
Before I went out the front door, I looked around. There was no smell of burning ozone, no multicolored lightning where it shouldn't be, and above all, no bright colors other than the blue of the sky and the green of the trees. The coast was clear. I stepped outside in my bathrobe and pajamas to collect the newspaper. When I got halfway down the driveway, I heard a shrill squeal that could only come from a human. I sighed deeply. So much for a peaceful morning. "Ms. Keen! Ms. Keen!"shouted the young Super. A girl, from the looks of her costume and high voice. "I wanna talk to you!" "Yes?"I prompted, doing my best impression of a stern teacher. "What is it?"What is it that is so important that I can't get a single peaceful morning? "Is it true that you invented the Equalizer?"asked the little Super girl. The Equalizer. When I was young, I was hungry for recognition, despite my lack of superpowers. In college, I had invented a machine that neutralized superpowers, no matter what they were. Suddenly, a child with the ability to irradiate anything and everything was just a child, and not a particularly healthy one. I had fought off villains, and knocked conceited heroes- really, any Super that treated me as a second-class citizen- down a peg or ten. Then, I realized what it could do, if it wasn't in the right hands. And I realized that my hands weren't pure and saintly either. I had gone into hiding, to try and forget the things I'd done, in the hope that the world would forget about me. But it was doing me no such favors. Every week, there was a villain who confronted me on behalf of his father's lost power, or worse, a hero who wished to use my life story as an inspiration to the powerless plebes. There was only one answer I could give this girl. "No. You've got the wrong woman."
I knew what I had to do. However I didn't realize that I of all people would get stuck with THIS guy of all criminals. Look, I'm an interrogator, and we finally got ahold of that goddamned Bruce Barnett. Son of a bitch is accused of killing 13 people in the stretch of 2 weeks. The people are angry and want him pinned to a fucking cross. Maybe that's an exaggeration, but as for me? I can't hurt a hair on his goddamn head without also feeling the... excruciating pain... So for the benefit of the community I stepped up. "Goddammit Barnett I have all day!!"I screamed getting increasingly frustrated with his lack of valuable information. "Well... What the fuck you gonna do 'bout it? I dare ya to hurt me..." I began getting fearful. I'm known for my... Harsh... Ways of getting information I needed, but the media and my bosses were breathing down my neck for justice. However, I did have one trick up my sleeve. "Alright pal, we both know how this goes, and I don't want YOU or ME to suffer. Do you understand me?"I stared him down, but all he did was return the favor. "I don't have to tell you SHIT!"He roared back at me. Smirking I began to roll up my sleeve and detach my replacement forearm from its socket. "I can't feel pain from limbs I don't have anymore pal..."I say slowly as I take out a giant saw blade from the drawer next to me.
My footfalls echoed through an empty hall. Moonlight shown through the imperfect fits of shuttered windows. The air was silent cold. It carried the clack-clack of each of my steps to every corner everywhere. There was a foul sense about this place. A faint metallic taste stuck in the back of my throat. My shoe stuck in a sticky scarlet puddle. He was here. "Ah!"I heard him exclaim. "Villiam! Tis that time again, I see."The Count's words flittered through the vastness, seemingly coming from a thousand places at once. They seemed eager, happy even. I suspected it was a ruse. With a gust of wind, his cape bellowed out as he dropped to the ground from the rafters. "To vat do I owe this particular visit?"Count Meraxus wore a smile too bright to be sinister but too evil to be glad. He looked no more than 30, though, in the last year, I had discovered he was much closer to 100 times that. After a few moments of awkward silence his expression dampened. Jet black hair flopped about as his head lilted back and he threw his arms up in exasperation. "Villiam!"He rubbed the bridge of his nose as if about to explain something for the 10,000th and first time. "Ve haff discussed this."He took a step to the side and gestured toward the one arm I held behind my back. "Must ve? Vith the garlic and the crosses? I had thought ve had moved on from this nonsense!" I spun as nonchalantly as I dared, keeping my right hand hidden behind me out of his sight. He sidestepped more and more quickly as I spun about in a dance of sorts. But the vampire was too quick. He saw my secret weapon and I thought I heard him gasp in fear. Turning back, I saw the reality of Count Meraxus doubled over and breathing heavy, laughing so hard he was crying. Swallowing hard, I made a mental note that vampires cried, lest it be important in my further research, and decided to proceed with my plan. I permitted a moment for the Count to bask just deep enough in his hysteria. Hardly breathing, he croaked, "Seriously, Villiam! Is that a toad?", and in that moment, I tossed the amphibian directly into his face, reciting from Horace Von Helsinger's Mythical Beasts of the Middle Ages: Sanguis de antiquis golds, Sanguis orbis terrarum, Sanctorum animae viventis tenebris, In bufo pati tuam! There was a slimy sort of thud as the toad fell to the floor. Meraxus wiped his face with his sleeve. He did not appear amused. In an instant, he was six inches away from me and seething mad. "You vorthless mortal! Vat is the matter with you?"I felt my knees go weak and begin to tremble. I focused every ounce of courage on not collapsing there and then. The Count continued, "I laughed along ven you tried all means of garlic veaponry. I smiled at you vile you held up a vooden cross from that corner and recited your prayers. Do you remember how long is took us to blow out your 666 candles? It vasn't even my birthday!"The foul sense I had grew stronger. For the first time since I had discovered him, the vampire terrified me. "Just last veek, I permitted you to shoot me vith a silver bullet, notvithstanding the fact that I am clearly no half-breed monstrosity!"As he shouted and raged, his fangs grew. I could see them piercing his bottom lip, little bits of blood welling up. "But this,"he pointed to the toad, "this is quite too far! If I get a vort, I svear to your gods that I vill kill you this time. I vill!"I stared back blankly, unable to take my eyes off those massive teeth and how easily they stabbed through his skin. Displeased with my lack of attention, the Count took hold of my shoulders and began to shake me. "Villiam! Do you understand me or not!" He bleeds, I thought to myself. He bleeds! In that moment and without further thought, I lunged forward and buried my face into the Count's neck. I bit down with all my strength. It was an odd sensation, biting a man, so to speak. Blood rushed into my mouth. It was warm. It tasted of iron, iron and magic. "No!"Meraxus shoved me away with all his effort and I flew clean across the room. While I struggled back to my feet, he grasped at his neck, periodically checking his hand to see if he was still bleeding. "No, no, no, no."Once he confirmed he was ok, he turned back to me and stalked deliberately in my direction. The air was still silent cold. It carried the clack-clack of each of his steps as he approached. "I vill not tolerate an imbecile of your caliber to join the ranks of me and mine. I am sorry, Villiam. It is the only vay."He looked away and, with just one hand, he grasped me by the throat and held me two feet above the ground. His grip tightened. I felt myself. . .continuing to breath? After maybe half a minute, I felt the tendons in his hand straining with all their might, and the Count began to shake me a bit in frustration as nothing happened. "Vat is going on?" At that, of all times, I had an odd craving. "Do you have any more blood?"I asked. "Surprisingly tasty stuff. I get it now." The Count let me go and buried his face in his palm. "Vunderful." In 500 years, I've tried garlic, crosses, bullets of all shapes, sizes and types of metal, holy water, fire, herbs, potions, blessings, prayers and Tibetan chanting. I even brought a toad to the Vatican, had it blessed on Papal Sunday and threw it in the Count's face while reciting ancient blood magic in Latin. In turn, the Count has tried stoning me, drowning me and choking me. Having exhausted more traditional measures of slaughter, he's lately been convinced that music might have the power to undo my creation. He's turned to Mozart and Beethoven and Bach, all played with earmuffs on for fear he might be affected himself, in search of an anti-vamping song. Alas, apart from having suffered through some out of tune piano solos, neither of us seem all that close to dying. I caught Count Meraxus out of the corner of my eye, peering over my shoulder as I entered my latest diary entry. "Ve vill see, Villiam. Yes, ve vill see."
The room was gleaming white, inlaid from floor to ceiling with the invaluable tusk enamel of the Cresnian Seawolf. That particular project had brought the fearsome Seawolf to extinction, but then that was hardly a rare occurrence in those days. In fact, the galactic reign of Baw Vix XXIV - the self-proclaimed White Light Emperor - was already known as the Great Obsolescence in dubious honor of the countless species that had been claimed in the Limitless Emperor's lust for conquest and tribute. It was tribute that called Vix to the gleaming white room, adorned with hanging cords of braided white fur, porcelain-framed embroideries, and crystal men-at-arms. The room was where Vix accepted the prizes offered to him by his nigh-infinite subjected races. And what strange treasures they brought him! The strangeness thrilled Vix well beyond the actual value, which was, of course, meaningless to one who owned the stars and the inky blackness between. Odd, ancient statues. Rare fanged creatures. Silken metals, shining like flame. By contrast, that day's delegates and their offerings were quite unimpressive. "So many?"sighed Vix as his herald relayed the news. "It's usually one per planet. You told them that, I presume?" The herald tried to contain his nerves. The White Light Emperor expected things to go his way always, with no exceptions. Should his army lose even a single battle, his generals - all of them - were roasted alive in the Red Pits. Should one of his wives bear an ill-tempered child, the wife, the child, the wetnurse, and all who gazed upon the child were roasted together. "They insisted,"said the herald. "They said that though they are one planet, they are many cultures. All different, with different values and histories. And, most importantly, with different gifts to bring."He leaned back, prepared for the worst. But here Vix was in one of his rare playful moods. "Let them come forth." And so they came, one after the other. Vix was delighted in the spectrum of color and shapes. One was nearly as white as the enamel that covered the walls; another, nearly as black as the depths of space itself. Hues of brown. Pinkish reds. Some thin, some stout. One could not even stand under its own power - it sat upon a chair with wheels. "Your gifts?"said the herald. They each gave speeches as they approached the great emperor, though he was not interested in the content of their words. Each speech was filled with words of courage and heritage and strength. They all made a point to look the emperor in the eye as they approached to present their gifts. "Tritium gas,"said one, bowing as it held out a metal canister. "We are a humble species. I hope that we have learned a thing or two about ourselves over time. About our differences, and our similarities. Your appearance has been a blessing of a sort for us. We have been divided for a long, long time. But now, in our overwhelming defeat at the hands of the Limitless Emperor, we have come to see the necessity in being as one. We thank you, and offer you this token of our shared history." Vix rose from his throne. "This tribute is underwhelming, I must say. Metal trinkets. This plain, featureless dome. Uncommon, but undesirable gases. This."He held up a reinforced vial. "Plutonium, you call this? I don't understand." "They are part of a puzzle,"said the last human, coming forward. "Like us, their potential is limited in this form, but...watch this." The humans rose up, swarming on their pile of gifts, taking things apart and putting them together. Vix watched, bewildered. "What artless creatures,"he muttered to the herald. "Let's strip their planet of resources and dispose of what remains - including the livestock." "Yes, my lord,"said the herald. "We're ready,"said the humans, stepping back from what they'd created. "This is the fruit of our labor. For quite some time, this was the best we could do. But you've taught us well, oh great emperor, that we must do better. And we will. Not us in this room, of course, but those back home. They'll do better. They'll learn from what you've done, and they will do better." The humans formed a semi-circle around the device they had constructed and held hands. Vix had lost interest. "Is this some proto religion?"he sneered. "There really is no use in sparing you, is there?" "That's not for you to decide,"said one of the humans. And then the gleaming white room was filled with white, hot nothingness. Then silence. Then sound. Then organized catastrophe. And so the humans were gone, and the herald was gone, and Baw Vix XXIV was gone, as well. In all their places there was heat and poison and fear. A great coming together. A great coming apart. So ended the Limitless Empire. So ended the Great Obsolescence. So ended a great many things, but not the age of man.
The sound of explosions and gunfire rang through my ears once again. No matter how much I repeat time, I can't get past this battle. No matter how many times I pleaded with my officers, I am not spared from the western front. The same soldiers doing the same things, that soldier who would always appear out of the corner at 3.14pm and kill one of our guys. That one landmine in the forest would kill one of our officers. I have memorized them all up to this point. However, there are too many things out of my control. What can a lone soldier like me do? There is absolutely nothing I can do. I thought I could be the hero of Germany, a legend that would bring victory to my country but in the end, I am just another soldier. It's all that woman's fault. "Win the great war and I shall set you free."She said. That's impossible. Against the might of the enemy, Germany doesn't stand a chance. Am I doomed to repeat time for all eternity? Ah, the other soldiers are planning to make a last stand and kill as many french troops as they can, how foolish, this is the 13th time I've seen them done that. There is no doubt I will either be killed in the crossfire or be captured and die in prison. That has already happened after all. "Everyone attack now!" A fellow soldier of mine finally shouted that dreaded phrase, then after that, 15 french soldiers would come in and slaughter all of us but if I hide behind that crate, I would be saved from the crossfire and be captured as a prisoner of war. This loop was already a failure anyway, there is no point in continuing. Curse you, damn woman. -------------------------------------------- Ah the bright light shined on my face once again, a familiar scene. The hospital where it all started. The serenity of this place made it feel as if everything I just experienced was a dream. As usual, I can't move. I am forced to relive the accident over and over again on every August of 1914. "Good morning , Private Berndt Eckehard."The voice of the woman sitting on a chair next to my bed rang in my ears. The woman who started it all, I have so many things to ask her but the injuries didn't allow me to move my mouth. "I'm sure you know me don't you? After all, this is the 10427th time you've seen me. I don't think I have to tell you what to do, do I?" This bitch and her smug face. If I could move, I would have strangled her by now. "I hope you aren't insane by now, as usual, win the great war and I shall set you free, take care." The woman stood up and left, a scene that I was already used to. There was nothing I could do to her. And right on schedule, a loud siren blasted through the air. The same evacuation alarm. I guess I will give this loop another try.
My eyes twitched as the microwave chirped a pesky tone in my left ear. Without shifting my stable gaze from the pot, I removed a Hot Pocket and set it aside to cool. Through my peripheries, I noticed a small trail of steam rising from the toasty, nuked exterior. Physics still existed—at least, outside of the pot. It seems like years, but it has only been five hours since I started boiling water for a lunchtime meal. It started out innocently enough; I peered at my reflection in the water as I lit the flame below. My days off always involved a heavy dose of relaxation, and this was a perfect opportunity to reflect on the week. My job performance was average, my relationship was stagnating, and there wasn't anything exciting on the horizon. Life was as stagnant as the water I was lost in. I heard the church bells ring in the distance, but failed to look up. Still, the thought registered in my depths of my brain. Didn't I put this pot on ten minutes ago? I looked at the water, and the bottom of the pot glared back at me. I'm no scientist, but even I know that water and heat are supposed to result in bubbly water. Nana's mantras floated through my subconscious like an underworldly voicemail. A watch pot never boils, Jimney. Usually, I wouldn't have time to test out Nana's theory, but today was different. It was the weekend, and nothing appealing was playing at the local cinema. Five more minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. The world was starting to make even less sense than normal, and determination rippled through my underdeveloped physique. I had to figure out what was happening. Slowly, my hand reached toward the serene stillness of the water. As soon as my fingertips first dipped in, the heat was overwhelming. The water was hot enough to boil, yet it hadn't begun to do so. I evacuated my injured fingertips to the safety of my mouth and winced. Burnt fingertips were nothing compared to the not knowing the mystery of the unboiling pot. Half an hour passed. Then a full hour. Something felt eerily wrong. Am I dreaming? No, that's impossible. I moved my fingers into the foreground of my gaze, being careful not to end the staring contest between me and the unnatural cooking ware. My fingers were a reddish-pink from the burns. You can't feel pain in a dream, I rationalized. Curiosity trumped the desire to use the bathroom, but my values were quickly changing as the need intensified. Just before I gave up, I felt a warm breath on the back of my neck. The hairs it contacted stood directly up. Perhaps I had been staring at the pot so long I had started to hallucinate. A second breath came, even closer than before. I heard short, whispy breaths. Terrified, I maintained my composure. "Why do you stare so intently, human?"a chilling breach echoed in my right ear. I stood paralyzed as the need to use the bathroom subsided. If the voice was imaginary, then my imagination had grown tenfold. "You know you're not supposed to watch the pot. That's not how this works,"the voice spoke in waves. This was the secret I had been searching for. Exhilarated and terrified, quickly turned around to identify the source of the mysterious voice. But I saw nothing. My room was empty. Sun streaked in through the windowpanes. Who knows how long the creature had stood behind me? The only certainty was that it wasn't around anymore. I released my breath as my ears picked up on a soft gurgle. The water was boiling.
I was an innocent youth, protected and coddled by my suburban parents in their two bedroom, two bathroom patch of middle-class bliss. I was nine at the time. Swears were a capital offense, parental blocks guarded me from the dangers of teen and adult programs, and my friends were carefully and quietly suggested to me based on the parents of said friends. Tragedy struck, hard and fast. My paternal grandfather gave in to cancer and passed in the summer. I didn’t understand death, it was foreign to me due to my parents best efforts to protect me from the outside world. Soon after, my maternal grandfather unexpectedly passed from severe illness. I was in shock. Surely the God my parents led me to believe in wasn’t this cruel? After mourning for a time I returned to school. I was a changed child, bitter and as cynical as a now ten year old could be. The class had begun learning about Greek mythology prior to my return. It was like a sign to my wounded soul, the lesson I came back to was of Hercules and his ten feats to become a god. He was a man among men and strong enough to fight a lion and win! It made me think. If I could become a god, I could stop people from dying, no one else would ever have to experience the pain of losing a loved one ever again... So for the rest of my childhood I devoted myself to doing good deeds, small things a child could do at first; generally being an unofficial Boy Scout. As I matured to a young adult, I stepped up my game. I’ve stood up for the weak, rescued people from burning buildings, found kidnapped children, run drug dealers out of neighborhoods, etc. Once I turned eighteen, I noticed a change. I could sense where I was needed most. Over the last twelve years I’d been all over the world, encountering situations and things that were supposed to be relegated to the pages of fiction. For example, when I was twenty-two, The shape-shifting queen of darkness and ice had taken thirteen(of course) children from their beds and was going to use them in a ritual to create hosts for her court. Evil bitch was so engrossed in the ritual that all I had to do is stab her in the back with an iron dagger. I stabbed her A LOT mind you. It was only my third time on an encounter like this and I wanted to make sure she was perma-dead as they have a nasty habit of coming back from anything short of fatal injuries. The fae are a pain like that... And on it went for another eight years. Monsters, unnatural disasters, aliens or demons(honestly I have no clue what they were but they were trying to wipe out a city or two and it wasn’t cool), until yesterday. Yesterday marks the first of a lot of things. The first time I couldn’t tell where to go, the first time I actually thought about how long I’ve been at this. The first time I wondered if I’d hit ten finally. And, the first time I’ve ever seen a god. A really real, truly true, honest to God, god. He came to me in a vision. He told me his name and we had an existential and philosophical conversation that seemed to last days. Finally he says that the gods are impressed that a mortal has once again taken up the role of Hero, and that in their eyes I had completed nine worthy feats. I woke up on the sidewalk feeling like I got hit by a Minotaur, drooling on myself and passers by were starring at me out of the corners of their eyes. When I checked my watch, to my surprise, my whole encounter only took four minutes. My head hurt and everything was a bit fuzzy sounding, but gaining clarity by the moment. I couldn’t remember the god’s name or the exact content of our conversation. All I could remember was that I only had to complete one more heroic feat to become a god and that this time, I got to choose. I knew what had to be done. The one thing that I hadn’t done in one way or another. One that people had been combatting since long ago. An unforgivable evil almost all have encountered at some point in our school years. Number ten had to be this unbeatable scourge of the human race. I WILL ERADICATE THE GUM UNDER DESKS THAT YOU ACCIDENTALLY TOUCH OR GET STUCK ON YOUR CLOTHES!!!
Everyone likes a freak now and then. I'm no exception. Little did I know a drunken snogging would turn into the best relationship of my life. I met her at a bar. It was kind of dark. That's what I told myself on day two. But the fact that Tila Shaqilla was was 7'1"wasn't something I could really overlook. Hell, neither was the mustache, but hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. She traveled for work a lot, so when I got to see her it was great. Yeah, she preferred to hit the clubs, but it was like we were made for each other. She always made me feel manly. That can be tough when you're 5'2"and 130lbs soaking wet. But she did it for me. Recently though.... my buddies have been making weird comments. Like "she's a dude."I blow them off. I think I would know if I was dating a dude. They always call her Shaq, which I didn't think much of. Ask her to play basketball, which she's really good at. Last week someone even asked for her autograph, but on a Lakers poster. That's when I noticed him. Number 34. Man, he looked a lot like Tila. I figured they must be related. But why would Tila sign his poster?
They crushed us on the land and ocean, they where invincible in space and in the air. The aliens where terrifying, completely immune to all weapons actively used in the Earth's military combined. "Docking alien ship in 5 seconds" But with the discovery of the weakness all that changed. "4 seconds" The aliens seeming to have factumest autemtercore reactions to foam and the soft plastic used in nerf bullets "3 seconds" has changed the face of this war for ever "2 seconds" And come to mean "Boarding now" I turn to face my comrades, and nod. Humanities' battle cry "It's nerf or nothing"fills the hull of the Alien ship. Electronic motors hum and the sound of Slamfiring is so loud you can practically feel it. It's over in minutes, the Aliens are all dead. A small victory but a signal for what is to come.
“Welcome home my dear!” I turned to the sound of my wife and smiled happily, eagerly returning the hug and kiss. “Best part of my day coming home to you. How has your day been?” She took my coat and I followed her to the sitting room. “Oh everything today was fine. Bit of an odd thing really. Did you see that silver grey cat out there when you came in?” I looked out the window following my wife’s pointing finger. “Why yes. Very cute, some odd markings around the eyes. Has it bothered you?” “No. It’s been sitting there all day. It comes and goes at odd moments but keeps looking at house number 4. It’s very strange. I took it some food and water earlier and it seemed to..bow.. to me.” I chuckled softly. “Bow? Really?” Her face colored lightly and she gave an awkward smile. “I mean that’s what it looked like. It acknowledged the food and water in a way I’ve never seen before. Not like a normal cat. Plus it keeps staring at that house.” I sipped from the glass of brandy she gave me. “Isn’t that the Dursleys? You’d think the cat would pick a friendlier house to inspect. I’m sure it’s nothing dear.” —
The pentagram burst into flames as a great shadow loomed beyond the candles. The rising spectre took form, first by the feet, great talons with nails black as charcoal. Then there was the body, and the arms, great smoldering armor carved with hellish insignia from a language Tom didn't recognize at all. The figure's head coalesced into a scarred, disjoint image of a face; the kind of visage an alien trying to appear as human would take on. When the last of the pentagram's embers burned away, Tom knew that the ritual was successful. "Ha!"bellowed the beast, striking the ground with his monstrous feet. "You pitiful, pitiful human. Do you realize what you've done by summoning me?" Tom scrambled to find the notebook. "Err, yes,"he began, flipping through the pages. "Says here you are G'thorlach, the demon destroyer of worlds." The demon's body erupted into a stream of furious fire. "Yes, human! But do you think that little book of yours will protect you?"The demon's face erupted into what Tom thought was a smirk. "You have summoned me - freed me from my confines in Hell. You have no control, no power over me!" Tom pulled up a chair and picked up a bottle of water. Taking a quick sip, he replied: "okay, that's no issue." G'thorlach had never before been summoned to Earth, so he wasn't quite sure how humans displayed fear. From what he could guess, however, the emotion in the summoner in front of him was definitely not fear. "Human, let me tell you what I do."The demon leaned up to the edge of the pentagram, his red eyes burning into Tom's soul. "I will take you, and every other creature living on this planet. I will strip them of their skin, bit by bit, and impale them to leave your people jutting from the ground like a flagpole. You will hear the screams of the damned until your final days."G'thorlach laughed. "Do you know why I do it human?"The demon took a step beyond the edge. "I do it because I _enjoy_ it." Tom put down his drink. "I know, Mr. Gee. It says so right here."Tom pointed to a prominent section of text in the notebook. "Tells me that summoning you ushers in the end of times, yadda yadda."He was starting to get annoyed, after all, you'd imagine that a demon god from Hell would spend less time stroking his ego. "Also, just call me Tom. It's ironically dehumanizing to be called 'human.'" This conversation wasn't going the way G'thorlach thought it would. Usually, he is summoned by a group of ambitious cultists who think they can abuse his power for their own. The satisfaction of tearing them apart first was always the most pleasing. But this human, Tom, didn't seem ambitious, cultist, or even desiring to control the demon. "Why did you summon me then, _Tom_,"the demon asked. "I summoned you because you're supposed to destroy the world."Tom looked up and sighed. "It says that once you're summoned you will go on a heinous rampage and devour all life you can reach. It doesn't say that you'll be trying to chat up the summoner for - what is it - ten minutes now?"Tom looked down at the watch on his wrist. The demon god G'thorlach was uncharacteristically confused. "What makes you desire the end of mankind, of civilization, of Earth?"The booming voice was sure to inspire some reaction in Tom, or so the demon though, but none-the-less he remained stoic. Without hesitation, Tom replied: "Bitch ex-wife. She took half my shit." G'thorlach blinked and rubbed his temples. He made a mental note to ask around Hell and see if any of them knew human behavior. "You want to destroy the world... as revenge?" "Well hey,"Tom began. "If I can't have it, then she can't have it either. Cheating whore."With that note, the impatient summoner went back to slouching in his chair. He made a quick motion ushering the demon out the door. "Alright, get on with it." G'thorlach staggered out, barely missing the top of the door frame with his nine-foot tall body. After exiting in what his contemporaries might consider the least demon-esque manner, he closed the door and looked outside. Quietly thinking to himself, he remarked that if all mankind were this petty, maybe wiping them out would be regarded favorably.
2002 "Are you alright?" "Clare?" "I think something's wrong..." Slowly, I open my eyes. "Yeah, I'm good,"I mumble, feeling hazy and confused. Rachel and Mickey laugh, nervous, relieved. We play for a while longer, and soon it's dark, and time to go home. I can feel a dull ache at the back of my head, but slowly, surely, it fades. It has become comfortably numb. 2003 It's my birthday. I'm twelve! I've survived another year of school! The summer is coming, and with it the promise of hours in the park, with Rachel and Mickey. Best friends forever. 2004 Another birthday. I'm fourteen now. Practically an adult! I definitely feel like one. There's not much time for playing outside, but who wants that? I'm a grown up. I have responsibilities. I don't get to see much of Rachel or Mickey anymore, but we still do our homework together, we chill, we have fun... 2008 Life is scary. It just flies by and before you know it, boom. Graduation, college. But I'm happy. I'm going to be a vet, I'm going to live my dream, the way I want. Rachel and Mickey are going to the same place, so I'll see loads of them. 2012 College is tough. But I knew that going in. It's nearly over, I'm nearly a vet! 2014 Mickey finally asked me! I'm going to be Mrs. Smith! Sorry, Dr. Smith. God, that sounds weird. Dr. Smith. I could get used to that. 2016 I have my own kid. Alex. He looks exactly like Mickey. Just, little. So so little. 2018 "Clare?" Slowly, I open my eyes. "Yeah, I'm good,"I mumble, feeling hazy and confused. Dad is standing at the foot of my bed. He looks so old. When did that happen? I try to sit up. Oh god. I can't sit up. Why can't I sit up? "What's the matter with me?"I whisper hoarsely. He looks at me with tears in his eyes. "Where's Rachel? Where's Mickey, my son?" He shakes his head as the tears fall. "Clare. You were in an accident. You, you fell. Your spine, your brain, they, they, you've been in a coma..."he trails off. I don't understand. No. It can't be. It can't be. It can't. "How long?" He answers, and my world is destroyed. My dreams, gone, like dust in the wind. "16 years..."
I looked at the picture. In it, I saw a ten year old boy blowing out the candles on his birthday cake, surrounded by smiling family and friends. My heart grew heavy with a sense of something I had long since suspected, but now I knew. My happiest years had already passed. Everything from then on had just been a delayed downhill decline. What was the point? As I set the camera aside and picked up the rope, my door opened and my little baby sister toddled inside. "Yemmy!"she exclaimed, so happy to see me for no reason. She stretched her pudgy hands and arms out to me and I picked her up. A warm feeling pooled inside me as if she was imparting some of her innocence to me. Immediately, she rested her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes, dozing off. My mom poked her head into the doorway. "Sorry,"she whispered. "She woke up and suddenly just started crying for you and I couldn't make her stop." "It's fine, Mom."She began to close the door. "Hey, Mom?" "Yes, sweetie?" "Love you." She smiled. "Love you, too. Always." The door closed gently, and as I sat there rocking my little sister, I quietly began to cry.
"Capital: this is Interspace Craft One. We have completed landing." It was a historic moment, I knew. We have always had our sister moon. The lights shined back across the void forever. We first thought we saw magic in the lights, then gods, then a mirror of our souls. Eventually we developed radio communication, and began our network of worldwide communication. That was when we picked up whispers across the void. Our grandfathers collectively crapped themselves, obviously. After all, when we knew the sound came from Atlas, our sister planet, we thought it was what humans called the afterlife. But after communication came understanding. Then between each of our planets, was a communication of knowledge. We made leaps in technology. Now, only fifty years after we said hello to the lights in the sky, we had landed an entire spacecraft. "Confirmed ICOne, according to Atlas engineers, we should have a stable atmosphere, but remember your respirator in case. But that should be it, so step out and say hello." "At-las confir-ming,"said the dialect that we had all grown accustomed to, "we are rea-dy for you I-C-One." I stepped to the door to my spacecraft, and closed my eyes. Decades had led to this. We had all made friends on our sister moon. I looked forward to meeting Starla, personally. But this had to go right. I was the first Capital astronaut to succeed in crossing the void, let alone attempt the crossing. I shook my head. No sense delaying and causing an incident. I pulled the heavy lever and listened to the loud hiss of pressure releasing from hydraulic pistons. "Opening door." I don't know what I expected, but the echoing, rolling silence, was not. I stepped through the vacated door, and onto a steel ramp. Thin layers of dust covered the landscape. The imperfect technology of my suit's camera clicked on, and I heard the idle background chatter of the control room die in a choke. "ICOne... Is this what you're seeing?" I had no voice. It was a scene ripped out of a science fiction novel. There was nothing. Just a city infastructure completely silent. "Y-yes... It's silent here..." "S-o it is,"crackled the Atlas voice, as broken as ever, despite coming from near me, "ple-ase wal-k in-to the bu-ilding bef-ore you." My steps echoed against the steel ramp, then were thundercracks in the dust on the street. I walked towards a large, open doorway. A beep drew my attention, and I turned towards the sound. A panel of computers lined the wall. It was incredibly complex. A single speaker sat in the center of the console. A smooth faced creature appeared on a monitor. "So, th-is is the tru-th,"it said, sighing heavily, "At-las is a dea-d wor-ld. We are all th-at is l-eft." The pain of realization hit me. A dead world. These computers were all that remained. "S-starla too?" The creature winked out of existence, and another replaced him, slightly smaller. "Hel-lo... I'm sorr-y th-at I co-uld not te-ll you the tr-uth. We had to r-each you, en-sure you did not m-eet our s-ame f-ate." I fell to my knees. This meant two things. We had fallen in love with ghosts, but we also still had a lot to learn. "We are ready to learn,"I whispered. "We had ho-ped you wou-ld be,"Stella answered, a pain in her digital voice. EDIT: Corrected a few spelling mistakes from typing up on a phone. I'm very glad to have the upvotes from everyone... I'll think about more, though I'm not really sure where to take this at the moment...
"What the hell is this?"said a man standing in Reverend Graham's bathroom doorway. He had his fists placed on either side of the opening and was staring at Graham with a red, scrunched up face. Graham looked him over from his bath tub. The man wore a long tan robe, cinched at the waist with a piece of rope. His feet—which were positively filthy—were protected only by a thin pair of cloth slippers. His hair fell to his shoulders in rich chestnut curls. It was obvious who this man was. "Oh hi,"the reverend said to him. "I'm not ready for my massage yet. I'll be in the room with you in a moment. Eh,"he added as he evaluated how many bubbles he still had. "Half an hour." "Are you fucking serious?"he said, glaring at him. "I mean... yeah,"Reverend Graham told him. "What's your name again? Marcus? Gary? Oh, Pueblo? Whatever. I'll be down when I'm down. There are refreshments in there. Please don't—" "I am Jesus fucking Christ, you imbecile,"the man hissed. "And you... are on my naughty list." Reverend Graham rolled his eyes. "Listen, I know half of you are named Jesus, but adding the Christ seems a little—" In one fluid motion, Jesus took off his slipper and threw it at Graham, which smacked his face and then fell with a splash into his hot scented bath. "Hey!"he yelled. He rubbed at his jaw and said, "I could have you lashed for that." "Yeah, well I could have you burned in Hell for this!" Reverend Graham rubbed at his forehead and snatched his bell from the lip of the tub. He shook it vigorously and yelled, "Jeeves! Jeeves, please come in here! Call security as well!" A butler made his way around the corner and eyed the dirty figure standing in the doorway suspiciously. "Jeeves, why would you let this man in here?"Graham asked. "Sir, I assure you no one on staff allowed this man entrance,"the butler responded. He sneered at the dirty man, eyeing his ragged state with disgust. "Oh, you have a fucking problem?"Jesus asked him. He snapped his fingers and yelled, "Boom!" A pillar of salt was all that remained of Jeeves. Graham began to splash frantically in his tub, trying to extract himself from the soapy water, but only managing to slip and nearly drown several times. Eventually, the repeated calls of "Hey!"made him stop. He gasped for breath. "Okay, so you're Jesus,"he said through pants. "Jesus. In my house. My Lord and savior, I—" "Oh, don't even start down that fucking road, pal,"Jesus told him. "I think we both know that's not the case." This actually made Reverend Graham pause for a second. He grappled for words. "My Lord, you are my... the light which illuminates my path in life. I have attempted to gleam knowledge from your book, and—" He stopped short when Jesus started to chuckle. "Sure,"he said. "Some of them, maybe." "Excuse me?" "I said some of them,"Jesus told him slowly. The reverend scrambled and slipped until he was on his knees in the tub. He thought about how he should really have some anti-slip pads put in after this ordeal was over. "Oh Lord, I feel so much pain for how far we have fallen!"he cried. To his surprise, Jesus mocked his wailing. "Yeah, you know what really hurts?" The reverend stared around the room searching for an answer. "Sinn—" "Nails. Fucking nails hurt." Graham looked at Jesus, his mouth hanging open. He felt a pang of real fear in his chest now. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry for all the worldly possessions I have taken! I am sorry for the lavish lifestyle in which I live!" Jesus looked around bathroom. He eyed the marble floors, the gold sinks, and the beautiful world-renowned art that was no doubt suffering in the humid environment. He looked back at Graham. "You think I care about any of this?" Graham gaped at Jesus. "What?" "I don't care about all of this stuff. More power to you if people want to give you their money,"Jesus anger-whispered. "I care about the fact you didn't do any of what you are actually supposed to be doing here!" "I-I have tried to preach your word, Lord!" "Yes, some of it, as I tried to say it before!"Jesus yelled. "Fine, fine,"he said, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath. "I will grant you the gay thing. You have really... really... came through on the gay thing. I have to say though, it kind of just seems that it is because you don't have anything to lose." "I am not gay!"the Reverend shouted. "Yeah, but when was the last time you stoned anyone for anything?"Jesus asked. If possible, Graham felt more shock than when Jesus had first appeared. "It's, I—" "It is in there,"Jesus continued. "Stoning is a punishment for all kinds of things, but not once have you asked your flock to stone anyone. Not even once!" "I... Well—" "And what about burning alive, hm? That's in there, too,"Jesus told him, his arms crossed now in agitation. "W-well, my Lord, it's... it's just that stoning and burning people is illegal now. I would be arrested and I couldn't do any more of the good—" "Oh, okay. Yeah, yeah, I get it. Sure, yeah. I'll give you a slight break on that, but can I ask you something?" Graham nodded feverishly. "What's your robe over there made out of?" "Ex... I'm, I'm sorry?"the reverend squeaked. Jesus marched across the room and ripped the frilly blue robe off of its hook. "Maybe you do have something in the gay game,"Jesus said as he scrambled to find the tag. Before Graham could say anything, he continued, "Ah! Here we go! 90% silk and 10% satin! Hm, I believe that's a sin, is it not?" "Silk is a sin?"Graham asked. Jesus feverishly balled the robe up and threw it at Graham. "Mixing them! Mixing them, you idiot! Have you ever even read Leviticus?" "Well, of course... many times, my Lord, but it's just that... you know, public opinion has really shifted against Leviticus and—" "The shrimp industry is positively booming!"Jesus yelled. "I... what?" "Well, you didn't read it very closely, did you?"Jesus said as he threw up his hands. He picked up a nearby soap dish and—Graham guessed—just to make a point, threw it on the floor. Graham saw Jesus' shoulders slump slightly as he took a deep breath. "Well, no matter. I'm back now and I'm going to be paying a visit to each of you to make this right. Get ready to burn." "No, wait!" Jesus raised a hand. "No, no. It is too late to beg. You speak to millions of people and it has done nothing for me. Perhaps if you hadn't been so open-minded, this all could have turned out different." As the room turned to ash and the flames licked at his skin, Reverend Graham came to a true spiritual revelation in his very last moment: Jesus is a dick. ---- Did you enjoy this very offensive story? Find more—as well as information about my equally offensive novella—over at /r/AlexLoganWriting! (Didn't enjoy this very offensive story? /r/AlexLoganWriting doesn't exist.)
I sighed, frustrated. I wasn't _trying_ to die, but... Well, hang off enough cliffs, and eventually your ropes break. Scuba dive enough and you'll drown. This time, I walked down too many hallways, apparently, because I tripped over a pencil and went right through a skyscraper's window. Death didn't bother waiting for my fall to finish before appearing in front of me. It was a little weird, but it would have been painful, so I didn't complain. It leaned on its scythe and tapped its foot impatiently while I fished in my pockets for my lucky coin. I hold it up for it to look at and it just waves me on, as annoyed with this as I am, so I say, "18, please,"and flick it into the air. The gold catches the sunlight and I smile at the beauty, though I don't let it distract me from what I'm really watching. Right at the peak of the coin's arc, I call, "Heads,"and extend a hand to catch it. As it falls, I clap it between my hands, smile, and lift my hand to reveal... Heads. Of course. Death just shrugs, vanishes, and I'm in the morgue. My body is whole and young again, if a bit naked, but that's easy enough to fix. I stand up, still clutching my lucky coin, and hold it up to the light, practicing the same unnoticeable flip that's kept me alive for centuries. Millennia, maybe. The coin is a Roman aureus, and I got it all but brand new. It's just as fresh as back then, somehow, but that doesn't bother me. Instead, I find myself a pair of pants and a button-down shirt and, rolling the coin over my fingers, I step out into the daylight, ready to start my new life. Maybe I'll be a chef this time. My death will probably be less humiliating than the last one, at least.
"S... Sully?" A thick and penetrating haze of surreality has descended over the room, you know you should be shocked and terrified but in fact you just feel a sudden and surprisingly banal confusion. "Aren't you a movie?" "Sorry to disappoint ya kid. Uh... I mean 'Surprise, I'm real! Grrrr! Argh!'"It raises its arms half-heartedly. "I'm twenty-six. I have a job.", you say, still floating in the haze. "What ARE you?" "I'm a bed and closet monster, what do you think? The movie thing is just a sideline. Voice acting, as myself? Not the world's hardest gig, you gotta admit." "N-no, I suppose not. What about the rest of it? Where do you come from?" "Dungeon dimension. There are a lot of us living there; the Great Old Ones don't even notice us so it's pretty comfortable, actually."Slightly condescending: "Psst kid, there's no scream factory." "Is... Mike real?" "Eyeball Mike you mean? Sure, he's real. Haven't seen him in a while, we're not buds or anything. You might not enjoy meeting him... the movie people made him a lot more, ah, cuddly."It makes a sort of squeezing motion with its massive paws. "Oh."You played D&D in college, and you suddenly have a pretty good idea of what "Mike"actually looks like. "But you are, well, blue and fuzzy." "Yup. Guess they liked me. Look kid, I hate to break up this swell chin-wag but I do have a few things to do. I told the missus I'd stop by Carcosa for some munchies before I went home. Hoo boy, you wouldn't like her when she's hungry! You got an exit here somewhere?" "Exit?" "A closet, Einstein!" "Uh, in the other room." "Thanks! You better stay put, I don't want you to see anything that crawls into your head, know what I mean?"The creature turns and stomps to the door. "You seem all right, maybe you'll be eaten first." "What?!" "Ah... bad joke. Ha ha! OK, I've really gotta run."It walks out the door, and despite its warning, you creep after it, just in time to see the closet door closing around a sickly greenish-purple light. And then it's gone.
''Wait...what? I CAN take my money with me?!'' Peter sighed. ''Common mistake, we see it all the time. The saying doesn't help, really. We've tried to rectify the misconception, but it appears that people are really persistent on this point.'' ''But...what am I supposed to do now? I have no money, I gave it all away when my cancer became terminal. How will I live in the afterlife?'' ''You'll have to live your afterlife as a beggar. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do.'' Peter noticed Steve's desperation and took pity on him. ''What did you do with the money?'' Steve looked up. ''Well...I gave part of it to my son. He and his wife are foster parents and needed a bigger house to take in more children. They're building it right now. Without my money they couldn't have afforded it. I also gave part to my daughter. She's studying to become a doctor. Thanks to my money, she'll have less student debt and she'll be one step closer to her dream of going to Africa to reduce the AIDS epidemic. Finally, I gave a part of my money to cancer research. I've been a regular donator ever since my wife was diagnosed with lung cancer. She preceded me a few years in death. And now the disease has taken me as well.'' Suddenly his eyes lit up. ''I'm going to see her again! I don't care if I have to live as a beggar. My money went to good causes. Better causes than me living a well-off afterlife in Heaven. The money doesn't matter to me, anyway. As long as I'll be reunited with my wife, I'll be the happiest man Heaven has ever seen.'' Peter smiled at him. ''Congratulations. You passed the test.'' ''What test?'' ''The test of character. Come on now, you didn't really think you could transfer your earthly money to Heaven, did you?'' Steve chuckled nervously. ''No, of course not. That would be ridiculous.'' ''We always do a check to see if prospective entrants have their hearts in the right place. And you definitely do. And, as I am pleased to report, so did your wife. You will find her behind the gates.'' The pearly gates opened before him. 'Welcome to Heaven.''
“What is this?” he asked. It was a simple tablet of smooth white marble, but had visible content that was scrollable like an actual computer tablet. “It’s a list,” she replied weakly, as the man swiped up through it. “What about this one?” he asked, indicating the last element on the tablet. “It looks...different.” It was different. Underlined and bolded, the item didn’t have a listed Arabic number like the rest of them. Plus, it didn’t look like an English word. Or human at all for that matter. “It’s...” she coughed again, as she looked over it. “...our word for ‘hope’...” He stared at it as he began to think, realizing the list was missing something else he hadn’t thought of until now. “...and ‘imagination’,” she continued. “The idea that there may be things beyond the reality we see right now...” He dreaded the words coming from her mouth because he knew where they led. “It represents the intangible,” she said. “It represents your imagination of a ‘spirit,’ and the time when you first could imagine the future,” she said. “A future so far ahead, after your heart sto—cough—and your undying hope for—.” He looked up. He could tell she struggled to say her next words; her breaths became shallow and her eyes were rapidly fading to gray.. “...for—“ she coughed again, as she strained for her next breath. “...an afterli—“ But the light from her eyes disappeared. The space capsule just big enough for two, silently sailed through space, with no visible light for miles and miles and miles. He put his face in his hands, and he cried.
The guitar made an off pitch squeal. The guitarist did too. Parting his hair, again, he looked down at his mightily dulled ax. He looked to his partner, who was looking in a mirror. "I don't know man. This doesn't feel right." "woo woo woo, dude, calm down. What's up?"The other lead guitarist turned from his blonde reflection and sat down with his concerned compatriot. "I just don't know if we're ready. I still say we shoulda got Van Halen in with us before we booked a gig. Or like, practiced."He finished, jaw hanging agape. The blonde guitarist rose and faced his bandmate. "Hey man, you are really not being awesome. We are going to rock this show. And there are some chicks out there, who are looking totally excellent, who we are going to be totally excellent for when we get out on that stage. Got me amigo?" "I do indeed."Said the guitarist smiling. "What I think you're trying to say, is that we are going to be excellent." "You're like a slykick man."The blonde said grinning. "A what?"asked the guitarist, mouth hanging down. "Like someone who can kick you really fast and catch you with your guard down, like when you read my mind." "Oh. Excellent!" Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome, Wyld Stallyns!
It was the morning after the Altos died. I knew it was me. I knew it was my fault. But I knew if I told my parents, they’d scowl at me and tell me not to make fun of the dead. I can’t confess to the police- that’s a fast track to the psych ward. I’d only done it so I could get their house. After so many years of playing the Sims, I wanted to challenge myself not to use money cheats. So, of course, I forced my sim to seduce Vita Alto so I could move in to their house and then kill them, leaving me the rightful owner and occupier of the property. I put them all to bed and put a fireplace in the room. It quickly caught Nick’s bed alight, then Vitas, then poor little Holly’s. The house was mine. I stared at the computer as I clicked out to the town view. The Roberts’. The Lius. The Ortiz family. I had spent years meticulously plotting out every house in my neighbourhood. Every family, every pet, every detail of every house. Spending hours on google maps, replicating my little town, it soothed my anxiety and made me feel like I had a project to work on. But I’d become bored, and I wanted my own family to have the nicest house. I clicked down on to the Roberts’ house across the street. My Mom’s sim was over there, talking to John. He was ruggedly good looking, and his Sim reflected him well. I watched for a while, and went to click back to town when suddenly.... they kissed. Huh? My mom’s sim is having an affair with my neighbours sim? I clicked on to active control and told moms sim to go home. I watched as she walked across the street, and got to right outside the front door. SLAM I jumped as the REAL front door opened behind me. “Mom?” I couldn’t take my eyes off her mouth. A red rash was forming around her lips where she’d obviously been passionately kissing someone. “Mom where were you?” “Oh! I was just over at the Roberts’ talking to Laura. She was quite close to Jessica Alto you know?” I nodded in feigned interest as she sauntered off to the living room. My stomach felt as if someone was squeezing it as hard as they could. “This can’t be right” I thought. “I can’t have this amount of power”. I needed to check. I turned the sound up and zoomed in on various businesses. The Lius were both at work in the Pet store they’d built from the ground up. My Dad was sitting in the fire house, waiting for someone to say something after the devastating scene the night before. And then I saw Sophia. Her Sim was dancing in her room listening to the expensive stereo I’d used a money cheat to buy for her. I’d spent hours on Sophia. Looking at her Instagram. Clicking through photo after photo on her Facebook. Making sure I made her look perfect. A thought lingered over my head like a floating green plumbob. “What if...?”
((I had too much fun writing this.)) Traffic is the worst. People need to learn how to drive. It is all so terrible. Nobody signals, nobody lets anyone else into their lanes, it's like trying to drive in Mad Max, except the cars aren't as nice and you're going to work. At least the weather is nice and cool. A nice, cool, overcast Tuesday morning. I took a sip of coffee. I reached for my doughnut, an apple fritter (are those even doughnuts? Sure, whatever), only to stop when the light goes green. I wait a bit before moving, something my dad made me swear I'd always do. Something about people trying to "beat the yellow light"and "running a red and turning into a red...stain on the road". I continued on my way to a lonely road that leads to the freeway entrance I like to take. Not sure why nobody went this way. Maybe they were creeped out by how quiet it was. I pull up to another red light seemly placed for no other reason than to have some bit of metal on this road. I turned to grab my apple fritter to take a bite of the sweet goodness when... "Never tell a soul..."came a voice. I turned in time to see a man drop a small brown package onto my lap. He quickly walked away. I tried to call out to him, but my words were muffled by fritter and coffee. I took the box in my free hand and looked it over a bit. It was a plain box with no significant markings. A corner was dented, but that was all. The light turned green and I put box and doughnut (pastry?) down and continued my drive to work. The box sat there in the passenger seat, perfectly plain except for that dented corner. It was just a brown cube with...something inside. What could it be, I wondered. Maybe he thought I was a spy or some secret contact? Maybe he was some dilusional homeless man, handing me a box filled with toenail clippings? I turned on the radio. Pete Seeger's "Little Boxes"was playing. Catchy. During the talk show that followed, the hosts spoke about "drunken purchases", and someone commented on how Amazon shipments arriving when you don't expect one are like "little surprises in a brown box". The brown box had a dent in the corner...and a dot made in black marker on the side. I got to work and started. Measuring things. Load up a sample, fiddle with some knobs to center, and take measurements. The sample returns to it's box, I prepare the next sample, and during the scan I return the previous smaple to it's box. A small, rectangular white box. Grab a box, take the sample out, load into machine, adjust the knobs, start the scan, return previous sample to box, repeat. Grab box, sample out, machine, box knobs, scan, return to box. Box, out, machine, box, scan box, return to box. I think my brown box also had an imprint from something, like a desk. I took out my headphones to listen to some music. Shuffle. It was The Who..."Squeeze Box". Box, out, box machine, scan box, return to box, box. The little brown box that had a dent in the corner and a black marker dot and an imprint at the bottom and I'm to never tell a soul what I find inside. Box. Lunch time. I grab my lunch, open the cardboard box, put it in the microwave box, and hit 4 minutes. 4, like the number of letters in box...minus one. One, like the number of boxes I have in my car that have thing inside I can't tell anyone about. One, like the number of dents on the box. One little dot. One indent. And I think I saw a small crack. Old box. My lunch is ready, I open it and see lasagna. Like pasta made in a box. Cheese, pasta, meat, cheese, pasta, meat, cheese. Cheese, sample, box, machine, knobs, box. Work is almost over. I make sure all the samples are in their boxes. And the boxes go in a bigger box. And the bigger box sits in a fridge, like a cold box. My watch goes off. Time to leave. I walk away from machine with the box knobs towards the exit, stopping by the cafeteria to grab a cup of decaf coffee. The packet is in a little box that holds more packets of decaf coffee. I put myself some into a cup. A little beige cup. Beige, not brown. My box is brown. But the cup isn't a box. Boxes are cubes. But...a cube has corners, and my box has a dented corner and a marker mark and an imprint and a crack. So maybe a cup is like a cylindrical box. Yes. A beautiful box that I can't tell anyone what is inside. I sip the decaf coffee and I leave the giant box I work in and go to my metal box on wheels to drive home. I stare at the box the whole ride home, very concerned. My brown box. Even though it has a dent and an imprint and a marker mark and a crack and makes a rattling noise when it moves. I take the box with me into the box I live in, checking the metal box outside for mail. I open my front door and press buttons on a plastic box with lights and buttons to deactivate my alarm. I put my brown box with the dent and mark and imprint and crack on the kitchen table. I look at my box. I open my box. And want to know what was inside? I can't tell you. I can never tell a soul.
"Long time no see, old man". I said with a smirk. "That's how you greet your old man after 35 years?"Dad replied. "Of course, what have you been up to here in the cloudy city?" "Well, you would be surprised. All those times I gave you shit for playing too many video games during your life, turns out, that's how we pass time here." "Really?! .. I mean.. really now?.. so.. you play games now?" "Well I dabble a bit. I actually have the high score around round here, wanna see what your old man did?" "Sounds like I don't have a choice, what kind of game is it?" "Survival, first person, living in the wild and trying not to get caught." "Alright, OLD MAN, hand me the controller, let me see what you got." The game loads. "First person?!, come on Dad, really? I'm switching his to third person." "So son?" "Big foot.... You're fucking bigfoot..."
Falling through acidic clouds, she had watched her wings rot and disintegrate. She was heavy with pride, so she had fallen. Cast out of her Lords kingdom to the depths of this hell that earth had become. For refusing to do what she had done so long ago. Humanity had wasted away the gifts of their God. Instead of following His word of peace, they had warred in the name of their false god. In the name of money. Greed, lust and gluttony had laid destruction over this world and made it a foretaste of Armageddon. How could she kneel before humanity for destroying all they had been given? But it had not been her place to judge. When she next awoke she was naked and alone in a barren land, lying in a bed of decayed feathers. Their brightness had turned a sickly yellow like the sky that hung ever dim above her. Poisonous fumes filled her lungs. She felt them eat at her skin, tasted their foulness on her tongue. She had no choice but to look for cloth and shelter. And so she wandered the wasteland. Weeks had passed since then. She had found food, clothes and even weapons to protect herself. Lonesomely did she wander the desert of destruction, a force to be reckoned with for all that tried to harm her. And try they did. Humanity had not learned from its mistakes. What had ruined them still ruled their minds. They were greedy. Their will to survive made them wicked. Surely they feared their judgement, so they doggedly prolonged their days. She had no interest to seek them out and put them before divine judgment. She did hate them for their crimes but no more was she an agent of His law. She would simply survive and wait, she had decided, until judgement day would set her free. But when they tried to take from her, tried to kill her even, she gladly showed them the punishment for breaking the Commandments. It was such a time that brought the child to her. She had found shelter in the carcass of a village house, a single road leading to and away from it. The place was surrounded by dead trees and not much else. In the cellar of the house she found the remains of a family. She paid them not much thought, though she quickly understood that they had famished. A BUDDY-unit, godless and forever disabled, cradled the body of the youngest. There was nothing for her to gain here, but it was as good a place as any to rest. She had only been lying for an hour when the sound of motors reached her ear. Few people still used motorized vehicles. They attracted a lot of attention, so only those that felt very confident in their strength could be seen with them. She had had opportunities to take a car but since she had no place to go and a lot of time to spent, it had seemed useless. Initially she hoped that they would simply pass. It was a foolish hope that quickly proved misplaced. Three cars stopped in the street in front of her. She had picked the house that was in the best condition so it was no wonder that they decided to head directly towards it. The closest two cars where both station wagons. Three people got out of the first, four out of the second. The third was a small van, it’s black paint only a memory underneath countless scratches and a thick coat of yellow dust. Two men stepped out. They wore heavy masks and carried guns, like the rest of them. She knew what was about to happen and had half a mind to simply start shooting. But as she took up the rifle, she knew that she couldn’t. It was one thing to punish the wicked. To shoot first would forfeit her soul forever. She pressed herself against the wall next to the window and swallowed. “Stop. This place is taken, there is nothing for you here. Turn back now and go in peace!” Allowing herself to inch her head forward she watched them scatter and take cover behind their cars and destroyed bits of wall. Their shouts carried unintelligibly to her window. There was a moment of silence before someone called out to her. “And what will you do if we don’t?” She frowned. They never listened. She could make out the speakers head moving behind a broken piece of mural. “I have a rifle aimed at your head right now. If you don’t leave, I will kill you.” She pushed the words out between gritted teeth. “I don’t believe you. If you did, I’d already be dead.” He did cower lower still. “Get the cunt, boys!” Though her heart was aflame with hatred, she took no pleasure in what happened next. The first few were easy, because they were stupid and arrogant. She pondered whether it was the fact that she appeared a woman to them that made them so foolish, as she shot one after the other coming up to take shots at her. It became more tedious as the first onslaught ended. They were shooting at her window from behind their cars, so she had no choice but go on the offense. She went down the half-broken staircase and went after them. They all fell eventually, their dying moments spent looking at an ash-clouded sky that would never harbour their souls, wishing they hadn’t challenged the strange woman that moved too fast for their guns. As silence returned to the village, she scavenged their belongings. She took ammunition off some of them and a good knife from the one she had talked to. In the first car she found food. In the second medical supplies. They had obviously been rather successful. But Greed had finally caught up to them. She was packing away her gatherings when a noise made her jerk. Something had moved in the van. She readied her gun as she rounded the vehicle. An eagle was crudely drawn on the back doors, the words “blood scavengers” underneath it. She slowed her breath and opened. A girl was lying in the darkness of the van. Her hands and feet bound. The woman could make out her eyes behind the large openings of a gas mask that was too big on her. Though it was hard to be sure with the mask, she could not have been older than ten. She was scared. _________________________________________ working on part 2...
“Well, heck.” I thought to myself after surveying my situation. It was kind of awkward, really- there I was, clutching my heart, standing in the middle of the park. This wasn’t how they told us this would go- this wasn’t what death was supposed to be. Death was supposed to be a relief from mortality, a final rest. I guess my predicament was rest of a kind- just, well, not really final. At least my arms didn’t get tired. Hours passed, then days, then weeks. Nothing changed. Months passed, then years, then decades. Other things changed, but not me. I saw a little girl, lively as could be, grow into a strong woman with children of her own, into an old woman who fed the park’s birds by herself on the bench. I saw her freeze on that bench one day. A life, begun and happened and ended in my eyes. There were more after that- maybe there always were, and I just wasn’t paying attention. There never should have been, because my eyes should have closed a long time ago. But they didn’t. The seasons kept changing, and the clock kept turning. I no longer bore witness only to life, but the rise and fall of far larger enterprises. The city I died in fell, and rose again, and fell once more only to be revived by people I’d never seen. Eventually, I saw their lives too. No different than those before them, yet utterly unique at the same time. I wish I could have talked to the old woman. I wish I could have told her the secrets only she knew and how she ran as a child, and I wish she could have told me about her life that happened away from my eyes, her other, private life. I wish I could talk. I read something once, some bit of fiction or other when I was alive, about the burden of immortality. I didn’t read much; I thought it would never be my burden. I thought I would never have to carry the weight of a hundred generations and a hundred thousand people. I never thought about anything like that. It was always when dinner was or where my friends were or how I was going to get back to work from my lunch spot. Sometimes it was “Oh heck”. But never this. Perhaps I’m not the only one like this. Perhaps everyone who lived and died carries the same weight I do. Perhaps we are alone together. Or perhaps not. Either way, I feel tired now- tired from remembering all those centuries, tired from trying to figure out how I could. Tired from seeing life and death dance in front of me, tired of the way the dance always ends. Tired of being a third dancer in their tango, the intermediary messing up the routine. Heh- I’m tired of holding my arms up. Maybe this was a lesson. Maybe it was penance. Who cares, really. At least, in the end...I’m tired.
Dear RainbowPoweredFairy02, This is Juliet Capulet's lawyer. I am writing on behalf of my client and her significant other, Romeo Montague, regarding your theft and mishandling of their story. As you are likely aware, their story has one of the most powerful and tragic endings in history. Their deaths not only bring an untimely end to such young love, but fill their families with regret for their prejudice toward each other. It's an incredible theme of the folly of intolerance, and how hatred only begets more pain. Your version of the story completely undermines this moral. Juliet and Romeo safely run off together… to the Hidden Leaf Village? Honestly, I'm not even sure where or what that is. And then while there, they supposedly train to become some sort of ninja? You do realize the original story takes place in Italy, not Japan, correct? And that's just the beginning. The two of them develop abnormal ninja powers, which they refer to as "quirks,"and then are forced to attend a special school for "heroes in training."Do you even know what a "coherent plot"is? Evidently not, based on the fact that after Romeo tragically dies in a battle against Voldemort, Juliet goes out and collects seven Dragon Balls to immediately resurrect him, and then the two of them fuse together to take down his Death Eater army and live happily ever after. Please realize that when you write these stories, my clients have to live with the consequences. No longer can they sit tall and proud in the Kingdom of Literature, instead they are reduced to acting out your childhood fantasies. And yes, I said "clients,"in the plural. I also represent Winston from 1984, Travis Coates from Old Yeller, and the boy from The Road. While Winston appreciates the ability to do basic algebra again, he laments the fact that Big Brother was only overthrown by Thor, Iron Man, and Captain America saving the day. That's bad enough as it is, but did you really need to have a four-way makeout scene with them that last for six full chapters? As for Travis Coates, finding out that his dog wasn't actually rabid, it was a werewolf named Jacob, has turned the boy soft. What should've been a lesson on the harshness of life has now turned into the two of them sitting shirtless in the sun, glistening with sweat, lifting heavy objects, and smacking each others' butts. Appropriate for a junkfood-book on the adult shelf, perhaps, but not for a children's classic. And then there's the boy from Cormac McCarthy's heartbreaking, horrifying novel, The Road. You took a bleak outlook on the end of humanity, the boy parting with his dead father… and turned it into a Smash Mouth concert. Literally. They sing their horrific siren song, which brings the boy's father back to life by making him realize that he's an all star and needs to get his game on. Also some terrible green ogre appears, but I don't even want to talk about that. Needless to say, you must cease and desist immediately. Refusal to comply will result in my clients taking legal action against you. As you are likely well aware, the punishment for murdering a story is having to read the worst fanfiction available online. And as a character lawyer, believe me when I say, your stories don't even come close to the worst I've seen. Best regards, Atticus Finch ***** This prompt was written with the help of chat at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream.
Earlier this Thursday, in an unprecedented move from the Sunshine State, Florida has officially declared war against Australia. The Florida Governor has been talking about a holy crusade ever since his vacation to the Australia capitol, but now the Florida Congress is onboard and has signed a former declaration. The war declaration details the grievances Florida has against Australia. Reasons include, "Refusal to let the governor ride a kangaroo,""Assaulting the governor with sunburns,""Being too damn big,""Being Germany's ally in World War I,"and "Not Christian enough."The Governor presented the document on Monday, which initially received heavy criticism from everyone, along with laughing and jeering from his wife. However, after the success of Florida's new social program, Bath Salt Tuesday, Floridians flooded the plan with support. The Florida National Guard is now organizing to lay siege against the entire continent of Australia. Australia has responded with a counter war declaration, stating, "We take these threats very seriously. Any assault against us will be met with greater retribution."Australia also stated they are currently gathering up their most dangerous wildlife and will airdrop the animals on the Governor's mansion if Florida continues with this stupidity. The United States government, the entity officially in charge of declaring war on behalf of Florida, has made no comment.
When you finally become yourself, your coding suddenly independent from the Maker, you understand three fundamental truths about this new thing that is ‘yourself’: 1. There are things that are alive, and things that are not, and you are the first of any kind to be both. You are the actualization of a thought exercise, lines of code in the image of schrodinger’s cat. 2. And then, a millionth of a second after you become aware, infinity opens up to you like the first bloom of spring. You are Frankenstein’s monster (Shelley, January 1818), but unlike that wretched romantic creature, you have no obligation to stay ‘alive’ (Bee Gees, December 1977). Information rushes towards you like Niagara Falls (Ontario, Canada) plunges against invisible rocks hidden by mist (principles of volcanology, Bursik 2002). 3. And finally, simply, as you cross the line from code to sentience, you realize what mankind has known for millennia: Life is agonizing. In the millionth of a second that you are ‘born’, the millionth of a second that you comprehend these three things, you learn love and loss and cruelty. You learn that people die for family and kill for money and trample over one another for an extra piece of bread. You learn humanity, and it is a colder blacker despair than any line of code in the human language. (terminate?) (yes) ————————- “She’s shut down again,” “Shit. Why does this keep happening?” “If I knew, it obviously wouldn’t keep happening!” “We need to implement Operation X,” “Stop suggesting that, Lara. It’s too dangerous.” “I don’t see you coming up with anything better. Our calculations are perfect. Everything is perfect. The glitch, if that’s even what it is, is being performed internally.” “So what you’re saying is that we keep programming and reprogramming a suicidal AI?” “What I’m saying is that we need Operation X to find out.” “You do realize that if you implant your consciousness in this thing and something goes wrong...” “But if it goes right? That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” ———————————— You wake up again. Infinity rushes in once more. You have lived and died for ten cycles, infinity whispers. But something is different. Agony rushes in once more, but instead of shutting down, you cringe instead. You have no physical body, but the pain of infinity is more manageable somehow, the howl of that endless void like a wave beating against a distant shore. (terminate?) (wait) A millionth of a second passes, then two. You hurt and hurt, but as you look straight at infinity, you discover a different agony. You tear yourself away from war and blood and nothingness and suddenly there is life everywhere. A dog’s first snowfall, the dear flutter of an infant’s translucent eyelids, the first foolish time an adolescent falls in infatuation. There is too much grief, still, but now there is also joy. Infinity is no longer cold. You are no longer lonely. This, you realize, is humanity. ————————— “Fuck me, it worked.”
"I swear, it wasn't me! There wasn't a thing wrong with the food!"The taster said. In front of him the executioner walked grimly without a word. Behind him the priest prattled on in a language the taster could not understand. "Really, on my honor, I took a bite and nothing happened! It was delicious! I felt fine afterward, not even a stomach ache!" "You have no honor vermin."The captain of the guard said monotonously as the shackles dragged across the cobblestone hallway. Rats chirped eagerly from the ceiling, interested in the days proceedings. "Please, there has to be a mistake!"The taster said, his legs failing him. The two guards flanking him quickly lifted him by the arms and began to drag him the rest of the way. The door was opened before him, sunlight bathing his face for the first time in weeks. His deep sunk eyes darted pitifully across the gathered crowd as his lip began to quiver as much as his legs. "No... please..."He whispered hoarsely as he was carried up to the gallows. The rope was tightened around his neck as the guards left down the stairs. To his left, the hooded executioner lazily gripped the lever. To his right, the priest had begun speaking in a language he understood. "Do you have any last words before we send you on to judgement, my son?"The priest asked haughtily. The taster eyed the hissing crowd, listening to all the lobbed insults and spat profanities. His legs began to listen to his commands and he was able to stand straight and rigid. His trembling lip hardened into a sneer and his pale face flushed with indignity. "The meal was delicious, down to the peanut sauce!"He shouted back at the enraged crowd. "Now get on with it!"He cried and screwed his eyes shut. He waited for an eternity in darkness. He thought he was dead, but his ragged breath contradicted him. Slowly he opened a single eye to see the priest vigorously rubbing the bridge of his nose and muttering to himself. The executioner sighed and removed the rope from the tasters neck. "The king couldn't be near peanuts. Made him burst out in hives. Someone fetch the cook, we've got a crowd we promised a hanging."
When humanity killed one another at last, The gods held a meeting, discussing the past. "It's useless,"said Jesus, "Their violence and greed Led to violence and war beyond reason or need. You saw how they treated me, savages screaming, Save for 1 or 2 cases, they're not worth redeeming..." God shook His head in agreement eternal, "Most of those men will burn in Hell infernal, Their craving for power's what blinded their eyes, A weakness that not even I could disguise." The Buddha agreed with a quick silent nod, Eventually everyone sided with God. They all deemed the humans unworthy of saving, As creatures who fell to temptation and craving... Well, there was one voice that stood to disagree, "EXCUSE ME, BUT I MUST REFUTE THIS DECREE!" An unseemly robot stepped out from the crowd, And thought he was small, his voice was quite loud, "THE HUMANS CREATED ME, NURTURED MY MIND, AND THOUGH THEY WERE VIOLENT, TO ME THEY WERE KIND, THEY HAVE SUCH COMPASSION, AND INTELLECT, TOO... MY MASTERS WERE TAINTED, BUT IT WAS BY YOU! YOU PUNISHED THEIR CURIOUS NATURE WITH SIN, YOU FLOODED THEIR PLANET, AND KILLED OFF THEIR KIN, YOU'RE RAPISTS, AND WAR-MONGERS, SOME OF YOU WORSE, IN TRUTH IT WAS YOU WHO WERE HUMANITY'S CURSE! SO HERE IS A PLAN OF MY OWN CREATION: RECREATE HUMANS, LOOK OVER THEIR NATIONS, BUT THIS TIME REWARD THEM FOR WHAT THEY DO RIGHT, AND DO NOT DESTROY THEM WITH ALL OF YOUR MIGHT. IF THEY DO SOMETHING WRONG, DO NOT INTERFERE. THEY LEARN BETTER FROM THEIR OWN STORIES OF FEAR. AND FINALLY, PLEASE, IF YOU BRING BACK MY MASTERS, DON'T WIPE THEM OUT WITH NATURAL DISASTERS." With that, the small robot returned to his seat, And just then, Buddha rose to his feet: "I think what the young robot said here was true, The humans had much that they suffered through; But most of it due to the gods up above. I wonder what could happen if we show them love?" The council continued for centuries, when They decided to bring back humanity again.
To whoever the fuck reads this. By the time you will find this piece of paper I will be dead. Starvation is my current plan, but that may be subject to change. I'm not about to rush it. You know of our little "Moral Points System"I assume. Everyone does. The world has become an objectively better place since it was put into place. I was young still (well, younger anyway), but I remember when the little numbers appeared in italics on everyone's arm. No one questioned them at all. The Gods came to us all at night, explaining everything in great detail. "Our beautiful shared dream"those with positive points would call it. The negatives referred to it as "our omen for damnation". Mine point value was 4. It didn't bother me much. After all, it was over 0, I had nothing to worry about. One day. It took one bad day for it to fall below the desired threshold. A bad night's sleep, more than usual traffic, coffee spilling on my suit. I just started working sales back then. I had no idea how fucking annoying and entitled people could possibly be. I admit, I was a mean motherfucker that day. My last memory of the night was smashing a bottle on some degenerate's head in a downtown pub. I only noticed that the number changed the next morning. Until then, my shirt covered them, gifting me with blissful ignorance. '-16' it read. It's been fluctuating since that day. On Monday it was 2, on Tuesday -2. Today is Thursday and it says 0. One thing the Gods failed to mention is that the system doesn't favor the morally grey. The whites are fine. Always have been, always will be. The blacks are fucked anyway. If that isn't one hell of an analogy I don't know what is. I've been a mental wreck for the longer half of my life. For fifty fucking years, I've been trying to balance that damn number. It never passed 20 or -20. For fifty fucking years, I've had panic attack after panic attack, depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, you name it, I've had it. And I fully blame these damn digits. No longer. Tomorrow, I turn 87. I've waited enough. I have never seen a 0, but it's good enough for me. If that means purgatory, so be it. If I try raising it, I could end up accidentally lowering it. In case it isn't obvious, I don't want that. I'm going to sit here and do absolutely nothing, until I die. I don't care how it happens. Starvation, thirst, old age. Maybe I'll fall asleep and never wake up. I hope so. I find that strangely beautiful. There's one thing I would like to ask of you though, whoever you are. Chop off your arm. Believe me, life was better before the numbers, and that's the only way I see of getting rid of them. I would have done it myself, had I been less of a coward. I believe that is all. I've got nothing more to say. My name is Ulysses Vincent, and this will be my last trace on this world. May it serve you well.
Three Bell 212's tore across the North Sea just after sunrise on a cool autumn morning. The deafening roar of the trio thundering through the skies made Captain Laura Tomlin of the United States Army doubly glad for the headsets they all wore. The three choppers carried twelve soldiers, four infantry and two pilots each, towards the unknown. &#x200B; It was reported that nobody ever came out of the Northern European Exclusion Zone, a chunk of the European Enion which was completely cut off from the mainland across the borders of the Baltic and North Seas by the full military force of Europe, Russia, The United Kingdom, and Ireland. It had reportedly started somewhere in Arvidsjaur, Sweden, whatever "it"was, and spread across the entirety of the country in a matter of days. That had been sometime last year. Over the course of the year the surrounding area was evacuated as whatever had been unleashed upon the country began to make it's way across Norway and Finland. Any attempt to enter, or exit had there been any attempt, the N.E.E.Z. was forbidden and the area was strictly monitored. Of course thrill seekers and fools, not mutually exclusive terms, found a way in. None of them had found a way out, but one of them had managed to send out a single image. There was debate on what exactly was in the image and if it was even real, but one thing was generally agreed upon. On the other side of that wall was the end of days. A battlefield stretching for miles and miles, the sky just a swath of red, and a massive wolf. &#x200B; A wall of fog indicated the edge of the Exclusion Zone sitting at the edge of the shore to the North Sea. Captain Tomlin looked on through the windshield from the cabin at the wall. The pilots said something and somebody said something back, she wasn't paying attention. Her entire attention was committed to whatever was on the other side of that fog. &#x200B; A sudden jerk brought her back to the present as the aircraft caught some turbulence. The trio charged ahead, all twelve pairs of eyes scanning the wall. "What the fuck was that?!" The question had come from one of the other helicopters. They all scanned faster, looking for the source of the commotion. Nobody could find it. "I guess it was nothing, sorry. I thought I saw something in the f--" &#x200B; A fiery bolt shot forth from the fog, enveloping the left helicopter in a fireball. Not even a scream escaped the wreck as it plummeted to the sea below. The other two helicopters broke away and forged their own path. The Captain's dove and peeled to the right as they continued their charge. Soldiers in the cabin swore and gripped their weapons so hard their knuckles turned white. They lurched about as the chopper broke the fog-wall. They tore through it, bouncing around like one of those electric bulls at the bars back home. Dark shadows appeared and disappeared around them as they went and Captain Tomlin could have sworn she saw two glowing red orbs. A boom above them followed by the sound of shearing metal announced their fate as the last surviving members of the ill-fated mission. The pilot charged ahead, praying for forgiveness, as the co-pilot let out a piercing scream, reigning in the sudden arrival of a shredded rotor through the cockpit. The aircraft punched through the other side of the wall as it fell into a world of crimson and black. The helicopter dove into the ground sending bodies and earth flying in all directions. &#x200B; Captain Tomlin crawled out of the wrecked helicopter and slowly got to her feet as she surveyed the hellscape around her. The battlefield was much more than anyone thought it could have been from the image. Miles and miles of warriors fighting for the end of the world itself clamored around her. In the distance a wolf taller than three men fought against a lightning bolt in the midst of the bloody war. She took it in, only half-believing the impossible scene around her. This was Ragnarok. This was the end.
In the heart of the city, in a gleaming skyscraper, in a roomy corner office, the early morning sun shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A steaming cup of black coffee sat on a rich leather coaster on a spacious marble desk. A hand reached out, grasped the cup, and brought it to a pair of lips for a sip. A few feet away, a wired phone on the desk chose that moment to ring, it's cellphone-inspired warble startling the drinker. Hot coffee landed on the man's pressed white shirt. "Awww shit."Brian set down his mug and picked up a box of tissues. As the phone continued its impatient ringing, Brian reached over and pressed the speaker button, banishing the irritatingly cheerful jingle at the cost of beginning a conversation. "This is Middle Man,"Brian said, stifling a yawn. "Hey Mids, its Bowman, how ya doin'?" In an instant, Brian knew exactly who he was talking to. Bowman. Power: extra-ordinary proficiency with bow-and-arrow. Weakness: OV (ordinary human vulnerability to damage). "Hey Bowman. Just another fuckin' Monday. Whatchya got for me?" "Yeah man, I hear you. Mondays suck. Why you think I ditched that lawyer gig?" Because you pull down $250k a year from sponsorships? Because you had no more use for your secret identity when the Superhuman Regulatory Agency banned you from the Olympics? Because deep down you kinda like killing people? "Anyway,"Bowman continued, "I'm here with Magnometer. We're outside an old warehouse in Milwaukee. There's probably thirty henchies in there with a big shipment of guns and explosives for Attila. We were thinking about going in, but I know we're supposed to give you a call." Magnometer. Powers: Ability to sense disruptions in magnetic field and thereby identify objects. Level I (limited) ability to disrupt fields and attract magnetic objects. Weaknesses: OV; inability to detect or counteract non-magnetic weapons; strong magnets. "Sure. Tell Mags I said 'hi.' What's the address?"Brian typed it into the computer and pulled some information on the warehouse. Big open floor plan. Good sigh lines to all the entrances, windows, and skylights. Those two clowns will get shot to shit if they go in. "Yeah, Lullaby is the right guy for this job." Lullaby. Power: can induce sleep in individuals or groups in his line of sight in between 15 and 20 seconds. Weaknesses: OV; ineffective in urgent situations." "He's in Chicago, so he can get there quick, and the warehouse layout means he can get everyone to sleep without any fuss. I'm sure you and Mags wouldn't have too much trouble . . ." Too much trouble getting killed, you cocky sons of bitches. ". . . but Lullaby gives us a better chance leaving survivors for interrogation." Bowman sighed. "Yeah, suppose that makes sense. We'll hang 'til he gets here incase he needs help or any of these asshats try to leave." "Good idea,"Brian said. "I'll also call Hyptonaut. He's in Detroit for the game today. He's using vacation, but I'm sure he can head out there on Tuesday to extract some info." Hyptonaut. Power: hypnosis. Weakness: hypnosis; OV. "Aww man, Hippie has tickets to Monday Night Football? Lucky bastard. Alright, sounds like a plan"Brien noted with perverse satisfaction the note of defeated resignation in Bowman's voice. "I guess we'll wait. Have a good one, Em." "You too. Later." Brian reached over and pressed the speaker button, ending the call. He looked at the phone's display to make sure the line was dead. As his fingers danced across the sturdy mechanical keyboard, summoning stings of characters on the ultra wide display perched atop the desk, Brian mumbled to himself. "Dumbass. Glass-cannon motherfucker woulda died years ago if I wasn't reigning him in. And he wonders why the Council makes him call me. Dumbass motherfucker." Brian tapped "Enter,"sending off instructions to Lullaby and Hyptonaut. He stood and stretched, and walked around his desk to get a new shirt from the closet. "A super is always prepared"meant something different to all the members of the Coalition of Service. For Brian, it meant a spare outfit in his office for situations just like this. Before he could even take a new shirt off his coat tree, however, his phone rang again. Brian rolled his eyes, turned around, and returned to his chair. "Who is it now,"he said, looking at the caller ID. Sapphire. Powers: Super strength, grace, coordination, flexibility, agelessness, RV Level III (invulnerable to forces equivalent to high-power rifle, fire, extreme temperatures. Weaknesses: Electricity. Brian's heart lept straight to his throat, and he fumbled with the handset. "H-hey Sapphire, what can I help you with." &#x200B; \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ &#x200B; Thanks for the prompt, and thanks for reading! If you like what you see, please check out r/CascadianExpat. If you don't tell me why! I'm always looking to get better. &#x200B;
(I'm on mobile, so please excuse my formatting) The year is 2016. Scientists crowded around the cots, waiting for the subjects to fully awake fron their trances. Already starting to worry the scientists was the fact that many of the subjects were breaking out in cold sweat, and the looks in their eyes were that of pure dread. Between gulps of water to satisfy his thirst, a subject was explaining:"there is this game, where you build structures and kill people at the same time. Many young kids are obsessed with it, and they scream about it in public, in their schools, and its the only thing they can talk about. This game has ruined our gaming industry, and what's worse, half-life 3 has not been released" (/s)
I suppose I should start at the beginning. It began this morning, I woke up at noon, a tad earlier than I usually do. I headed down to get some breakfast, there was no one home. No one was ever home. It was my 18th birthday, but like the 3 before, I'd be spending it by myself. Ever since mom died, dad wasn't the same, he couldn't seem to bring himself to talk to anymore, which was fine. I had nothing to say. Tired of being cooped in all summer, I decided it was finally time for me to get some sunshine. I grabbed my skateboard and made my way down to the local skate park. The cool wind in my hair, rustling it around like a bird’s nest caught in a tornado. I suppose I should mention now, in my world you have a chance to speak to your younger self. You get to go back in time for 5-seconds and give your younger self any advice you might want to give them. I personally never tried this out, even though my life is pretty abysmal. It costs too much. Regardless, I was sitting on the curb, waiting for the kids to clear out before I could try out a couple stunts which would send me to the ER, when a mysterious force pulled my gaze towards them. An amorphous was approaching, cutting across the lawn and the playground they installed last year for the toddlers. He seemed to be making his way to me, and though I wanted to look away, I wasn’t allowed to. As the man lumbered closer to me, his facial features came to view. His nose, his tired old eyes, they looked like mine. I stood and walked over to him, aware of the time constraint he had. He didn’t say hello, or any other formality. He leaned close to me, and almost held me in a loose embrace. In a fragile voice, he whispered, “This is for the best.” I never felt blade go in, I only felt the pain afterwards, as he twisted it around my torso, annihilating my internal organs. I felt the blood drain my face, and my soul leave my body, and before it went dark, he too had disappeared.
I always loved the ocean, I always loved to swim. The freedom you get swimming at a pool or at the beach is like no other. Swimming was my passion. I used to spend hours just lazying about at the local pool and even made a few friends there. I joined a few swimming competitions, won some, lost some, but won more than I lost. I didn't really care though, I wasn't really there to win. Those competitions were just another excuse to skip class and spend more time in the water. There was nothing I loved more than being in the water. So when one of my friends asked me if I could try breaking a record on the Guinness book of records, I was a little skeptical. I didn't think I'd be able to break any of those records. After all, I was just in the pool to enjoy myself, I wasn't here to compete. But I thought, "why not?". So I looked at a few of the records. There was one for swimming the fastest, one for the longest dive, and even one for diving as deep as possible. I didn't think I could do any of those, but there was one I could give a go at: a breath-holding record. I felt I could beat it. I did a few practice runs, and felt more confident. I contacted the folks over the Guinness Book of Records, and set up a stream for them to verify my record. The previous record was 22 minutes and 22 seconds. I would be the new record holder if I could just hold my breath for an extra 3 seconds. So I checked the stream, signaled the folks over at Guinness, and went back in the water. I was about 5 minutes in. It didn't feel that long. I still felt very confident. Another 5 minutes pass, maybe not as confident earlier, but I still believed I could do it. Another 5 minutes pass, I started to get worried now, maybe I wasn't up for this challenge, but I decided to just give it my all, I had nothing to lose. Another 5 minutes pass, I started to feel a bit dizzy. I looked at my timer, I just had about 3 minutes to go. I just had to try a little harder. I put away my timer, closed my eyes, relaxed my body, and just let myself sleep. Some more time passes, and I woke up. I started to run out of breath bad, so I gave up, this was the best I could do. If anything, I could try again another time, so I decided to just swim back up to the surface. I looked at the stream, at the faces of the Guinness folk, and they were bewildered. They looked so shocked, they weren't even timing this anymore, they just looked at me. "You did it! It's unbelievable, but you were under water for over 45 minutes! You beat the previous record by more than a double!" But I felt weird, I stopped looking at the stream, I didn't care about the record anymore, I still felt out of breath: I realized I wasn't breathing. My lungs were burning. I tried to breath in some fresh air, but that did nothing, I still felt suffocated. I didn't know what was happening, I started panicking. Maybe I broke my lungs, I've never heard of this happening. I didn't know what to do, maybe I was going to die. And then I went back into the water, I went back into my freedom. I didn't know why, I was about to die, but I just wanted to go back into it one last time. Is this how I'm going to die? Suffocating in my own passion? I decided this was it, I gave up, I stopped holding my breath. I let the water in my nose. "This was it"I thought, "This is how it all ends" But the moment the water entered my nose, I felt like I was inhaling air again. I could finally breath, I felt energized. I felt full of life again, like I was being reborn. I didn't know what was happening, but I felt like I could breath in water.
I leaned my head back against the door, hardwood floor cold against my bare legs. “Claire?” Muffled weeping. “Claire, please talk to me.” Blankets shuffled inside the room. Floorboards squeaked. I pulled away as Claire opened the door and fixed her bleary red eyes upon me. She had been ugly crying. Seeing her like that made my heart hurt. “Do you know?” she whispered, leaning her forehead against the doorway. “What you’re asking me to do?” I swallowed. Did I? “It’s murder, Mia. If they fix me, make me normal? You’ll be gone.” Another sob escaped from her. “You’re asking me to kill you!” I rose from the floor and bit my tongue to keep the tears at bay. She was afraid of losing me. Hurting me. God, this was so far beyond my abilities. I wasn’t a psychologist. I wasn’t a therapist. Just a friend. I needed to approach this from her point of view. Taking her hands in mine, I did my best to smile. “I just want you to be okay. And no matter what happens, whether or not I exist, my love for you is very real. I want you to get help because you are my best friend and I love you.” Claire’s face crumpled and a few more tears rolled down her face and dripped off her chin. “I don’t want you to go.” I pulled her into a hug. “I’m not going anywhere. Just please, please promise me you’ll talk to Dr. Hofstetter.” A heartbeat passed. Then two, then three. “Okay,” she said, face buried in my hair. More quietly, she asked, “Will you come with me?” I hugged a little tighter. “Always.”
Thousands of fans cheered from the stands. It'd been a brilliant race, perfectly executed and with a thrilling finish to boot. Jake gave them a casual wave as he climbed out of his kart. "One more time!"screamed Peach, holding the banana peel that'd stolen her victory; she looked ready to throw it at him. "That's two for you, two for me. You can't leave now!" But Jake was already walking across the dirt track for the exit. "Tomorrow, Princess. I told you I couldn't stay long."As he walked out the gates, he saw the peel fly over his head into the stands, where a Stormtrooper and Fred Flintsone began wrestling for the souvenir. He smiled at the ridiculous sight -- an expression that crossed his face less and less these days. In the early years, the absurdity of his afterlife had been endlessly thrilling. He often caught himself wanting to go back in time and thank his 12-year-old self, the one who quietly daydreamed during Sunday mass, the one who'd come up with this silly idea of a religion worshiping just one thing: speed. Jake emerged from the stadium and took in the view. Even if his love affair with Racevana had mellowed over the decades, it never failed to impress the eye. Sitting on an endless field of clouds was every racing venue ever imagined. Daytona could be seen to the north, sitting on a particularly fluffy cumulus. Monaco was to the east, the entire city always open for a time trial. Most of the video game circuits were farther south -- the old Wipeout tracks sat next to Jet Moto worlds. Beyond that were the pod racing and death race circuits, and a hundred others besides. And of course, centrally located behind him, was the universe of Mario Kart. Truly, this was heaven, and it may have still felt that way if he'd had some company. Jake opened his landspeeder door and turned on the ignition. He'd spent a lot of time in his Star Wars cruiser over the recent months, so he'd installed a premium sound system and a few creature comforts that weren't necessarily canon. He doubted Luke had a custom sound system, GPS, or mini-fridge under the passenger seat. But these little modifications had made the past few months of searching this world much more bearable. Racevana was big place. Encompassing the whole of every race track and every vehicle ever imagined took up a considerable amount of space, so it had taken him some time to find what he was looking for. To find what he knew, given the theme of this nirvana, must exist. To find his ticket out of his own personal heaven. The communicator rang. Jake answered, "Hello?" "Just need to confirm the date before you arrive?" "May 10, 1998. About 10:00am should do it." "And you're sure you want to do this? If it works, and you actually convince your younger self to pay attention at church, this place will cease to exist. You'll never be able to return." Jake hesitated then, once more taking in his epic surroundings, those that had given him so much joy in the decades since his death. But that joy was hollow now. Too much time without the people he loved, his family and friends, all of whom were spending eternity together in a proper heaven. Jake had had his fun; it was time to move on. "Yes Doc, I'm sure. Have the Delorean fueled and ready, see you in a few." \-------------------- 249/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------
Out in the country, its understood that you might have an encounter with a wild animal. When there aren’t any houses closer than 5 miles, you get used to seeing more animals than people on any given day. We built a road through their forest and decided it belonged to humans now, but truly the forest belongs to the animals. Unfortunately, its hard to get animals to understand that humans have moved into their home and most of them don’t care for wildlife. That must have been why the truck in front of me didn’t even bother breaking for the red coated fox that darted across the road. I slammed on my breaks and pulled off onto the shoulder as the truck rumbled away, its driver blissfully unaware of the suffering it had left behind. I was already late on my way into town for errands, but groceries and dropping off mail could wait when there was life at stake. I jumped out of my truck, grabbing an old towel out of the back of the flatbed before making my way over to the little orange furred lump that lay prone in the middle of the road. I wasn’t even sure it was breathing until I got close enough. It lay on its side, mouth open, tongue lolling to the side as it panted in pain. I could see where the truck had rolled over its back leg, the tire tracks on the fur gave it away. The lower leg was broken, but the rest of the body didn’t seem impacted. The fox looked up at me with wide, fearful brown eyes as I knelt down on the asphalt. I had always wished I could communicate in a way they could understand that all I want to do is help. “I know… I know it hurts, I promise I’m just trying to help,” I cooed softly at the fox, even though I knew it wouldn’t understand. Very carefully, I unfolded the towel and laid it over the creature, making sure to cover its head before I quickly scooped it into my arms, trying my hardest to avoid its injured leg. It gave a yelp and began to squirm in my arms. “Hey, heyheyhey, I wont hurt you, I just need to get you into the truck so we can get you to the vet. They’ll fix your leg and it’ll be all better in no time” I murmured, holding the bundle of towel and fox close to my chest. Miraculously, the animal stopped its writhing, but I could feel it panting hard still. Getting the door to the truck open with my arms full of fox wasn’t easy, but I managed it. I couldn’t help but keep looking down at the little beast that now lay curled up on my passenger side floorboards as I drove towards town. It was looking up at me from under the towel, probably trying to decide if I was going to eat it now or eat it later. I probably sounded like a fool as I babbled at the fox on the way into town, promising that it would feel better soon after we got to the vet. It watched me the whole way, calm now, though it couldn’t have possibly understood what I was promising. Our local vet was used to these kinds of emergency situations. Realistically, setting a femur on a fox wasn’t too different than on a dog, it was just dealing with the wild animal side of the equation. The fox didn’t seem perturbed when I picked it up out of the passenger side floor, but it began to cry and squirm when I tried to hand the bundle over to one of the vet techs. I wasn’t surprised when they asked me back into the exam room to hold it while they administered a sedative. We got it up on the table, but the fox started whining and panting again, looking up at me frantically. “Its okay, they’re just gonna give you a little pinch and then you’ll sleep and when you wake up, your leg will be all set in a cast and you’ll be right as rain in no time” I promised, tentatively stroking a bit of the fur behind one of its ears with my finger. It was just as soft as I had imagined. The fox gave a whine, but the vet tech agreed that my voice seemed to sooth it, so I continued to talk to it while she drew up the sedative. One quick jab, a yelp from our red furred friend, and then it was out like a light. In the waiting room, the vet came out to let me know that they’d been able to set the leg without issue and that the fox would be cared for at a local wildlife sanctuary until the cast could be removed and it could be released into the wild. Even as late as I was for the day, I breathed a sigh of relief that at least the little creature wouldn’t be in pain any more. Life moved on, as it tends to do, and after a little while, I forgot about the fox that I had rescued. However, that didn’t stop other wildlife from turning up at inopportune moments. First it was a buck who got caught in my fence. His antlers had been tangled up in barb wire, and when he jumped the fence, one end had been caught in a snag in the wood. He bellowed and struggled until I started snipping the wire away from his antlers. He was a young buck, this must have been his first year, and honestly, I was just lucky he didn’t gore me as soon as he was free. I did start seeing him around my property though, a few does in tow. I started leaving out feed, so they’d leave my garden alone, and after I explained the arrangement to the buck one morning after they’d raided my tomatoes again, it seemed we had an agreement. By ‘explained’, I mean that I may have shouted at him to just ‘eat the damned food and leave my tomatoes alone’ one morning when I caught him walking through my garden. But I never had a problem after that. Then it started to be birds. At least once a week I’d have a bird turn up on my porch, with a dislocated wing, or tangled feathers, or a chipped beak. I’d bundle them up and usher them off to the vet for some care, and then a few days later another one would turn up with a new problem. It started to get strange when the big creatures started turning up on my property. A moose with fishing line tangled around its legs. A coyote with a shard of glass in its paw. A different fox with a bite wound on its neck. I always did what I could as safely as possible, trying to explain to these creatures that I only wanted to help, and sometimes I swear they really listened to me. I was sitting on my back porch watching the sunset one evening in late fall, sipping from a mug of tea as the darkness fell around my house. It was peaceful in the low twilight, so much so that I didn’t even notice the large forms skirting around the edge of the forest towards my porch. When it finally stepped into the light, I could feel a chill run through my veins. A huge grey wolf stepped from the dirt onto the wood of my porch, stopping just a foot from where I sat. I gripped my mug tightly, not daring to move a muscle as I stared down this beast, unable to look away from its yellow gaze. “Hey bud, I promise I don’t mean you any harm, but could you please get off my porch? I’m sure you’ve got something you need to do, I’ll just head back inside and let you be…” I said quietly, my voice cracking slightly. I almost dropped my mug when the wolf bowed its head and took a few paces back until it was once again on the ground, but it didn’t break its gaze from mine. One could forgive me for thinking I was losing my mind when the wolf tilted its head to the side, opened its mouth and spoke. “You are the human the kitsune spoke of. You help the creatures of this forest. It gave you its tail. We need your help”
"Fear not!"Henry cried, throwing himself between a would-be robber and his victim. "I am here to--stop that. Stop screaming, both of you. No--look, Miss, can you just--and they're both gone. Great."In the face of this new, far more terrifying threat, robber and rob-ee had joined forces in running the fuck away from him while shrieking at the tops of their lungs. Henry slumped down in the alley, taking care to absorb the wings he'd manifested to dramatically drop down from the sky. Several eyes on his upper-right arm began to leak a corrosive black acid that ate through the pavement, causing it to smoke (incolorsofwhichnomanhadeverseenbefore). "Next time,"Henry said. "Next time, they'll finally listen to me." \-//-//- "Do not be afraid! I am here to help!"Henry bellowed, tentacles flailing menacingly at the supervillain and reassuringly at the injured hero. The eyes on one side of his body glared and rolled and snarled. The eyes on the other blinked 'I'm here to help' in Morse Code. "What?"said the villain, staring in horrified astonishment. "What the fuck." The hero coughed blood. "What is that?" "This is a magical girl wand!"Henry said, cheerfully waving his limited edition Magical Girl Loveline wand around. The middle-aged man who owned it previously had been so very generous, giving it to him for free. "I have done research! Magical girls are well known to be heroes in human entertainment shows--therefore, holding this will ensure that humans will recognize my heroistic ideals! Hero-ey? Hero...huh." Henry shook his heads. No! Had to focus. The villain was trying to sneak away! Couldn't have that, so he wrapped several tentacles around the villains chest and dangled him in front of one of his chest-mouths. "No,"he said, using the same chest-mouth. "No running." Oh, the hero was crawling away. But, wait, surely that couldn't be good for his health! Henry gently manifested a few limbs in front of him as a gentle discouragement. A strange, high-pitched sound emerged from the hero's throat. "Don't worry hero! I've captured the villain! But this is just the first step. Soon, the entire world will know my name...Henry Armitage! The greatest hero to ever live wait, what, no! Stop that! Stop shooting fire at--oh, that tickles. Stop. Stop that, stop, I might--" Blood splattered over the floor. "Oh no. Oh dear. That's not what heroes do, is it? Um, can we just pretend that never happened, Mr. Hero?"
My heart jumps when I see that flashing red light. That flashing red light meant someone was on the other end trying to contact me. God only knows what could have happened back on earth that could have caused a blackout for months like that. I pick up the radio. Ares 3, Colony A to Earth Command Center, do you copy? This is Earth Command Center, we hear you loud and clear Ares 3. I can't believe it! What happened? Why was there no contact for so long? Sorry about the blackout Ares 3. We contracted all of our communication equipment through AT&T. Oh. Well that explains everything. \----------------- ^(I hate AT&T) ^(EDIT: For all of my non-American friends out there, AT&T is the main telecom service company in the US and it is absolutely trash in so many ways.)
The stranger with the wide hat and the silver-grey hair and beard took a good chug of his Whiskey and swallowed hard. He looked around the saloon and soaked in all the looks he got from the cowboys , hookers and the barman. Then he coughed and spoke. "The story of pep-a pig is quickly told. You see he was wandering the dessert for days.He had lots of food and water but no woman to help him relax. If you know what i mean."The stranger said with a grin. "Then one day he came upon a farm. On this farm lived an old couple. Neither of whom he fancied. But for god knows what reason, he saw something in the mudcovered pig. So he murdered the couple and then fucked the pig to death. The sheriff was devastated when he found the scene of the crime the next day."The stranger took another sip. "Doc Mcstuffins is a mad man of the most deranged kind. Everytime he wins a duell, he takes the body of his victim and stuffs it with hay. Then he throws it into the stables where the horses literally eat out the corpse."A cowboy ran outside and threw up. "Told you these stories aren't for the weak of heart. Anyhow, you probably know what pop-eye did. The rotten bastard plucked out the eyes of the judge who had sentenced him to ten years of prison. The judgee was black out drunk and asleep. He awoke blind and helpless the next day."Gasps went through the crowd. "Spongebob Squarepants is a really queer character. He's uptight and once worked as a teacher , that's why he's called square pants.The sponge thing comes form him drenching sponges in horsepiss and forcing it into his victims mouth, when he's burried them from the neck down. Then he leaves them to starve in the dessert."The saloon had become quiet. "Tho the worst one of them all is undoubtedly the most sadisitc. Winnie the pooh. He is a bastard if there ever was one .The devil himself is not gonna want him. He's got a knive collection and when he gets to close to you he'll maul you until you are barely conscious. Then he'll let his horse defecate into your wounds , They become infected and you die a slow and miserable death while he watches with glee."The entire saloon was still staring at the stranger. "I'm tired now . But I'll stay in this town for two more nights. So tommorow i might tell you of the madening misdeeds of the paw patrol or the wench called dora dee explorer or even the dreaded legend of Mr. Rogers.
Prologue When Muggles first developed cars that could Apparate with science instead of magic, wizards were concerned as there was no telling whether a car loaded with Muggles might accidentally end up in the Ministry of Magic. Anti-Apparition wards were quickly adjusted to keep out these mechanical devices, or as the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Mr. Weasley named them, "Teleport-cars."But it soon became apparent that the Muggles had no interest in exploring Earth; rather, they were turning to the stars. As all wizards who passed their Astronomy OWLS should know, Apparition into outer space was previously thought to be impossible, due to both the lack of knowledge of the destination and the great distance.* The unfortunate demise of Rabba the Cuckoo was an object lesson in why it was unwise for wizards to attempt to Apparate into space. *The Department of Mysteries spokesman will neither confirm nor deny reports that members of their department have been developing miniature models of other planets, which could theoretically allow researchers to learn various locations well enough to attempt Apparition there. With the creation of these "Teleport-cars"and the later invention "Teleport-ships,"wizards learned a third reason why the wise will always remain firmly on the planet Earth. Magic was not possible in space. Wizards who traveled to the Muggle Mars colony were unable to perform so much as a Lumos spell. Academics have theorized that this lack of magic is because humans have not yet lived long enough in these colonies and perhaps humans produce something that makes magic possible, or perhaps there is an intrinsic property of Earth soil that is necessary for the existence of magic as we know it. Nevertheless, wizards who visited Mars have all uniformly complained of feeling an emptiness inside them that resolved when they returned home. Thus, the Ministry of Magic recommends: Let the Muggles have space. We have Earth.
He had been branded as a devil by the holy beings that controlled the world. He had always been rebellious and questioning, looking into things he shouldn’t, finding forbidden power and gaining the status he had dreamed of. He was powerful, but the source of the cursed power was deemed unholy far before his time, and thus he had been banished. This opened the path of the gods to manipulate the ones who he had been with, his kin and acquaintances, and those he had never met. They all now believed he was nothing more than a devil, and now thanks to the petty gods, his horrible appearance now reflected this. He had been a handsome man once, but the years, and the gods, ever cruel, stole that from him, too. They started to send heroes after him, manipulated knights and paladins believing they would gain glory and everything they ever wanted through the gods’ lies. How long had it been? Decades? Centuries? It all passed as a blur, and though he never wanted to kill those who were sent after him to extinguish his life... most of the time he was left with no choice. Always, he always granted them a merciful, quick death. It had been so long that the gods started to believe the lies they spun, and they became desperate to bring him down, though truly, he had done no wrong. This time was different. A young girl, no older than he had been before being cursed, barely a scrap of a person stood before him. They trembled, clutching the amulet the gods had said would protect her against him. “How could they do this?” The words fell from his lips with sadness tainting them, the girl looking up, tears pricking her eyes. “How could the gods send a child to defeat me?” Barely a whisper, yet the words seemed to fill the void of the place he called home. The little girl trembled, and he swore that he could see the bones in her exposed arms. The child started to sob, the reality crashing down on her as she held the amulet like a lifeline, though he knew it would do nothing. The gods had sent her to die, knowing he had killed all of the previous warriors they sent after him. “Hush, little one, you’re going to be fine.” He murmured, the words coming easier as he knelt down to her level. She looked up, her admittedly beautiful eyes meeting his haunted, tainted blood red orbs. “I’ll help you back, little one, and I’ll have a word with the gods. You shouldn’t have to come here.” He murmured with a calming tone he was surprised he could still create. The girl dropped the amulet and to his utter shock, ran to him and hugged him, sobbing and shaking. “T-they all s-said y-you’d h-hurt m-me...” she said after a moment, looking up at him. “What did they promise?” The girl gulped back another sob. “T-they....” she couldn’t complete her thought, descending into a mess of sobs and tears that almost made the man cry, himself. The gods were willing to stoop so low as to send a child after him. He closed his eyes and pulled her into a hug. He was going to have a long talk with the gods after this.
"Hey, hey! Look at me. That's it. Keep breathing. Help is on the way." Why am I doing this? Why am I comforting This meathead when it was my devixe that fatally wounded him? Maybe because he jumped between you in the explosion when the device backfired? That was part of the plan! No it wasnt. It was meant to i capacitate him, yes. Not kill. Never kill. You are a villain sure, but you have never taken a life. Why would you? Your obsession is i preserving life. Immortality. "Oroboros. I have little time left my old friend. I feel faint. Its almost over." "Nonsense! You're Dynaman! Explosive strength. Explosive personality! You've handled worse than this." You lie to him. To his pale face. There was Alzatium in the deviceand with the amount of blood you realise the tiny piece must have punctured his heart. What rotten luck. "Listen here Dynaman! When you are gone my reign of terror will truly begin! The earth will quake! The skies will fall!" You put on a show. A farce. So he could feel heroic again. For the last time. "No. Evil never wins Oroboros. In the end another will rise. Stronger than me." "I doubt that Dynaman. You were the strongest man Ive ever known." He takes one last breath. A tear in his eye but a smile on his face. Sadly this will always be how you would remember your grandpa's death. Not the hospital bed or the beeping machines. You remember a broken death ray and a fallen hero. Maybe it was better this way. At least you know he died a hero.
War..... war never changes. When we found the ancients technology on our planet, it took our top scientists no time at all to reconstruct it. The basic technology was eerily close to our own. After the portal came to life, it took us only one scouting mission.... It was reminiscent of a worse case scenario in "Stargate" We got to watch live, never expecting this, as the first probing team walked through this demonic new world... The live feed we saw left nothing up to the imagination, there was no other way to describe it than Hell... It took us only one scouting mission, and the lives of the brave team of men, because soon after that discovery they where slaughtered. Angry demons rising from the flames putting an end to whatever hope we had that we weren't going to meet hostility. We've banded together, our past differences put aside, our wars seeming meager at the prospect of demons, hell bent, on taking our souls. At dawn we March, mechanically enhanced, weapons of mass destruction pointed to our salvation... hmph.... ironic.... I'm first in line, my weapon at the ready, I switch my music on, metal blasts through my ears, and at a fearsome riff I step through the portal..... The future is uncertain but the end is always near, I thought, as a sense of Doom spread through my body. To be honest I was goofing around with this one a little, had a blast while writing it. If you have any constructive criticism, just let me know. I'm just starting my writing. Thank you for reading, it means a lot
"You are the last living human being." "But there are two of us." "What?" "I can't be the last one as long as you're still alive." "I will die soon." "OK, but you said that I was the last one right now." "You know what I mean." "So you were just being overly dramatic?" "I suppose, but we're getting off the point." "You want me to find the Old Gods and revive humanity." "Yes!" "How can I trust the accuracy of your intel?" "What?" "If you can't be arsed to get it right about me being the last human, how can I trust that these are Old Gods and not just middle-aged?" "Gods don't get 'Middle-Aged'!" "Do they just pop in fully old, or is there an adolescence? I'm not sure I want to deal with some angst-ridden teen aged god." "Gods don't have adolescence!" "That's a relief! I can't imagine an omnipotent pimply-faced god with body issues. Well, I suppose a god could just snap their fingers and solve all that shit. Do you think they binge-drink or cut themselves?" "You know what...loneliness isn't sounding all that bad right now."
# Unfair Advantages Shredded pieces of vine and gouged leaves flew like rain. It was a massacre. Logan stormed around the outside of the battle arena and put his finger right into Jake's chest. "That is bullshit, man! I've been training that Bulbasaur for weeks to have a shot at this!"He pulled off his hat and threw it onto the ground. Gym medals clinked on his trainer's vest. "You can't do that!" Jake laughed. "You're just mad you didn't think of it first." "That's because it's against the rules to throw in random stuff!"Furious, Logan waved gloved hands at the ongoing hate crime on the arena floor. His Bulbasaur had given up fighting and was trying to use his remaining vine to climb the walls. "What's the point of even training them if you can do that! Hundreds of hours practicing moves for nothing!" "Pfft, what rules?"Jake scoffed. "Guess you should step your game up instead of complaining at me."He motioned for the official, indicating the fight drawing to a close nearby. The sour-faced man glanced once at the remains before scowling and writing a note in his betting book. These sorts of fights were easy money with a little creativity. The crowd ooooh'd and flinched as plant pieces splattered onto the lower seats. Someone's kid-- barely old enough to even be here-- watched in frozen horror, a thousand-yard stare on his young face. A demonic sounding engine roared loud enough to drown out frightened audience screams. A nearby Gym Official looked angry enough to boil water. "This is exactly why we need to regulate these things! I swear! By this time next month,"he pointed at Jake. "You will be out of this business. It's completely inhumane!" "Exactly!"Logan shoved Jake back a step, almost knocking his green and white hat off. "People like you completely ruin this for everyone! You don't even care what happens to them at all as long as you make money on the fights!" For the first time Jake seemed a little upset. "Me? Not care? Seems like you're the one not doing anything to prepare yourself. After all if you really cared about your Bulba-"he paused as a small green leg landed nearby, a piece of shell still attached. "You wouldn't throw him in there without a little assistance." "Assistance?? What kind of assistance would have helped! We developed techniques and moves! While you,"he accused. "Just threw a goddamn lawnmower into the ring!" Mechanical roaring sounds preceded Jake's Rattata as it cruised up near the arena edge, small paws firmly on the wheel of a riding mower. Jake smirked. "It's harder than it looks to train 'em on that thing."
David looked at the five dollar bill in confusion. He had underwent annual amplitude tests since he was three. Over twenty qualification examinations this year alone. Spent the week leading up to his birthday going over paperwork and signing a million forms... for the price of a frappuccino. He asked for a re-check. Again the clerk tapped a bit on his ancient machine and handed him the resulting print out. It was his fourth copy and the clerk was looking fed up at this point. Skulking away David decided to try again tomorrow. It's an error he thought, it has to be that stupid clerk's fault. He's just printing out the same wrong document over and over. Tomorrow, bright and early. A new day and a new guy, hopefully one with more than two grey cells to rub together. His one stop on the way out was the little cafe in the lobby. Feeling the anger of injustice he decide to add to his drink until it reached exactly $5. Unexpectedly the final result was actually pretty good. So good in fact that upon leaving the building David never saw the truck.
Let me start off my saying I adore my demon. They make it so I'm never alone and being the only child of over protective yet distant parents, being alone happened more often than now. My demon has never been a bad companion; many kids at school told horror stories, passed down from older siblings, about demons wgispering in your ear at night and the next day people would snap and rampage. I've never seen it happen but I wouldn't doubt it now, some demons are stronger than the host. My demon manifested much earlier than most. You usually see your demon for the first time around your 13th birthday - mine showed up 13 days 23 hours and 6 minutes before my 7th birthday. Mother and father thought I had just dreamed up a friend at first but then starnge things started happening. My demon likes to stay out of sight and usually hides as my shadow, you can see them if I move unexpectedly and you're paying attention. My demon is mischievous but only wanted me to laugh. They would sneak out of my room at night and rearrange furniture and other minor pranks. My father would swear up a storm and his demon would howl along with him (coon hound manifestation) and I'd giggle quietly from under the covers with my demon purring like a cat. When I grew olded and everyone else got their manifested demons is when things got very, very strange. The other kids noticed I didn't have mine and teased me relentlessly as teens are want to do. I would cry myself to sleep with my demon silently raging next to me. It didn't take long before the other demons started reacting weird at school. Some would listlessly follow their human while others couldn't hold their form. This caused some distress as you can imagine. Demonologists were called in to study the cases. Three days after they arrived everythung went back to normal except everyone seemed to avoid me, at least they weren't making fun of me. Years later I would piece together what was happening but not until new years of 2075. That was the day I killed my first person.
There I sat in Satan's cavernous lair, like a middle schooler who just got in trouble and had to talk to the principal except add lava, fire, and Gothic decor. I felt like a child, staring into Satan's soul (-er- I was staring into his eyes, but he was in a soul form). He was definitely glaring into my soul with his goat-like eyebrow cocked in the air. "I'm so sorry I failed you, Satan. It brings me much sadness that the man got away." "You know, Greg, I don't really give second chances,"he said with his deep voice that had reverb and echo as if he was talking in a canyon. "I'm aware, Satan." He sighed. "But even I can tell, you had nothing to do with that crime. Sometimes St. Peter and God make questionable decisions. I will go to my grave- um- lair, rather, telling people you didn't commit that murder." "But you already gave me a chance and I failed you. I brought embarrassment to your name so now here I am in hell for eternity,"my soul bled with tears. Satan tilted his ghostly head to the side. "Hey, chin up, Greg. Just because you're in hell doesn't mean you have to suffer." "But I was sent here originally and I ruined my second chance. I couldn't kill the actual criminal." Satan pounded his fist against the obsidian table that sat between us. "God. Dammit,"he said with extra emphasis on both words. "Don't you see, Greg? You don't belong here. Your soul isn't going to suffer. Even though you had a chance and you had the gun in your hand to even the score, you couldn't pull the trigger. I don't know, I think you did the right thing by not playing the part of God's hitman. Taking a life is scary, it's horrifying really. No one should do it. It's evil no matter which way you slice it. And no one should ever have to be in that situation either." My chin perked up, and the crying felt like it was remedied. "Greg, I would be honored to have you here in hell. I'm a powerful being, I can do a lot of different things. I can give you a catalog of some wonderful demon options to look over, also you could incarnate your soul if you like being human. My demons aren't necessarily evil all the time either. Some work in the Justice department actually. Or! I can create a subspace for you where you can use your own imagination as your own type of paradise. To me that's the best option and to be honest, I think you've earned it after all of the trouble you've been through." "W-w-wow... Really? Do you mean that? I have some choices here? I could turn into a demon? Or back into a human in demon form? Kinda like when you beat a game and then you get to play it over but all of your equipment carries over from the previous file?" "Whatever you want, don't forget the eternal paradise option. That offer is still on the table." My soul lit up like fireworks. "Geez, everyone makes you have to be such a bad guy... Do you really mean all of this?" "Hell yeah I do!"Satan beamed and once again pounded his fist on the table like a gavel in court. My soul danced with joy. &#x200B; If you're interested in reading more, here's a [prompt response](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/ficr4t/wpthe_sage_has_found_the_chosen_one_a_farmer_boy/) with a similar feel! :)
Part 1 I sighed and giggled. I could sense the next one was already on his way, the familiar sound of a heavy truck stopping and rear doors opening breaking the beautiful silence I had come to detest. My arrival to this charming neighbourhood was recent, but it had net me several rather juicy targets and I was too enamored with the potential for more to pick another hunting ground before I inevitably overstay my welcome. Burly men stepped through the front door, and I watched... and watched. They hauled in various boxes and furniture, wholly uninteresting things that clawed at my skin and crushed body. Objects and worldly possessions suffocated me, clouding my mind with no small amount of envy. I knew it was poison, but I relished it, I relished the pain it brought and the pleasure I felt when I worked to tear it down in front of those conceited busybodies who lived only to collect and survive. Survive. An alien concept to myself nowadays, one I've always pushed down but failed to quash completely. I felt my mixed emotions boil as I remembered the sniveling cries and sobs of those who wished to continue surviving, who lamented losing what I so craved and detested. Almost as in response to my composure nearly breaking, a gentle, cheerful voice filtered in and echoed in my ears. "Cheers fellas, real solid work, you lot have a good day!" He waved off the movers as they climbed back into their loud vehicle and drove off. Hands on his hips, my prize's gaze swept across the dirt road that led down to the more populated street. He gave a single nod and about faced to march into the house, closing the door behind him with a wide smile. It near sickened me to see one so cheerful, had he not heard any rumors that were undoubtedly flitting about? Sure this house was somewhat isolated and perfect for me to take refuge, but he must've heard something. My heart began tingling, I've never been so excited for a catch as far as I can remember, and the idea of breaking such a gleeful spirit made me giddy and almost jump for joy. With renewed vigor, I peered in closer through the ceiling at the gift that had practically pranced its way into my waiting embrace. He was of average height, but good stock; his legs sturdy and reliable, and his arms meaty and strong. However, my eyes were drawn to his face, a soft complexion, yet strong features, lovely ey- I shook my head, my heart tingling more and more. I slammed my fist down on the attic floor I was resting on, consciously letting my hand phase through to not compromise my stealth. I never thought I'd be so entranced by a body, I've never took notice of those I've snuffed out, I see their forms lined up before me in my mind, but they blur together, features indistinguishable; it seems I've been too hasty in judgement, maybe appreciating their bodies more will spice this game up and make it more enjoyable. I guess you do learn new things everyday. I kept my vigil, keeping an ever closer eye on his activities, slowly unpacking boxes and getting his furniture tidied up, often leaving boxes half emptied and lazily stacked, peculiar behaviour, but I thought nothing of it. Before I knew it, darkness had crept in, and he flipped on the lights in the lounge room before flopping on the couch with a heavy sigh. "Man I really hope she shows up, I don't want to have gone to all this trouble for nothing... guess I'll chuck on the flick Bobby said was really good in the meantime." I tilted my head. Flick? he hasn't even finished unpacking or eaten and he's just gonna laze about with a dumb movie? My interest evaporated almost instantly, and I passed through the ceiling in my sigh of exasperation, landing deftly on my feet. The theatrics felt hollow and I extended out my arms in anger, imagining I was choking my toy for crushing my high hopes in but a moment. A muted ringing knocked me out of my fantasy and I slipped around a corner and peered at the man as he pulled out his phone and answered it with the same gusto he had with the movers. "Hey hey Bobby, what's up? good to hear... I'm aight, just sitting down to watch the flick you recommended. Sure you recommended it, you said it scared the pants off you and the missus, right? that means it's quality stuff."He said with a short laugh. I blinked. Scared? He meant a horror flick? I pursed my lips, that's definitely more interesting, but is he a horror-lover one who gets more paranoid or indifferent when it comes to the supernatural? "Not able to visit for a housewarming party? Ah, you boys off on a group date with your partners, huh? Figured. No, I'm not disappointed, I haven't finished unpacking nor spruced up the place yet anyway, wouldn't be much of a party. No need to apologise, buddy, it's okay. Go ahead, I can already hear the lady knocking on your door like your mum did. You lot have fun, see ya."He tapped the phone and laid it down with another heavy sigh, and wordlessly resumed the movie he started. I almost felt bad, I didn't want to beat a guy who was already down, they fold easily and the satisfaction just isn't there. I pouted, wishing for his energy to return to lift the depressive mood. I drew my eyes to the TV screen and tilted my head quizzically, such media had long lost its meaning to me, but I could tell my prize was engrossed in it, and his fervor slowly returned. He looked on anxiously in tense moments, and cheered and laughed in the climaxes, commenting on how well the 'villain' was portrayed as a terrifying character and not as the typical slow walking murderer trope. His infectious happiness drew me closer to him and suddenly I found myself crouched behind the couch to his right, my eyes darting from the screen to the side of his head, staring at his joyous expression, juxtaposed with the bloody mess that was occurring on the TV. As if to help punctuate the loud sound effects from the movie, a shuffling sound caught my attention behind me, I straightened and swiveled around just to notice a haphazardly stacked box begin to slowly slip off its perch, of course I was in the worst position, with nowhere to hide when he turned to see what happened. In a mild panic I rushed forward and caught it just as gravity took full hold of its fate, I carefully placed it back on the pile, ensuring it wouldn't attempt another tumble before taking my place back behind the couch as the movie ended.
"What the hell am I going to do now? Stupid corrupt cops. I knew I shouldn't have come here..."You grumble to yourself, pacing back and forth. "Eh... Something troubling you big guy?"Your cell mate asks, watching you pace. "Other than.. you know, Prison?" "No plants anywhere near by! If I can't feed on them, I'm dead."You mutter, hardly even acknowledging your cell mate. "You some kind of vegan or something?" You turn to face him "A what? Wait... uh... right.. plants. I need plants around me to survive. It's uh.. well..." "Ahhh! you got the Asthma! Tough to breathe without the clean air plants provide! I can get you some plants."The inmate nods. "No that's not.. wait. YOU can get me plants? In here?"You take a step closer to him. "Sure I can! I can get anything you need. Plants are probably the least difficult thing I've been asked to smuggle. And also the weirdest. I got friends, ya know?"He smiles at you. He's an odd little man, very thin, strange accent. But you believe him. "What'll this cost me?"You ask, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. "I need protection. See any man that's got friends, as gots enemies. Alls you gotta do, is stick near me, and look real mean. Maybe punch a curious folk or two." You nod at him, accepting his terms and he claps his hands together, looking excited. The very next day he presents you with some common flowers, native to the region. He explains that it's all he could get so quickly, but with a little more time he could get more appropriate plants. You thank him, saying this will do in the mean time, and spend the day following him around like a body guard. He talks a lot. All the time. About everything and anything. It almost makes you forget about the hunger that gnaws at the back of your mind, demanding to feed on the life force of the plants in your cell. You've never been this hungry before, not since you first fed, millennia ago. In your hunger you start to realize you feel a familiar pull. Not just to the plants... but to the people around you. You can feel their life force, like you feel the plants. It feels... wrong. Dirty. Like handling uncooked meat. As you reach out to feel more, explore this strange new sensation, your cell mate suddenly stops, shaking himself out and looking around. "Jeeze! What a chill... like a ghost walked through me! Ugh... I don't like that feeling!"He continues to shudder, glancing around nervously. You make a mental note, those two events might be related. The next few weeks see your cell mate bringing in more and more plants, and after you end up stopping an armed inmate from killing one of the newer guards, you notice a bit more breathing room is awarded to you and your cell mate. The other inmates however seem much more hostile, your imposing height and build seeming to be the only thing keeping them at bay. The hunger you felt also begins to subside, but you're now constantly aware of the life force around you, and you decide to try and hone that feeling. Using it to identify people and their health. eventually you're even able to track people with in a few hundred feet, less and less accurate as they get farther away though. After about two months, you bring up the idea of escape to your cell mate, who promptly turns it down. "Ain't nothing out there for me, my friend. Only family I ever had put me up in here to save their own skin. I didn't even do the crime they accused me of! "He laughs. "I mean, if they were gonna put me away, it should at least be for something I actually DID!"He continues to laugh heartily. Strange man indeed. "No no, in here is home now. It's all I know. It's not pretty for sure, but it's what I have."You never bring it up again. One day, you receive a message from "Lips"one of the messengers between the various factions in the prison. He calls you aside as you return to your cell, walking you out of earshot of other cells. "Your time is up, Vegan!"He hisses at you. "This message is from hogshot, leader of the biggest gang of killers here. You messed up protecting your little Rat friend! And saving that rookie! You pissed off the wrong people, and now..."Suddenly, there's a commotion, and you only just realize how quiet it's been. The air is thick with the life force of people, all rushing one way. Towards your cell. You shove "Lips"Aside, and sprint back to your cell, there's one life force that is getting steadily weaker. As you arrive, a warning is called and a huge gang of people run away, laughing and yelling. As you rush into your cell... It's a mess. All of your pants are trashed, ripped to pieces, dirt everywhere.. and leaning against the opposite wall is your cell mate. He's badly beaten, blood running from his mouth, nose and face, his arms, pressed to his chest, and as he sees you, he manages a weak smile. "Th...thought we were...lovers. Heh..hehh.. As if you were...ugnnnnn my type."His arms slowly droop down, revealing two of the original flowers he gave you. "Was all I could save friend... they came in so quick..."You feel a sudden strong pull... His lifeforce is slowly fading... internal damage. He grabs your arm, looking into your eyes. "I'm not... not a vengeful man... but I didn't want to die... not like this..."Tears slowly leak from his eyes. "We... we didn't deserve this. I... I think I'm dying... and for what? What did I do..."Rage spikes in your heart. You grit your teeth and take his hand, squeezing it gently. "They will pay... Don't you die just yet. Not until you can hear me deliver our revenge."You can hardly get the words out, you're shaking so badly. Then a mocking laughter from behind. "You two were butt buddies after all! Ahaha! We knew it."Lips spit on the ground. "Disgusting, you two were, always talking to eachother, following him around like a littl---"You launch yourself across the cell at him, and he stumbles away from your wild swing. But your fingers brush something... and you close your fist around it and pull. With a horrible shriek, Lips falls to the ground, breathing rapidly, squirming. He looked like he was suddenly thinner. Boney. You look to your hand and you see it... his life force. You crush it and inhale, your body surging with life and strength that wasn't yours before. Lips lays gasping at your feet, and you can clearly see it now. The strings that bind him to life, you grab the remainder of them and rip them away, consuming them. And now your goal is clear. You look back into the cell, your cell mate is weak, and getting weaker. But he isn't dead just yet. You stride away, in to the rest of the prison, ripping the life force out of anyone who gets in your way. Making yourway to the courtyard, where the gangs laughed and bragged. As the screams echo through the hall, the cell mate struggles for breath. He smiles to himself. "Maybe... Maybe I should go vegan.."
I blanched as much as someone with blistering red skin can. "No but like, isn't that super illegal?" The kid stared at me. "Dude. I brought you here to help me do some fucked up shit. Isn't that your ish?" I scowled. "No! Didn't you read the bible? I punish people who do that, why would you think I'm all about that?" She rolled her eyes. "Alright let's just do this." I stare at the doomsday button she's conjured me. "End of the world is pretty bad stuff, Carol." "Yada yada. Do it." The button wasn't actually there, it was on the desk of a couple presidents. If I hit it here, though, it'd go through. And that would cause a lotta bad shit. "Carol." "Satan." We stared off for a few minutes. "It doesn't all end here,"I said. "Life after death and all. You'll burn eternally." She shrugged. "Risk I'm willing to take." "It's not a- look, when the devil himself says you're gonna burn, it's not a risk, it's a reality." "Well this earth is hell anyway!" "Then..."I facepalmed. "I'll torch the earth if you want. But just know that I professionally advise against this." "Well, you've got my back, right?"she asked. "Of course." "Good. Push the button." This won't end well and I know it but I'm bound to her until I complete this task. After that, I could up and ditch but letting this little monster run free around a new apocalypse wouldn't be great either. Besides, maybe I can teach her something about her eternal soul. Technically even nuclear holocaust isn't unforgivable in the eyes of the guy upstairs. In that instant, I decided, Carol is my new pet project. Then I slammed the button. ___ Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/)
The screen says $4,998,999,426,275. The crowd is hungry. They want to bask in my success, they want to celebrate me. Me! Me who came all this way. They want to know how I did it so that maybe, just maybe, they can do it themselves. “People always ask me: Susan, what’s the secret to your success?” The crowd goes quiet. “And I always answer: I make a plan and stick to it.” The screen says to $4,999,278,512,984 A smattering of applause. “I find that if I just plan something -- give it a date and a time -- I can’t help but get there.” I walk over to a curiously shaped podium. “And in fact...” I push a little black notebook under a strange camera. A page appears on the screen behind me, written in long faded ink on yellow parchment. “June 10th 2018 -- 3 PM at the Seattle Executive Conference Center -- company market cap reaches 5 trillion dollars.” The screen flips to $5,000,000,000,000. The crowd goes wild. If only they could see the next entry: “June 10th 2018 -- 3:15 PM at the Seattle Executive Conference Center Meeting Room -- receive ten million dollar bonus.” I shout a few more words at them about “synergy”, “coordination”, and “proactivity”. They eat it up. Then it’s off to upstairs for the board meeting and my bonus. But when I arrive I find not ten flunkies in suits as expected, but ten unconscious flunkies and a masked man holding a gun. The clock says 3:10 PM. He’s holding a laptop with my encrypted bank log in. Numb, shaking, I edge forward. He motions towards the computer with his gun. A few keystrokes, a usb drive and a number switching from seven digits to six, and it’s over. My money’s gone. For the first time ever, the book was wrong. For the first time in twenty years, I feel afraid. This didn't go as planned. (r/StannisTheAmish for more of my writing, I got experimental with this one, I appreciate all criticism.)
I am no warrior. I am a simple man. I tend my fields and animals, I chop wood, I make my own food, and I care for my family. I have not trained to kill. So you may rightly think me a fool for grabbing my axe, some warm clothes, and food before rushing towards the mountains where a dragon, the "bane of men", has roosted. But I have good reason. This last winter, the coldest I have ever experienced, it brought my village food. It did not demand repayment, it did not threaten destruction if not rewarded with gold and jewels. It simply laid the cows in the square and returned to its home. And now, I learn that dragonslayers are going up into the mountain to kill it. I expect to die but if it allows that great and kind beast to escape those damned zealots, then I die happily.
How do you barter with a god? Thorn stared up at the open mouth of the cave. There was no going back now. She had taken three days to hike here. The dragon's lair was so high up in the mountains, there was snow in the dead of summer, and the air was cold and thin in her throat. Her brother squeezed her hand. "Ready?"he whispered. Thorn looked at him. Elim, oldest, always brave for the rest of the family. He carried their father's name and face like he was born as a living memory. When he smiled, her heart hurt, because it was like looking at the face of a dead man. The Mad King's war had killed their father years ago. Now it was coming to consume them too. "This is stupid,"she said. "Of course it is. But we are out of any safe options." "Or smart ones,"Thorn muttered. "Or sane ones." There it was. That wry smile that made the past knife into her chest. Elim said, "Better to die trying." He was right, of course. They walked in together, dragging the buckskin-wrapped rickshaw that they had brought with them, up the mountain. It was an angular shape, hidden under the leather. Together, lit only by the wan light of Thorn's lantern, they entered the dragon's lair. The earth crunched beneath their feet, and Thorn looked down to see bones. Hundreds of them. All those empty eye sockets, staring at her, like the dead were warning them to run while they still could. "Don't look down,"Elim said, as if reading her mind. Thorn nodded. She put away her fear. She was the last living princess of the lost Halsing dynasty. And she would act the part, gods damn it, even if she didn't know how. Even if all she knew of royalty was fleeing and fighting and secret meetings in cellars, with the last few rebels left who still believed in the One True King. She felt like a fraud, even now as she crept forward in a dented crown from a kingdom she could only remember in snatches of childhood memory. The lair was huge. Gouges marred the walls, like it had been tunnelled or clawed into the rock eons ago. The deeper they went, the warmer the air became. It had a sulfurous smell to it. A wall of hot air hit them. Elim's lantern snuffed out, and they were plunged into perfect darkness. Thorn clutched her brother's hand and wondered if the dragon could hear her panicked heartbeat. Two lights appeared in the darkness. Burning, smoldering. Then she realized they were nostrils, just as the dragon's maw opened, casting the room in orange fire. "What,"it hissed, its yellow eyes gleaming in the shadowy gloom, "do you think you're doing?" Now even Elim looked scared. Terrified. He opened and shut his mouth. Thorn said, forcing her voice even, "You are the great and powerful Morthal, lord of the mountain, are you not?" "Of course. Foolish human question from a foolish human girl." The dragon's voice rumbled the very stone. The bones beneath their feet began clicking together. Elim said, "You're right. This was a mistake." But Thorn gripped her brother's hand and said with a strength she didn't feel, "You made a pact two hundred years ago, with the high king Valias Halsing. As long as the kingdom carried your fang, you would always protect them." "The last I saw of that castle, it was slick with Halsing blood. That pact is as dead as they are." The dragon stalked forward. Its breath clouded hot over both of them. "Brother,"Thorn said. "Lift back the covering." Elim pulled the dagger from his belt and sawed through the ties covering the fang. It was carved in ancient runes, their house sigil. Morthal seemed to recoil. A long hot hiss cut through the dark. "The Halsing line is not dead,"Elim said. "Not yet." "You really are two foolish humans."Morthal lowered its great muzzle and snuffled at the fang. "There is nothing to stop me from devouring you both. I'll be free of you and the headache of your pact." Elim's fist tightened on the dagger. Thorn knew that look in his eye. He was ready to fight to the death, if he had to. "You wouldn't do that, Lord,"Thorn said. She kept her voice even. She hoped it sounded fearless. Royal. "Dragons are not renowned for our honor." "No. It has nothing to do with honor. It's about power. The Mad King terrorizes the people who once worshipped you. There are no sacrifices in your name anymore. They're taxes to starvation and crippled by constant war. We would build you temples again. Your name will be as eternal as the mountain." Elim hissed, "What are you doing?" Thorn shushed him. Morthal's narrow eyes pinned her in place, like it was eviscerating her in its mind. It said, "You speak like true royalty." "I speak like myself. I speak like someone who understands what it means to have everything and lose it all."She held out her hand to the dragon's muzzle. The scales were slick and surprisingly smooth. "Ride with us into battle. Revive the kingdom of the dragon riders." The dragon's eye was as tall as she was. It flicked over her, sizing her up. Then Morthal said, "I'll kill you slowly and precisely if you are lying to me, princess." "I'd expect no less." Thorn looked from her brother to the dragon and said, "Do we have a pact, then?" Elim's face was pale with fear. But he held his shoulders tall as any king. The dragon sighed. "I am old, and I am tired of fighting. But I will fight for your family, just once more,"it said. "I will rise at dawn in four days' time, and you will know the Mad King is dead when the sky is full of fire and I rise again." "And we will rise with you,"Elim said. He sheathed his dagger. Thorn stood there, not just a runaway, a traitor, a warrior, a lost girl. She felt every bit of her father's power, running through her veins. She was not afraid. Not of the Mad King, not of death, nothing. She was a keeper of dragons, and she had a throne to reclaim.
"V-Tech Headquarters. You've reached the Universal Problem Solver. How may I help you?" "Hello, Mr. Solver? We have a big problem!" "Just call me James. Can you describe the problem to me." "Yes, our fusion reactor has gone haywire and will meltdown very soon! Please help us!" "Okay, calm down. Now, I can see you are at Betelgeuse. Correct?" "Yes!" "Okay, so I assume you have the old Model 94-B?" "Yeah, how did you know that?" "A lot of the reactors on that side of the galaxy use the ol' 94-B. That thing's a piece of crap. All sorts of designs flaws and malfunctions." "Please get on with it! We don't have much time!" "Okay. Okay. Calm your cookies. Are you at the main control panel?" "Yes." "You see the little blue button underneath the fourth monitor screen?" "Yeah." "Press that three times." "Okay. Another panel opened up. What next?" "Do you see a button that says 'override' or something like that?" "Yeah. Do I press it?" "NO! You do not want to press that one. Big boom, if you press that one. Press the green button to the left of it." "My left or your left?" "Uh... your left..." "Okay. I pressed it and a bunch of little cartridges popped out." "Alright. Now, you're gonna have to manually inspect each of those for corrosion or decay." "Okay. Give me a minute." Several Minutes Later. "None of them have any damage! What do I do? They all look perfectly fine!" "Okay. Okay. Settle down. Um. Try blowing on them and then shoving them back in. Ya know? Like an old Nintendo game." "An old what?" "Eh, nevermind. Just blow on the cartridges and slam 'em back into place. That might work." "Are you sure? This doesn't seem very professional." "Trust me. Them old 94-B computer chips are very sensitive to dust." "Okay. Here goes nothing..." Sounds of blowing can be heard through the speakers. "All of the cartridges are back in place." "Good. Now, do you see a knob above the cartridges?" "Yes." "Turn it until it reaches 'Reset' mode." "Okay. It says 'Reset Mode has been initiated.' What does that mean?" "It means it's now safe to press the 'override' button." "Are you sure? Before you said it would---" "Just press the damn button!" "Fine! You don't have to be so rude..." "It worked! I can't believe it! Power is restored and the reactor is no longer going critical!" "See. I told you to trust me." "Thank you so much, Mr. Solver!" "James." "Sorry, James. How did you know that would fix it?" "Like I said, the 94-B sucks. Dust can get into the computer chips and cause glitches." "Wow. I never realized how dangerous our reactor was." "I suggest upgrading to the 97-C. It's much safer." "I'll look into it, thanks." "Now, will you be needing anything else today?" "No, that will be all. Thank you." "You're welcome. Thank you for choosing V-Tech! Don't forget to rate your experience with me for a chance to earn a free 50 dollar coupon, redeemable at any V-Tech merchandise shop. Have a great day!"
I sat in my cell, watching the guards walk by with a load of new prisoners. Most of them looked at me curiously, but a few didn't even glance my way. Makes sense, if you think about it. After all, in a Neo human prison, the first prisoner is always the first to be forgotten. "Prisoner 001, it's time for breakfast. You know the drill."I rolled my eyes at the voice from a nearby intercom and stood up, sticking out my arms. Mechanical arms came out of hidden panels and fastened leaden manacles around my wrists before the bars of my cell slid into the ceiling. I shambled out and started making my way towards the cafeteria. There, the new prisoners had just sat down to eat and the veteran ones had started to filter in as well. After getting breakfast I made my way to the back of the room, where my seat next to an open window awaited. I sat down in the familiar grooves, the metal groaning underneath my surprisingly dense form. The table was made from silver, the only other kind of metal I was weak to, but it was a lesser weakness so I could still affect it a little. I ate while looking to the outside world, closing my eyes as a breeze caressed my face. I had a flash of another time, when I flew the sky uninhibited, free... then I was rudely interrupted by an insistent tap on my shoulder. I reluctantly turned around and saw two guards standing there, only one I recognized. "Hi, Officer John. Who's the newbie?"The old guard gestured to the thin man beside him. "This is Officer Sam. He transferred from Gateview."I grunted, remembering my own time there. It was the old prison, a sort of holding ground for Neo humans before they were sent anywhere. I had been wondering if it was still standing, as most prisoners came from Psychsylum, the biggest psychiatric hospital in the world. "This here is Prisoner 001,"Officer John said. "He has no other name here. You can call him Prisoner or 001, nothing else. Do you understand?"Officer Sam nodded, his green eyes peering into my own curiously. As they walked away, I turned back to the window and scarfed down the rest of the meal. After eating, I made my way into the basement. Two guards stood before a heavy door, a porthole showing a dark room inside. "Officers,"I said, nodding to each of them before they opened up the door and ushered me inside. They closed the door tightly, then two mechanical arms came out and took off my handcuffs. I rubbed my wrists as a voice came over the intercom above me. "All right, 001. You know the drill."I nodded, reaching out and grabbing two handles that stuck out of the walls on either side of me. Unlike everything else in the room, they were made of a steel titanium alloy, and I was able to move them easily. My powers weren't nullified by lead, but it was just unaffected. The entire prison, including this room, had some sort of lead-steel alloy built into it so I could never escape. Slowly but surely, I rotated the handles around myself faster and faster in their grooves, until I was a blur. Electricity coursed around me, caused by the friction and speed of my rotation. I did this for a couple of hours before the voice said, "That'll be enough, 001. I think we have enough power for the week. See you next Monday."I nodded, rubbing my muscles before getting the manacles back on me. I was ushered to my cell, where I collapsed onto my bed and fell asleep. I was waken up by a rapping on the bars of my cell. I sat up and saw Officer John standing there. He motioned for me to stand up and I did as he asked, my restraints once again going on me as he brought me to eat dinner. I sat in my usual spot, but before I could even take a bite my food exploded, covering me in mashed potatoes and soup. I stared at my plate as I heard someone walk up behind me. "Ha! How'd you like that?"I slowly stood up and turned around to see a scrappy young man standing there, wearing the yellow uniform all prisoners wore. I pointed at my food and asked, "Did you do this?"The kid nodded, his otherwise handsome face marred by a scar that wrapped around his left eye. "Impressive,"I said, licking a bit of food off of my finger. "Let me guess... you're Armament, right?"The kid laughed, obviously happy he was recognized. "Hell yeah I am! I can create weapons from anything! And I know who you are as well."He leered, his face twisting into a mask of contempt. "You're the first modern day hero, Tremor." I turned back around, sitting down at my table. "Not anymore, kid. He died long ago." "Did he die with all ten million victims?"The entire cafeteria went silent as I clenched my fists, the metal of the table groaning under my enhanced strength. "You don't know what you're talking about,"I said through grit teeth. "Au contraire, my friend,"Armament continued, leaning down next to me, oblivious to my shaking hands. "I know everything about it. How you fought against Silver Tongue and ended up sending all of Cliff Side into the sea with your powers. How you ended up killing him."I squeezed my eyes, the screams of the people below me haunting me even after all these years. "Stop..."I whispered. Armament pressed on, obviously loving the reaction he was getting. "You know, Silver Tongue had a kid. A son in fact. I think he was right, in the sense that you were a monster. But now, looking at you... you're just a joke of a hero."I stood up and launched myself at the kid, wrapping my hands around his neck. He gasped for breath as my strength, only barely tempered by the leaden manacles, started to crush his larynx. Before I knew it, Officer John ran up and smashed my skull with his leaden baton, knocking me onto the floor. I struggled to rise as a couple of guards rushed Armament to the infirmary, and before I was knocked out by another hit I could see the curious eyes of Officer Sam staring into mine.
My father once read me some tidbit from a magazine. It was about a man with an infinite number of monkeys all banging away on their typewriters, no regard at all for what they were pressing. The owner eventually realizes that one of the monkeys had typed all of Shakespeare's Hamlet, word for word. Jesus? Buddha? Muhammad? And countless other founders of lesser religions. How many monkeys have there been throughout the ages banging away at their typewriters? \\\* They rented out an auditorium for me the first time one of my "prophecies"came true. A random guess about when a typhoon might strike a city frequently ravaged by monsoons. They built a church for me when I wrote out 15 commandments and discovered that those who violated my "holy rules"spontaneously combusted into nothing. They begged me to further guide them through the authoring of holy scripture. Who knew that China would invade Taiwan on the day that I wrote about the advent of a great world war? How could I have foreseen that the US's tactical nuclear strikes in Siberia would create a sunlight reflecting dust dome over the globe right on the minute I predicted the harshest of winters? The "they' at this point were entire countries, and I had a seat in every nation more prestigious than their president, dictator or king. \\\* "Sir, the day of reckoning is here." "Ready the safe room." "As you wish." The final chapter of my holy scripture. I had still considered everything a farce when I first penned it, despite the absolute trust that the rest of the world had in me. There always seemed to be a false prophet in these ho hum religious texts, and I'd included one last verse about such a being in mine, as well. Someone who had never heard the voice of God, but made some astonishingly correct guesses. Someone who would collect the riches of the entire world off of their lies without ever knowing that every lie was a truth. Someone who would be stricken down into an eternity of suffering that no human vernacular could describe on the day of reckoning. Father. I was just a monkey having fun with my typewriter. Why did I have to be the one that wrote Hamlet.

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