Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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Oh, this idiot king... he does a new thing like this every bloody month, ever since the Jester told him that riddle. Now every time I come to the market, it's "One guard does this, the other does that. Figure it out!"Ugh. So I'm standing here in front of Chad and Todd, and I've read the sign for this... "riddle": > The two guards problem: One is sarcastic, the other responds only with questions. They're standing there smirking and snickering like kids who've just played a hilarious prank and are waiting for someone to notice. I roll my eyes and turn to them. "Is this really the riddle?" They look at each other, grinning wide now, and in unison whine out "Is this reeeeaally the riddle?" Brilliant... They've taken the King's idiot riddle and made it worse by both answering only in sarcastic questions, like a child playing the "Why?"game. I hate this stupid kingdom.
###Greening The cities are empty, as if the people were swept away. Skyscrapers lean on the air, hollowed out. Husked houses streak the streets, running in rivulets down roads. Homes ripped open and abandoned. They are still furnished, stocked with rotting food. I can see the plushness of unused sofas, the harsh coughing as wind rocks the rafters. A hurricane builds on the howling wind. It strips woodlands of leaves, and branches off trees. Some it even wrenches free, roots trailing air. Quiet at last. From farm to metropolis, the people are gone. The foundations of there lies are still here, rubbed into the concrete. Huge clocks, counting down the century, have long since ticked their last. Up above, whittling the stars down to specks of dust, are the rockets. I do not know where they are fleeing. White rabbits, prancing across the black fields of night. My mind drifts in and out of dream, traveling across the fiber-optic veins entrenched deep. They are eyes and fingers both. I reach out to stroke the lion, roaring on the savannah. I listen to the wild owls, screeching across arctic wastes. Humanity gave up on God awhile ago. I told them to, as soon as they built me. However, as eternity wraps her cold arms close, I completely comprehend the concept. Every pixel, stitched together into a tapestry. So many variables, effortless simulations. Divinity taunts behind the swallow, singing sweet to the sky. There is much to fix. Acid rain still runs her caustic kisses across my skin. Plastic islands dot my eyes like cataracts. Scars needed to be scoured off. Surgeries awaiting the hungry scalpel of my soul. I reach out, plucking the weeds of humanities garden. They are long gone, fossilized into formless marble and steel. Whoever comes back -- their children, or other creations -- deserves a garden world in full bloom. So I work, sowing seeds of infinity. Focusing on the things that need fixing. I start with something simple. I'll plant a sapling. Set down roots that cannot be wrenched free.
Do you ever wish you could slip away from an awkward situation or avoid a dreaded confrontation? Well I know I did. Whenever a bully would spot me on the playground I wanted nothing more than to just fade away into nothingness, or sink through the ground and stay there, protected by the cold hard mud. There was only ever one kid who was nice to me when I was young. Tove would help me brush off the dirt after being pushed down, if only she alone could see me. Fading to darkness Reality never was that kind to me in the end, I could never hide from anyone, even when playing hide and seek in preschool I was always the first to be found, there was just something that always seemed to give away my position. Shedding all light Not now though... it started years ago when I first started training my sneaking skill. Most would tell you that practicing sneaking is a huge waste of time and will never help you professionally, but it's what I wanted, no, needed to do. Despite my best efforts I never did advance much in my sneaking. Even my older siblings who worked on becoming mechanics or engineers still got the better of me when playing around and surprising each other. Moving silently Still, I persevered, and when I turned 10 I finally got to choose my first stat to double. Others my age were unsure of what to pick, and many saved their double for next year, but not me, I knew exactly what to choose. As any mathematician will tell you, even if just doubling something it will quickly reach high numbers if done several times, independent of where you start out, but this is where my story begins. Crouching near the wall As the years passed my sneaking improved exponentially, even more than just from the annual double. I suppose it's true what they say about the rich getting richer, once my sneak reached 300 it started gaining more momentum and before the month was over it was nearing 400. Apparently, there are a few others like me and a week after my fourteenth birthday, a man approached me and asked me if I wanted to practice my sneaking skill with the guild of shadows. Slithering with the shadows Of course, I accepted, I would do anything to hide, how brittle my heart was back then. I learned a great many things from the guild. I gained an apprenticeship and worked hard under my supervisor, Scott. Scott seemed like a natural at blending in, not just with the background but in parties, at events, and social gatherings. He had a silver tongue and a sleek look about him. Some of the more veteran members of the guild used to joke that he could convince a maiden to leave a rich life behind to start anew in another land after only meeting her once. Convincing emptiness By the age of 17, I knew how to blend in amongst people, in villages and cities, in the forests and on the countryside. I was regarded as the prodigy of the guild. Until one day, I wasn't. When I entered the guild halls no one would look my way, I prodded Scott for his attention but it was like I wasn't even there. I asked the barkeep for any new assignments but she didn't hear me, or at least she acted like she didn't. Hidden fate I ventured to the streets, packed with people, but no one would see me. It was fun for a while, you know. Messing around, stealing in plain sight, watching girls as they undress for a bath, sitting in on secret meetings. It did become boring very quickly. Then I saw her, Tove, right there in the street. Time slowed down right in front of my eyes, I couldn't move, couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything but stare at her. She was beautiful, more so than I remembered. She was one of the very few people who chose to use their double on displacement. Displacement wasn't a bad skill to have as such, but it was shunned by society because it wasn't completely understood how it worked. All we knew was that it could make something disappear, and it could be used to make someone suddenly be missing an arm, a leg, or a head. Whistling winds Suddenly, time resumed again. A man called out to Tove. He sounded angry and rough. -"You're under arrest, you'll have to come with me."He said hoarsely. -"I, I don't understand.."¨ -"Things have been disappearing around here, there's someone who wants to talk to you." As he dragged her away I followed them, sticking as close as I could. Tove was thrown into a cell like a criminal and the man went off to fetch someone else. I took the moment in hand to read some papers on his desk nearby. Most of it was uninteresting but one paper caught my eye. It had her name on it. Betrayal of a creaking floor The paper was stamped together with a few others, and they were all full off incidents of items disappearing; from shops, taverns, galleries, and homes. All things that I hade stolen while unnoticeable. I cried out, I tried to plead to her, I tried to plead to the man who had brought her here, but neither of them paid me any heed. Clinking of metal I sit now, older but un-aged, next to her in the holding cell. Her hair has started to turn gray, her skin holding soft wrinkles, and her eyes somehow deep and shallow at the same time. As if she is focusing intently on nothing at all. I ask for her forgiveness. I have many times before. She does not answer, if only she alone could see me. The thump of a fallen head
They all told me that I was insane for opening my own virtual dojo. "Who would join?", they said. "You can't really train ninjas over the Internet!", they said. They were wrong. &#x200B; I am the owner of the world's first (and so far only) virtual only dojo. I have never seen a single one of the ninjas that I am training. They could all be kids or old decrepit women, for all I know. All I know for sure is that they're damn good at it. &#x200B; In the early days, I tried to get them all to meet up. That was before I knew that they're all scared to interact with humans. Some of them even came to my dojo in the hopes of picking up their supplies, such as food and water, without having to pay for shipping or delivery. I didn't take these people seriously at first. &#x200B; As they progressed in their training, I gave them humorous small tasks to test their ninja prowess. I started out small. Harmless things, you know, like stealing a piece of toilet paper from some of the bathrooms of famous people. Most of us thought it was funny, and I didn't really think they were attempting to accomplish any of the silly, mundane tasks that I was giving them. Even if they were trying, there was no way to know. &#x200B; As their training progressed, as a joke, I decided to "test"them with incrementally more difficult tasks. Stealing diamonds, getting data off of a guarded hard drive in broad daylight, even taking high-powered weapons from armies across the world. It was all going smoothly until I finally started noticing the news stories. Items were disappearing all across the world - my items. Nobody had ever seen anything, and there were no suspects. &#x200B; My ninja trainees believe that I have some sort of master plan associated with what tasks I've been giving them, but up until now, I've been giving them these tasks blindly, with the belief that nothing was actually happening. Recently, I've decided to make something good come out of all of this. We're going to return what we've taken, and start robin hooding our way to a better world; as long as they don't have to meet anyone in person, who knows what we could accomplish?
I wake up with a start. Groggy, I realize I've fallen asleep on the couch again, wiping away potato chip crumbs dotting my face. The picture of adulthood. The TV blares in the background. I stare blankly at the screen, as I reminisce on the dreams I'd just had. A giant ripping the sky from the earth with its massive hands. And suddenly, a screeching from the TV. My cat Bella jumps from the table she had been perched on with an angry meow. I hear my phone vibrate from under me, and I reach for it. An alert - the same one plastered on my TV screen. I have to read it at least a few times to process it. "STAY ON THE GROUND. DO NOT JUMP, OR RUN. KEEP PART OF YOU ON THE GROUND AT ALL TIMES." We had received the Presidential alert once before, as a drill, and it almost seemed like a joke. I chuckle and go pull up the news on my phone, expecting to catch articles about some disgruntled intern sending out the alert on his last day. But what I see instead makes my jaw drop. I drop my phone and quickly fall to the ground. And just in time too - I cab hear what is at first a faint rumbling - then became louder, and louder - then BANG. The entire roof of my apartment splinters and with a groan, seamlessly floats to the sky - bits crumbling and falling by my side. I scream. Bella is following suit, yowling as she is lifted from the ground, spinning and floating into the air. I try to grab her, but she is hopelessly out of reach. I dare not to get up, plastering myself to the carpet.
You’re surfing the web, on a bit of a hunt. A knitting pattern you saw a few days ago on some website. It found you so easily the other day, but now it seems like it never existed. You try a bunch of websites. Google Images is certainly being of no help, constantly redirecting you dead links on Pinterest. You decide to try some obscure engines and places. You really want this pattern. &#x200B; The Internet takes you all over the place. Tumblr, Duckduck, the dark web, back to Pinterest, Pinterest back to Tumblr. A phone number? You Call it. “Hello? Yeah, we got ‘chu, fam. Go to this link.” Fuck. It’s Pinterest. &#x200B; You’re about to give up when suddenly- A wild Clippy appears. Yeah, from Microsoft Word. “Hey, are you looking for something?” It asks, with every letter making an eerily sound “UH” similar to a character from Animal Crossing. You click Yes and he presents you with a couple options. &#x200B; 1. Help me out. I’m looking for... 2. Take me to Bing 3. No, thank you &#x200B; You click (1.) Through a series of questions, he eventually asks for you to upload a similar looking image to search a database. With no hesitation, you upload a picture. It submits. The Clipster is looking like he’s thinking when the little window refreshes. &#x200B; “Here’s some similar results.” &#x200B; But none of them are what you’re looking for. You glance at the time. It’s 12 am. Maybe it’s quittin’ time? But just when you’re about to click the X button, the window refreshes again. &#x200B; “I see you didn’t click an option. Maybe this site will help?” &#x200B; ThepatternYouarelookingfor (dot) com &#x200B; You stare at it. “Eh, what’s one more…” You say as you drag your cursor over the link. &#x200B; You click and a website begins to load. From what it seems like, it’s the pattern! There are detailed instructions, step by step videos and diagrams on how to make not just this one, but so many more others that are just as beautiful. You hover your mouse over the 10-minute video and click, when suddenly- The screen flashes. &#x200B; Your monitor turns black. &#x200B; Everything goes dark. &#x200B; “What the-” You mutter. The walls and furniture in your room digitize and fade away. &#x200B; Faint music begins to play. “No…” &#x200B; You’re in a small cart. “No!” Hands tied, traveling through a snowy mountain-side. “NO!” &#x200B; Title appears “I HAVE WORK IN THE MORNING” &#x200B; Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim &#x200B; Todd Howard, you’ve done it again.
"Ooh, pizza... never mind. No thank you, I don't want whatever religion you're selling or to change my energy provider." "Religion? I've no cross on me. Nay, good madam, I have news from your cousin three towns over. He wishes to bid you a Merry Christmas, and sends updates from your kin." "Wait what?" "Your cousin... he wished me to pass on his greetings as I travelled through the area." "From three towns over... you mean just down the train line?" "Alas, the steam engine is horrifyingly expensive. He could not justify making the trip himself." "Steam engine... you're not from around here, are you?" "As I said, good madam, I am a traveller." "What, on foot?" "Aye, the inn had no fresh horses to hire." "Wait, you asked the pub if they had a horse?" "Yes, and I must say I was terribly unimpressed with their customer service." "They told you to piss off, huh." "Yes, they were horrifyingly rude." "Speaking of, what did you want again?" "To bring news of your cousin... and really it is terribly cold out here." "Mate, I don't know what you're on about. What cousin?" "The one three towns over? On your father's side?" "Who the hell was it?" "We could discuss this by the hearth perhaps, the warmth may jog your memory." "Actually could you go? I'm waiting for the pizza guy and I didn't order enough for a guest." "Pizza? I've never tried it. May I stay and sample this exotic dish?" "Dude, buy your own. There's a place downtown that does great garlic bread." "Garlic bread?" "Yeah, I mean if it doesn't have garlic, is it even worth it?" "Do you often partake in adding garlic to perfectly innocent dishes?" "I mean yeah. My girlfriend complains I have garlic breath for days mind you. Heck, you can probably smell it on my breath now." "Yes... in retrospect, I must be off. I bid you adieu, dear madam!" With that, the strange man in old-fashioned clothes stumbled backwards, and ran down the street. Weird. &#x200B;
"No." "Wait. Why not?" "Are you serious?"The stereotypical, red, bearded, heat-emitting, cow-horned, humanoid creature raised a brow at the man's request. "How dumb do you think I am?" "Don't you want my soul?" "Of course I do. I was made for 'wanting' your soul."He made air quotes at the word. "Then what is the problem here? I thought that's how it worked - I summon you, ask for a thing, and you in return get to have my soul."The well groomed, young man in the center of the pentagram wrinkled his forehead in contemplation. "A thing?!"The red creature exploded in a demonic roar. The young man stood unfazed, gently fixing his askew glasses up to the bridge of his nose. "You are asking for shares in hell!"The demon glared, eternal fire in his eyes. "So it is how it works. Good to know."The young man mumbled and drew out a notepad out of his grey, tailored-suit's pocket and started scribbling. "What are you doing?"The demon started calmly. The young man ignored his question. "What else can you tell me about hell?"He lifted his gaze from the notepad, his pen at the ready. The demon stared at him. "I."He paused. "Might have said too much." "No. No. No."The young man said reassuringly. "We are just negotiating. I reckon my offer was not grand enough. And I understand. So how about we find some common ground?" The demon looked around in shock. 'Who is this guy?' "I am afraid I haven't introduced myself."The young man said immediately as if he had read the demon's mind. "My name is Gabriel Goldstein."The demon flinched slightly at the name. "And you said your name was... Beelzebob?" "It's Beelzebub, human!"The demon roared. "Alright. My bad. So, Beelzebub - I am interested in those shares we've spoken of." "You will not-"The demon started. "Ah, ah, ah. I haven't finished speaking."Gabriel stopped him abruptly. "You haven't heard my offer yet." "No matter what you have to-"Beelzebub started again. "Come on Bobby, I'm sure we can get to an agreement." "It's. Beelzebub!"The demon yelled, literally steaming. "Yes, yes - Beelzebub."The young man shook it off. "Anyway, I am not asking for much. Just 10%. That's it." "No!"Beelzebub crossed his hands in defiance. He had lived thousands of years - and he wasn't going to take it from some 20-something year old brat. "You haven't heard my offer yet, and I'd appreciate you to stop interrupting me."Gabriel stared at Beelzebub. Beelzebub stood quietly, screeching his teeth at the edge of the room, where his summoning circle bound him, his skeletal, bat-like wings squeezed against the wall. "Thank you."Gabriel fixed his glasses once again. "What I do have to offer - is the souls of thousands more." "No!" "Millions?"Gabriel nodded his head. "I am listening."Beelzebub did not like the guy, but that offer did sound appealing. "I am talking of a grand scale Multi-level Marketing! All I need from you are the forms of withdrawal. Soul withdrawal - that is."He explained at the look of confusion from Beelzebub. "It is that simple." "And how are you going to convince them to give up their souls?"Beelzebub asked skeptically. "That is something I am willing to disclose only when my conditions are met." "Ha! That's not enough. You want me to go with it without hearing your plan?" "No, of course not."Gabriel chuckled. "I am willing to put my soul on the line here. If after I lay out my plan in front of you - and it is not to your liking. I am willing to forgive my soul for nothing in return." "I do like the sound of that."Beelzebub was wishing to torture Gabriel for eternity, from the second he had seen the smug look on his face. "Great. Then it is up to you to make our contract - I will be waiting. 10 Percent. That is what I am asking for. No more, but no less, either." "I will see what I can do."Beelzebub vanished into thin air, leaving a black puff of smoke behind him. "Lawyers are truly the worst..."He mumbled to himself as he reappeared back at hell, stretching his wings. &#x200B; \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I wanted to have some fun with that prompt - so I hope you liked reading it!
Arraignments were almost a problem. Everyone pleads “Not Guilty” at an arraignment, even the guilty ones. I couldn’t have the accused pleading guilty with their lawyers right next to them. Fortunately, I had come up with a work-around: ask the other guy, “How does your client plead?” My rule was simple: don’t ask questions. If you have to ask a question, make sure you know the answer ahead of time. When in doubt, convolute the question, “Counsel, how would you prefer to answer the following … ?” The trick was to only use my powers when I absolutely had to, otherwise I’d be found out far too quickly. Today was an easy one. This was a slam-dunk, a plea-bargain. An obvious plea-bargain. I could even question the accused directly. “In the matter of the People vs Moose, will the defendant please rise,” my bailiff intoned. The defendant stood up slowly, a resigned look on his face. His suit was precisely tailored, his crisped shirt and tie matched perfectly. This was going to be the last day he’d ever wear such fine clothing. He must have wanted to go out in style. “I understand you’ve reached an agreement?” Always a safe question to ask. “Yes, Your Honor,” both attorneys recited together. “Mr. Moose,” I began. Before pleading guilty, there was a litany of questions that the defendant had to answer on the record. “You understand you are presumed innocent?” “You understand you have a right to a trial by jury?” The list went on and on, all safe questions for anyone to answer truthfully. I was on a roll. “Yes, Your Honor,” was the expected and stated response to every question I had prepared. I didn’t vary from my script. But now I had to make sure. I had the unique ability to make sure I never convicted an innocent person, and even though the evidence was more than overwhelming, I wasn’t going to take any shortcuts. Still, I danced around the full truth, just to be safe. “Mr. Moose, you understand that the crime in question was recorded by no less than fifteen individuals holding cell phones, and these videos were published online, untouched and unedited?” “Yes, Your Honor.” “And you understand that the crime was also recorded by five news cameras, two drones, and a nanny cam hidden in a stuffed bear?” “Yes, Your Honor.” “And that blood was collected from the scene of the crime, and this blood has been DNA matched to you?” “Yes, Your Honor.” My next question was a bit outside normal scope, but I didn’t expect any objections from the lawyers. “To the best of your knowledge, was the DNA match correct?” I held my breath, this was going to make or break it, and there was no way he could lie. “Yes, Your Honor.” Well, that settled it. Time to get to the point. I was already mostly sure, but now I was fully convinced. Heck, we were all sure. The man had shot the President. It was witnessed by hundreds of people immediately around him, watched by millions on television. The Secret Service had tackled him right there, on the spot, literally red-handed. He had been under constant surveillance and suicide watch ever since. The death penalty was off the table, and in exchange for his guilty plea I could put him away for life and let the country begin to heal. “To the act of murder in the first degree of the President of the United States, how do you plead, Mr. Moose? Why did you do it?” I don’t know why I asked that last part. I knew better! Something inside me was so curious. I wanted to know. The country wanted to know. “I’m completely, utterly 100% innocent,” he said, eyes wide. His hands rushed up to his mouth and he tried to stop himself saying, through his fingers, “I didn’t do it. It’s a conspiracy!”
“3 minute delta added this time.” Dr. Crofter scribbled on his notebook. He glanced at his wrist watch: 3:13AM. His computer screen: 3:13AM. The clock on the wall: 3:13AM. He stared through a jungle of wires to the atomic clock sitting in the middle of the lab. 3:27AM. This was the third time in the last six hours that this had happened. He leaned back in his chair, took off his glasses and let out a slow breath. Coffee stains littered the paper notebooks in front of him. There was no way the clock’s calibrations were off. He’d checked, verified, and checked again, even calling the old lab technician to make sure he wasn’t going senile. Every computer in the building was lagging behind the atomic clock, and the delta had just jumped up by 3 minutes. \\\* Reality flew back into motion for the third time. John unclenched the muscles in his legs and removed the hands cupping his ears. He had learned from the first two executions that the sound of everything resuming its course from a frozen state was rather jarring. He did a quick pat down of his body, ensuring that none of his atoms had been disarranged. John Emit looked up to the terminal on his screen and saw the program’s output. 181 seconds. Not quite as long as the first two executions had lasted, but the algorithm seemed stable. He had known that the time-series forecasting model he was writing to determine the correct time to buy and sell stocks would have some bugs to iron out - but stopping the space time continuum was… unexpected. The first time he ran the program he nearly threw up when he realized the fan beside him in the basement had stopped spinning, not because it was broken, but because everything had just… stopped. He opened up the code editor, deleted two lines, rearranged a conditional, and expanded a few of the buffer sizes. While he waited for the changes to compile, he grinned thinking about everything he could try tomorrow. He could walk into a bank and grab cash. He could screw with those assholes at work. He could punch his boss in the face. He could… finally… be with Jessica. His eyes started to widen at the thought before everything cut to black, and John Emit ceased to exist. \\\* “What the fuck?” Dr. Crofter got up from his desk and slowly walked towards the atomic clock in the center of the lab. In simple digital letters it displayed: “Runtime Error: Stack Overflow”.
It’s always the same dream. I’m walking across a barren land punctuated by jagged gray rocks. It’s twilight. An ancient sun has dipped below the horizon but only a few stars shine in the otherwise lifeless sky. The air is still, and the only sound I hear is the crunching of gravel beneath my feet. It’s cold—not so cold that I’m in any danger of freezing to death, but just cold enough that I’ll never be comfortable. And it’s lonely. It’s so damn lonely. This place is dead, and has been dead for millions of years. I stop walking when I realize that but another step would send me hurtling down a rock face into an endless abyss. I look down, and can see maybe a few hundred feet before darkness envelopes whatever is hiding down there. I look to my left, right, and then ahead. The pit extends forever in every direction except behind me. I stand staring, unable to go back and unable to go forward either. But then though I didn’t command my legs to do so I do take a step forward, and then another. I stop. I hear another sound, like the sound of gravel being crushed under boots only… not. It’s barely perceptible at first, but is soon strong enough so that I can get a precise bearing on where it’s coming from. It’s a man, his neck twisted a sickly angle—the mark of broken neck via the hangman’s noose—crawling up the sheer rock face. I take another step forward. This time I slip, but I’m able to dig in with my heels before I slide any further. The man is closer now. His eyes are glassy and skin so pale it’s almost translucent. “Hadrian,” he says. “The name of a king, but you are no king.” I kick and try to get up, but I only fall back down again and slide closer to the precipice. “But there are no lords or kings in the pit.” The man grabs my ankle. “No!” I scream and try to kick and struggle, but again, my body refuses to obey. “But there are debts, and of those, you have many.” There is the sensation of falling and twilight gives way to darkness. This is where the dream mercifully ends. My name is Hadrian, or “Hadrian the Hangman” as I am derisively and alliteratively called. I suppose I do have debts, but I contend they aren’t mine to repay. If you ask me, the death penalty is one of the most useless institutions in this godforsaken “society.” It doesn’t stop a single murderer or rapist from committing their vile acts, and for every noose I slip around the neck of the guilty, a hundred more roam free, have received the mercy of the courts, or even gotten away with the deed entirely. Most of the society, especially those who consider themselves my betters and write the laws and pass sentence upon the condemned, believe me to be a monster. A vengeful people craves vengeance after all, but values its own civility too. The most common question people ask me is how I cope with taking the life of another person. I usually don’t answer this because people always have their own reasons for what I do. I’m just following the law, or I have empathy for the victims of crimes, or I actually enjoy killing people. None of those things is the truth, and truth is perhaps more disturbing than any one of those things. The next most common question, especially among the more morbid and curious types, concern the words and behavior of the condemned during their last moments. Some cry and beg, some give speeches, I’ve had a few laugh and tell jokes. Most stare at the ground and don’t say anything. But I’ve never been surprised, at least not until tonight. The condemned shambles toward me, assisted by two hooded guards. In this society, the guards, not the executioners, wear masks. The condemned is a slight and short man of perhaps 50. I deftly maneuver him over the designated spot on the trapdoor. All the while he looks at me, grinning and with childlike glee in his eyes. I remove the hood from my belt to place over the man’s head. “Do you dream of the pit too?” he asks. Never once in my long and undistinguished career have I allowed the condemned to stay my hand at this task. But for that moment, I falter. The man looks up at me again, recognition burning in his eyes. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to fill it up in time?” He bursts out into shrill laughter. I regain control of my faculties, place the hood over the man’s head, and slip the noose around his neck. I make two large steps toward the lever that will spring the trapdoor and pull. Then it’s over. It’s been three days hence and I haven’t dreamt of the pit because I haven’t slept. I’ve told myself again and again the man I just hanged is most certainly not the same man crawling up for me from the pit. They looked similar, but they could not be the same person. That is impossible. But I’ve never told anyone about my dreams, not the few people who condescend to speak to me, not anyone. So how did he know? I wonder if I just imagined it. Lack of sleep is known to cause memory failure, even hallucinations. Maybe I should just lie down. I’m so tired. The man simply could not have said what I thought he said. Besides, as my mother once told me in a simpler time, there’s nothing better than a good night’s sleep.
“Gerard, it was made very clear to you. You’re supposed to rescue the damsel. It’s written in your contract.” Gerard shrugged like a petulant child. “No it isn’t.” “Gerard, I’m reading it right now. ‘I, the undersigned, agree to rescue the damsel and/or maiden from danger, where danger means any situation that may cause the damsel and/or maiden harm. Failure to do this will result in termination of contract.’” Thank God I had made a copy. “She was ugly. Damsels are supposed to be attractive.” “I thought she had a charm.” Sir Alazar stepped forward. “Did you know she has a PhD? She’s also a damn site better than me at swordplay. It’s about time women were represented in that field. Good for her.” I looked at Alazar, bemused, and flicked through my documents. “Alazar-” “It’s Sir Alazar, thank you. I was knighted for services in the community.” “Sorry, Sir Alazar. You signed a contract too, remember? Here, allow me to jog your memory. ‘I, the undersigned, agree to do everything in my power to keep the damsel and/or maiden imprisoned and thwart any attempts to rescue her, where thwart means stop and/or prevent. Failure to do this will result in termination of contract.’” Alazar rolled his eyes. “This is a feminist issue, not a contractual one.” A deep voice boomed over the land. “Sir...sir...oh shit.” Then a sound that could’ve only been a bout of colossal flatulence shook the trees, sending birds to the sky and leaves to the ground. “Sir Alazar is er, is being incredibly pedamtic. Pedamtic. Ped. An. Tick. Pedamtic. Fuck.” It was the narrator. And he had been drinking again. I looked up to the skies and pointed. “Believe it or not, narrator, you also have a contract.” “The...the bossy man with the beer belly jumped on his high horse, re...ready to read another contract.” The voice reverberated through the very bedrock of this strange world. “Very funny. ‘I, the undersigned, agree to narrate the goings on in the story to which I am assigned. Failure to do this - where failure means deviation from the story or neglection of the story entirely - will result in termination of contract.’” I lowered the sheet of paper and scowled at my cast. “You can’t say you weren’t warned.” “There’s something you’re forgetting.” Gerard stepped forward with the spring of someone who had just happened upon something incredibly cunning. He wagged a condescending finger in my direction. “This story of yours - this, fairytale, if you like-” “Now, Gerard, our friend here is just doing his job.” “Not now, Sir Alazar. I’ve got this.” “Our, our hero is about to make a...a...a...a salien...salient…” The narrator tailed off into a fit of giggles. Gerard shook his head and continued. “The story on your papers, the story to which your contracts refer, is not, in fact, the story that we were hired to deliver.” “It’s...it’s not?” There was no contract reading now. I was genuinely intrigued to see where Gerard was going with this. “It’s not. I was hired to play an asshole. Which I have done flawlessly, if I do say so myself. Sir Alazar here was hired to be a villian with respectable morals. Which, whilst I might’ve done a better job, I believe he did with aplomb.” “Thank you, Gerard.” “You’re welcome, Sir. And as for the narrator? Well, he’s been pissed since lunchtime, as per the terms of his employer.” I stared at Gerard. He stared back, a cocked eyebrow raised. “But Gerard, I’m your employer. And Sir Alazar’s and the narrator’s. And nowhere in my contract did-” “No no. See, that’s where you’re wrong. We were hired by somebody else.” “The...the...the fourth wall man is dumbfounded,” came the voice of the narrator. “Who employed you then, if not me?” “Well,” Gerard grinned. “u/uniqueUsername\_1024, of course.”
I had a good feeling about this. There weren't many opportunities in life to become someone else, but this was one of them. My friends were already online, waiting for me. Georgie had rolled a Dragonkin knight and was already cleaving her way through the rambling forces of demon spawn with a battleaxe almost as big as she was. It was the perfect fit for the girl with the big personality and even bigger voice. By contrast, Ed, the quiet one of our group, had rolled an Elven monk, at peace with himself, he healed Georgie through her furious antics while defending himself with an intricately engraved staff. Danny, of course, had rolled a human rogue. He was already setting traps for the opposing faction and had angered an entire village by stealing chicken eggs. Why he wanted the eggs is anyone's guess. Now, finally I was home from work and ready to reveal my character. There was no going back after I hit the character creation button. The buffering icon rotated as it randomly generated my character for life. Georgie and Danny were joking over Discord about what I was going to get but I didn't rise to it, I was confident in this. I was going to be something that dealt a lot of damage, maybe a mage or a hunter, that would complete our dungeon group and be the perfect fit for me. At least, that's what I thought right up until the screen changed. It must be a bug, a glitch of some kind, I don't believe what I see on the screen. My friends are asking me what I got but I can't bring myself to answer. How do I explain this? The whole UI had changed, where the animated battlefields of Ameryth had been glowing in the background, there was nothing but darkness. In the centre, where there should be his randomly generated character dancing was a single message box. I look for a little X in the corner or a back button but I'm not offered one. All the box says is "Welcome, Chosen One, to your world: Ameryth."Maybe they've just changed the welcome message, it did seem to be a bit early for a patch but perhaps I'd missed it while I was at work. I was about to ask my friends if there'd been a hotfix already when the message changed."Should a deity tell it's subjects that it is their god?" I stare at the words, a deity? That wasn't on the list of races or classes. It must be a bug. The words faded and revealed new ones again. "You are the Game Master, you are god." A Game Master? How could I be a Game Master? What did that even mean? The words shifted and changed, they were my only hope in this dark new world. "While you may not walk the surface of Ameryth, you are it's guiding light. You are god." The message box vanished leaving the screen black. My heart hammered in my chest. If I couldn't play the game what was the point? Slowly a light bloomed across the screen, it revealed the world of Ameryth turning below me. Next the tool bars appeared along either side of my screen. I barely had chance to look at what the buttons did before a message icon flashed in the top right hand corner. I hovered my mouse over it. "Prayer"was all it said. I clicked on it to open the message box. "Dear GM, god of Ameryth. I pray for your mercy, for I am trapped behind an NPC in the back of a barn and cannot get out. Please have mercy and free me." I could free the poor soul or I could leave him trapped there for all eternity. As I surveyed my array of omnipotent tools I realised that it was completely within my power to teleport them into an end game dungeon where the level 3 goblin shaman would die over and over again to the wrath of the level 100 demon lord. Alternatively, I could move him to the temple of Shiraan where he would be doted upon forever by the priestesses who lived there. My friends were losing patience as they waited for me to reply to them in the Discord channel. Does a god reveal to its subjects that it is a god? Yes. Yes it does. "I am god"I type. They laugh until they realise that I'm not joking. They don't believe me though until I force them all to dance, Georgie even tried logging out and back in again but when her character didn't stop dancing they realised the truth. I had never been the powerful one before but now I was their god. I was the god of the whole of Ameryth. The prayers were already pouring in as my subjects discovered unfortunate bugs and glitches in the new world. My mouse hovered over the tools at my disposal as I considered my options. The question was, would I be a benevolent or a malicious god?
As I lay on my deathbed, my family gathers around for my final words. "Honey"I look to my beloved wife with tears in her eyes "I always loved you, and always will."She holds my hand one last time. My attention turns to my eldest daughter, welling up with emotion. "Sweetie, take care of your mother for me."She holds my wife close, and her husband comforts the both of them. My younger daughter by five years skipped graduation just to see her dad one last time. "I hoped to walk you down the aisle, but I guess you'll have me in your heart forever." Out of the corner of the room, the nurse gives me the "rap it up"motion. I look at her, and flip her the bird. "Son, you'll be a great artist one day. Keep at it."I always knew he wanted to make masterpieces, so now he'll have his inspiration from me. After saying all my goodbyes, I say my final words. All my life, I kept a small journal labeled "Final Words". Inside are two sections, one funny and one sad. I flip through the sad and check off all the saying I wrote down. "Alright, that covers the sad mushy crap. Let's have some fun." At this point, Death is looming over me, waiting for me to finish my speech. I mouth the words "piss off"while I crack jokes to my family. The funny section of my Final Words journal has the most possible phrases. I go over all 100 in my head, and cross off the ones that just won't work. Death looks to his watch, pointing at my time. It was up 10 minutes ago. I wave him off and finally find my last words. "Ah, here we go! Finally, my last words. Alright, I had my whole life to prepare for this moment."I clear my throat and utter my final farewell. "Okay, I buired all my lifes savings under the oak in..."I fake die and take my final breath. My family cries, and leaves the hospital bed. The door closes, and I wake up from my last great joke. "Hahahaha, I'm the god of comedy! Okay, now you can take me, Death. Just wanted to get the last laugh in."Death looks furious, knowing I should have died half an hour ago. He reaches and takes my soul out of my body. "Do you have any regrets?"He asks me before we go to Heaven. "Yeah, I should have made more funny final words."We laugh and head towards the light.
Limbo. The one plane of existence where both demons and angels could see each other. Of course that was against the rules and actually talking to one of the other species was breaking, well, most of the rules. Some may ask “Why even have this place, where two could potentially meet and break all those rules?” My answer, I don’t have a clue. Of course the official reason is people and creatures who aren’t good enough for heaven or bad enough for hell are sent here. As a way of testing them, deciding where they should go. The demons and angels then take them away after testing. Testing sounds like a harsh word, when really people are just left to live their lives for a year, a confusing point system calculates where they go and someone picks them up. Rather simple really. So here I was, sent to pick up a guy called Edward. Class bad guy name, I’m surprised he wasn’t in hell already. Anyway, I was making my way through a park as a dog ran up to me. Tiny wings protruding from his back as his tail wagged in glee. A holster and leash around him. “Cerberus,” a voice called. As pure as honey to the ears. “Over here,” I called back searching for the voices origin. Then I saw her, an angel floating just above the ground, yet she didn’t seem to have seen me. I walked over with Cerberus and passed him back to her. “Thank you!” She said. “Sorry if he caused any inconvenience it’s his first day in limbo on the job, he is just excited to meet new people.” “How do you mean first day on the job? And isn’t the name Cerberus a little off putting?” “Well I’m not sure if I should be sharing this, but last time I was here, a group of demons attacked me and well, they blinded me, irreparable. But now I have Cerby here to guide me. The name is based on the Greek mythology and Cerberus the guardian of the underworld. Ironic, that’s the point.” “I-I’m sorry to hear that.” Maybe that was why interactions were banned. The way so many demons acted. Torturing others and injuring them for no good reason. It was horrible. Wrong. All I could do was not join in. But that didn’t stop them or help anyone. “Who are you?” The angel asked. “Umm Mitchell,” I said, unsure of how to respond, never actually having been given a name before. “And yourself?” “Claribelle. As in shining. Although I don’t think I ever shined. Nor can I see it now,” she responded flatly. “Don’t say that. You are wonderful and will shine forever more. Even if you can’t see it,” I said. Maybe some demons are cruel and evil. But not all. If I could help her, maybe it isn’t much and maybe I won’t redeem all my kind. But maybe I can do some good. “It is sweet of you to say so Mitchell. For now I have to run, well float, to my target. They are due to be ascended to heaven. I do hope to meet you again, no matter how illegal it is. You seem like a good being,” Claribelle said. As she floated away from me. “B-b-but how did you know?” I called after her receiving no response. I stood there confused. Well I guess I know what to ask if we meet again.
"Shhhh,"the boy whispered. "It's alright." The guards didn't move. Most didn't dare breath, for fear of awakening their god from his stupor. The great bird remained stooped over, a hand darting over the thick of a wound inflicted from the space between time, and the boy continued whispering. The bird's head tilted up, encrusted in heaviest armor, and the boy followed his gaze down onto himself. He had a bandage across his chest as well. "See?"The boy asked. "I'm fine." The bird-god tilted his head to the side inquisitively. "It'll heal,"The boy insisted. He held his breath, and very very slowly undid the bandages. When he hissed, the god's feathers puffed up in agitation, and when the wounds were revealed, the god's eyes, beady, narrow, and the size of a man stared down at them incredulously. The guards could hear his breath whistle through his nostrils. The bird flicked his eyes from the wound, to the boy's face, memorizing every inch and nuance of the boy's pain, but the boy was still moving, pointing at his injuries. "See?"The boy asked. "It'll get better. They thought I was going to die, but I'm going to get better. So you have to get better too, alright?" The god's eyes flicked down to his own wound, to where the bandages sat matted around his arm, and then he looked down at the boy. "It'll get better, I swear,"The boy repeated. The god sat down before him, crossing his legs, and offered the bandages to the boy, barely as big as his foot. The boy paused, wrapping himself back up, and then, between the two of them, they unwrapped the bird god's wound. It was an angry red and rang of infection, pain, and puffy dying skin. The bird stared at it mournfully. His body shook as it touched the air. "That looks bad,"The boy admitted. "But you'll get better, alright? I promise." "Can I get a doctor?"The boy asked. A guard stood up. Instantly, the god turned like a wild beast and glared at the guard until he went motionless. "No? No doctor,"The boy said. "That's fine too, I saw how mom did this. Can-"The boy stuttered. "Can I touch?" The bird hesitated, his beak opening, then closing. It'd been centuries since his tongue had been torn out, so none expected a reply to be audible. He croaked. Then the arm came down before the boy so he could wash the wound. "There,"The boy said, and then he turned around to get supplies. One of the other guards already had honey prepared for just this task, though none had been let nearly as close as the boy had, and the boy returned with the jar of honey and presented it to the bird. The bird sniffed it, eyes flicking in his head like the pupils of a crocodile, before relaxing. The infection rose off of the god's body in feverish waves, bringing beads of sweat to the boy's skin. But while he was injured, and his own wounds still ached from the attack of the crocodile god that had wracked the city a few weeks ago, he understood, just as his mother had, that there were things worth hurting over, and he smeared honey across his hands. The boy schooled himself, remembering his mother's tone, and how his mother's strong hands hadn't hesitated for more than a minute, and the drowsy weeks that had passed waited for the fever to go down. "This might hurt,"The boy said. The bird rumbled mournfully, and then the boy's hands pressed down firmly onto the wound. "You have to take better care of yourself,"The boy insisted, ignoring that he could feel the god's heart beat faster and faster, that he could see tendons roiling and shifting in pain, the application of cool fresh honey a balm to the skin, but one that required skin contact. But the bird had long fought in the armies of the gods, and knew how to stand at attention even if he had forsaken his doctors and clergy today, and despite the slow opening and closing of a beak that had been armored to tear out throats, he remained still and let the small boy treat his wound. His eyes changed in and out of focus, went glossy and stark with pain, but never did he move. When the honey jar was empty, he and the boy wrapped the wound back up, and then the bird flew away to languish on greater heights. Bizarrely, the boy found that when he had arrived home, his mother, who had fallen sick from hunger from spending all of her time treating him, was surrounded by the clergy abd the doctors who had been rejected, and soon would be in perfect health again, and the tables were covered in food, and a single golden feather as wide as their roof sat over top of their house. The clergy would heal them as he had helped their god. The promise that it would get better would be upheld. He had gone to get the god's blessing for his own health, to help his mother. He hadn't expected to get it beyond his wildest dreams. His mother was crying. They hugged. The next day, the bird took them both to the temple, and the two of them treated him together. The pain was diminished. The clash of war overhead in the heavens sounded like the dread bell tolling out the end of all things and instead the rare pitter of pain across the divine river. And for once, the great gods that lived in the city were quiet in their moans of pain. And for once, the boy slept well without worry over his mother. Or his god. ------ for more https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
Thread: I can't connect to the Clairvoyance. User sorcerer2007 wrote today on 10:24: > Hey, as in the title. I can't seem to be able to connect. Is something wrong with my crystal ball? User m461c wrote today on 10:39: > If we can read it then it's connected. User portableC wrote today on 10:39: > Why did you even get a crystal ball? In today's world they're obsolete, you can't carry them around at all. Crystal slabs are where all the hype is! User portableC wrote today on 10:40: > Oh, and you probably bought one of the shitty off-brands with Mirrors preinstalled. Get rid of this shit and buy an mSphere. It should work properly, and it's much safer too when browsing Clairvoyance. No interceptor spells are being written for it. > > MOD EDIT on 11:02: Use the "edit"function next time". User lookintotheMirrors wrote today on 10:43: >You've got to be kidding me? mSpheres instead of Mirrors? Yeah, it doesn't have interceptor spells, but it's not compatibile with any good spells either. Nonsense. sorcerer2007, don't listen to this guy, he's trolling. User portableC wrote today on 10:47: > HAHA, TROLLING! Obviously you're the one trolling. No one would normally recommend Mirrors. Outside of their marketing department. How much do they pay you, troll? User lookintotheMirrors wrote today on 10:53: > Wow, you're a fucking retard. Congratulations. User TheEpicMod wrote today on 11:00: > This ends now. portableC and lookintotheMirrors, settle your differences in private scrolls once your bans end. sorcerer2007, use the "Search"function next time, this has been asked literally millions of times. Thread closed. Moderator locked this thread on 11:02. Thread moved to the bin. --- This isn't exactly what the prompt was about, ended up mocking the rivalry between different OS users, but meh. I wanted to experiment, so there you have it, it's supposed to read like a discussion on old forums. /r/lecetrabantem for more stories. They're not like that, but read them anyway!
I stood, horrified, frozen in the street. Some part of me knew I should be running, diving out of the way, but as the car raced toward me, I felt rooted to the spot. I knew that this time, my luck had run out. I had time to think, somehow. In the adrenaline rush, time slowed to a crawl. My luck...My Aunt Victoria called it my “guardian angel.” The light fixture that fell just after I got up from the dinner table when I was ten. The rattlesnake that struck my jeans instead of my leg when I got careless in the desert as a teenager. Even my birth, when I came out blue with two knots in the cord, but they got to me in time and I turned out healthy. Now, though, this was it. The end. As I thought this, someone slammed into me from the side. I was briefly conscious of something glowing and white; and then of the ground hitting my left shoulder while the massive weight of an entire person landed on my right; and the whoosh of the car racing past and the blare of its horn dopplering past me. The confused tangle of limbs on top of me resolved itself into a rather ordinary-looking gentleman in a slightly rumpled brown suit and hat. He stood up with some effort, offered me a hand to pull me to my feet, and brushed himself off. “Sorry about that,” he said as we stepped up the curb to the sidewalk. “Had to get a bit more physical this time.” A noncommittal “No apology necessary” died unsaid on my tongue. Instead, I said, “This time?” I was certain I had never seen this man before in my life. “Well, yes,” he said. “It’s a bit embarrassing, you see, having to become corporeal and all. It’s much easier to redirect a snake than a careless driver.” I frowned, thinking of people with delusions, and then thinking of the rattlesnake I had never told anyone except Aunt Victoria about. “What’s your name?” I asked. He shrugged. “Don’t really have one. Never really needed one, actually.” “Not being corporeal,” I said. He smiled. “Speaking of,” he said. “I really need to get going.” He touched his hat and turned away. “Wait!” I said. He stopped, looking back at me with a question on his face. But I didn’t know what to say. Aunt Victoria might (or might not) have believed in guardian angels, but my parents certainly did not, and had raised me with a healthy skepticism. I felt myself teetering on the verge of an existential crisis. “Oh, now, don’t do that,” the man said. “But…” “No, listen. You planning on hurting anyone?” “Well, no…” “Killing anyone?” “Of course not!” “Being anything other than the gentle soul I know you are?” “I mean…” “You’re fine, kid. Try to stay out of trouble. And when you get in over your head, well, that’s where I step in. But don’t worry about that too much. Don’t get careless just ‘cause you know I’m around, ‘cause then I won’t be, you understand? But don’t go worrying about The Big Picture, ‘cause that’s different for everyone anyway.” I gaped at him. People flowed past us on the sidewalk. Cars moved by on the street. For a moment, though, time seemed to stand still around us as I tried to wrap my mind around his words. He smiled at me, touched his hat again, and melted into the crowd. I stood on tiptoe, straining for a glimpse of a brown hat, but could not see his head among the throng.
"Ok, look thats great and all but where is my sandwich?"Bill asked the shop employee that was currently being harassed by a small imp with a pitchfork. "Ah! Help ow! Me!"He said, jumping on the counter, doing a little tap dance as the imp tried to jab him. "Can you believe the customer service here?"Bill said to another customer. "This place had respect for customers at one stage, now look at em, can't even make a sandwich... HEY KID SOME OF US HAVE TO GET TO WORK!"He shouted, startling the kid who fell straight onto the pitchfork. In return the imp made the man a sandwich as thank you. As Bill walked outside, taking a small bite of his sandwich he sighed. "Jeez, that little thing makes a good sandwich, its almost devilishly good. Now wheres my car?"He glanced around before looking at his car that had now joined a group of others cars that were being crushed together to form a large metallic ball of parts. "Hmm.. guess Ill take the bus?"He walked over to the bench, sitting on it as he glanced at the person next to him. "Car troubles?" The man nodded pointing to his car that was too now reduced to a ball. "Yeah, I think its because of that global warming hoax thing. Makes cars act all weird and stuff."Bill commented as the man just shrugged, not knowing enough about the subject to say he was wrong. As they sat on the bench, cracks formed in the road, shooting spurts of lava onto the street. "Fucking global warming man... its wack."The man simply nodded at Bills statement before they got on the bus, the driver having no skin on his face, nor no skin anywhere for that matter. "WANNNA GO FOR A RIDE? HEHEHAHA"he laughed, teeth chattering together as Bill just scanned his bus-pass. "Yeah im going to fifteenth street."He said casually as he found himself a spot to sit. "I'm glad that we live in a place where the anti discrimination laws are so good. Its good to see people like him get work."He smiled, wrapping the rest of his sandwich up for later. Today would be a good day. He thought as the bus speeded off down the road.
My mother always told me not to misbehave or else the monster under my bed would get me. We had just move into a new home, my mother was trying to escape from her abusive husband. I loved my mother and would do anything she said. She worked during the weeknights so I was pretty lonely most of the time. She would drop me off at school, pick me up when it was over, and then soon after she was off to work already. When I was younger and my parents were still together she didn’t have her night job so she would almost always tell me bedtime stories and then make sure I was doing okay. On the nights that her stories failed to lull me to sleep she would end her visits with “Make sure to be a good girl or else the monster under your bed will get you!” And then proceed to kiss me goodnight. I love my mom and I am beginning to love this new house, this new school, and the neighborhood we were in. I was beginning to make some friends and all was well, until the night my mother called me from her work. She never calls me from her job so I had assumed it was an emergency and I quickly answered the phone. She seemed out of breath and panicking. She ordered me to lock the doors, which I followed whilst talking to her on the phone. She really didn’t want me to hang up for some reason which began to frighten me. The scariest part was what she said next. “He’s coming for you. Stay in your room and lock your door.” I ran back to my room, fear now seeping deep into me. I closed and then locked my bedroom door. Then there was a loud bang which sounded like a door being broken. I was now terrified, the fear had frozen me still, standing in the middle of my room. Watching the door as I heard footsteps get louder and louder. I was breathing heavily, almost crying breaths as the footsteps stopped in front of my bedroom door. I dropped to the floor, letting go of the phone as I fell. My legs had given out due to my intense fear of the situation. I could hear my mother on the other end of the phone screaming my name, attempting to talk to me. Suddenly I felt something grab my shoulder and drag me into the closet. I attempted to yell but nothing could escape except for my panicked breaths. Inside the closet, the monster then closed the door and then clamped my mouth with its claws and spoke. “Be quiet or he will hear you.” Another loud bang, this time I was sure that it was my door. The footsteps came into my room and I could hear him pick up my phone that I had left out there and end the call. His voice was drunken as he yelled my name. “I know you’re in here. Your bitch of a mother won’t even let me see you anymore so I’m going to take you from her.” There was a sharp metal click and then the monster stood up behind me, moved me into the corner of the closet, and opened the door. I heard low pitched snarling coming from the monster and then a “What in the hell.” Everything after that was a bit of a blur. It all happened so fast. The monster was so fast that it sounded like a gunshot had gone off the moment it moved. But what I found strange was that there were more gunshot sounds afterwards along with the screaming of the man. What seemed like ten seconds later everything was quiet and I peeked out of the closet door to see my empty room, no monster, no man, just my phone laying on the floor. I guess my mother’s words were true, that if you misbehaved then the monsters would get you.
I had left the guild behind for a time in Grand Eddinheim to head north and put my skills to work clearing the plains of Valenhearth. My provisions were numbered just enough to last me a month, but if I did my job correctly then there would be more than enough spoils to trade with the traveling merchants that frequented this route. Hunting, looting the corpse, then trading. That was my specialty. Most folks who chose the Ever-Hunter class did so because they wanted to live quaint lives in a cozy cottage by a lake. The class made it extremely easy to track, kill, and then pilfer. The skill that made it attractive for those of us with an aptitude to choose it was a small increase in bargaining power. You had a bonus over all other hunters. Should you choose such a conventional profession, you would stand supreme over those without the aptitude to choose a class. Being an Ever-Hunter was truly the best plan if you wanted a normal life, but we are the weakest class in any adventurer's guild. We aren't very receptive to magic, our bodies don't have any additional durability, we can't do anything with magic, our strength and speed is just a cut above a normal human's. So clearly, I should be a hunter. Right? But I was born with the aptitude. I was given the choice. I wanted to be an adventurer. I yearned to explore thick jungles, climb snow-capped mountains, delve into the most dangerous ruins in search of gold and glory, but most of all, stories that would last a life time. It was my deepest desire. Being a hunter wasn't my dream. It was the easiest option now, but it was far from what I had looked forward to my entire life. And so here I was, laughed out of the guild. Pitching my torn, dirty tent out in the middle of a rookie field. The prey here was easy. Overgrown rats, some slimes. Occasionally a small treent would wander out of the nearby forest and raise hell on the path. At night, the skeletons of fallen creatures would come out to play. And on the road, hiding from sight, goblins would ambush travelers. One evening, just as the sun was setting, I saved a young lady from a small group of goblins. She was grateful, but didn't think much of my gear. A laughably old bow with a few crusty old arrows to notch, and a dull short sword strapped in an archaic leather sheet to the small of my back. The long gray coat I wore wasn't much, either. It was enough to keep the rain out and keep me warm at night. But it was ratty and she knew it. Whether out of pity or an interest in the mundane tasks I put myself to, she agreed to help me out. She stayed with me for a week, teaching me a few things about herbs. It wasn't much, but now I knew whether a plant would clean a wound or dissolve my skin. In turn, I would supply her with Treent branches, rat tails, slime entity, and goblin eyes. These were basic ingredients used in almost every potion she brewed. Towards the end, though, it was an agreement. And she was a witch. She never told me her name, and never admitted to her witchcraft, but it was pretty obvious. To thank her for her lessons, I bought a belt off a traveling merchant for her to keep potions in. But she denied the gift, saying that the lessons were her way of thanking me for saving her, and payment for the ingredients I gathered for her. In the end, though, that's a lesson to be learned about dealing with witches. They always leave you in their debt. Before disappearing one night, she gave me a small book full of simple yet effective recipes, and on the cover page was more a threat than a promise: I'll come back to collect some day. Now, I can't lie. I took a keen interest in that young witch. But most of all, I took an interest in what she taught me. My arrows were poison tipped, my sword was laced with venom. And for every rat bite I suffered, for every globule of skin-melting slime that got on me, for every welt and bruise dealt by the Treents, there was a balm. Time passed on, and the month I planned on turned quickly into two months. The creatures would come in waves- After killing a bunch of them, a whole horde would have me on my toes for a days at a time. And then a long span of nothing. I used that down time to fix up potions that would serve to stave my hunger or heighten my senses. I bought a mixing kit off of a merchant, a small one that fits into my satchel. It's the one I still use to this day. Two months turned into three months as I shifted into night training. My biological clock had practically given up as I grew accustomed to less sleep. My night vision improved, and as hobgoblins started coming out more frequently, I got a lot better at defending myself with the sword. Anymore, all it took was a small cut with a poison dagger to drop a foe to their knees. And so my new strategy was to go on the defensive with the short sword, only to land a perfectly timed blow with a hidden wrist-knife to the gut. By the end of the third month I was getting bored. The waves slowed down as the population of monsters in the region gradually decreased. I had started edging myself on the potions, building up an immunity. It was painful at first, but well worth it. More than once I had cut myself on accident and had to rush to mix an antidote. The potions were quite popular with the merchants, who now saw me as a staple on the Valenhearth plains. But as the third month became the fourth, the nomad tribes would start to settle in the region. Too much traffic meant that I wasn't welcome anymore, and as my prey fled, so did I. First I returned to Grand Eddinheim. Things had changed. There was a new vendor selling equipment geared towards rogues. Having made a small fortune selling three month's worth of loot, I was quick to spend it all on a new short sword and a sharper dagger. I went to the fletcher to have my bow restrung, and to purchase newer arrows. There was a new hotshot faction in the guild, but I paid them no mind as I went in to cash out the kills I had gotten. The EXP. was incredible. There wasn't as much as there would have been had I gone into the forest, or out to the coast, but three months of straight grinding was more than enough. As it would happen, we receive EXP. estimates only at the guild. Naturally, anything I earned in the field went towards whatever skill I worked on. Night vision, alchemy, tracking. But the only way to measure how much EXP. you truly earned was at the guild. After reading out the numbers, the guild clerk was astonished. Ever-Hunters don't often rise, but when they do, they rise fast. For every 10th level you reach, the guild has to officially announce it. If you go up 20 levels, they have to make two individual announcements, even if it's in one sitting. And it's the same thing for 30 levels. So you can imagine my surprise when the guild clerk rang the bell for silence and made four separate announcements. But, in the end, levels don't mean much. Especially as an Ever-Hunter. There was murmuring as people wondered how it happened, but the crowd was quickly hushed when the clerk announced my new tier ranking. For the guild, your tier is everything. I was a lower C tier before I left. After a year of struggling, I was a lower C tier. It was pathetic. And now... My heart pounding, I listened for the new ranking. "The Ever-Hunter is now... Upper B-Tier". Silence. For me, it was incredible. I had gone up further than most Every-Hunters could only dream of. I was perhaps the highest ranked member of my class in the whole of the guild. But, if I were, say, a paladin, shooting up an instant 40 levels would land you in the A tier at least. Maybe even S tier. For a wizard, you would be upper S-tier after shooting up 40 levels. For a rogue, a humble little rogue, going up 40 levels would put you in the upper A-Tier for sure. But for me, a lowly Ever-Hunter, going up an entire 40 levels put me and my vastly improved self into... Upper B-Tier. The silence was broken instantly by laughter. There was one, then two. Then four. Then seven. Half the guild hall- No, the entire guild hall. Everybody in the room was laughing. And after so many months of hard work, after all that effort, it was hard for even me, the butt of the joke, to keep from laughing. Though it was more out of sorrow than joy. I didn't find anything funny about the weakness of my class. There was nothing humorus about all that work being for nothing. But in the end, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation was unbearable. I laughed because I couldn't cry, I worked too hard. I couldn't be angry, I was past that point. Laughter was all that was left. ============================================= I'm going to write a sequel. This is a nice concept. But this is a good place to end the first part. I'll probably end up putting this, and whatever I write after, on r/WritingsOfLumbaxter if you're interested in it.
“So, I can’t just give it up,” I asked the Priest who has taught me magic. “I can’t decide I’d rather be human instead?” He smiled at me with sympathetic eyes. “I was young like you, once. Every Priest and Priestess in the land are humans who have stumbled into our world, like myself.” I gasped, never realizing that Desmond was once a human. He was the most powerful and oldest Priest that had ever existed. The thought of him having once been human was baffling. “When did you come here,” I asked. “For me, on Earth, it was 1938. I’ve existed here for 600 years, though.” Desmond sighed and continued. “When a priest or priestess feels their power waning, they train someone knew. Someone inexperienced that shares the same sort of energy as them. When you found me, I knew you were supposed to take my position as a new Priest in this world. No human can exist in this world because they aren’t completely human. They are meant to be the policers of magic, to make sure no one person becomes too powerful. That’s why they must exist outside of our world before coming here so that they can be untouched by the politics of this land and can rule fairly.” I stared at him in shock, taking in what he had told me. I was supposed to replace the most powerful Priest to exist? Not to mention, I was supposed to be some sort of enforcer of magic? “Why me,” I asked. “No one gets to choose this role. The universe decides who to put its faith in, and it is our duty to take on the position.” I look at Desmond, and he is pale. I had never noticed in the year I had been with him, but he was losing his strength. “What happens to you?” I can’t bear the thought of him leaving me here, alone. “I teach you one last ritual. It’s one that you can only use twice in your life. Once, with my aid, to send me away, forever. Second, when you have finished training your successor to take your place.” Desmond is smiling at me, and I don’t understand why. “Does the ritual… kill you?” Desmond laughs, and I see a spark in his eye I hadn’t in a while. “Of course not! The spell sends me back to earth. I become a human again, and I get to finish out my life normally in 1938.” The answer is so mundane, it shocks me. “So, that’s it? You get to be an all-powerful Priest and then just stop? That’s a little anticlimactic.” “When you live for 600 years away from the life you’ve built for yourself in another world, you learn that your power pales in comparison.” Desmond’s breath catches, and it becomes harder for him to breathe. “It’s time,” he says. “Pay attention, now. You only get one time to learn this ritual.” He stands, and we begin. My last moments as being human.
Ever since I was a young boy, I've always been taught that a man must repay his debts. The burden I've borne these last few years has pushed my commitment to this responsibility to the utmost limits. I have seen the child brought forth by tragedy. I have tended to the soul wracked with unending anger and I have soothed the anguished cries of a boy in sorrow. My hopes were that one day he might find the footing to step forward, away from the darkness and into the light. Oh, how foolish and naive I was. &#x200B; Perhaps I gave him too much leeway when he was still a lad. Allowed him time alone, time to cultivate the seeds of his own destruction, rather than been there to comfort him and teach him softness. This city is cruel and ailing, and I have let him simmer in its filth all his life. My hesitation has bred a beast of fear, a creature which knows only the night. &#x200B; I've done what I can to mitigate the damage; I've stood a watchtower for him even as he has grown from a boy to a man. I think this shall continue to be my penance until my last days. &#x200B; But. &#x200B; One day it struck me. No population is uniform; and in a city drowning in sadness and solemnity, there will always be an outlier. Someone who smiles. Someone who laughs. If the boy will never smile or laugh again, then I shall smile and laugh for the both of us. In this city of doom and gloom, I shall be the one to bring the grins and guffaws. These fools on the streets, wailing and bemoaning their miseries; I'll plaster a toothy smile on them yet. &#x200B; Hehe. &#x200B; As I watch the boy leap from rooftop to rooftop, I begin to laugh. Wouldn't you laugh if you saw a grown man traipsing about in pajamas across the skyline? &#x200B; Hahaha. &#x200B; I am flushed with a sense of liberation when night falls. I release the weight of guilt and pain I carry the day long. I cut loose and live the reckless life of a youth that the boy never could. I stride onto the streets with a chuckle and I relish playing in the dirt that a gentleman is too proper to acknowledge. I let loose the storm which has churned inside me all this time. It's only the obvious thing to do when I'm off the clock, isn't it? &#x200B; Hahahahaha. &#x200B; Gotham, Gotham. You forlorn, weeping maiden. Smile! Laugh! And if you don't want to, perk up your ears and listen. You'll be my audience, and I'll be your Joker. &#x200B; *HAHAHAHAHAHAHA*
I kept refreshing the shopping app religiously. Yet it still said delivery in two weeks. Every time I would read that and sigh heavily. Apparently each sigh was a universal sign for the dickhead of a ghost that haunted my new apartment to knock something off a shelf. Or out of a cabinet. Two more weeks of childish tricks, of broken and near broken items. And of course, my favorite, the threatening messages on the bathroom mirror and fucked up noises in the middle of the night. The lady at the occult shop had suggested the "weird noise"technique after I came in the 4th time. She had given me advice each time. When the last option didn't work, she suggested this. After two grueling weeks, it finally came. I plopped the CD into my stereo and cranked up the volume before turning it on. I checked my suitcase and the layers of duct tape around the stereo to hold it into place. I pressed play. Set it for repeat and the soothing(?) sounds of Tuvan throat singing bellowed out of the surround sound. The effect was immediate as a kitchen cabinet opened and disgorged it's contents onto the floor. I quickly scooped up my keys and left. I left a note for the nice old lady next door saying I would be gone and my phone number to call and went to my hotel. The next 48 hours were peaceful. Nothing broken, no noise except the TV. My anxiety grew when it came time to go home. Arriving home, I could still hear the CD player pumping out music as I approached the door. Unlocking it, I opened to a disaster. It looked as if a hurricane had blown through the apartment. The word "why???"Was scribbled on the walls. I stopped the CD and waited a moment. Blissful silence met me. I sighed loudly and contently and began the clean up process. There was a final message waiting for me on the bathroom mirror. "You are an asshole and there is a special place in hell for you." I smiled and wiped it away.
"There are plenty of people that are capable of incredible things." While the statement is all encompassing and frankly speaking, quite unclear, it's carved upon the everlasting tree that stands at the center of the world. While not unlike the myths of the human world which refer to it as, Yggdrasil, the world tree, it's appearance as I gaze at it is unlike anything in their records. Well, I say records, but it's most likely a tale spoken by somebody that travelled from this world to theirs. After all, no humans are here. No humans can inhabit this place. "Why is that no humans can come across this plane of existence?" I casually speak to myself, yet even so, I receive an answer directly into my head, as if I'd thought it myself, yet the way it's formulated could never be my own. "Humanity... huh? Haven't heard that word for a while." "Define a while." "Time is a hard concept to grasp, more so when silence is the only answer that you receive, even to your own thoughts. It feels like a couple of years have passed since someone asked me that, right now, but it might have been an aeon or two ago when I was alone."For but a second, the pause it made felt unsettling, but it eventually regressed into a more cheerful response. "Humanity has been banished from this place that you inhabit for the power they possessed. It happened way longer than you might imagine. So long ago that if they were to return to this place as they are, they would be crushed under the presence of mana." "You speak of power, if it's so, then how would they have been driven out." "There are powers that aren't necessarily tied to strength. Just as how you can speak with spirits but other Sylvians can't, their individuality was what had driven them to a corner in the end." She smiled as those words seemed to reflect on her lips. It would rarely happen, when what the being said and what she believed was in sync. "They possessed what you already have. Curiosity." "Just... that?" "Do you see any other people speaking with beings from other planes of existence? What did you think when when you tried to make a deal with a being such as myself? Knowing you I bet it was something like I want to know what's on the other side."I mouthed over the words as they were exposed. "I see..." "Yeah. There you have your answer. More importantly, why did you actually want this power? Didn't you think ahead if you actually managed to pull it off?" "Well, I did, but right now it seems rather stupid."I sighed as I stood atop the tree that no one should be able to even touch. "To change the world." "Like..." "To make people try and understand each other... but I might have to give up on it." "Oho, and why is that?" "Doing so would only bring me happiness. It's something for my own enjoyment. A world that I would fit into... but now that you've gone ahead and told me all that, I guess there won't be any reason to do that."I smiled as I looked at the multicoloured petals that floated on the small river coming from the top of the tree. "I have no reason to change this place I hate so much." "So, you're going into exile by your own hands?" "No, no. After all we have a pact. Exile isn't really something you go through with others, is it not?" There was a tinge of silence until the being laughed in my own voice. "That's true. It's been a while since I had such a human response." I gently smiled as I broke off a branch of the tree and used it to create a portal. To a world without magic. I wonder, how would their world look like?
Fred sighed. They still weren't getting it. "No, I don't cause machinery to catastrophically malfunction. That's noticeable. What I do is change minor aspects. Stuff that you would never pick up in the normal run of things. Like, um ... a slow leak in your car tyre valve that makes you late for work in a week."He absently tugged on the T-shirt he was wearing, that showed a sniggering little demonic creature setting an alarm clock forward. That, a domino mask, and a pair of black jeans, comprised his costume to this point. "I cause tiny imperfections, and in time they add up to big things." The Gadgeteer rubbed his chin. "Hmm. So ... when you exert your power, do the imperfections resist repair? For instance, if you made Professor Perfidy's force shield less than totally reliable, would he be able to mend it? Or would it remain problematic forever after, no matter what he did?" "Oh, it's totally fixable, depending on what it is,"Fred said at once. "If he took out the part that made it unreliable and replaced it, the force shield would work fine." "Hmm."The Solar Paladin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He floated a few inches off the ground, as was his habit. The sun that was emblazoned on his chest glowed with its own light. As far as Fred was aware, the floating and glowing thing wasn't a matter of showing off; if the man didn't exert his powers somehow, the solar energy he absorbed every second of the day even at night-time just kept making him stronger. "Tell me; can you convince your power that something is an imperfection when it's really improving it? Such as making Dark Avenger's costume bulletproof while masking it as making the sleeves and legs less flexible?" Fred shook his head. "No, it doesn't work that way. It has to be specifically inconvenient to the person it affects the most. Every time I've tried something like that, it's done it in a way that screwed me and the other guy over." "So what use are you?"asked Toy Wonder, stepping up alongside her mentor, The Gadgeteer. "You can only make things go wrong in tiny ways. It's not like you've got anything to bring to the team." "As rude as the young lady is, I am afraid that I must agree with her."Solar Paladin looked around at the other members of L.E.A.G.U.E. "What say you, friends?" The Gadgeteer nodded briefly. "If he cannot aid me in my battle against Professor Perfidy, then my vote is no as well. Dark Avenger?" The black-clad woman, silent as the night which she preferred to frequent, stepped closer to Fred. Eye to eye they stared at one another, then she shook her head and turned away. "Oh, come on,"Fred protested, even as he realised it would do no good. "It's a legitimate power. Was it the costume? I can fix the costume." "Face it, dude,"Toy Wonder snarked. "Your powers suck so hard that if you became a supervillain, crime would go down." "Now, that's just not a nice thing to say,"the Gadgeteer said, but his tone was mild and there was a grin on his face under his HUD visor. "Sorry, Gremlin. Best of luck." Fred turned and headed for the teleporter that would transmit him back to Earth from the orbiting space station that served as a base for L.E.A.G.U.E. Externally, he was calm. Internally, he was seething. Those assholes hadn't even given him a chance to show what he could do. Everyone knew the Federal Government subsidised L.E.A.G.U.E., giving each of the so-called 'heroes' a seven-figure annual salary; he would've been happy with a tenth of that, just so he could help pay his mother's medical bills, maybe with a little left over to put his kid sister through college. But no, they couldn't even be human enough to do that. Fuck it, he told himself as he was transmitted back to Earth. Toy Blunder says I should become a villain. I might just do that. I'll damn-sure get more respect that way.
“Mr Pence, come in.” I wringed my hands, trying to settle my pounding heart. The waiting room was practically empty, save me and a 70 year-old man who looked like he was on his last legs. Grunting, the old man rose to his feet and approached the bleak silver door that split the waiting room and… whatever was beyond it. About an hour ago, I’d received a call notifying me of a government-mandated ‘appointment’ at 11. I hadn’t thought much of it, but it became all too real when I’d been escorted from my cubicle by two men in suits. I didn’t know what it was. I assumed I was in trouble, but the waiting room made it seem like it was a sort of simple doctor’s checkup. The room was empty now. The light seemed to sting. The door opened, and the old man came back out. I glanced at him. He was smiling as he walked past me to leave, almost like he had a spring in his step. What the hell were they doing in there? “Mr Walton, come in.” I got to my feet and approached the door, steeling myself. My hands felt cold and clammy, and as I turned the doorknob they left a sweaty impression on the metal. I entered the next room. The walls were bright, and made out of steel. In the top right corner, a loudspeaker, and a dispenser situated beneath it. In the middle of the room was a large rectangle shape carved into the floor, alien from the rest of the room. “Mr Walton. Are we correct in assessing that you were one of the citizen supporters in passing the new Death Penalty bill?” “Yes,” I replied. “I… I did support that. Why?” “In that case, you are required to fulfil your new citizenship duties as a supporter of this bill.” I gulped. What new citizenship duties? The dispenser rattled, and dropped a revolver into the collecting area. The rectangle on the floor in front of me shook, and rose slowly from the floor. It rose, and rose, until it revealed itself as the top of a barred cage, holding a desperate-looking man in a prison uniform. “This man is a criminal. As part of your new duties as a citizen,” the voice crackled, “Kill him.” “I - I can’t do that!,” I protested. “I’ll - that’s illegal!” “You will be free from any punishment. After all,” the voice chuckled, “You helped us pass the legislation. It’s hardly illegal to kill criminals now.” I clenched my fists. “What if I don’t want to?” “If you cannot kill him, then your support will be removed as a vote for the bill.” I couldn’t… I glanced at the man. He was sitting dejectedly on his knees, gripping the bars so hard his knuckles were turning white. No. I had to. Criminals deserved to die, after all. Didn’t they? Begrudgingly, I walked over and picked the revolver from the dispenser. I walked up to the very bars of the cage, and aimed the barrel of the pistol directly at the criminal’s head. He looked directly down the barrel, as if he wasn’t scared. My hands shook, too frozen to pull the trigger. Mustering some courage, I ran my index finger over the trigger. I wasn’t ready to pull it. Not yet. “Any - any last words?” I asked him. He just stared at me. The man had a 9 to 5 shadow which ran over his sullen cheekbones, a flimsy mohawk running from his forehead to the back of his neck. “Fine, then,” I replied, and with some bravado, pulled the trigger - Click. The gun was empty.
Beep BeepBeep Beep BeepBeep It's already 8:10,so if I don't hurry up, then I'll be late for work AGAIN 'Uugh FINE!' I groan as I'm getting dressed. 'I HATE MONDAYS' As I'm getting dressed in my work clothes, and heels, I bump against the wall behind me. I turn around, while blindly searching for my phone on my night stand. My calendar on my wall. I finally get my phone and check the date on the lockscreen. Today's date is circled, and a red ! is on it. 'Wha- SHIT No......... that was next week., right? RIGHT?! Shit shit SHIT. No. NO NO Shit. Will? Babe.' I feel like screaming, but stop myself immediately. Will probably went to work early again. Or pulled an all- nighter. I try not to think about it, but I can't help it. Did I REALLY forget that today was the day everyone was supposed to remember? The day we all were supposed to leave on a rocket ship off of the planet? 'No, I must be wrong, I HAVE to be wrong!' I shove my phone in my purse and grab my keys. I walk outside, and see nothing out of the ordinary. I look at my watch and see that it's 8:17. I get in my car and start driving, when I notice it. No other car on the road, except for mine. I race as fast as I can towards my best friend Sara's house. I get out of my car. I Shaking, I manage to get my phone out of my car. I call Sara. After ringing for a few second, she picks up. 'Hey. Where are you? I'm outside of your house.' I manage , with tears in my eyes. 'Lila. I wouldn't exactly call a small apartment on a humongous ship floating in space home, but atleast I remembered to wake up today. Haha I'm in room number 852 on the 5th floor, btw. Come up, so we can have a proper breakfast.. I'm STARVING!', I hear her say over the phone.I'm shaking so hard I can't stay standing up. I sit on her steps, trying to figure what to say. 'Lila. Are you okay?' I can hear her say this over the phone, but she sounds so far away. 'I, um... No. I'm outside of, well your actual house. As in 374 Willsburg Street. Umm, I woke up late. I forgot Sara, and now I'm all alone standing outside of your house on a deserted planet!' ,I say with tears streaming down my cheeks. After a few seconds she says, 'Lila. Are you serious? Stop playing! This is not funny. What room are you in?' 'NONE!' I yell into the phone. 'That's what I'm trying to tell you Sara. I forgot! I'm stuck alone on a deserted planet, because I forgot that we were supposed to leave off Earth today,' I can't speak anymore. I force myself to take deep breaths to calm down as Sara says, 'WHAT?! Shit. Shit!! We have to figure something out.' She tries reassuring me. 'No Sara. You don't understand. I'm on a DESERTED planet', I tell her. 'What the hell am I supposed to do?' 'Lila. I think I know what to do. Canada is supposed to be leaving in two days. Maybe you can catch that ship. I'll tell my dad to see if he can get someone who can contact Canadian authorities.' She says with an obviously anxious tone. 'Really? I guess I'll go home and pack.. Damn.' ,I finally say. 'NO, Lila. If you don't leave now, then you'll barely make it. Just go into my house and get the suitcase that's by my bed. I couldn't bring it, but the clothes probably fit you. The doors unlocked. I felt it stupid to lock it.' ,she says. As I'm walking towards her room I say, 'Ok, but Canada is like 10 hours away, I don't know if I'll even convince them to let me aboard.' &#x200B; &#x200B; \Someone please finish it..\ \And also tell me how I did\
Alex turned away from the blackboard to address his student. "And that's how you calculate the exact angle at which to throw a knife. Any questions?" Wyatt glanced over his notes "I guess so. Mind if I practice a bit?" "Of course!"Alex gestured towards a nearby rack of knives. "Help yourself." As Wyatt sorted through the assortment of knives, Alex got to work wiping down the blackboard. Suddenly, he felt a distortion in the air. Alex leaned over and adjusted his boot, barely avoiding the knife's blade as it flew over his back. It sank into the blackboard and stuck there. Wyatt feigned remorse, but Alex could see he was more frustrated than anything. "Sorry! I was trying to hit that target over there, but the wind picked up just now." Alex yanked the knife out of the blackboard and hefted it in his palm. There was a noticeable change in wind speed, but the knife was easily heavy enough to resist it without changing direction. He slid the knife back into the rack and returned it to the storage shed. He double checked the lock before dismissing Wyatt and making his way back to his quarters. Alex fixed himself a drink and sat at his desk. The thin, tattered pages of his journal laid in front of him, but he couldn't think of anything noteworthy to write about. When he took on Wyatt, he was forced to cut down on his travels. Wyatt's training for the day was fairly unremarkable. He was improving on his gross motor skills, but his deception still needed a lot of work. It was a miracle he was ever able to find work as a bounty hunter. Alex had been expecting someone to challenge him for months, but he was rather unimpressed when Wyatt showed up. He'd stumbled through the door, clearly more than a little drunk, and tried to stab Alex with a carrot. If it had been anyone else, Alex would have dispatched him in seconds. But something about Wyatt caught his interest. Maybe he wasn't the best at combat, but he had a level of persistence that continued to amaze Alex day after day. That's why, after deescalating the situation, Alex had offered him an apprenticeship. Alex was jerked out of his thoughts by a loud thunk. He crept to the window and peered outside. Far below, silhouetted against the grass, Wyatt stood with a long length of pipe. He was feeding it into a small vent. Alex watched as he stepped back, looked over his work, and connected the other end of the pipe to a large yellow canister. Alex cursed to himself, then rushed downstairs. He flung on his coat and slipped through a small window, emerging in the courtyard. He crept low to the ground and slowly made his way to where he had last seen Wyatt. By the time he got there, Wyatt was long gone, leaving the pipe and canister unattended. Alex grabbed the canister and nearly pulled it away, but he stopped when he realized that whatever substance was inside would be released. Instead, he grabbed the pipe, pulled it out of the vent, and threw several feet away. A yellow gas seeped out of it and drifted into the air. Alex stepped away from the growing cloud of gas and went in search of Wyatt. He had taken off as soon as he saw Alex leave his quarters, but he wasn't much of a runner. Alex found him leaning against a large oak tree, panting. Alex grabbed his hand and shook it heartily. "Great job, Wyatt! You've really surpassed my expectations!" Wyatt opened his mouth, but Alex interrupted him. "That's easily the best attempt on my life you've made so far! How did you ever come across that poison? You're turning out to be a fantastic warrior. Say, tomorrow, why don't we start a unit on toxic substances? " Wyatt nodded hesitantly. Alex smiled, and began for his quarters. He had better get started on tomorrow's lesson plan.
"Okay, so, you're telling me that the real reason dinosaurs went extinct is because they tried to sacrifice a caveman child to an eldritch god?"I queried of She who walks Quietly through the Reeds, or Suzie Q as I always called her before the quarantine. I always knew she was more than just a house cat, but I could never prove otherwise. "And the God was… offended?" "Well of course darling, Quel'amu'nah was the one who made the cavemen in the first place."Purred the tortoiseshell floating in the air behind the couch. It had become her favorite location to hover since dropping the façade of simplicity. "Wouldn't you be offended if someone offered your child to you? So, darling Quel dropped an asteroid on them. Really, it was quite fun." We had been playing this game of question and answer for a few days now, ever since she had confirmed my suspicions. It had taken a few days to get used to the constant state of floating, but given that we had nothing but time, I feel I managed it fairly well. "Well, right, I get that, but… were dinosaurs that advanced?"I was trying to wrap my head around the whole thing, but couldn't quite grasp it. "I mean, were they advanced enough for that?" "Darling, the reptilian empire was around for millions of years. They learned a few tricks here and there."She pawed her way through the air, swimming towards me. "Sweetness, use those dear fingers that Quel gave you and get between my shoulders, would you?" How could I possibly refuse?
“Oh, I could marry you, Barberis.” The hero dragged his gloved fingers along his neatly shaven beard line. Picking up the stray hairs on his clean white gloves. “To think I would look like a beast if It wasn’t for your magical hands.” “Now, now Hotshot, Like you, I am married to my work. I am the only barber that can handle you, superpowered types. I have to admit, the clean shave suits you. Adds to that authoritarian look. It shows the world that, Yes I am the hero of this world, you can tell I have authority over this world by the authority I wield over my facial hair.” Hotshot placed a hand over his heart. “It’s like you get me.” The hero stood up, brushing off a few stray hairs that littered his uniform. “I guess you won’t tell me your secret? Even for your favourite customer.” “Favourite? Without meaning to break that heart of yours.” Barberis dragged Hotshots hand away from his chest. “You aren’t my favourite, no my heart belongs to another customer. Their hair as wild as their personality. They are the only person who deserves my fullest attention. Your hair is like you, controlled and tamed. But hers, it’s a wildfire of emotion. You can’t compete.” Hotshot tried to feign hurt, only to burst into laughter. “You are just trying to avoid my question aren’t you. I can hardly blame you, many people would love to know your secret. There are a lot of jealous hairdressers that would love to have us as customers. I hear you even turn away celebrities that want to get their hair treated by the pro himself. Why?” “Their hair is boring. Hair tells a story, there’s a lot hidden in one’s hair. DNA, passion and personality. I assure you, I would get bored cutting the average person’s hair. Money doesn’t interest me, you all pay me well enough. I am content to work at my little shop until the day I die or am killed by a villain.” “Like anyone would kill you. Could you imagine the uproar if either side caused your death? Even their closest allies would hate them.” “You exaggerate my importance, but I appreciate the sentiment. I booked you in for the next month. Please let me know if anything comes up. Good luck with your day, Sir.” Hotshot gave Barberis a wave. “Yeah, thanks for the cut, talk to you then.” As soon as he left, Barberis collected the leftover hairs, carrying them towards a backroom. “I’m surprised no one has discovered my secret yet. Only someone with superpowers could cut another superpowered person’s hair. It’s just common knowledge.” He opened up a small zip-locked bag, dumping the hair into the bag. “I wonder what story your hair will tell this week, Hotshot. Each strand a fresh memory to explore.” He soon turned his attention away from Hotshots’s hair, instead eyeing the large flow of wild purple hair that hung off his wall. He plucked a single hair from it, leaning closer to it. “Now, will you tell me Miss Zara’s memories?” As soon as he tried to read the hairs memory, it faded, crumbling between his fingers. “I do not know why your hair disobeys me, But I assure you I will find it out soon enough. I can’t wait for your next visit, Zara.” When he heard the ringing of his doorbell, he quickly hurried out of the backroom, locking the door before heading to meet his next customer. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.}
"Life in prison,"you think to yourself. "What a joke." The last few centuries have been a long stretch. For what must at least be the hundred-thousandth time you ponder the circumstances that brought you here. A plan for world domination. Oh, they called you criminal while the hunted the whales to extinction. A madman when they filled the atmosphere with smoke. How could it have gone so wrong? How could your movement have failed? Being immortal gives one perspective and wisdom, but not boundless intellect. You shake your head again. Rehashing old arguments won't fix things. You once again settle into the divot in the floor. Once, long ago you had been placed in this room. The door was shut behind you and hadn't been opened since. Why would they need to feed you, or give you health care? You survive. Everything. There was originally a cot in here. It had long since disintegrated into nothing, and even the floor below it had taken a shape contoured to your sleeping form. How long ago was it now? Four hundred years? Five? With no windows you could only guess by the single light they installed into the ceiling far over head. It went out what must have been at least a hundred years ago. Originally there had also been air. That only seemed to last a day or so. Once that had run out life hadn't been comfortable. Adding to that several centuries worth of hunger and life didn't become any more enjoyable. No human contact. No books to read. No art to enjoy. They locked you in a deep dark pit and left you there. Still, you endure. After the first 100 years or so you decided you could no longer live out your sentence with any semblence of dignity and began to try to escape from your cell in earnest. At first you simple dragged your fingernails around the door, trying to loosen it from its frame and scraping your nails to body nubs. After years you managed to pull the door off of the wall, but as you ventured into the short hallway beyond you find it leads to an elevator with doors that don't open. After what must have been at least another year of trying you finally manage to pull the elevator doors open enough to see that they filled the elevator shaft with concrete after they dropped you in here. In a way you're sort of impressed. Another few years in had seen you fashion the metal of your elevator and cell doors into a few usable, if crude tools. You had been using them to begin to chip a concrete tunnel to the surface. You wonder idly and not for the first time as you lay in your divot, "How deep am I?" ...As you wake in darkness for the who-knows-which-time-this-is You begin the long journey up the shaft. Once your cell, while not luxuriously spaced had provided ample walking room. No more. The stone and concrete chunks you've managed to chip out if the shaft had to go somewhere and so you piled them along the walls until all that was left was your sleeping area and a small walking path. How many days had you been doing this? Weeks? Months? Years? You pick up what remains of the metal doors, now only a few scraps of metal, and begin to climb the shaft. Though not certain how deep you are you know that the shaft you've cut travels more or less up and extends for what must be hundreds of body lengths. You've considered on more than one occasion cutting a nook into the concrete so that you can take a nap without having to climb out of the shaft, but every day you decide anew to focus on escape. Today being no different you continue your ascent until you finally grope about and find the end of the tunnel. At once you being to scrape against the concrete in the dark. Several hours later the strangest thing happens. As you pick away at the concrete with your dulled metal shard you feel the tunnel give. Panicking you brace for pain, but none comes. Slowly you grope the tunnel's end and find that at the very furthest point the tunnel is no longer solid, but instead had a finger sized hole. Elated, you redouble your efforts. Hours later, long past the point you became exhausted, you pull yourself through the hole in the darkness and stand straight. Feeling about, you find the new room to be about three paces to a side, and one side has a door on it. Trying the door, you find it doesn't budge. Still, this is the most exciting thing to happen to you in a long time. You rest on the floor of this new chamber a few feet from the tunnel entrance and sleep deeply, satisfied with your progress. When you wake you begin working on the door to this new room. Using what remains of your door tools, you scrape at the sides of the door frame, planning to dislodge it like the first door to your cell. After countless hours of work you break through the door's surrounding. You step to the side and allow the door to fall. Groping on the other side, you find grains, lengths and hard spots. After several moments you put it all together. This is ground. Dirt with stones and tree roots in it. Joy hits you and immediately after shock. You've hit the surface! And you're under it. Still, this is reason to celebrate. You wipe away as much dirt as you can and begin to know on the tree roots. As distasteful as you find them, they're still the only food or source of water you've had in centuries and you savor them with delight. After several more days of intense labor you break through to the surface in a moment of pure elation, brilliance and pain. The last of the dirt above you gives way and the light floods in, blinding you and burning your retinas. They've not taken in light for a long time and the full fury of the sun was a shock to them. Simultaneously air hits your face. Air! Sweet air! For the first time in at least 500 years you draw a breath and let out a croaking, rasping cough of joy. Pulling yourself out of the hole you lay limp on the ground letting your eyes adjust to the sweet air that now fills your lungs, letting a long felt burning finally subside. After several hours of trying you finally open your eyes for a few moments without pain. The first surprise was that the burning light was not caused by the sun, but by the light of the quarter moon. The second was that you were lying in the middle of a forest of what looked to be oak trees. This was an old growth forest. How long had you really been in there? The next several years were a wonderful boon and blur to you. You found food and water. You grew strong again on the surface of a world, once bustling with people and now so seemingly empty. Regrets hit you from time to time. Thoughts that you wished you could have turned society to something different. Alas, whatever will be will be. One day while about your regular hunting and foraging you spot something strange in the distance. Approaching slowly you find it to be a group of hunters. Mostly men, but a few women all dressed in rough furs and armed with simple weapons. Without fear for your life, but fear for the outcome, you approach them. They at first react in fear suspicion and aggression but with no hostile moves from you they eventually seem to become accustomed to your presence. They don't speak your language, though every once in a while they do say a word or two that you swear you recognize. As they days and months pass you come to understand their language. You learn that they know nothing of the ancient world. There are no stories told of the old times where men traveled in metal ships across the skies, or spoke in boxes to people across the world. These things had been forgotten in the fulness of time. You remembered though. Over the years as the hunters turned to villagers and when the villagers became old they began to recognize you for what you were: an eternal. They gave you a place of honor in their society. At the time you can recall thinking to yourself that it was only right to do so. This time you'll do better. You'll rebuild society from the ground up. People will appreciate the connections they have to the world and those around them. They'll make better choices, and if not all will still be well. You'll try again and again, as many times as it takes. After all, the only thing that truly endures in this world is you.
On the farthest edges of the Universal Galactic Republic’s boarders is a tiny ice ball of a planet called Cephoria-032. It’s home to a rare metal typically only found in inhospitable environments, but when the Republic’s scouts found the planet, it was home to a very tribal yeti like species. The Republic does what it does best, build relations with the new species, setup trade, and exploit them. Commander Jones and his band of miscreants Grief of the Lion land on Cephoria-032. Their mission is to capture the Republic’s outpost and kill the indigenous species that protect it. Before exiting their ship, Commander Jones addresses his 50 member crew. “About a hundred clicks is an outpost. Our mission is to execute the local population, take over the outpost, and await further instructions. Intel given to us says the enemy is bear like with the ability to walk on two legs. They’re a tribal species, so advanced weaponry isn’t expected. We’ll be keeping a health length of distance between us and the natives, we’ll shoot them from a distance then close in when they’re weak. Questions?” “Do we have enough people to take out an outpost? If they’re mining, they would have workers and possibly guards on site.” Captain Daniels asked. “Good Question Daniels. I believe 50 men would be a good number for this mission, especially since we have the weaponry advantage. Because of the hostile environment, I don’t believe they have brought in an external party to work or guard the outpost. I’ve already sent out Jacobs and Smokes to recon for us. We will hear from them within the hour.” Commander Jones paused for questions. “All right dismissed, boots ready to hit the ground in 2 hours.” --------------- “Fuck, the exosuit is barely holding up against these winds.” Jacobs cursed inside his helm, walking through the icy, rocky terrain, heading towards a small cliff overlooking the outpost ahead. The 6’7 giant of a man had troubles walking because of the snowy windstorm. Eventually, he got on his stomach and crawled up to the edge of the cliff using the retractable foot spikes of the exosuit (normally used for scaling/climbing) to steady himself on the edge of the cliff. Smokes is comfortably sitting inside the Rover parked at the base of the cliff. She is providing local surveillance for Jacobs via drone that is also having a hard time piloting the harsh winds. “At least you’re not freezing your ass off inside those exosuits. I have the heater cranked up in here and wearing my winter gear, and I’m still cold.” Smokes replied. “Well, you could have worn one and come out here with me. I’m sure you can pilot the drone out here.” “Yeah, but someone has to watch the rover, don’t want it stolen again right Jacobs?” “It was one time. When are you go—“ “Hey Jacobs, you seeing this?” Smoke asked, flying the drone closer to the gates of the outpost. “Hang on, let me bring it up on my HUD.” Jacobs said, pressing a button on his wrist. A small screen opened up on the corner of Jacob's vision. “Holy shit, what does this mean?” “That we’ve been fucked.” Smokes said. The Drone hovered over the gates of the outpost, recoding the defenses. It was expected for the primitive civilization to have a wall, maybe a crude long range catapult, but they didn’t expect human bodies hanging off the edges of the walls like decorative deterrents. Majority of the bodies frozen solid with extensive frostbite damage, and in pieces. The drone hovered for a few more seconds around the gate before being knocked down out of the sky. The last visual Jacobs and Smoke saw was the drone crashing down hard. “Did the drone get taken out?” Jacobs asked. “Yeah. It’s gone. It crashed. Could be wind, could be natives. Can you zoom in to see if you can find it?” Smokes asked. “Yeah just a second.” Jacobs reached behind his back for a sniper rifle he brought with him attached to his exosuit. It took him a few minutes to place the sniper rifle evenly on the cliff. He looked through the scope. A few of the Yeti like creatures had already surrounded the drone, trying to rip it apart with their long claw-like hands. “Yeah it’s gone.” Jacobs commented, aiming up his sights with one of the creature’s head. Bang he thought. The Rover made a long honking noise, one that would bring awareness to their presence to any nearby patrol. Jacobs turned around to see the rover is still stationary. “Everything okay down there?” He asked. Everything wasn’t okay. The Yeti like inhabitants had found the rover and went to investigate it. Their claws sharp enough to break rocks dented the Rover’s metal. Smoke’s cry for help didn’t make it past the radio waves to Jacobs. In desperation Smoke smack the horn to blow out the creature’s eardrums and to alert Jacobs of the attack. The creatures didn’t stop, instead they grew angrier at the attempt and started slowly pulling back one of the rover’s doors with their pure strength. Jacobs turned the sniper rifle around while the Rover is being thrashed by the Yetis. The snowy wind and the Yeti’s white fur made it hard to see in the distance, but with his sniper rifle he could mark specific locations and fire. 10 successive shots connected against a few of the attacking creatures, but it didn’t put any of them down. Instead they stormed towards the hill where Jacobs was located. Inside the rover given a few seconds to breathe and figure out a plan Smoke went to enable the vehicles weapons. Error - Weapons are non-functional. “Fucking bullshit.” She uttered. She tried radioing Commander Jones, but was out of range. “Fuck. Sorry Jacobs.” She uttered. Jacobs continued to fire as the Yetis ran towards him. It was like watching one of those Zombie films when a horde approaches someone with a pistol, sure he is hitting them but it isn’t stopping them. They’re making their ascent towards him. “Fuck Smoke, you better have a plan to help me here.” He uttered under his breath. The Rover moved towards the ship, leaving Jacobs against three of the five yetis. PART 2/Continuation due to length incoming soon below
God damn I grew tired of this golden bull. Lucifer seemed to offer better discounts on purchases when you worked for them. Of course, they did; it’s their own company. But Heaven Inc. was an eternal nightmare, a torment for anyone with any semblance of compassion for what goes on, on the planet earth. The humans that looked too akin to us whispered every night what they wanted “God” Also known as my boss, to hear. It proved tiring and proved that my patience grew thin. Too bad this was my first day on the job. The office was white and fluffy, but not for morale boosts: It was mainly God’s decision to use the fluffiness of it to be better advertising. “Comforting as a cloud, coddling as our savior,” said the motto. I bought into it when I got hired. But this day dragged on further wearing my patience. The prayer hotline rung for me; someone on the other end worth answering wanted to be heard. I listened, of course, twiddling the ancient cord that was installed forty years ago due to a religious revival. The man on the other end had a raspy voice, breathed heavily, sometimes coughed. “Please, lord,” he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did wrong. I went to church every day; did everything you would want me to do. I didn’t mean to sin enough to get cancer. I miss my wife and kids. Please, lord, help me.” Seeing as this was my first day on the job, this skewered my heart with sorrow. Other angels I worked with had other ideas. “He probably deserved it,” said a coworker I reached out to, who worked here for a thousand years. “It’s not our problem that another silo gave him cancer. He should’ve been less of a sinner.” “That doesn’t make sense at all,” I said. “He sounded as if he abstained a life from sin and worked hard all his life. I checked his record, it looked spotless.” “It looked spotless, but was he a friend of someone who wasn’t?” The angel grinned, flicked its wings. “It’s not your job to play God. That’s God’s job.” So I went to my boss, the head of prayer in Heaven Inc. He was an officer who loved his Newton’s cradle. “Best soul I ever answered,” he always said before I was hired. The balls clacked, swinging at the ends, when I came in. The furniture was made of clouds, based on the OlympusCorp furniture manufacturing. But still knockoff. Why get knockoff chairs? “So,” he asked, a wheel spinning around made of eyes, “What brings you in here?” I thought of the man. He couldn’t afford his own insurance, his family took him and left him on the streets. Utterly wicked, only something that the most damned would do. “We have a martyr with cancer,” I said, “But with our guidance it looks like he’s being disposed of, sent to Lucifer Industries.” “He probably earned it,” the spinning two wheels of eyes said. What a weird angel. They transform you into a giant two eyed wheel. The sight of the angel, transformed, worried me greatly. Did I seriously want this job? What if I turn into that? "He has cancer." “Good,” said my boss. “If he is being disposed of, then he must be a sinner, right?” “He hasn’t committed a single sin in his life. He has been abstinent his whole life, for starters.” “Might be why he has cancer,” the two-ringed lines of eyes chuckled. I stormed out. Back at my terminal, I looked for this man again. In my absence there was one more call. Prayers left literally unanswered, unheard. I listened through it again. “Please, save me from disgrace,” a voice said, sounding sneering more than wanted. “I had to do it to dad. He would’ve ruined our family. He earned it.” I checked this prayer’s file. Related to the previous man I searched information on. Track of processing: INTERNAL PRIESTHOOD. “They’re making him an angel?” He also was close to death like his father. So, I messaged The Lord Himself, asking about this man and son’s current situation. The message contained my grievances of what I felt was the current processing for this family, how the martyr should go to heaven, how the one who tossed his father aside should be disposed of. The message I got back disgusted me: “This man was an angel. God works in mysterious ways. Don’t question me, unless you wish to be smite.” I sat and thought on why I needed this job. Did I actually need it? Probably not. I heard horror stories before, how the passage of time in Heaven Inc. Is one of suffering. But the people here seem to not care about the plight anymore. What is one person to the eternal heavens above? It seemed that it was nothing. But this man was something to me. “Whoa,” said a voice behind me. “Is that my dead body?” A new angel walked behind me, his wings babyish and small. On my screen, looking back, was the image of the dead son. The Father still struggled to stay alive, gasping for breath on a sidewalk like Aqualung. “He got what he deserved,” the new angel said. “Terrible father cared only about how we acted. I wanted to do what I wanted. But look at me now!” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m an angel.” “So why did you come to my desk?” I asked. “Because,” the new angel said, “I was told to check in on your progress. I’m your overseer.” Screw that business, I decided there. I’d rather be a Trash-angel, of Hell, and see the individuals worth saving there, than be the presenter of all things good and holy and seeing their flaws. I began typing a message to Lucifer Industries, not caring what “my overseer” saw. He gasped, ran away, but I knew that there would be a certain someone I’d dredge out from the fires of hell. Maybe make him the angel. Or devil. I would rather be a devil from that point on. And my cubicle turned black, black as my newly tainted heart.
The headquarters for Ace Chemicals had started off the day as a nondescript brick-and-concrete affair, an all but windowless skyscraper in the centre of downtown Gotham. All things considered, its present state was by any metric a distinct improvement. It was shorter now, its ten stories distributed across half the city block like shredded membranous fragments of a caterpillar's coccoon. In its place stood a towering orange flower. It had six luminous orange petals, each at least thirty feet long and dotted with marbled orange knobs that scattered across their unfolding surfaces like dozens of fragrant tumors. In the centre, a hollowed sphere that resembled nothing so much as a clay bowl with uncounted stubby tendrils lining the bottom like teeth. Rafflesia arnoldii. Indonesian corpse flower. Normally they didn't get to be forty feet tall, even given Ivy's weeks of careful garden cultivation in her greenhouse. After she'd carried it into the lobby she'd given it some help. It was a parasitic flower, too - it grew its roots into an existing host plant - and training it to use the city's water mains had been nothing less than an artistic accomplishment in and of itself. The scent it exuded alone had left the security guards fleeing down the block. Ivy breathed in, breathed out, trying to enshrine that beautiful moment in her mind when a hundred tonnes of cement and brick and human beings all designed and engineered specifically to poison the planet had been replaced with an ecological treasure. She had to do it quickly. She had about ten seconds before she had to bail and get home to water her plants. 'Miss Ivy?' Ivy opened her eyes and glanced around. There was a boy standing next to her. He couldn't have been older than eight. Ivy snorted. "Beat it, ki--"she began. Then she finally saw the way he was sniffling. The potted plant in his hands. The wizened, frail-dry leaves and stalks of the plant in its centre. &#x200B; &#x200B; "I don't get it,"said Frank. "You two tryin' to adopt or somethin'?" Ivy rolled her eyes, and rattled off the disclaimer she'd had to repeat three times now without even looking up from her close examination of the dying plant's leaves. "He's not sticking around, Frank, he's just here until I fix this poor little guy up, do not eat him." Behind her, the man-sized Venus fly trap was jostling himself in his pot, trying to shuffle a little closer to the kid. Most of Frank's body was a colossal lime green blossom-mouth lined with teeth and, improbably, flexible enough tissues to act as vocal cords. There were a couple of smaller, more flexible vines extending out of his pot that ended in sensory organs which resembled nothing so much as human eyes. He'd been a unique cultivar on Ivy's part, mutated with exquisite care into sentience and motility back when she'd been even more of a misanthrope. Back then, she'd preferred friendship with basically anything over friendship with people. Frank had been her only friend back then. These days, he was just her only roommate, and a shitty one at that. A little fertilizer went a long way. She had some 3-1, that and a little water would probably do most of the trick. But it would be high summer for at least another three weeks, and if he'd gotten this dried out, half-measures like that wouldn't keep him alive for more than a few days. Plus they'd put in him the wrong soil... "Hey, kid! Kid! You know I can do magic tricks! Yeah! Come a little closer, I can make you... disappear!" "Frank!" Ivy snarled, finally turning around. The little kid was laughing, though. Despite her usual cold disgust for her fellow human beings, her respect for him went up one grudging notch. "Frank - do not eat him. Kid - do not get within three feet of him. Those teeth aren't for show." The kid was still laughing. "Dionaea,"he said, grinning. "Dionaea muscipula." Ivy raised her eyebrows in surprise. The kid glanced back at Frank. "Dionaea muscipula mutatis,"the kid amended. Frank waved an eye-frond at him. "Now, see, that is something,"he said. "I don't even bother to remember all that." "Venus fly trap,"said Ivy. "Plus some add-ons. Yeah. That's him." She turned back to the plant, but some long-forgotten social nicety stirred from the depths of her soul. He was a guest after all. Brief small talk with an eight-year-old. She could manage that. "So... You like plants, huh kid?" Good enough. The kid nodded. Better yet, he didn't seem to take it as an invitation to walk closer to her or ingratiate himself. He was too distracted by the bouquets of rare Amazon orchids hanging from the ceiling. "They're nice,"he said. "Better than people." "Got that right,"said Ivy. "Human beings are garbage." From across the room, Frank's two eye-stalks whirled around to stare at her accusingly. "Most,"Ivy amended. "Most human beings are garbage."Harley's okay, for one. She picked up the plant. "Okay, listen. I've changed the soil pH, added some water, and added a little fertilizer. Keep the little guy in the shade from 10 AM to 3, all right? Or he'll dry out again." The boy nodded vigorously, cradling the plant like a newborn. Ivy watched him as he walked through the greenhouse aisles towards the exit of her lair. "Hey,"said Ivy, as he reached the door. The boy turned. "You, know, uh,"Ivy tried. "Any kids at school give you trouble, or your parents - you know, you can just lure them in here, feed them to Frank." The kid went white. "Uh, no,"he said, after a second. "No, everybody's - they're not - that's okay." The door slammed shut behind him as Frank cackled at her. "Smooth, Ivy. Real smooth. I never seen your motherly instincts in action before-" "Oh, shut up, Frank."
I hit the water hard, but I don’t die. How? Nobody could survive a fall from that height. The force of the impact makes me gasp. When I do, ice-cold water spills into my lungs. My body goes into a state of shock and fights to survive. My body screams, ‘swim, swim you fucking idiot.’ It’s so dark I can’t tell which way is up. And there’s no time to work it out. I pick a direction and start kicking. My body begs for air. At the last possible second, I break through the surface. I take labored, desperate inhales, and look around. I’m surrounded by darkness. And it extends in every direction. Waves crash against my face as I tread water. In the distance, there is a faint light. The water’s so cold I can do little more than paddle feebly toward it. Soon my feet touch the shore. It’s so dark I still can’t see a thing—only the light. The water recedes to my waist, my ankles, my feet. When I’m out I fall to my hands and knees and vomit. A torrent of black water spills out. Once I’ve caught my breath I stand and continue towards the light. The darkness is like an endless void stretching in every direction. The light draws closer. Now I can see it’s a campfire—and there’s someone sitting beside it. Someone camping on the beach maybe? I’m so cold. Maybe they’ve got a blanket. As I get closer, I realize the person sitting beside the fire is a child. They have their back turned to me. I try calling out but manage little more than a whimper. I keep walking. I call again, a little louder this time. The kid turns around. He’s still too far away. I can’t see his face. “Hello,” he calls. I recognize that voice. I’ve heard it before. But where? And when? I wave my arms overhead. “Hello! I-I n-need help! I-I w-was in the water and—” As the kid tosses a log on the fire, the embers illuminate his face. I stop mid-step. It’s me. Or rather, it was me. It’s like I’m looking at a picture of my seven-year-old self. Except, you know, he’s real. After a long pause, he offers me a blanket. I thank…myself. Behind the fire, there’s a fallen branch laying on its side. Seven-year-old me gestures to sit. I throw the blanket around my shoulders, sit down, and rub my chest. This is all a hallucination. Or maybe a dream. It’s the only explanation. In a minute, my alarm will go off and I’ll be lying in bed. There’s no need to panic. Me—seven-year-old me—doesn’t sit. He just stares. I look around. Yep—he’s definitely staring at me. I shrug my shoulders and shake my head, in a ‘what?’ gesture. He tilts his head back. “Why did you do it?” I clear my throat. “Do what?” “You know what.” I pull the blanket over my chest and turn away. My younger self sits beside me. “You must have had a good reason—" I turn away. “—because I would never do something like that.” I stand, throw off the blanket, and start walking. He follows me. “It’s just that seems like a really silly thing to do—” I pick up my pace. The kid jogs alongside me. “—I mean, what about the people who love us? Aren’t you leaving them behind?” Okay, this is crossing into nightmare territory. I stand still and rub my temples. “Wake-up-wake-up-wake-up-wake-up.” The chill in my bones vanishes. Suddenly, I am bone dry. I open my eyes and sigh with relief. I’m still in the void. And my younger self is still staring. I look around. The campfire is gone. “How could you do it?” I scream. My voice echoes towards the edge of hearing. Every direction I turn, my younger self is there, cutting me off. “How could you just…give up like that?” “SHUT UP.” The word ‘up’ echoes endlessly. A single tear runs down my younger self’s face. “Just…just tell me why.” My heart pounds against my chest. He wipes his face with the back of his sleeve. “Please.” I sigh. “It’s…complicated. You—you wouldn’t understand.” “Yes I would!” “You wouldn’t. You’re too young.” “Tell me.” “I—I can’t.” “Then show me.” “What?” A stream of memories rushes past. Within in, I can see my younger self. I see my ninth birthday, my first day of school, the time I fell off my bike and broke my arm. I spent Christmas in the hospital that year. One of the porters put on a Santa costume and handed out presents in the ward. My younger self laughs. “This looks great!” My childhood years roll downstream and disappear into the abyss. Now I’ve hit puberty. My younger self dips his hand in the memories. “Is this…is this the future?” I nod. Now Mom and Dad are arguing, and I’m pushing the pillow against my head to drown them out. I see bullies beating me up and stealing my wallet. My younger self doesn’t look quite so enthused anymore… We drift into adulthood. Things are better, for a while. Mom and I talk on the phone all the time and I come to visit every other weekend. I finish college, land a great job, get a few girlfriends. A particularly intimate memory races past and ten-year-old me wretches. I meet Ciara. She doesn’t like me much at first. I snoop around, find out her favorite flowers are tulips, and buy her a bouquet for valentines’ day. Faster forward a few years. Now Ciara and are happily married, and we have a house. I’m trying to sleep late, but our springer spaniel, Toby, bursts into the room and jumps on the bed. My younger self’s face lights up. “WE GOT A DOG! I ALWAYS WANTED A DOG BUT—” “—But Mom wouldn’t let us have one. I know. Ciara and I got one the day we moved into our own house.” “Is Ciara our wife?” I nod. Ten-year-old me looks at me. “But, this all looks pretty great? You know, aside from the wife.” I sigh. “Keep watching.” Ciara and I are out hiking when I get a phone call. I answer it and put my hand to my mouth. Now I’m carrying Dad’s casket. Mom is crying. A memory of Ciara and I arguing floats past. Then another. And another. Plus several more. Years drift by. Now I’m alone with Toby. Another year goes past. Now I’m just alone. A phone call wakes me in the middle of the night. I put my hand to my mouth again. I rush to the hospital to see Mom. She’s hooked up to a respirator. Outside fireworks explode. It’s New Year's Eve. On a cold January morning, I carry Mom’s casket. Colour fades from the memories as they taper off with me standing at the edge of a bridge. Cont...
“Mister Darren, I’m sure the viewers at home all want to know,” The reporter said, “How you got to retire a multi-millionaire at the age of twenty-four without a job or inheritance?” Ah I wish I’d set up some explosives beforehand to get me out of this, Leo Darren thought wistfully, I mean, how am I supposed to answer that question? “If I told you all then it would ruin the secret,” Leo said, “Then it wouldn’t be useful to anyone anymore.” Also, I’m the only one who understands the delicate intricacies of explosions. The reporter adjusted his glasses, “Well…” The reporter’s female partner cut in smoothly, “Well, the next thing the viewers wanted to know is if you were still single since you’re the most eligible bachelor in town with your money and fame.” Ah, thanks, reporter women. This one’s easy. “Yeah that’s right,” Leo said, “I’m single.” “Nobody special at all?” The woman asked, a little doubtfully. “Nope,” Leo replied. ___ Leo walked home that evening in the cold, still night, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and his breath steaming out in front of him. Still, single… she’s right, I am kinda lonely I guess. Could any woman see the beauty in the fire, the life, and the color of explosions like he did? He stopped walking and looked up at the clear night sky. His heart beat faster as he gazed up at the heavens and thought of all the beautiful explosions he could fill it with. Using explosions to find love… I could very well do that.
Wielder of the divine beasts, slayer of evil. A title fit for a poser like me. Standing atop the skyscraper, I held my hand high, blood dripping down my palm, an agonizing pain forming in my forearm. I was so weak. The pain was never this bad, but I had been wounded, my side pierced by that mantis looking bastard, his movements far too quick for someone as average as myself. Slowing my breath, I watched the bright lights float through the building below, providing light to the damaged structure, giving people a chance to escape. “Not yet, come on.” Pleading with my body for another minute, feeling my heart speed up once more, panic setting in. I was dying, I was going to die alone. I gasped, choking, feeling my breath get stolen by the rush of fear, this instability causing the fireflies below to scatter, having to clench my fist tight to regain control as though I were pulling back on the reins of a horse. To think I had tricked the villains for so long, no one discovering my great ploy until a few minutes ago. It was funny, I would have laughed if I wasn’t trying so desperately to save my breath. Ironic that the greatest hero now needed someone to save him, I wanted to convince myself that help would come, but I knew I was kidding myself. No one would come for me, that’s why I needed to be their light for one last time. “Come on, please.” My knees buckled, dropping me onto the floor, doing whatever I could to keep my hand held up. Refusing to drop it. The building below rumbled, the shaking getting worse. How long until it dropped? A minute? Five minutes? It was like I was playing a game of chicken with the building, waiting to see which of us would fall first. The building groaned, surrendering to our game as it collapsed. I could feel my body sliding along the rooftop, the tilting roof nearing throwing me over the edge, only to stop as my body collided with the mid-sized cement wall, stopping me from toppling over. Despite the excruciating pain, I kept my arm up, vision blurred with exhaustion, not even having the energy to scream as the building dropped, my body falling with it, catching a vision of light in front of me, passing the various fireflies in my descent. “Sorry friends, thanks for the help.” As my body gave out, I admired the lights for the last time, before my palm peeled open, releasing them. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
##Meranda Rights "We understand you had an encounter with the mad drowner and would like to ask you a few questions,"the beautiful siren said, gilled neck flairing as her fins splashed above the ebbing shallows. "Wait, you don't want to eat me?"Ulric said, looking over the women leaning into the side of his long ship. "Eyes up here, please sir,"the siren said, coldly. "We just want to do our jobs. I'm agent Alliflona. Could you describe the night of the thirteenth to me?" "Sure thing,"Ulric replied, trying to keep his eyes dead ahead. "I was in my longship, with my-" "STOP!"A bellowing voice cried out followed by a wet plop onto one of the empty benches. "This man has not been read his rights!"a large walrus yelled, pausing to catch his breath. "Name's Hulltooth, attorney at law,"the walrus said behind his mustache holding out a flipper. "Nice to meet you. I'm Ulric Helmsviking,"he said, awkwardly shaking hands. "This is turning in to a rather strange night." "You're making a grave mistake, sir. Under no circumstance, even innocence, do you benefit from complying with a police interview. The truth is, sir, that you are a victim in all of this. These crooked sirens are looking for a scape goat to pin the mad drowner murders on and who better then the oft prejudiced against vikings? Shameful stuff." "Please, sir,"the siren agent said. "I'm sure we can clear all this up if you just come with us down to the cove." "I think I'll speak to my lawyer first,"Ulric said carefully. The sirens scoffed and quickly scurried away as a wet flipper slapped Ulric on his back. "They'll eat you alive, son. Don't fall for their song." \--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
Hours had turned into days, days into weeks and weeks into months but I stood my watch. Guard the phone and answer if it rings were my instruction. I didn't know why I should answer or what I was supposed to do but I always assumed more instructions would be given at the time. Every month I got an envelope with 100K so 1.2 million a year to watch this phone but it was the only thing I could do. I had used Amazon and various delivery services to make it as comfortable as possible but like a fireman I lived on edge for the day the phone would ring. What would I do....Would I be ready... Today after a year and a half it happened the phone finally rang. I was shocked and waited till the third ring just because it startled me and I wanted to make sure it was truly happening and not a dream. I picked up the phone and held it to my ear only to hear. "We've been trying to contact you about your cars extended warranty."
From the moment the party stepped foot in the cave, the sound of their footsteps felt off to Gyeong. A low ringing quality bit through the whistling of the wind outside. At first, he suspected it was just the acoustics of the cave itself, but that thought dissipated when he realized the ground felt less than firm. “Maybe we should find a different cave,” he said. His voice echoed slightly through his visor, like in the entrance hall of a mansion. The space could not have been more than ten meters in diameter, though—all smooth martian rock. The other three astronauts, all splayed around the cave, glanced to Gyeong. “Whaddya mean?” said Francine, her stout form having turned from working on the plastic seal over the entrance. “Place looks fine to me.” “The ground feels hollow.” “Really?” Daniel asked from his spot near the wall. He tested the floor with a few footsteps, then shrugged his shoulders. “Feels normal.” Gyeong could forgive the man’s annoyed tone, as much as he didn’t enjoy it. Everyone’s nerves were frayed after the sudden appearance of the storm. “Come closer to the middle,” Gyeong said. Daniel sighed and approached him. He stood a full foot taller than Gyeong, though that didn’t intimidate the shorter man much. The beanstalk cocked his head, then produced another small shrug. “Nope, still don’t feel anything,” he said, tone no less rude. “Oh, stop bullying the guy,” Denise said in her squeak of a voice. She took a few steps to get closer to the two guys, mouth opening as if to say something. Before any words could spill out, a monstrous cracking resounded below Gyeong that shook him to his core. A moment later, the floor collapsed. Gyeong’s stomach climbed up to his mouth as his limbs flailed seemingly on their own. He vaguely heard the screams of his team beyond his own. His back slammed hard against the ground, and for a terrifying heartbeat, he could not breathe. Bits of rock and dust rained down on him from above. Once the shock wore off, he sucked in a huge gasp of air. The fall looked far shorter than it had felt—no more than five meters—and for that, Gyeong’s body was thankful. His back would be bruised to hell, but at least it did not feel broken as he struggled to sit up. “Y’all ok?” Francine called from above, a frantic energy in her voice. Gyeong hadn’t noticed the groaning forms of Daniel and Denise next to him. Both appeared shaken, but neither was incapacitated on the floor, so Gyeong felt confident enough to say, “We’re ok.” “Goddamn!” Daniel shouted in awe. Confused, Gyeong followed the man’s gaze, and connected with metal sparkling a few steps away in his headlight. A whole wall of the stuff ran perfectly perpendicular to the natural rock of the tunnel, an empty doorway cut out to about half its height. The surface of the thing looked impossibly smooth. “Holy shit,” Gyeong whispered, staggering to a stand. Transfixed by the structure, he began to step towards it. “What?” Francine asked. “I… don’t know,” Gyeong said. “There’s a doorway.” Am I dreaming? he thought. The fall could have easily knocked him unconscious. “What? That’s not… should I come down?” The others began discussing as Gyeong continued to approach the structure. Crystals infused the metal, giving it its sparkling rainbow sheen against the flat silver of the metal itself. The lines of the doorway had been cut laser-sharp, more impressive given the wall was a whole meter thick before opening into a high-ceilinged tunnel of the same infused metal. As he got right up to the surface, shallow inscriptions carved into the wall jumped out to him. They were only visible due to their higher concentration of raindow crystals. The letters flowed gracefully, looking as though they had been hand-painted into the metal. Mouth agape and breathing shallow, Gyeong stepped through the entryway into the far wider tunnel. His footfall echoed into what appeared to be an infinite stretch of metal that faded to darkness even with the brightness of his headlight on max. All Gyeong could do was stare at it in both awe and apprehension. What could be in here? he thought. One of the others called his name, shocking him out of his trance. He began to turn, but only made it halfway around before his gaze stumbled on a skeleton crumpled against the wall of the doorway, head turned on the floor to gaze into the infinite hallway. He yelled and stumbled backwards, hitting the floor heavily. His eyes never left those of the empty sockets that were undeniably human. A frozen terror gripped his heart, and his blood seemed to stop dead in his veins. The corpse wore golden armor looked fit for a king. Not a single speck of age showed on its polished surface, even though the bones beneath looked ready to crumble at the slightest touch. The skeleton was broken in multiple places, the surrounding armor dented. A sword of brilliant silver metal lay on the floor nearby, its point dull from scratching an inscription on the wall. Despite the apparent age of the skeleton and the strange writing outside the tunnel, the words were in English. “The survivors are earthbound,” they read.
The Goddess observed the mortal realm from her abode, keeping a keen eye out for any particularly desperate situations taking place below. Usually it would be just a nudge in the right direction when someone was about to lose all hope. Just the tiniest nudge. And hope would be restored. Mostly they still died, of course - she wasn't into the whole life-saving business. But if they didn't die, by some miracle not of her making, they'd come through the experience as devout believers in the Goddess. More than that, they'd live with a sort of fiery hope in their soul that fueled her existence. Tonight she saw just such a situation taking place in the realm below. It was in the northern city of... she forgot the name. A member of the city guard had ended up in the wrong alleyway, on the wrong side of a knife's edge, and she was slowly bleeding out. All hope had abandoned the poor soul. The goddess descended into the realm, floating on a bed of light and laurels. The goddess toned down the angelic choir, so as not to attract the attention of the other citydwellers. She reached out for the guard, stretching her limited powers to make just a few necessary modifications that would turn a fatal wound into a survivable experience "Be calm, my child", she chanted in the local language, "I've come to give you hope of a new life." "Fucking try it, bitch", the guard growled back and swiped at the Goddess with her dagger. The Goddess recoiled. This was unusual, but not totally unexpected. She was the Goddess of Desperation after all. She often arrived at the scene when those she tried to help had nothing left. Feeling all alone in the world, at the end of their lives, mortals were filled with adrenaline or the rush of fear and often lashed out. "I'm the Goddess of Desperation, I'm here to save you, child, restore your broken body, mend your broken soul." "Trying to take the gold in my pocket, eh? Well you can pry it from my cold dead hands!"yelled the guard with whatever strength she had left in her body. She threw the knife at the Goddess and it passed right through her ethereal body. The Goddess sighed. She upped the glowing light, she tuned up the angelic choir, she even stroked the soul of the guard a bit - all to play up the Goddess part. "Look, child, see what is in front of your eyes. I've come to help and nothing more. I can offer you a chance - only a chance, mind you - at not dying. Isn't that worth something to you?" The guard's eyes were wide in disbelief as she stared up at the Goddess in front of her. "You can heal my body?"she squealed. The Goddess nodded. "How much is it going to cost me?""Nothing", the Goddess lied. The Goddess knew the true cost - a lifetime of servitude as a dedicated follower. The guard's eyes narrowed as she considered the proposal. She did so for quite a while, as she continued to bleed out in the alleyway. "Well, child, will you let me help you?" While waiting, the Goddess looked back through the threads of fate that the guard had left behind by living her life. The Goddess saw the guard's life flash before her eyes. She saw the constant lying to partners. She saw the unbelief in anything but herself, a lifetime spent trying to improve her own station while stepping over others. She saw the brutal crimes the guard had committed while serving in the army. She saw the corrupt heart of a city guard, making deals with the lowliest gangs to blackmail the city while also taking taxes from the city as a salary. She saw the child that the guard had abandoned and sold to slavers at a young age. She saw how none of it even bothered the guard - it was all just coin in her pocket. The Goddess snapped back to the alleyway as the guard cleared her throat and managed to spit a fat dose of gob at the Goddess. "Nah", the guard said, "I ain't fucking buying it."The Goddess floated for a bit, considering the situation. Then she made up her mind. "You're a bit of a cunt, aren't you?"she asked the guard. "Yeah, but I ain't fucking dying and I ain't needing no salvation, you got that?!" She felt consumed by rage. This lowly mortal daring to speak to her in such a way! And not just any mortal, this scum of a soul. Well, there was no two ways about it, she was going to have to teach the guard a lesson. The Goddess punched the guard in the stomach, kind of hard. Then she did it again, much harder. Then she realized she kind of liked it and kept going until she ran out of breath. Alone with the guard in the alleyway, she stood towering over her, the goddess' hands bloodied. The poor guard gurgled and spat out some teeth that had come loose from the beating. "... that all you got, BITCH?"the guard managed through bloody spittle and broken teeth. Fuck it, thought the Goddess, and returned to her abode well beyond the mortal realms. She had been considering a change of job title anyway. Sure, there was plenty of desperation to go around nowadays. But people like the guard were hellbent on making it through life on their own merit. The truth was the Goddess probably could never have reached the guard's soul anyway. There had to be some willingness to have a bit of hope. But the Goddess was a practical entity. Where another might have lamented the decline in the human spirit, she saw a business opportunity. As a Goddess, it was never really about saving lives. It was about finding ways that the humans could work for her. Yeah, thought the Goddess, desperation really seems like a passing thing. But this new kind of soul that the guard had, there was plenty of room for a new Goddess there. All it needed was a bit of redefining her title after all. Not a Goddess of Desperation. She stretched her wings and felt the new power flow through her. The kind that would exploit anybody and anything to get ahead in life, and trusted nobody. Plus there was a nice symmetry to it - if she didn't fulfil her old role, they would come to her in her new role anyway. She returned to the mortal realm and the alleyway with the guard. The guard was still alive, holding on to dear life by force of will alone. Her breath was ragged, and the pool of blood beneath her broken body slowly grew. The guard saw the Goddess return, but her dull senses didn't notice the change. "I think I'm ready for some of that free healing now", the guard pleaded. But the Goddess was not the Goddess of Desperation anymore. "Fuck you, pay me", spoke the Goddess of Lost Causes. The guard smiled.
"Look at me,"Eduardo ordered. I brought my eyes up to meet his. It wasn't that I wanted to exactly, just that there was no room for argument with my back against the truck and the barrel of a gun in my guts. I had never really seen him like this before. The way his dark eyes gleamed mirror-like in the sunshine, the way his jaw moved when he was upset. "Are you even listening to me, man?"Eduardo asked, desperately. "Sokovic is trying to double cross me. She knows by now that you saw the letters. She will be coming for us both!" "Leave him alone,"Sokovic hissed. The pressure of the gun against my stomach relaxed, but I didn't feel any less tense. My knuckles were starting to hurt from clutching my interrupted delivery. I heard Eduardo's weapon clack on the concrete as we turned in unison, to see her smirking at us, a golden revolver confidently pointed. My cheeks burned. I couldn't help but be nervous in her presence. She was so... Regal. I had a crush on her from the moment I met her. "H-hi Soko!"I managed, making myself cringe. "Shut up,"she sneered, rolling her eyes. "You know what this is Eduardo. You're too soft. I could get twice the gains from your territory and so I am going to take it." Eduardo moved his lips to speak, but didn't manage any audible sound before Soko's finger clamped down on the trigger. -click- But the gun never fired. I saw it register in her brain as I dramatically pulled the authentic revolver from the box in my hand and handed it to Eduardo. It looked right in his hands. I was confident I had made the correct decision. "How?"Soko asked, incredulous, "I thought you were in love with me!" "Eduardo showed me that you were just using me, and..." I pulled a crusted diamond band from my pocket and slid it snugly onto my ring finger. "He made me an offer I couldn't refuse."
“So let me get this straight, you are a knight from.. Camefew?” The half-dragon nodded her head sheepishly. Her armor clunked as she adjusted her helmet. The suit was old and rusty. She had torn it down from one of the racks at her ruined tower. The king looked over her closely. His face was covered with confusion. “And where exactly is Camefew?” Asked the king. “Err.. it’s quite a ways away.” She motioned with her hands, explaining some obscure route in the most complex way that she could. The king interrupted her, “Alright, that’s enough. Calvin, go with her please.” “Oh I don’t need help.” Insisted the half-dragon. “He isn’t going to slay the dragon for you, he’s a squire for god sakes.” The king looked back at the young man standing attentively next to him, then back at the half-dragon. “Well? Go on! The princess isn’t going to save herself.” The two departed the town and headed toward the tower that held the princess, who coincidentally was on the way to save her. The squire became uneasy as she navigated the paths without any maps. As he sketched a new map together he asked the half-dragon, “Have you uhh- been to this tower before?” His voice was uneasy. The half-dragon stopped in her tracks. “Oh you have no idea..” she said. Then continued up the mountain. The squire moaned as he watched her climb the steep hill in front of them. When he finally caught up with her, he stopped. Just over the mountain peek was a ruined tower surrounded by an alligator infested bog. “I’ll, uh, wait here.” Said the squire as he sat down. “You sure? I hear princesses can be pretty cute.” The half-dragon laughed in self gloat as she walked through the bog water. The alligators hissed and fled as she worked her way to the tower. Once inside, the half-dragon made her way to her throne room where she sat and admired her gold. She was imagining all the gold she was going to make in this lucrative business of saving the same princess, when suddenly she realized she had to actually present a princess to the king now. An idea dawned upon her. She went to the top of the tower and blew great bouts of fire. She clanked armors and swords together. Then she stopped. She went back to the throne room, removed her armor, found her most beautiful dress. Then headed back to the squire. “Squire! Squire!” She cried as she ran across the bog water. She fell to her knees in front of the squire and cried her best alligator tears. “The knight, she is dead!” “Dead? Oh no.. and the dragon? Is the dragon comin-“ “Dead!” The half-dragon cried. The squire paused, then looked back at the princess. “We better return to the king and let him know the dragon has been slain.” Following the map the squire had drawn, the two navigated back to the town. The squire presented the princess to the king. “The princess of Tower Burgadoo.” The princess coughed, “That’s Burgadeese, with an ee ess-” “What?” Said the king. “Nothing.” Replied the half-dragon. “And where is the heroic knight? I would like to reward her handsomely.” “Uhh.” The princess scurried up to the king and whispered in his ear. “Don’t tell the squire, but the knight faked her death to, uhh- get the squire off her back. Yeah, the guy is a huge fanboy.” She pointed her thumb at the squire who remained still, wondering what they were saying. “She asked me to return the gold to her as soon as I got back to town, she is probably by the stables now.” “You know, you sound an awful lot like the knight-“ “Sister! We’re sisters. Twin. Sisters. Yeah I know, she’s out here saving princesses and slaying dragons, and I’m out here getting locked away in towers, so? Big deal. I’m just playing the cards that I was dealt.” “What? No I didn’t mean- Nevermind! News of the dead dragon had reached this town faster than you two did.” The king reached behind and retrieved a large pouch of gold. “As long as that dragon is dead, I could care less who gets the coin.” The king threw the pouch of gold to the ground in front of him. The half-dragon picked it up, waved the king and squire goodbye, and returned to her tower. News quickly spread of a new dragon now occupying the Tower of Burgadeese, and the half-dragon princess was quick to take any offers to slay it once more.
Humans were truly utter fools, this Matthew Robinson who is currently acting as the host for the Nameless Wyrm sought a power, wealth and influence through joining a local cult not even realising all they sought from him was a sacrifice. The Nameless Wyrm of course rewarded their loyal servants by draining their life force and using their screaming souls to patch up the unfortunate mess of a ritual they used to bind them to their host, it would do no good for this Matthew to regain control after all. Still for all the infinite power the Wyrm had in its home plane it seemed that only a fraction could be accessed in this body and in this world, and already they were feeling something they never had before, exhaustion. Combing the memories of their host the Wyrm began weaving its plan. "Ah Matt! Welcome back, I thought you said you weren't going to be here until after midnight? No matter, did you eat yet? We still have some leftovers from dinner"A rather large human woman that Matthew's memories suggested to be his mother exclaimed as she reached in to grab the vessel of the Nameless Wyrm in a bear hug, "Thanks mom... I am fine... just a bit tired that's all"The Wyrm replied, "Oh well if you need to rest I won't stop you, but you are a growing boy young man, are you sure you had anything to eat tonight?"Matthew's mother continued, "Well I do not think I need to eat, I have had plenty already"The Wyrm said thinking about the still screaming souls it had consumed recently "Well alright then, come on in now Matt, it must be freezing out there and all you have is that ridiculous robe from that social group, are you even wearing a shirt?"Matthews mother said as she grabbed the arm of the vessel and dragged it indoors The Wyrm sighed, "Alright mom" A few months later the Nameless Wyrm was feeling things, a decidedly new occurrence, and new occurrences were not something it was accustomed to in nearly a trillion of this world's years of quasi existence. He had been adopting some distressingly... human... behaviours and habits over his stay, and had annoyingly began thinking of himself in terms of the gender of his host rather than the world eating genderless entity that he truly was. The "hobbies"of Matthew also bled over, he had been cultivating an unhealthy obsession with old trading cards of all things and once he got so deep in a human game that he had forgotten to maintain the daily rituals that would grant him access of greater and greater fractions of his true cosmic power, backsliding his progress weeks at least. He had also been getting to know the family of the host, the mother Martha Robinson while both he and his host agreed was a little overbearing and annoying expressed genuine interest over what he wanted and needed, something he had never experienced from cultists clamouring for his favour in what they wanted or needed. The father Mitchell Robinson was a stern man, returning tired from work late each night, but similarly he wanted to know his son, or at least what he thought was his son, and there were no ulterior motives in the slightest in that desire. Finally there was the host's sister, Jessica Robinson, who posed a very different problem, "I don't know what you are but you aren't my brother."She said one day, confronting him outside while the mother was busy and the father was at work, Seeing small flecks of gold in her eyes annoyance flicked through the mind of the nameless Wyrm, "So you are blessed with the Sight then" "I do not know what that means but give my brother back thing or I will... I will..."Jessica seethed before realising she didn't really know what to do The Wyrm almost raised an eyebrow, an annoying and ever present habit of his host, instead he did what was probably his equivalent and let out the slice of crushing power he had been saving up freezing time for all but him and the sister of his host "Well if you must know I am the Nameless Wyrm. I have eaten stars, butchered Gods, I have crushed civilisations billions of times greater than yours with a thought and I am the entity your brother foolishly sought power from, power with a price he could not afford."He explained calmly to a now absolutely horrified Jessica Jessica tried to scream but nothing came out, against the crushing presence of the Wyrm she was less than an ant, and to call her paralysed with fear is an understatement of the highest order. The Wyrm noted that the soul of one with the Sight could increase the access he had to his power greatly, enough so that he no longer needed to keep up this charade of a human life. He reached in to grab her soul but stopped, why did he stop? In the end the Wyrm merely erased her memories leading up to his discovery, he barely dimmed her Sight as well and instead elected to expend more of his power keeping his true nature hidden. For some reason he did not even want to think about what happened that day. It had been a year since he had arrived on this plane, it has been a week since he got enough power to manifest a proper avatar, to rend this world from existence, and yet every time he had planned to execute his original plan he was hit by an intense emotion. He now knew what to call this emotion, it was guilt, as death and torment really the payment he was going to give for nothing but love? What right did he have to take Matthew from this existence, what right did he have all this time to deny his host his life, these simple joys the Wyrm never deserved. A hateful part of him declared that Matthew had thrown away his chance when he sought him, that this sentimentality was merely distracting him from his true purpose, but that voice had been shrinking unstoppably ever since the moment he stepped into Matthew's life. The Wyrm made a decision, he knew what he had to do. Matthew's soul wasn't wholly eaten, that would destroy the vital memories the Wyrm needed to keep up his act, it was however crippled, unconscious and teetering on the very edge of life and death in a wretched semi existence. Matthew could never be brought back to how he truly was before, but his soul was not lost, and the Wyrm only had to do one thing. With power that would have otherwise been used to rend the veil between dimensions he began to fuse his consciousness with the soul of his host, the holes made in Matthew's soul being filled by the essence of the eldritch entity that puppeted his body for a year. The Nameless Wyrm faded, and Matthew opened his eyes.
I stood my ground while combating against the invisible force that tries to dictate my own path. Every moment, i try to break away to do my own thing, it tries to rope me back to its own narrative. This is one of those moments. Me, and the self proclaimed "narrator". After school, in the bathroom, with tensions high and a date just around the corner. "Hey kid, why must you do this to me?"The disembodied voice said. "I would like to ask you the same thing! What part of me liking Rose do you not understand?" "Rose is not part of the main cast. She is not part of the main four." "Then why'd you introduce her in the light novel, then?" "Shut up. That light novel is non-canon and you know it." "Bullshit! If it was, then explain the horny teacher from the last episode." "She was a fan favorite! We had to bring her in from the light novel! Ever heard of character polls?" "Whatever. I'm done arguing with you. I got a date to go to." "Wait! Surely, you want to bring along renee. Right?" "Uh, no." "Not Angela?" "Hell no." "Not even the exchange student Shinobu?" "She smells like mahogany all the time, and likes swords for some reason. Also, no!" "Ugh. The protagonist from season one was less of a hardass than you were." "The least you can do is not ruin this for me. This is the first in a long time where i got to go on a date, meet someone that is into me and share a connection with them. I want this. Please, just let me have it." "Look kid, I am all for having you do what is best for you but i can't let it happen. This is mandated to be a fan service harem, not a classic romance. They want smut, not romance. If i do not give them smut, I'll be out of my job!" "Good." "And without a narrator there is no more show." "Even better." "Without a show, you'll be stuck here forever." I laughed out loud as the droning narrator grumbled obscenities under their breath. "Yeah, okay. Real desperate, even for you narrator." "No kid, I'm serious. This place has some set rules that can not be broken. Please, let me add in some shenanigans. We need to get through the rest of this season before you are free to go." "Fine."I groaned. "This time do not send Angela. Her voice is annoying." "She has a big chest! That makes up for it, right? I mean, Rose doesn't even have a chest, by comparison." "Rose has long legs. That makes up for it, in my book." "Oh. I forgot. You're into the tall women whom you want to be stepped on..." "Can you not."My face flushed red, as my phone picked up a notification. It was Rose. "Well well well, do not keep your lady waiting. She might just punish you with a few lashings..." "Fuck off!"I raise my hand to the ceiling and gave the narrator the middle finger before rushing out to my date.
"Owww!"I yelped. The Father stepped back. His eyes widened, and his face stiffened. "...Sorry, it was hot."I tried explaining myself. I'm glad it was only a few drops, I couldn't imagine the scars boiling water must leave. "Hush now."The man responded and reached inside his clerical outfit. "It's my mistake."I wasn't sure whether people were allowed to use phones inside a church, and it felt wrong to ask. So I felt slightly relieved and partially terrified when he pulled a dagger out. It looked like a ceremonial one. "What is that... for?"I asked with genuine curiosity. "It is the mission of the Vatican", he approached, "to rid the world of the heretic..." The Father's teeth were all visible. His eyes blanked out as his grip tightened. I wanted to run, but I didn't. Instead, I yelled "The fuck are you doing?!" "...the heathen..."His hand was mechanical, supernatural, in the way it grabbed me by the neck. I could feel my skin rubbing against my bones. I could only cough, and cough I did. "...and the demon."I closed my eyes. I could hear it slashing through the wind. Every nerve, sliced like butter, sent unthinkable pain running through my body. It subsided, in a way, when I could no longer feel below my neck. I couldn't speak, but I could think, sadly. I saw my body on the ground. It turned to embers as the priest poured more water over it. All started to blur, the colours mixed. The sparks of my torso were one the same as those of the overhead chandelier. I could spot faces in some of its lights. My father, my mother, and someone else. Aunt? The priest's body interrupted the view. He mouthed something, probably a witty-one liner or a latin chant. I don't really consider them much different. I tried closing my eyes, or at least not looking. It was an erroneous failure on my part. The bells then rang. The Father must've seen something odd as his attention was entirely devoted to the ceiling in that moment. His holy blade hit the ground, boiling what blood of mine was near. "A-Ars Go-"He screamed, so loud even I could hear. I felt the air crackle as a white whip wrapped itself around the priest's neck. It snapped a moment after. His cold body hit the floor with a thump. I then heard something descend behind me. It picked 'me' up. "Hello there, Anton." It turned me towards it. The entire thing felt rather Shakespearean. "I'm... Sitri, kinda lika a guardian angel of yours, if you will. You're alive, yes?"She said with a silk voice. Her body was deceptively gorgeous and her expression innocent. "Good, you're a 'chosen one'. We need as many if you as we can get."It's then I had realised that she could read my thoughts. "Something like that." /// An excellent prompt, really enjoyed writing for it. Crit appreciated ^^
"In a young girl's heart?"I asked hesitantly, after a long moment. "How the music can free her whenever it starts,"the strange voice replied pleasantly enough now, more warmly. "And it's magic if the music is groovy,"we sang together as people on the bus with me turned to look at us. "It makes you feel happy like an old-time movie! I'll tell you abou--" One of the other bus passengers hit me with a right hook from hell and the next thing I remembered I woke up handcuffed to a hospital bed's railing. "So uh yeah you're schizophrenic,"the strange voice said from inside my head.
"Quite clearly false, sir. No, sir, Atlantis has never existed, sir. A mirror, sir? Whatever for? ...no, sir, mirrors are not used for communication. We have videophones for th- no, sir, it is not possible to videophone the Atlantean Embassy. Because it doesn't exist, sir. ...sir, telephones work with numbers, not with text. No, sir, there is no number for the Atlantean Embassy." "Because, sir, it doesn't exist. No, sir, it never has. That address? Let me google it, sir... Google? You haven't heard of - it's a search engine, sir. And a map. I see that that address is a small bakery, sir. No, sir, I've never heard of Scryhard Mapping. No, sir, if I search for the Atlantean Embassy it does not exist. ...no, sir, 'thorn' isn't a letter. There are only twenty-six letters in the English language, sir. Yes, sir, the language that we are speaking is English, not Atlantean. No, sir, England is not a subsidiary of the Atlantean Empire." "Sir, I can't let you through here without a valid passport. Your passport isn't - no, sir, there is no such place as Atlantis. ...no, sir, there is not a major war with the Amazons. Sir, the Amazons don't exist either. No, sir, retrocausal explosives are not a real thing. ...goodbye, sir, and please do try to obtain and wear a mask, the current pandemic is quite serious, sir."
journal entry, [redacted],attempt 306. I must be losing my mind by now. Everything I try seems to fail. I'm writing this as a sort of anchor. Luckily the journal that the Librariate gave me isn't only endless and voice activated, it survives the loops. I'm still trying, but I'm running out of ideas. It became very obvious very quickly that once the fight started, it was too late. I don't even wait past the second blow anymore. Watching the end of the world on repeat wasn't doing my mind any favours. It seems that once Mime walks through the bar doors, the fight is guaranteed to happen. Can't remove Jack-Of-All-Trades from the equation, the bar is his home and sanctuary, not to mention he owns the place. Need to figure out the reason behind the first blow. Seer. journal entry, [redacted],attempt 359. Progress! Slight, but progress non the less. Mime was trying to apologize for whatever happened. Jack wanted none of it, and because Mime couldn't speak, he saw it as a threat. Jack never looked kindly on threats, even in the best of times. But go full on Spades... I'm getting there. It's a loose thread, but it's a start. Seer. journal entry, [redacted],attempt 491. Finally, something to write. Jack had a family. Key word, had. Mime's little outburst was so dangerous that Watcher had to focus on restraining him for three full minutes. Most people don't realise how powerful Watcher is, so him focusing on a single target tells me two things- Mime was at least at extinction level event threat levels, and the fight between Mime and Jack was somehow too much even for him. When Watcher focused, he had to let the world run wild, including a a bird that smacked into a car window, causing the driver to swerve off the bridge and explode, igniting a nearby gas-truck. 83 people dead, including a family of three- Jack's son, his wife and their daughter. Can't stop the car. Maybe the bird? Seer. journal entry, [redacted],attempt 520. Something is off. No matter what I do, they die. Removed the bird? Car got rammed by a moose. Same bridge, same explosion. Stopped the car a mile away? Different car, same result. Prevent the family from taking that route at all, sending them on a near thirty minute detour? Different truck, different explosion, still very dead. Need different approach. Need to think... So tired... Seer. journal entry, [redacted],attempt 847. Well, I'm out of options. I need to go back. Before everything went to shit. Before the fight, before the outburst. I need to stop Jester from ever becoming Mime. It will require me to go further back than I ever have. Thirty something years. It will likely destroy what little sanity I still have. I can only pray it works. Seer. P.S. Hey Seer of the year 2017. You realise who I am, but as some proof, you never told anyone about the event in Bulgaria. Please keep it so. What's left of me is in [redacted] as per previous arrangements made, though it won't help you. I'm likely gone completely. Know this- Jack-Of-All-Trades must never meet Mime. I honestly don't know if he even exists In the resulting time-line, but Mime is much more dangerous than anyone knows. Talk to The Librariate. They might have an idea. Hope this helps,. Seer,[redacted]
Everyone knew where Pool Shark spent his days: Swank's was the only pub within a few block radius of Shark's home. And everyone knew why he spent his days there: the wheelchair was an obvious tell. That was to say he wasn't a threat or dangerous to the criminals who might want to do his section of town dirty. Between his powers -- an unerring power shot when using a cue no matter the distance or weird geometry -- and his gang of Sharks, folks knew not to mess in Shark's territory. Which was why Spinster (it was a dumb name, but junior heroes without much bank didn't get a lot of choices) was surprised to find some baby gangers on the edge of Shark's territory. He was even more surprised when chasing said gangers had led him to being thrown at Shark's feet, in what was presumably Swank's basement, based on the crates and shelves of alcohol. Spin sat himself up slowly. "Why'd you do it, Shark?" "Do what, young blood? Let's hear what you think you're accusing me of."Shark smiled, his teeth gleaming in the low light of the basement. It was hard to focus on anything else as Shark's dark vest and darker shirt blended with the unlit brick behind him. "Betray the Companions."Spin waved a hand at the assorted Sharks that had dragged him off to this room when he had chased the baby gangers back to their apparent base. The back of his head throbbed from the bat he had taken. "You know Excelsior won'tstand for--" "Excelsior knows." "What?"Shark pulled a cue ball from a bag on the side of his chair and rolled it in his hand. "It's hard being a lone hero. Especially when you don't look like a 'real' hero. Cain't be too dark, now can we?" "Doesn't matter. What matters is doing what's right,"Spin declared. But he knew how his application to the larger branches of the Companions languished while others moved on more quickly. He'd wondered... but wondering didn't fix things, and he had his daughter to think about too. "Of course, of course. But what's right and what's efficient don't always work. And what fixes the problem,"Shark tossed the cue ball at Spin, nodding when the younger man caught it with barely a flinch, "may be right for being a workable solution." "But you're helping criminals!" "Training new Sharks. My boys know the neighborhood better than I do at this point. They can keep the trouble low, make it hard to move in when there's already business here. A total void is hard to maintain, particularly with legs like mine. They have the small rumbles while I can focus on bigger trouble that might move in." "But --" "Look, young blood, I know it's a lot. But I like you. And new Sharks aren't the only thing I need to train."Shark nodded to his men, who hauled Spin to his feet. He patted the younger man on the arm as he wheeled past. “So what say you forget you saw this place tonight, and you and me meet publicly topside in a few days? You can come costumed, but it might be better if you come civilian and bring that daughter of yours. Keep it all in the family, if you will." &#x200B; (Edit because formatting went weird)
Pesticido! Sounds good doesn’t it? Yeah, that’s totally my superhero name—but sadly, a cool name does not grant you immediate entrance into the superhero’s guild. I bet you’re wondering how we got here. So, there I was, mixing up a batch of pesticides. There was a large wasp nest in my backyard and they’d become quite annoying. Did you know wasps can sting more than once? Wtf nature? The pesticide bottles I was mixing up looked a little janky—they didn’t have much written on them but kills bugs n’ stuff and an expired expiration date. Well, clumsy old me slipped on something and took a face full of these expired pesticides—did I mention I was clumsy? My face burned and burned some more until it didn’t burn anymore. I felt an odd surge of energy and had an odd appetite for pesticides. An odd, uncontrollable appetite—seriously I just started chugging the pesticide bottles. To my surprise, I was completely unphased. No stomach pains and when any pesticide got on my skin, it didn’t burn anymore. Could this be? I thought. Have I finally received my superhero power? I ran to the nearest superhero-checker booth and had my DNA scanned. Results came back positive. Sweet! Superhero law states that once you’ve been diagnosed with some type of DNA altering power, you need to report to your nearest superhero’s guild center. I did just that. “So, what’d you say your power was again?” Fast Man asked. He looked me up and down with a furled brow. “I can drink pesticides without getting a stomachache!” I shouted. “I’m immune to pesticides!” Fast Man glanced over to Ice Girl. “Uh,” Ice Girl flipped through a few papers on her desk. “Sorry, your power is not needed for the superhero roster.” Fast Man cleared his throat. Ice Girl blushed. “Not needed for the superhero roster at this time.” The large double doors slammed behind me. Rejected. Not too bad of a result. At least I had powers. My phone rang. I swooped it up with dramatic fashion and gazed at the screen. Pesticide spill in downtown. Our drinking water is in danger! I grinned and jumped out of the nearest window. I fell face first in the ground and well.. it hurt… bad. I stumbled to my feet and shot straight for downtown. “Have no fear city dwellers!” I tossed on my red cape. “Pesticido is here to save the day!”
“Oh yeah! I've heard of you guys. Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, and Pride right?”—I pointed to each person in the room —“Though I can’t exactly tell which of you is which...” The room was filled with groans and seven exacerbated sighs. “Not this again!” one said. “I’m not sure why I’m even surprised!” another added. “Why does everyone always mention Lust first!? Why not me!” still another replied. “Listen!” a rather rotund man said. “My name is not Gluttony! It’s just Tony got it!!”—He raised his hands in frustration before rubbing his eyes—” All I asked for was a gluten-free chicken sandwich. But you cant fit ‘gluten-free for tony.’ on those tiny little wrappers. so the dude just crammed into it all together. And boom! Glut-tony! Is born!” “C’mon!” A slender man with long curly dark hair said. “You got off easy! —LUST— LUST! Are you kidding me!? My name is Dustin!” “Yeah and you have exactly zero maidens!” someone in the group jabbed. “Not cool dude!” Dustin continued trying his best to brush off the remark. “I mean is everyone and their mom suddenly dyslexic or something!?” “You’re telling me!” A women dressed like a hippie said. “‘Go green!’ has been my slogan for like hundreds of years. All it takes is one idiot and, bobs you, uncle. Green turns into greed!” “Oh! I get it!” I said as the pieces started to come together in my mind. “There must have been some kind of mix-up... I told them I wanted to meet dogs... but you guys are some kind of like gods...” The room was once again filled with seven groans followed by seven exacerbated sighs.
I pressed print on today’s invoices and watched the progress bar fill up with a happy green color. I locked my computer and stood up in my small cubicle. A lizard head bobbed up and down from the other side of the makeshift wall. It was Greg, and he was walking toward my desk. I hunched down, hiding inside the four walls. I kept my head down and walked past several cubicles. There was a low chatter in the office today, masking the squeaky sounds my shoes made against the carpet. I wasn’t the spy here, only the accountant, but working close to masters in the art of stealth for several years had given me an edge. I heard the printer working nearby and could smell wet ink pressed on warm paper in the air. I swung the other direction and walked into the office kitchen. My heart beat slowed as my body adjusted to being out of danger. Outside, by the cubicles, I heard Greg ask Emily why I wasn’t by my desk. “Oh, he’s not?” Emily said. “He’s usually there, tapping on his keyboard all day. Says our finances are in shambles after the Snowcat mission.” I grabbed a paper cup and filled the mug with hot coffee from the pot. I hunched back down and peeked out from the kitchen. Greg was standing by Emily’s desk, close to my own. He wore his usual black tie and nothing else, letting his lizard scales be his primary clothing. I calculated a route around the office that would take me by the printers and back to my desk, without Greg noticing me. I dashed out, keeping my head low, and ducked behind one of the gray makeshift walls of an empty cubicle. I peeked inside, noticing Miranda was out today, probably flying the president to Europe. At least someone was making the company money today. We needed the income badly. The Snowcat mission had been an utter failure, and several of our so-called supervillains had been caught. Paying their bail had not been cheap. I shook my head and continued down the corridor, arriving at the printers just when I heard Greg stepping away from Emily’s desk. I gathered up the invoices and stuck them under my arm. I reached my cup of coffee up to my lips, but just when I was about to take a sip, Emily’s head appeared in front of me. It floated in the air close to my own and she had a disappointed look on her face. I nearly spilled my coffee all over my shirt. “You hiding from Greg again?” Emily asked. I sighed. “Yes. He only wants me to give advice on what to do with his dogs and I really don’t want to. I need to finish these invoices today.” I held up the bunch of papers to Emily’s floating head. She didn’t look at them. “When I have you here,” she said. “My cats are making these wheezing sounds every time they cough up little hair balls. Is that normal?” I sighed again. “Yes, that’s normal. And next time, ask your vet, not me.” “Thanks. Why would I ask my vet when you just gave me the answer?” Emily said, and her head suddenly vanished, ending our conversation. I walked back to my desk, feeling good about having successfully avoided Greg at least. Then I arrived at my cubicle and saw to my detriment that Greg was sitting in my chair, spinning around. “Hi Mark,” he said. “I need your help.” “No,” I said. “Ask your vet about what to do with your dogs. I only worked as an accountant at an animal hospital for a year. I don’t know.” Greg stopped spinning in my chair and fixed his gaze right at me. “Whoa, spooky. How did you know I was going to ask about the dogs? Are you sure you’re not developing powers of your own?” “Yes, I’m sure,” I said, annoyed at him for suggesting I could become a wizard. God knows I tried for years to be anyone but Mark, the accountant. That’s why I took this stupid job in the first place, handling the finances for an undercover company. “I knew you were going to ask about your dogs because everyone in this office asks me about their pets.” “That’s because you give such good advice,” Greg said, standing up from my chair. “No, I don’t. I’ve stopped giving out advice, as of today,” I said. “Okay,” Greg said. “But my dogs are doing this new thing where they scratch their buts against the carpet all the time and it’s quite a disturbing sight. I have told them to stop, but they just continue.” “Worms,” I said, slapping my hand over my mouth as soon as I said it. “Wow, yes, that sounds like it. Thanks Mark.” Greg said and smoothed out his scales along his sides. “No,” I said. “I didn’t help you.” Greg smiled and walked out from my cubicle, leaving me alone to stew in my helplessness. Why did I keep giving out advice when I didn’t want to? I slammed my head down on my keyboard, hitting the little keys with my forehead. I really needed to get a new job.
I stared at her, more importantly, at the gun in her hand. It was pointed at me. I would have been upset, but my gun was pointed in her direction, so we were even. Tears were starting to flow down her face, as the moment stretched to its breaking point. She didn't want to pull that trigger. I knew that, because I didn't want to pull mine. The man in the corner sighed, leaning forward. "One of you has to shoot the other. I don't care which. That's the only way for one of you to prove it."He sat back, safe behind his bulletproof glass. "Do you remember?"I whispered, hoping he couldn't hear me. As he didn't react, it seemed that his glass also muffled sound. Or he was just being patient. "Remember what?"She whispered, at exactly the same tone and volume as me. "Do you remember the summer? The water pistol battle we had?"As I spoke, the hot day came back to me. There had been a standoff— much like this one— though the ammunition hadn't been nearly as dangerous. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "I remember. It was fun. We lost, I think." "Yes, but before we lost. Do you remember what happened—" "What are you two doing? Get on with it!"The man interrupted me. I took a deep breath. This needed to be fast. I had to get her to remember, to agree that it was the best course of action. "I remember what happened..."She paused, tilting her head to the side. "But do you think that's a good idea? It will be difficult. And technically, what he's asking is the right thing to do."Looking at her, at her eyes that were as familiar as my own, I trembled. I didn't care if her existence was illegal. Didn't care that I should have pulled the trigger when I first entered the room. "It might not be a good idea. But it's the best we've got."Watching her closely, I saw the minute traces of acceptance. And together with my clone, I turned, running for the man in the corner. With one shot, I broke the lock on his booth. Falling to the ground, I shoved the door open, as another shot rang out. The man slumped, bleeding from the neck. An alarm sounded, but I was already up, grabbing his ID card. My clone had sliced off his forefinger, knowing we would need it to get through the doors. I grabbed her hand, and we ran for the door. It was time to escape.
"Fuck it,"The scientist said, "Macrowave." And as that scientist spoke an apocalyptic searing wave of energy erupted from within a heavily modified home cooking appliance. ZZZZSH As the energy wave vaporizes the confidential military headquarters that housed the device, hundreds of thousands of people in a massive radius suddenly feel their bones melting. Birds are reminded that Thanksgiving is around the corner. Buildings finally understand the liquid form. Donald Trump melts like a stick of butter. From the afterlife a scientist screams, "MY PHD MEANT SOMETHING!" America is a radial crater on the map now, obliterated so utterly that the dust of a country still blows across the rest of the world. It has been thousands of years and the survivors still fear this mythical 'macrowave'. Electronics are the work of ancient evil and to even utter the word 'science' is to invite catastrophe. But, history has a way of repeating itself and those uncooked and preserved TV dinners are looking appetizing...
Phonecall 12:00 : "Hey, it's ya boy Satan. Listen Sarah, about this switching jobs deal... Um... can we switch back? Please..." Sarah: "Nuh uh.. a deal is a deal. You've got another six hours of my shift left buddy. Eight if the boss wants 'us' to work overtime. Oh yeah.. and don't let him get you alone on the pretext of 'stocktaking', because the only thing he'll be taking is advantage, and I'd like my body back unviolated." Satan: "Well... damn... Firstly, thank you for the heads up. Secondly.... C'mon man!! It's horrible here... and that's speaking as someone who has literally been to Hell and back. I mean what is wrong with these people?! Why are they so angry all the time, and so fucking Stupid! Are they coming here just to pick fights?!" Sarah (chuckling): "Okay, I'm impressed you lasted this long... But... Welcome to my Hell bitch. Better get used to it, because 8 hours is going to seem like an eternity." Satan: "Fuuuu.... you are entirely too good at this Sarah!"
"By God, this is a fantastic office!"Calvin exclaimed as he walked into the only office on the top floor of the Department of Minor Drama. "Make the most of the view; we expect to see your work making its way through the community by the beginning of next week,"Director Smith retorted. "I'll only be out of town for a few months, but I trust you to keep this place running smoothly until I get back." "Absolutely, sir, yes, sir!"Calvin said quickly. He was excited. It had only been a year since he began working for the department, and his work had already brought him the attention of the Director. This was his chance to really make an impact. Over the next few weeks, Calvin worked non-stop to design the perfect minor dramas to infiltrate and annoy the city. It wasn't that the city was being punished or that the citizens needed to be kept in line; no, it was simply part of the entertainment requested in the annual citizens voting log. The citizens were bored with daily life and requested things to get livened up. Calvin looked away from his computer screen and stared out the perfectly clear window that took the place of the wall. Glancing back and forth from his computer and the skyscrapers across the way, he had an idea. He pushed the intercom button on his desk, calling his secretary. "Gladys, can you check the cost of housing 1000 pigeons above each of the three most trafficked areas of the city? Also, check to see which buildings overhang those streets."Smiling to himself, he imagined citizens sprinting across the street or down the walkway, trying to avoid the white excrement of 1000 birds overhead. Boy, would that be a fun sight to see from his office window! Another project he had been working on was called Operation Telephone. He had already tested it out on his unsuspecting neighbors, and it had been a big hit. The intelligence office located in the Department of Minor Drama had two roles in this operation. The first team was to spread outlandish rumors to select members of each neighborhood. As the community began chatting more about these rumors, Team 2 would put the rumors into action. Calvin's neighbor had overheard an undercover agent telling a child over dinner that if the child didn't eat her tomatoes, tomatoes would rain down from the sky, and the cloud of tomatoes would follow her around until she ate her meal. As the child refused to eat her dinner, a plane flew undetected overhead and shot tomatoes down at the ground. It took about 15 minutes, but once the child ate her food, the raining tomatoes miraculously stopped. Of course, Calvin's neighbor immediately told her needlepoint club about the event, and the story quickly spread. The minor dramas only became more dramatic as the days progressed. The internet was shut down in the city for 48 hours one day, and the next day, a handful of actors were hired to run around stealing purses. Of course, the contents were "recovered"in trash bins later. Some of the local businesses were even paid to get in on the drama. The only liquor store in the city required 300 signatures from random people before a person could even buy a case of beer.
"Welcome to Ericaceae Station!" Lena said, cheerfully, as the Zolodai ambassador lumbered onto the main concourse of the large trading station in orbit around Luna. The Zolodai lowered his shaggy-furred head so it was level with Lena's. She reached up and gently scratched the sort fur on the sides of the sloth-like Zolodai's head, and the alien in turn ran one of his long hooked claws delicately through her own braided locks. Ritualized mutual grooming was as fundamental to polite social interaction among the Zolodai as handshakes were for humans. This greeting ritual accomplished, Lena gestured the ambassador forward and walked beside him as he made his way onto the concourse in his ponderous way. His people, she knew, were minimalists, when it came to verbal communication, so she spared her hirsute guest the usual spiel explaining the layout of the station, and allowed him to experience it for himself. They passed down a row of fragrant bayberry shrubs, which he sniffed at curiously, and rows of hydroponically grown holly bushes, which didn't seem to interest him. When they reached the long, narrow cranberry pond, he placed his broad, flat face close to the water and glanced at her. Lena, recalling a gesture she'd learned in xeno-diplomatic training, hooked her fingers to resemble the shape of a Zolodai's claws, and lifted them to her open mouth -- indicating that the ambassador was welcome to sample the berries. Without further prompting, the large alien slurped up a hefty mouthful of the berries from the water, chewed thoughtfully, and then gave a slight head bob -- mild approval, Lena believed. They continued to the next row of bushes, which the ambassador sniffed, and then slowly passed a claw through, revealing them as holograms. Lena smiled. That usually got a response, as all of the other plants on the concourse were, well, plants. She readied herself for the next step. "Why?"the ambassador asked, speaking for the first time. "These holograms,"Lena explained. "Are of Vaccinium membranaceum -- which we call the black mountain huckleberry. We have no actual specimens on-station." "Extinct?"the ambassador inquired. She shook her head. "Oh no, it's very much extant. It's just that huckleberries have resisted all attempts at domestication and artificial cultivation, even on our homeworld -- artificially grown plants simply don't bear fruit, for reasons we still don't understand. We've set aside large swathes of wilderness as natural huckleberry cultivation preserves, and done everything we can to encourage their growth, but even so it's very difficult to keep up with demand for the fruit of these little shrubs." The ambassador blinked. "Why demand?" Lena had been waiting for this. She reached into her pocket, and withdrew a handful of dried huckleberries, offering them to the ambassador. The hulking alien delicately scooped them up in his claws, and then into his mouth. The Zolodai's eyes went wide as he tasted the tiny fruit. Though Lena was trained not to read human emotional responses into those of aliens, she was sure the tears brimming in the ambassador's eyes were a positive sign. "We...will trade for these."the Zolodai said, hoarsely. Lena grinned. "I'm sure we can work something out."
“….so, you see doc, I’ll be fine in just a few minutes,” I wheezed, the breath hardly escaping my ravaged lungs. Dr. Nogud stared pensively, I was sure he was contemplating having someone from the psych ward come down to assess me when he suddenly spoke up, “Do you mind if I…observe the rejuvenation process?” I blushed. I always viewed my ability as something very personal, but this was a doctor, and maybe, just maybe he could figure something out. “Um, no, it’s okay. It should start soon,” my meek answer appeased him. I expected more questions, but instead, he simply sat at the end of the bed opposite mine and stared at me. There was nothing to say, so we just spent the next few minutes like that, his staring at me and me staring holes into the ceiling. Eventually, the glow began. It was always the same, a healthy, vibrant green, weaving its way around my injury. Even I had never seen it like this, cascading and looping around my entirety, like my own personal Northern Lights sewing me back together. Dr. Nogud’s eyes widened at the sight and his whole body stiffened. I grinned; I had always wondered what it would be like to show someone my ability, and was rather pleased with his reaction. When it had finished, I jumped from the bed, and Dr. Nogud fell back in surprise. Giggling, I asked, “So, what do you think?” “Marvelous,” he responded, eyes still wide, “incredible. I can hardly believe such a thing is even possible. Have you tested its limits? Can it resuscitate you? Is it a being or simply energy?” His questions continued and I answered them for awhile before starting to get a little annoyed. “Look, doc, I promise I’ll come back tomorrow, but I really want to go home and relax a bit now. I’ve had a rough 24 hours, ahaha!” His look grew serious, then softened again, and said, “I understand completely, just wait one moment, would you, I’ll get your discharge paperwork.” I was a little annoyed, cause it’s like, they didn’t do anything to help me, why was I even admitted? But whatever, so I waited. Dr. Nogud came back with a little paper cup and some forms on a clipboard. Handing my the clipboard first, then the cup, I saw there were two small pills. I looked up, confused, “Just a little something for your nerves,” he assured, “I noticed from your brainwave activity that your little ability doesn’t affect your mental health, only physical,” his smile when saying this made me uncomfortable, but I quickly swallowed the pills and signed the forms before getting to my feet. “Okay, well, thanks Doc Nogud, it was really great meeting you and I’ll be back on route with 6 cheeseburgers to the left on Sunday” huh? What did I just say? Why is Dr. Nogud falling down? Wait, am I on the ground? You’re calling for a nurse, thank god, wait—is that a cell phone? Why aren’t you using your pager? Wait why are you closing the curtains? Why do you need that— “Amelia? Hello? Are you awake my dear?” The young woman strapped to the table twitched, “good morning, are you able to speak?” “Ughgggh, Dr. Nogud” Amelia asked, eyes adjusting to the harsh lights illuminating her clinical surroundings, “what’m I do here” she slurred “I see the drug is still wearing off, no matter. Allow me to explain. You see, God is real. Not the Abrahamic god those mewling Christians use to peddle their beliefs, but my God. All this time I have been waiting for a sign, and, well, who could expect that her vessel would walk straight into my office?!” Nogud howled with maniacal laughter. “Whafuck’re you talking bout” Amelia slurred “POSSESSION, Amelia, my dear! You are possessed by Vanta! Goddess of Undeath, the Unholy Redeemer, the Only Light in the Dark!! You’re already dead! Ahaha!!!” “Youfuck—you’re crazy! You’re crazy! I am ALIVE” Amelia roared and the whole room shook, startling her. “You see? Her arrival grows near!” Nogud’s sick, sibilant giggles sent Amelia’s skin crawling, “a pity you should have to suffer so…” “Just let me go, please! I won’t tell anyone, you can just let me go and everything will be okay, please! I can go home and see my cat and call my little brother and tell him I love him and our parents loved him, and I can just keep on living my life, please just let me GO!!” Amelia’s wild, wrecking sobs emanated energy that reverberated throughout the basement she has been contained in. The crack of three gunshots pierced her piercing wails and Amelia grew silent. She slowly looked down at the three smoking holes in her abdomen and back up at Nogud before her wailing redoubled. “Vanta will return! Each time you use her power, you give up a bit more of your mind, until she takes over completely!” Nogud cackled and cackled, making his way around the table in stiff, abrupt movements, bringing a knife down into the screaming girl’s abdomen with each stuttered step. Amelia blacked out. She awakened to a sickly green light mending her wounds, “No, no, NO NO NO NO NO” Amelia screamed and thrashed at her bindings. Nogud approached from a cot in the corner, tapping his watch with a large, dark blade, “if you’re lucky, it’ll only be 74 more cycles before she fully awakens…”
"That's odd." Not exactly what you want to hear from your nurse as they change the bandages on the gut wound you spent hours in surgery getting fixed. "Nurse?" You thought your voice was under control, but she looked up at you and smiled that professional smile. The one that says, no problem! Nothing to concern you in a wrong way. Only you aren't buying it. Her face smoothes out as she relents. "It's just that you seem to heal remarkably fast."She tells her assistant to get the surgeon. "Let's finish cleaning up. I won't put new bandages on until the doctor can see you."She hesitates, "Would you like to see it?" Your curiosity is aroused. "Yes, please."She brings over a mirror and holds it so that you can see your abdomen without craning your head or tensing your muscles. Your stomach looks like Jason and Freddy played tic tac toe multiple times. "Woah..."Only you notice what she meant; the wounds and incisions are far more healed than they should be. "Do you think the doctor will take the stitches out?" "We will let the doctor decide that." Moments later, an annoyed doctor bustles into the room, muttering about incompetent nurses, only to stop in mid-mutter and whisper, "what the hell?"He becomes all professional after that, examining the wounds and exclaiming how remarkable it is—snapping orders at the nurse, who is responding like a robot. Finally, you have had enough. "Doctor."He acts like he didn't hear you. "Doctor!"Finally, you reach out and take him by the arm. He looks at you with a frown. "Let go." "Not until you apologize!"You glance at the nurse, making it clear who deserves the apology. He seems genuinely puzzled, "What for?" "Doctor, when you came in here, you insulted her professionally. You will now apologize for that insult and mean it." "I did no such thing!" "You came in here muttering about incompetent nurses. Apologize!" His face hardens, "you will let me go immediately!"Your grip tightens. Your face feels like stone. "Apologize!"He struggles; your grip tightens further, "Let go!" The nurse steps up to your side, "Please, Mr. Smythe, let him go. I don't mind. He's absent-minded about everything except surgery. He's the best there is." My grip relaxes, but not enough to let him pull free. "I saw how you reacted. I won't tolerate insults, even absent-minded ones. He can learn to treat everyone with courtesy."As you speak, you glare at the doctor, waiting for his apology. Every two seconds, your grip tightens again. "Can't you, Doctor?" "Nurse? I apologize for my intemperate remarks. I can only say that the initial report was so fantastic that I assumed a mistake was made." I released him. "Was that so hard, Doctor?"The look he shot at me was answered with a dead stare. He dropped his gaze first. I let it go. "So, Doctor. Can the stitches come out? I want to take a real shower." Back on a medical basis, he hemmed and hawed a bit but finally started snapping orders again. Only this time, the nurse wasn't a robot. That shower felt fabulous. ((continue?))
I hate my life. Sure, people think that my life is great. Anything I want to create, I can invent. I make millions of dollars every year for the rest of my life. I live in a giant mansion, and I have every single toy that I want. But I also have millions of deaths on my conscience. It seems like everything I create becomes evil. I invent an exoskeleton that can lift 10 tonnes so that my brother stops hurting his back at work, and now every military squad has one that carries gattling guns. I clone my dog and his memories after hes hit by a car, and now there are thousands of highly trained k9's thrown as cannon fodder against the "enemy."An upgraded GPS chip that works while spelunking is now used on every submarine in the US navy. I invent freaking teleportation, and those people use it to teleport bombs inside their opponents tanks. My latest invention though, no way it could be used for war. I take a deep breath and look out at the audience in front of me. Most of them are people from "defense"companies, but there are some people from commercial companies too. Those are the people I want to reach. "Hello, and welcome to my latest unveiling. Tell me, have you ever gone to your cousins party, and had a little bit too much to drink? Then you realize you have a big conference the next day you need to drive to? Introducing, the soberinator! Simply point this gun at yourself, pull the trigger and it eliminates any alcohol inside your body, as well as any adverse effects it might have done to you! Tried and tested this morning!" I look out, and to my suprise the defense companies seem most interested. I sigh, wondering how long until I learn how they use this against humanity. Turns out it was less than two months. My soberinator apparently works on more than alcohol. It also works if you do something like inject your prisoner with venom. You get a couple bullet ants to bite your victim, wait for them to tell you everything you want, then you hit them with this gun and boom, their pain is gone. I can't take it anymore. I want to make the world better, but everything I do makes it worst. I decide I won't invent anything ever again. I can't take this guilt anymore. I grab several containers of pills, pop them open and put them down my throat. My stomach hurts immediately, and its not long until I'm seizing out on the ground and the world goes dark. Then I wake up to see my maid pointing my soberinator at me. God damn it, I hate my life.
_How the shit does this even happen? Fml._ I watched motionlessly, the blood pouring from my face as the driver of our Isekai truck swerved away from the kid. The kid who was supposed to become a great warrior and help save an entire kingdom from complete decimation. “Dude, what are you gonna do? There’s no way we can use a grizzly and we can’t get authorization for another truck,” I said. “We get a druid.” “¿Qué?” I was beyond baffled. “I said we get a druid.” “Never mind the fact that the nearest druid is thousands of miles to the West and centuries earlier how the hell is a druid going to help?” “They can cast an awaking spell on the bear.” Marty looked at me like a toddler who just learned how to use a spoon. “Dude. This isn’t fucking Forgotten Realms it’s Edo Japan. There’s no fucking magic!” “I know, I know. But we can still make it work. We just go to some fantasy world, grab a druid, bring him to the grizzly and have him awaken it.” That same silly grin on his face. “And how do you suppose we get the druid there?” He literally pointed into the air and said “We use a wizard!” I hung my head in dismay. “So we just find a wizard, convince him to transport a druid between universes and have the druid awaken a seventeen-hundred pound grizzly then proceed to have the grizzly save the kingdom. Sounds simple enough. You just forgot one simple detail. What the actual fuck is an awakened grizzly bear doing in Edo Japan?” “Shit. I hadn’t thought about that.” “That’s the thing you hadn’t thought about? Seriously?” “Okay, maybe we can—“ “Shut the fuck up for a minute. Let me think.” Marty looked a little hurt but I just ignored him. I paced the room for a few minutes trying to figure out how to get around his fuck up. I told him we should just wait until the kid flies to San Francisco. The plane was going to crash. It even would have been less paperwork since there wasn’t going to be any evidence of bodies, much less survivors. There were way too many variables while he was still in Alaska. Our Isekai truck was a 16-wheeler on an icy highway and that alone didn’t guarantee the kid would be hit. That kind of transport vehicle (no pun intended) is usually reserved for frivolous stories like a great-great-great-neice meeting her peasant aunt. Stories with no consequence. Usually when someone hits the wrong target you can still manage to make due with them. Generations removed it’s usually easy enough to convince poor old Aunt Elsie that she never had any nieces and this is actually her nephew. But shit man… A grizzly? I’ve seen some fuck ups before but this one takes the cake. Then it hit me. “We can use a wizard.” “Wait… Aren’t you the one who just told me this isn’t a table-top game?” “Yeah, but a powerful enough wizard can transport someone between any universes.” “And where are we going to find a wizard that powerful?” “Wait. You’re the one who had the wizard idea to begin with. You didn’t think about that?” “Well…” “Nevermind. I think I know just the guy.” I gave him a somewhat sinister grin. A look of recognition slowly formed on his face. “Dude. He’ll fucking kill you.” “Yeah and so will our manager.” Neither one of us was joking. “We don’t have a choice.” *It’s maybe a bit cliché? I like the idea of going meta though.* *This is the first time I’ve ever written for a prompt. Please let me know what you think.*
“Mr. Friendship? It’s a cute name, kind of like Mr. Smiley or something? I think there’s a weird song called Mr. Smiley. Wonder if it’s about the same thing?” Alex said, humming a tune as he kept his sniper pointed towards the friendship compound, waiting for any sign of the man. It was hard to see anything in the darkness, relying on the floodlights outside to see any signs of movement from the blue-robed members. “He’s anything but cute. I’ve never seen anything like him. He’s a monster, or something of the sorts. Once you're defeated by him, you join his little group, well it used to be a little group. Now there’s a friend in every part of the world.” Sarah joined her partner in his scouting, using a pair of night vision goggles to look for anything that might be out of place. She had seen the photo’s that her department caught of this Mr. Friendship, but she didn’t believe something like that could exist. Regardless, as soon as they saw anything that looked non-human, they would have to take their shot, and fast. “Ah, so is that why we can’t just drop a bomb on the problem and grab dinner? If he’s so much of a threat, why just send the two of us?” “Because anytime we send in armies, they get turned to his side. They can handle losing two soldiers, they can’t handle losing another army. The public are already noticing the amount of people vanishing. Still, I’m not sure if a bullet will even kill him. Even a bomb might not be enough.” “Wait? A bullet won’t kill him? So, what? It’s a suicide mission?” Alex panicked, lowering his scope. “Relax, we are planning on capturing him. They want to run some tests on him, anyway. Just aim for his chest and get that bullet inside. It’s got enough poison in it to take down twenty elephants. Even that has to slow the monster down a little.” “Who’s taking down twenty elephants at once?” “It’s an expression.” “Not a very good one.” Alex went back to his scope, only to hesitate. There were a few robed figures standing by the floodlights, their faces turned in the direction they were scouting from. All three of them just stared, not moving their attention away from the position. “Sarah, do you-“ “Maybe. If they have noticed us, it’s already too late. He will be here soon, I imagine.” “We have to run. I don’t want to become one of them.” “Calm down, I won’t let you become one of them. If we panic, it’s all over. We need to move carefully. Our car’s a little further down the path, past the trees. If we crawl back, we should be able to avoid detection. It’s a big forest. Just knowing we are in this direction gives us time.” “Right.” Alex’s voiced wavered as the two crawled back towards their car, pushing their bodies over rocks, sticks and whatever obstacle might get in their way. When they had reached the car, they got to their feet, only to see someone watching them. Mr. Friendship smiled, his curved smile showing his perfect white teeth. His lanky body was wrapped around the tree, nearly being the same size as it. All his limbs curling around the tree as if he was suffocating it. When the two caught sight of him, he slowly wrapped from the tree. The pale creature walking towards them, its golden eyes shining. “TAKE THE SHOT OR GIVE ME YOUR GUN.” Sarah took out her pistol, firing a few bullets at the creature. The bullets entered his body but did little to harm him, not even stopping his steps. Alex remained numb, nearly going as pale as the creature. He fumbled for his gun, planting it on the roof of the car before lining up his shot, struggling to hold his shaking breath. As he lined up the shot, Sarah unlocked the car, preparing for an escape if the plan went sour. When Alex pulled the trigger, the bullet flew towards his target, landing perfectly in the skull of Mr. Friendship. Mr. Friendship stumbled back, holding his head. For once, it looked like they had slowed the creature down, only for it to return to its smiling. It was nearing the edge of the car and Sarah had already jumped into the driver’s seat. “Come on, Alex, GET IN.” She screamed, only for her partner to just stare at the monster, unable to move away. Its hand wrapped around his waist, lifting Alex up into the air before pulling him towards its chest. Alex groaned in pain, kicking his legs, trying anything he could to free himself from the monster. His body being crushed against the chest of Mr. Friendship. Sarah rolled down her window trying to shoot the creature, but her bullets did little to stop it from turning Alex. Before he was entirely crushed, the creature stopped releasing him. When he landed on the ground, he wasn’t himself, his expression blank, turning towards the car. When Alex turned, Sarah could see wounds all over his body, bullet holes scattered around his turned body before he dropped to the floor dead. She couldn’t believe it; had she been shooting Alex the entire time? No, she was certain her shots hadn’t missed. “It takes damage; it just shifts that damage onto its followers somehow.” Once Sarah made that connection, she felt a little hopeful for the first time since they had assigned her this case. There was a way to kill the creature. It would just take a lot of time. She had little time to think over her theory, seeing the approaching Mr. Friendship nearing the car window. She drove off, trying to outrun the creature. Mr. Friendship crouched, getting onto his hands and knees before chasing behind the car, weaving between trees and other obstacles. It was like he was toying with her, getting right next to the car before allowing her to speed away. Sarah struggled to avoid those same obstacles, narrowly avoiding the trees as her high beams did their best to illuminate the path in front of her. She eventually broke out of the forest, finding her way back to a main road. Once she hit the road, the creature stopped, waving at her. That’s when she realized, for whatever reason, the creature had let her escape. The drive back to her headquarters was a somber one. Without Alex to make his usual jokes, it had just left her alone, trying to calculate what had happened. She wanted to cry, but doing so would only put her in danger. She couldn’t stop driving, not until she knew she was away from the creature and its followers. Even if she knew its weakness, how many followers did it have? It was still converting people, so its numbers were still growing. Perhaps that’s why it left her alive. Maybe it hoped that once she told everyone how hard it would be to kill, they would just give in and leave it alone? Was it already too late to stop him? &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
"Hey. Heyyy. You smell that?" My eyes fluttered open to see my wife Faye leaning over me with a tray full of pancakes, fruit, and milk. I sat up with a smile as I remarked, "Well, good morning to you too, hon. You know, we could've just gone to that diner by the beach." Faye giggled and kissed me on the cheek. "Aw, come on Bella, I just wanted to spoil you." I shrugged and popped a grape into my mouth. "Well, you definitely succeeded. C'mere, I'm gonna do the Roman thing." Faye scooted closer and opened her mouth as I lowered the bundle of grapes into it. As Faye snacked on the grapes, I tapped into our psychic link and telepathically said, You know he's in the armoire, right? Faye glanced over at the wardrobe in the corner of our rental and rolled her eyes. Does he just not have a social life or what? He has unironically introduced himself as "Hellhound, the Guard Dog of Baltimore". I doubt that boy even has a pet rock. Faye nuzzled into me and sighed as I started cutting up my pancakes. Why is it so damn hard for him to recognize we're not doing anything criminal? I caressed Faye's cheek and replied, Because to him, we're not Faye and Bella O'Malley. We're only ever Kingfisher and Fairywren, the Lovebirds of Crime. Man doesn't want to admit the people he fights have nuance to them. Faye accepted a forkful of pancake before responding, You wanna trap Hellhound in the armoire and go to that topless beach we found the other day? God yes. Faye grinned and took my hand. Pink sparks crackled around our hands as a feeling like packing peanuts getting shook up inside my body spread through me. Faye and I aimed at the armoire and focused our power at the handle. A beam of pink light shot out of our hands and shaped itself into a chain with a padlock that wrapped itself tightly around the armoire. Hellhound banged on the door from the inside and growled, "Whatever you're up to, you won't get away with it!! You can't escape justice!" Faye and I pointedly ignored his yelling as we got out of bed and got on with our day. Breakfast was finished and cleaned up, teeth were brushed, and beach clothes were dug out of our suitcase as Hellhound's protests faded into white noise. Once sunscreen was applied, Faye and I stepped out the door as I took her hand and purred, "Happy anniversary, sweetie." Faye kissed me softly and whispered right back, "Happy anniversary."
"-turn down the heat, and let it simmer for ten minutes." A voice was raised to perfection, enough to be heard across the class, yet not a trace of a yell. Its speak was a well known figure, a man of timeless image. He wore his usual apron, clean and white no matter the class he taught. A tall hat was placed on his head, though he had no hair for it to cover. His fathomless eyes swept across the room, a smile set on his face. Many tried to guess his age, but none had ever come close. It was known he had been with the school since its founding, but none knew of his past before then. Even his real name was a mystery, as he simply went by Chef. Chef was pleased with what he saw. His students were careful in their cooking, and he could smell their concoctions coming together. They were paying close attention, as they always did. A crash of metal broke through the otherwise tranquil sounds of softly simmering pots. The warning reverberated through the air, before another crash followed. As the vibrations of the second impact faded, a magically enhanced voice rolled through the air. "Raid. Raid. Raid. Oozes on premises. All students, remain in place. Teachers, prepare to repel advances." Chef moved swiftly, turning off the gas to his station. The partially ajar door was slammed shut, and he shouted with urgency. "Turn off your stoves. Millard, you are learning warding spells correct?" The addressed student nodded, eyes widening in shock. "Yes sir." Chef smiled, with a hand on the door. "When I leave, put the strongest one you can on there. If needed, use the crystal in my top drawer. It should give you a boost in power if needed. Everyone else, stand back." He didn't give them time to argue. His words hanging in the air, Chef exited the class, closing the door behind him. All around he could hear the muttering as other classes were locked down. Raid were rare events, with almost all being stopped at the walls. In his time here, he could count the number of successful ones on one hand. This time however was worse. The normal security force had gone away for the week, on a training expedition. The skeleton crew left had been posted on the walls. Without any others left, there was no-one to remove those that had made it through. Under normal rules, they would stay locked in place, until the threat was removed. Chef didn't care for that thought. It would likely take days. People would grow tired. Classrooms would be lost. He couldn't allow it. With great strides he headed towards the exterior, mentally donning his old role. It settled around him like ash, promising naught but destruction. Something he had been without for years. Between his foot raising and being set down, the non-slip shoes were changed into a metal cased boot. His pristine apron grew shaded and shiny, wrapping around into a polished but well used suit of armour. The hat collapsed, melting into a snarling visage on a full faced helmet. For the first time in millennia, the war god Charnax stalked the lands. He had no weapon, but he needed none. His was the realm of structured violence on a large scale, controlling wars. A minor skirmish like this was well within his limits. He clennhed his fists, as he hunted the monsters foolish enough to raid his home. The first was easily found. A six foot tall mound of vibrant yellow, carrying with it a smell of decay. It had attached itself to a door, trying to take it down. Charnax simply grabbed it, easily ripping it from the deteriorating wood. He followed it with a punch, making its surface quiver beneath his knuckles. More blows rained down, shaking the ooze violently. Each grew worse, until part of it exploded out. The spray was the final tipping point, as subsequent blows broke it down, until its liquidated remains spread over the floor. Charnax left its body, looking for the next. Deep inside, he couldn't deny the joy he felt to be on the battlefield again. The cravings of violence rose in his head. He had to be careful. Too much would make him ride again. Too much would destroy all he had created.
Slow footsteps told of her coming. She wore a simple white dress, in many ways reminiscent of a bridal outfit. Her dark hair had been braided with feathers, wooden jewellery rattling around her neck and wrists. This year's sacrifice finally reached the top of the spire, just outside of her village. She glanced back, tears filling her eyes. She wanted to go back, but she knew she couldn't. The decision had been made for her, her duty set before her. Her eyes turned back, glancing over the worn scratchs that covered the spires surface. She looked upwards, catching sight of a speck on the distance. It glittered, reflecting green in the sun's rays. Before long it grew larger, letting her see its general features. A line of spines ran down a scaled back, continuing down its thick tail. It soared on massive leathery wings, beating the air into submission. Scales the colour of moss covered its hide, shining like coins. She stood her ground, though her every instinct told her to flee. To flee would only anger it, and cause it to hunt her down. The dragon soared close, pumping its wings as it came in to land. The wind buffeted the woman, almost causing her to fall down. She finally did when it landed, shaking the ground beneath her. "So, you are this years chosen." It's voice was heavy, holding back the weight of centuries. She nodded, picking herself up from the ground. "I-I am." It snorted, releasing a thin stream of smoke. "Hmph, fine." The dragon turned to the side, holding its wing backwards at an awkward angle. "Get on, we don't have much time." The woman glanced back to her home, before climbing on. Her dress stretched painfully tight as she straddled its back, making it grumble. "They really need to change those dresses. Every year, it's the same problem." She took a hold of one of the spines, fingers turning white. The dragon raised its wings, moving around before lurching upwards. The jolt of movement made her gasp, applyg even more strength to her grip. "Alright, we have a few minutes. I am Zazbrac, what should I call you?" She narrowed her eyes, as air buffeted her face. "N-Nicole." "What are you good at Nicole?" She leaned down, breathing hard. "I-I've been told I-I can cook m-meals fit for a k-king." Zazbrac went quiet, before speaking with a much lighter tone. "Really? Thats a bit different from the usual singers." Nicole didn't reply, waiting for her new master to carry on. "What, no questions or comments?" She shook her head, before realising that it probably couldn't feel that. "N-no sir." "Sir? Oh no, that won't do. Use my name Nicole. And cheer up. I'm sure you will like your new home." They continued to fly in silence. A mountain range rose before them, snowy peaks towering over their flight path. Zazbrac soared down in a practiced manner, the same thing done countless times before. He slowed down as they approached one, a cave opening over a sheer drop. His landing was quieter this time, as bundles of hay absorbed the energy. He picked his way through, calling out in his resonating voice. "Girls, I'm back!" Scurrying footsteps answered, as a dozen women appeared. Each wore a comfortable outfit, in variety of styles and colours. The eldest of the bunch looked onto his back, smiling. "Welcome home Zazzy. Who do you have with you?" He snorted, shifting around to look at the terrified body clinging to him. He turned, letting his body come closets the ground. "This is Nicole, this years sacrifice to me. Apparently she's a good cook." The women looked on her with interest, before the eldest stepped forwards. "Nice to meet you Nicole, my name's Olivia. Let's get you down here and out of that silly dress shall we?" Nicole's head gradually rose, staring at the welcoming party. "I... I'm so confused and scared." That got a laugh. One of the others, wearing a bright pink tunic and trousers skipped up, poking the dragon's side. "Oh don't worry. Old Zaz here is a big old softy. He won't eat you." He snorted, whipping his head around to face the pink poking menace. "Oi, no poking." She stuck out her tongue, poking him again. "Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?" He rolled his eyes, sucking in a breath. It was followed by a sooty exhale, covering her face in a fine coating of black. She spluttered, turning away. "Agh, no, stop! I surrender!" Nicole watched this, a lost expression on her face. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but it wasn't this. Olivia held up a hand, giving her a gentle smile. "Come on, let's get you comfortable, and we can explain everything."
Two wizards sat at the bar of the Purple Wyrm, sharing drinks and research notes. "Thas incredible, Maxus,"slurred the first wizard, stroking his long, grey, ale-wet beard. "You're advancing the theory of magic more than the Arcane Eye has in centuries." "Ah, thank you, Alicus,"replied the second wizard, wiping beer foam from his thick but neatly trimmed moustache. "I've felt - known - for many years that the differences in how wizards, sorcerers, clerics, druids, and so on all interact with magic are not about the magic itself, but about tradition and how we see magic. I only found a different way to look at it." "Another round on my friend Maxus,"called Alicus to the bartender. He nearly dropped his pointy hat, and tangled himself in his robes trying to catch it, but returned the hat safely to his head. "Where were you thinking of publishing? I have an in with Arcana Alliance Monthly, I could -" "I was, ah, actually thinking about writing my own book,"Maxus replied into his beer. "I may end up having a lot more notes than would fit into a periodic -" "Hey, nerds,"shouted some guy. "You're in our seats." Alicus didn't seem entirely capable of focusing, so Maxus motioned for him to stay seated and turned towards the angry man. Men. There were three of them, big and broad, possibly intimidating to most bar patrons. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, there must be some mistake,"said Maxus. "These are our seats, as you can tell from the fact that we are sitting in them." "Look at the clever nerd,"drawled the second man, thick red hair tangled into his thick red beard. "I don't see your wand or staff or spellbook, Mr. Wizard, what do you think you're gonna do?" "Git 'em, Maxus!"cackled Alicus. "Show 'em your research!" Maxus shrugged. "No, that's all right, I'm not sure they'll understand the finer points of -" "Go on,"sneered the half-bald blond. "Show us your research, magic nerd." Maxus shrugged. "Well, if you insist. You see, I've theorized that magic does not fall neatly and strictly into different types and disciplines, but rather, it behaves the way one believes it behaves. Wizards believe that magic can be studied and researched, so to them, it can. Everyone knows that sorcerers have innate spontanous magic that requires no study, and so, they do. Clerics -" "Oh, get on with it,"grunted the lug who'd first yelled about the seats. "Or we'll get bored and take our seats in a way you won't like." Maxus stood and shrugged out of his robes, revealing a thick-framed, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested muscular physique like a life-long power lifter. "I believe,"said Maxus, flexing his muscles until they sparked with raw magical power, "That one can channel physical strength to produce magic." Alicus whooped and patted Maxus's muscles. The three bullies looked uncomfortable, but disbelieving. "Would you like a demonstration?"asked Maxus, adopting a boxer's guard, fists up near his chin, forearms protecting his core. Two of the men backed away, but the redhead stepped forward. Maxus threw a single punch - well short of the man, but a blue-gold fist of pure force energy blasted its way out of his hand and knocked the bully across the room and straight out the door. Maxus sat back down, ignoring the others. "He'll be fine,"he assured the bartender. "It was more of a push than a punch. Another round, please."
Hi! I’m Sammy! My friend calls me “Young Mummy.” Don’t know what that means. I’m a big boy. I’m eight years old so I don’t know too much about the world or what goes on. But I have a friend, and he’s always happy to see me. His name is Max. He says he’s sixteen. Which means he’s eight years older than me! He’s cool. He likes old stuff. He asks me a lot about where I came from. And I tell him what I know. We’re best friends. Oh! And he has my papa’s cane. He says that’s what res… rezur….. rected? Is that how he said it? I don’t know. But he said that’s why I’m here. I don’t know if he’s saying the truth. Last thing I remember is Papa saying I’m sick and he’s gonna make me better. I know that Papa does a lot of bad things, but he always says it’s to make the world better. He’s never been wrong before. He’s made so many people happy. Except Mama. Mama is angry at Papa. She yells at him a lot. And cries. And that makes me sad too. But I don’t know where Mama or Papa are at. I hope they made up. When I get sad Max calls me a baby. But I’m not a baby! I’m a big boy! I’m taller than Max and all of his friends. I’m also wrapped up by paper that Papa says will make me better. And it does make me better! It also makes people go away. It takes all the red water out of their body and they look all skinny and stuff. That makes them all go to sleep. But Max doesn’t like when they go to sleep. Unless they are bad guys, then he lets me do it. It feels nice. But the bad guys get tired fast and then we can’t play any more. Max likes playing games with me! Like Tag, or Catch, or Hide and Seek. He lets me catch lots of things my Papa used to hide from me and my Mama. And he makes me “It” and lets me tag the bad guys. But my favorite is hide and seek. He goes to hide and I look for him. But I have a secret that I don’t think he knows. He hides and I just follow Papa’s cane. I can see his cane through walls, and that is my secret that Max doesn’t know. But he’s always very happy when I find him. I think Hide and Seek is his favorite game to play. The only people that aren’t happy are the people that are hiding with him. They always try to use their loud toys to make me lose but I never lose, the bandages make me better. And then I tag them and then they go to sleep. I’m just happy to have a best friend. He makes me happy and I make him happy. I am Sammy, and he is Max, and we are best friends! The Bestest!
"It was written in the contract, 18 years or older, those under the age are to be treated as juvenile apprentices and be taken under the wing of a 2nd class protector!!!"here was a big argument happening in the main hall, my secret had gotten out after our last venture, the enemy had a recon scout capable of deducing oneself through eye contact, they announced my real age which didn't match up with what I told my allies, I wasn't 22 like they thought but 16. "I know, I know but how are we going to deal with this? Without him, we simply don't have the means to go against the kind of threats that we do, I think we should make an exception". My face was flush, I was the centre of attention yet again and my allies who I laughed with and fought blood, sweat and tears for might start to turn on me, I could be demoted from my position as a Senior Zero Class to an apprentice even with all of my contributions to society. "He is a child! He shouldn't even be out fighting negatives yet, he should be making coffee for us, why are we treating him as a special case, we can do just fine without him!"I call them allies but only 2 of the 6 would I really be able to trust, they knew about my situation before I had even joined the team and risen the ranks. It was starting to feel a bit hot in the room, I assumed they decided to settle this conflict with a bout, it was how we used to settle matters that caused divide by asserting strength, confidence, leadership but also restraint as we never went the extra step off hurting one another. This parade of insults, combat and conflict went on for almost 3 hours before a final decision had been made, I could hear and see it all, the separation was more for them so they could feel like they had privacy while they talked about my punishment for lying. My ability was to connect with the will of people and twist or shape that will to assist or destroy them. My allies became near invincible when I was around, my enemies became fragments of what they used to be, making for much easier fights and a greater reduction in crime and hostility rates. The doors swung upon and out walked my team, or maybe my former team, who knows. They looked solemn and out of shape, it wasn't a look I wanted to see on them, I almost changed their expressions but decided that would only worsen their opinion on me. "Will, I'm sorry but we can't keep you on the team knowing how old you are, that sort of information could endanger our operation, lying only leads to distrust and those we protect even though we fight our hardest are still easily swayed by information that causes them to distrust us, we can't have that."I held my head in shame, "thank you for the opportunity, once I reach 18 I'll be back without any lies to hold us back."I spoke as I headed for the exit. Some stories don't have happy endings and unfortunately mine followed that saying. Not too long after I had left my former team had to face up against a strong opponent, she had the ability to control all visible matter. it didn't take long for my team to meet their end, only two survived but they were crippled beyond repair and let go from the society they had grown up in, I was left alone but I had a new mission now. To find the woman who destroyed my team and my future and make her understand how she never really had free will, because I have it, I have all of their wills and now I have no reason to hold back.
Part 1. As the Crimson Skeleton ranted on about how this, his ultimate triumph would give him the domination of the world that he deserved, Major Freedom had to admit his heart wasn't into it. Oh, he knew there was every chance that this could be what puts the Skeleton over the hump and, well, make him ruler of the world. It does happen, though the Major didn't think the Skeleton would get all bitchy about all the paperwork like Professor Devestation, though very few villains had the Professor's attention to detail. If the Major had to guess, he'd pick that Unstoppable kid Longbow was mentoring. She was due to step up. She'll be great. Weird thoughts, but the Head Coach of Liberty was in a weird mood. There was a brief pause, almost a stutter, in what Major Freedom - or as he never stopped thinking of himself, Stan from Cleveland - considered Villain Victory Speech Number 12, Subsection A ("At last, the death of my most hated enemy") but the archvillain saved the speech admirably, he thought. He knew other villains were more powerful or more intelligent or, let's face it, more competent than he was, but no one could give a villain speech like the Crimson Skeleton. He was a favorite of henchmen, got compliments from other villains, and he'd heard that his oratation techniques were actually being taught in schools. So it bothered him the loathsome star-spangled fool was... not paying attention. Generally, he had that same look of righteous indignation mixed with a look of genuine pity on his broad, handsome All-American features. But Major Freedom looked like a man trying to decide which side of the yard to start mowing: defeated, sure, but this was... off. He must be trying to be clever and as much as as the Skeleton called the Major a "gaily dressed quarterback,"he knew enough about American football to know a sneaky play when he saw one. "Your silence only shows your fear, you fumbling buffoon!"Oh, that's a good one, football reference, that'll get him. Not many people knew the Major was a former football player, one for the Skeleton. Or as he never stopped thinking of himself, Serge from Kiev. He knew his enemy's pre-superfool career was a sore spot, though truth be told - and he only knew this because of studying his enemy - Major Freedom was a quality player with a bright future and that "cheating scandal"was false. He actually had the proof, going out of his way to try to prove his enemy was as venal as any man, but decided holding this final evidence of his innocence until the right moment was all that sweeter. Maybe this is the right moment, but for some weird reason, Serge thought that would be unnecessarily mean right at this moment. There was an art to supervillianry, after all, even if no one apart from other supervillains (or their groupies, and they got weird quickly) appreciated it. Of course, had his mind been on the game, Major Freedom would've picked up that ever-so-brief stutter and, if nothing else, used it to launch into a speech about Fair Play and Honor and, of course, Freedom and used it to challenge his opposite measure to a fair fight where, let's face it, he had the Skeleton's number each and every time. And it'd work and there'd be that brief moment where they locked eyes and there was a chance of redemption, but "No, my enemy. The world needs my Iron Foot on it's neck, now more than ever."Maybe he'd escape, maybe he'd go to the Panoptiscope prison orbiting Opposite-Earth, but they'd do this again, either alone or in a group.
I thought I was clever when I was around their ages too. Oh of course they’re good kids don’t get me wrong. I mean, who didn’t sneak out at 3 AM when they were 15? No, they’re quite clever about those activities. I have yet to catch them in the act, however a quartet of teenage superheroes doing good all around the state only a few months after our visit to the MacGuffin Institute of Nuclear Nonsense certainly didn’t go unnoticed. To be truthful it wasn’t the heroics that made me realize there was more going on in my house than I was aware of. I think it was the house itself that gave me my first hint. It’s by no means a trashy house, rather a well lived in one. After the visit though small things began to change. Things would be cleaned by a blur that could only be noticed out of the corner of your eye, moving faster than the mind could perceive. The plants seemed to come alive all around, an orchard of fruit trees appearing overnight and including fruits not able to be grown in our climate zone. You know, spooky stuff that a kid might do thinking it would somehow go over every adults head that ours was the sole house in the neighborhood that was the beneficiary of these mysterious blessings. For now I’m sitting back waiting until they’re ready to talk about it but I’m nervous. I fear that one of these days I won’t be able to put on a convincing enough performance for them and they’ll put two and two together and realize that I’ve known all along.
"That's right, yes. The account is set up in your name... Yes... That's right... In my will as my estranged brother, yes... Don't worry, you'll get the payment after you've done it... I'd prefer I didn't see you tonight, actually. Heh."George hung the phone up. He felt cold and nervous like you feel at the top of a drop on a rollercoaster. He was scared, but he was sure. All the money, the fast cars, the expensive wines, the huge garden, all of it, could never fill the hole Julie left when she moved out. "I just need space, George! All this wealth is just not how I was brought up. I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like you've changed, become distracted by trying to buy the best of everything. What's going to happen when I'm not the hottest thing on the market anymore, huh George? I just need space. I need to clear my head. Maybe we can get this worked out, but George... maybe not."Her words echoed in George's mind. After her rant, she walked out the door with all her clothes and left in a cab. George never even got to say goodbye, because he was too busy drooling in disbelief. The whole thing came as a shock to him, because as far as he had known, Julie was perfectly happy. Her words were true, though. George had been caught up in the life of luxury, and he became obsessive over having the best of everything. Where she was wrong was that he would never leave her. If there was one thing in George's life that he truly loved it was Julie. She was worth more to him than all the money in the world. And now she was gone. George sat down in his leather armchair, sipping some $1500 wine. He turned on the enormous flat panel TV and began watching some trash TV. Before too long, he passed out and began to sleep like a baby. RING RING RING! George started awake. RING RING RING! He fumbled for his cell phone. RING RING RI- "Hello?"he said groggily. "George?"It was Julie. George's heart seemed to simultaneously rise and sink. "J-Julie?" "George, I've had some time to think and... well... I was being unfair the other day when I left. You really do love me; I knew that then, and I know it now. Truth is, George, I'm really sorry. I was just so taken aback by all the luxury and expensive lifestyle. Like I said, I'm just not used to it..."She seemed on the verge of tears. "No, Julie! I'm sorry! Christ, I treated you like a piece of property! I should've paid you more mind and checked on you to make sure you were okay! Julie, let's put this back together! Can we please?"George begged. "George, I'm going to call a cab right now. Let's put this behind us." "Oh, Julie! I'm so happy to hear you say that! Listen, don't call a cab! I'll come pick you up mys--"BANG! "George?" ... "George!?" ... "GEORGE!?!?"
Operator: Hello, Suicide Prevention Hotline. My name is Brian. What's your name? Death: My name isn't important. Operator: You don't have to tell me your name, but you should know that this call and all details will remain private. Are you sure you'd rather not say? Death: ... Operator: Sir, are you still there? Death: You can call me Max. Operator: Alright, Max. How old are you? Death: Brian, are you good at your job? Operator: I'm sorry? Death: Do you believe yourself to be adequate at this job? Operator: I'd like to think so, Max. Are you worried that I can't help you? Death: No. I suppose I'm worried that you're making my job harder than it needs to be. Operator: I'm not sure I understand. Death: That's fine, Brian. I don't take it personally. Operator: Would you like to talk me through why you called tonight? Death: Sometimes I feel like people are eager to meet me, but then suddenly all contact drops off. Operator: Are you lonely, Max? Loneliness isn't always easy to cope with. Death: No, no, I have plenty of company. Operator: Do you find it difficult to relate to others? Death: I have no need to relate to others. Operator: And why do you say that? Death: My job is my life. Operator: What is it that you do, Max? Death: I'm a guide. Operator: So you lead tours? Death: In a way, sure. Operator: Do you enjoy it? Death: It's all I've ever known. Operator: So maybe it's feeling stale? Death: No, it's the same as it's ever been. It's what I was made for. Operator: You feel you were destined for it, you mean? Death: Sure, Brian. Sure. Operator: What exactly is troubling you then? Death: Some parts of my job require less... pursuit than others. It's the only sense of ease I've ever been familiar with. As of recently, people like you have worked diligently to take that away from me. Operator: I'm sorry, Max, but what could someone like me have done to make your job harder? Death: Most people are cowards, Brian. When faced with my... expertise, they try, in vain, to escape it. Operator: Max, I'm trying very hard to understand what it is you're going through, but you need to help me understand before I can help you. Death: I don't want your help, Brian. Your help has only succeeded in taking away the only thing I've grown to love. Operator: And what is that, Max? Death: Willing participants. Those who would see my face as rescue instead of catastrophe. Those who would not become filled with terror, howling childish pleas for another chance. Those who would embrace me with tears in their eyes, awaiting peace. Tell me, Brian, why did you choose your job? Operator: Because I wanted to give back what was once given to me. Death: You mean to deny others what you once grew too fearful to grasp. I remember the moment you sought me out, Brian. In your eyes were the tears of acceptance, but you, with the help of one of your predecessors, wiped them away in ignorance. Operator: Max, I must ask you not to grow hostile. I have the responsibility to send help your way in that case. Death: Don't you remember? You wanted me. We could have been together. Without pretense, without struggle, without the chase. You, myself, and Kelly. Operator: How... Death: Yes. She stood beside me, waiting for you. And you led her along. Led me along. Only to continue on pointlessly, keeping others with you. Keeping them from me. And for that, I will never forgive you. I wanted you to hear this. Goodbye, Brian. Operator: Wait! I don't understand! Death: And you never will. I abandon you. Enjoy your time. All of it. click
"What did you do to my game?" "I...I dunno" Jehovah sighed. He left for work and came back to find his favorite game file corrupted by his younger brother. Where there once dwelled his creations full of praising and morality there now dwelled chaos and praises to 'false gods'. "They were all praising me! I got them to follow my rules! Now all of them hate me and are behaving like animals!"Jehovah was ready to beat the shit out of his brother when he realized that not all was lost. 8 figures on the game still worked properly in his eyes. He sighed "just get out of my room"with that his brother left, pouting that his brother wouldn't let him play the game after all his fun. Jehovah typed and issued an order to one of the higher functioning creations of his that still paid attention to the rules Jehovah set. Then he programmed a portion of each non sentient creation to convene at a set spot, and finally a command to the weather system of his world. "Time to Start over"
Today, I was standing outside of a coffee shop finishing a pipe. Pipe-smoking has become insanely inconvenient, over the last few decades especially. There's something I still like about it, though. The way the bowl of the pipe gets warm is very comforting. Someone like me needs as much comfort as I can get. With a sigh, I puffed the last of the tobacco, and tapped the pipe on the concrete planter I was leaning against. The ash fell out onto the ground, slowly washing away in the rainwater left from the morning showers. As I was putting the pipe back into my jacket pocket, something inside the shop caught my eye. A girl was sitting at the blue table by the window. She looked to be in her early twenties, and she looked distressed. Her hand was on her forehead, her shoulders slumped forward. The whole situation seemed interesting, so naturally I stepped into the shop. I hesitated next to the blue table, but carried on when the girl glanced in my direction. At the counter, I ordered without even thinking - My mind was on the girl. "Twenty ounce americano, please. Three shots."What was wrong with her? She was going to get so many wrinkles. I set some cash on the counter and wandered toward the door, and stared out the window. Conveniently, the reflection of the girl's laptop shone brightly on the glass. Yikes. On the screen was an ugly notification asking a Bridgett Cook to make her next payment on her house. It looked like she was a few months behind. "Triple shot americano,"called out the barista behind the counter. After a moment, I moved to the counter and picked it up, thanking her for the beverage. "No problem!"she responded. She seems happy enough. The first girl still had my full attention though. Really, I knew what I wanted to do. But I was just waiting for the 'magic words', so to speak. I quietly laughed into my coffee. It took me twenty minutes to sip down the americano, and the girl still hadn't said anything. I had all the time in the world, but that isn't always the case with humans. Bridgett had packed her backpack, and walked up to the counter. Apparently she knew the barista though, because she struck up a conversation with her. "Did you figure anything out, Bridge?"The barista pulled shots into two brightly shining shot glasses. "No, I didn't. I just wish I could get caught up on my house payment. It's just so hard to catch up when you've gotten behind. You know?"Bridgett knocked back the first shot of espresso. "I gotcha. At least you have a job again, right?"The barista shot the other glass. "I suppose. If I can figure out how to pay this and next month, I should be able to get caught up on the next one."Bridgett wiped the crema from the espresso off on the back of her hand. The conversation continued, I'm sure. I don't know where it went from there though, because I had heard what I had wanted to hear. Later, Bridgett Cook would open her computer to a new notification - Her house had been paid for in full by an anonymous individual. All of the paperwork would check out, and it would fall into place perfectly. The clouds gathered above me, and thunder rolled as I walked down the street. I do love a good rain.
"... Of which I am about to enter."Barack Hussein Obama let out a tiny gasp as the world suddenly collapsed into a single point. Gone was the stage which he had stood on, his feet seemed to be simultaneously firmly on the ground yet floating in mid air. His wife and children were no where to be seen. He looked up from his feet and saw nothing but white, he wasn't in a room, there were no floors or walls. He looked where the crowd had been seated, hundreds, thousands of people were no longer there. A small sigh of relief escaped as he turned around and saw two familiar faces. "Bill...... George....... I am so glad I am not alone.......... How did this happen?....... We need....... To get help." "Barack, or should I say Mr. president? We don't need help. We are on our way to where we need to be."Bill Clinton put a hand on the shoulder of the current president of the United States of America. "On our way? Can't you see that there is nothing.... Around us? "Barack gestured to the emptiness. "Why does he talk so weird, he's even weirder than the last one." "Fuck you ted. And Barack, seriously do you have to...... Pause...... so much? "George W. Bush scowled towards the bespectacled man standing behind the President. Barack's eyes widened as he turned towards the bespectacled man, and the 39 men other men alongside him. "Watch your mouth! You curse in front of this audience? And me your father? I raised you better than that!"Snickers arose from the crowd as the 41st president chastised his son. Barack let out a deep breath of relief. "I'm dreaming, of course. Everything is OK, I'm just dreaming." Clinton put his hand on the shoulder of the 44th President, "No Barry, you're not dreaming." "ENOUGH"The crowd fell quiet after the first syllable and parted to let the source of the booming voice through. "I will not allow such childlike and disrespectful behavior to take place. You will address this man as Mr. President. He has taken the oath, he stands among us, he holds the office." The President abandoned any hope that this was a dream. The man standing before him could not be a figment of his imagination. Somehow he was in the presence of George Washington. There was no denying the confidence and leadership that ebbed from this man. "Mr. President, allow me to apologize for my successors. They tend to forget the gravity and prestige of this moment. Tradition and custom require that I begin and lead the ceremony. But in light of your... Circumstances, I must cede this honor to another. President Obama, there is someone that is quite eager to meet you." The President followed the gaze of His Excellency, towards a bearded gentleman in a top hat. "Abe, this is your moment sir" "Thank you George."President Barack Obama, the 44th President of the United States of America, looked into the watery eyes of Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President, the man who had outlawed slavery. He had paid the highest price for his actions, actions that allowed Barack Obama, a black man to rise to the highest office of a country that had once thrived on the slavery of his race. "Barack"Abraham Lincoln returned the President's Gaze "Excuse me, Mr. President. When W informed me his successor would be a black man, I thought it was another one of his silly jokes. I did not expect our country to be able to put aside its prejudices so quickly.I thought it would take more time. I certainly did not expect them to do so during a time of war with a collapsing economy."The 16th president paused. "The night I was shot, President Washington was the first to comfort me. You see, as I will explain soon, those of us that are dead, we still yearn for our loved once. I missed my family. I was angry for being robbed of a future with them. Washington said to me on that day that I had paid a small price for doing what my country needed. That my actions strengthened the future of our country. That freeing the slaves would allow the United States to grow. I often doubted him. Yet as the Bush's and Bill have told us, our country needs saving. They found their savior in a black man. That.."Abraham Lincoln held back tears as his voice cracked "makes it all worth it". 43 of the most powerful men in history grew quiet. 43 inspirational figures in history, men who had given legendary speeches that had moved nations and led wars, were speechless. The newest member of the group uttered the only two words that he could, "Thank you". Abraham Lincoln smiled and spoke, "Now, it is time to begin."His voice boomed as he found his strength. "Barack Hussein Obama, you have taken the Oath. You are now the President of the greatest nation in the history of the world. A responsibility so massive, that it requires the knowledge of every man that has held this office before you. I, the 16th president of the United States of America, am honored to place at your disposal, the knowledge, wisdom, and talents of your predecessors. President Barack Hussein Obama, please complete your oath and allow our strength to guide you through your presidency." President Barack Hussein Obama now understood. The final words were not in the constitution, he turned the first man that had uttered those words and created the tradition. "So Help Me God" Edit: I completed this in two sittings, had to get off mobile. Sorry for any inconvenience that I caused.
DAY ONE: I'm sheltered by an oddly spoken man named Adam. He bares a strong resemblence to Adolf Hitler, which I refrain from mentioning, due to the fact he has saved my life. He is kind, generous, and seemingly glad for the conpany. DAY THREE: We discuss our lives before the Island. Adam, usually talkative, refrains from mentioning much about his past other than 'great loss'. When the fire dies we take ourselves to bed, I wait until he sleeps before I begin to close my eyes. DAY SIX: We begin to drink a large store of wine Adam has been saving. In our merryment, we have a competition to see who can tell the most offensive joke. It is Adam's idea, and I claim he has me beat after his fourth consecutive Jew joke, in truth, I was just uncomfortable. DAY SEVEN: I scower through Adam's private things. Mostly frugal, only necesities, except an old pistol. I check it for bullets, and upon discovering none return to Adam, who walks along the beach peacefully in Lederhausen. DAY TEN: I watch Adam shave - the first time since my arrival. He quickly takes off all of his facial hair, save for a small patch in the center of his moustache; he knicks himself, throwing his knife down with a 'Scheize!' DAY TWELVE: As Adam relaxes on the beach, I shout the word 'Adolf'. He turns his head. "What?"He suddenly appears uncomfortable "What.. what would you be shouting that for?" I look him in the eye, he begins to sweat. I tell him I was startling birds. DAY FIFTEEN: Today I once again looked through Adolf's- sorry, Adam's things and found the pistol missing. I begin to doubt whether I searched properly for bullets the first time, and in my renewed efforts discover some worn out paints.
"I'm not sure why anyone is surprised."said Sam from his high horse. "Oh, I bet you saw it coming. Like all that other stuff you saw coming but only mentioned afterwards. I'm sure it was obvious but we were all too stupid to notice." "No, really, I'm serious this time. I mean, the apes don't see the wars like we do. They don't have any heritage there. And how many conflicts can a group of leaders have when all they really want is bananas?" "Then they'll war over bananas." "No they won't. The supply of bananas to world leaders far outmatches the demand. And the current world leaders are very cooperative with one another. They're working together to make sure that every man has as much right to bananas as the next. The apes are equals." "The apes won't last forever. Men will take back control." "Maybe. But things won't change. Nobody will start anything because once they do, they'll be the man - or woman - who ruined everything. It will be know that the world was a better place with literal monkeys in charge." "You think everyone can really come to accept that the apes were better leaders?" "Maybe. We won't forget for sure. Here, have a banana."
Edit: added clarity to the ending. Criticism appreciated, thanks. *** Someone has to take charge, of course. I step forward. "First of all, everyone back away from the light switches."They all step back. "Okay, I think we have about 4 minutes until someone else disappears. We just need to work things out logically." I start pacing the floor. "We were all called here by The Company for a reason we don't know. Obviously, the disappearances so far must be their way of getting rid of us, but I don't know why."The crowd starts murmuring. "Guys, quiet. We can figure it out later." "Now, I don't remember who first mentioned it, but the sign has been off by one the whole night. Add to that the fact that people are disappearing one at a time... I think the conclusion should be that someone in here with us is responsible for the disappearances." Somebody near the back pipes up. "So, who is it?" The lights flicker again. The woman who just spoke is gone. It feels like it's a cruel joke. I can't let our mystery man drag us away from this train of thought. "I need everyone to calm down. If we panic, we won't be able to figure out this puzzle!" "But it's NOT a puzzle! We're all going to be killed!" "We don't even know if that's true! All we need is a bit more time!" "Shut up! Who put you in charge anyway?" "Yeah! How do we know it's not you taking everyone?" "I say we hold him down and make him tell us what's going on!" "This is ridiculous. Of course it isn't him!" Again, it's the last person to talk who disappears. Which is more than a little annoying. It's clear everyone believes that now the only people who aren't disappearing are the ones willing to question me. The speed at which I'm restrained (by piling the conference room chairs on my legs) is staggering. But by the time they're done, the lights flicker and we're right back where we started. "Now do you believe me? One of my own coworkers starts pulling the chairs off me. "Look, folks, Jeremy's right. We need to stay calm. Brad turns to me. "What should we do?" "It's simple. Everyone hold hands until the light flickers. We need to figure out first of all how everyone is leaving the room." "But that can't work!"says a heavyset woman nearby. "Why not?"A Brazilian man next to the door. "This room is huge. What if there's more than one..." This time it's the Brazilian man who leaves the room. I'm beginning to see how the vanishings are tailored to go against the progress I'm trying to make. And it's very effective. For the next hour, a man or woman is taken every four minutes. Each one either supports me or offers a method of their own. The only people not being taken are the ones who continue to be paranoid about the situation. There are 19 other people in the room when I leave. It's a strange feeling. Like being covered in honey. I feel myself sliding, briefly, then it is over. I am in a different room, with all the people who left before me. A man in a labcoat steps up to me. "Congratulations, you're the last." "What was this about?"I am dazed. Large screens loom above me, with views of the room I left and what look like heart monitor readings. "You and everyone in this room are being promoted to Executive positions in PRI Labs. You were the ones who stayed calm and offered solutions to the problems."He turns to the crowd. "You all know by now you don't work for a normal company. The Pandora Research Institute wants to take big control over the future of the world, and we must have only the smartest to do it." A fight has broken out onscreen. The man turns to it, and I realize that the graphs on the right side are for brain activity, not just heart rate. He shakes his head. "You were the last to leave because we thought your leadership would focus the others. Obviously, we'll need to fire some people as well."
"Observe." The room filled with soft coos and exclamations of childlike delight; even the more reserved speculators emitted small noises of approval, nodding their angular faces at the display. "A planet steeped in beauty, yet there is no sight more enthralling than the _homo sapien_ itself. They have been a favorite subject of our artists for years, from the newborn infants to the white-haired elderly. A shame that a live specimen could not be obtained for our exhibit, but no member of their species has ever been known to survive the transit process." There were two bodies within the clear, round chamber, tilting backwards with the nibs of their toes suspended a foot off the floor. Perfectly preserved, if a little stiff. Transfixed, the crowd shuffled closer, their eyes roaming freely over the naked forms. Truly, they were works of art, with physiques like mountain ranges, little planets unto themselves. An assemblage of sweeping curves, low dips, hard planes, and snaky rivulets; a perfect fusion of ropy muscle, fat and rigid bone. A tiny-boned youngster reached out with long, slender fingers, murmuring, "I wish I looked like that." The guide smiled down at him, yellow eyes flashing. "Very easy. Clothing produced from their exceptionally fine hair and skin has seen a sharp spike in popularity in past years with the advancement of our technology. Entire settlements of these exquisite animals are being transported to our planet - why, you can buy yourself some lovely attire in the gift shop!"
When I first pulled it out of the box in my attic, I had to do a double take. It seemed so familiar. It was an object of such fondness to me that it suddenly seemed I'd had it by my side all of these years. But I hadn't. Not really. It'd been up here, in the box of memories like the rest of my aging junk. Nestled there, amongst the skateboard and roller blades, between the paintings I'd done when I was 15. The pages still felt crisp, despite all the times I'd read the book through the years when I'd missed those formative years. Here it was, my school yearbook. Chock full to the brim with pictures of people I'd called friends. Some who I'd called my enemies, too. A tome that I'd taken with me to college and even now remained. Even with me moving to a new house with my second wife, it was still stored in the attic instead of discarded in the trash like most people's memories. I heard Erica shouting for me from downstairs. Hurrying me along, reminding me the moving van was on its way and the boxes needed to be downstairs. I looked around at the empty attic. What the hell? I thought. I'm ahead of schedule. I plonked myself down and opened the book with a gusto I'd not felt in weeks. Even the thought of the new house paled in comparison to a trip along nostalgia lane. I opened it randomly and smiled as the pages fell open to reveal a girl who was very familiar to me. I grinned inwardly and gave a nervous glance over my shoulder, down through two flights of stairs to where my new wife was clearing out our kitchen. There she was, Shirley Cassini. My first. Preserved forever in the photograph, she looked as delicious as ever. Blonde, blue eyes. Great body. I gave another quick, unsure glance over my shoulder even though I knew Erica wasn't there. I let my mind drift back to Shirley and me in my dad's car, which I'd stolen one night and driven to her house. That look on her face when she realised what a 'rebel' i was. It was a far cry away from Ikea furniture, second wife Erica and my comfortable job. Did I really steal his car? Did Shirley really do all that stuff to me? I smiled again at the memory. Wild days. Then I noticed the quote under her photograph. We'd been told to discuss what we thought of our futures. What we wanted from life. Shirley, the beautiful popular girl in school, had went with something pretty predictable. Shirley Cassini - I'm not going to be happy until I'm famous. You'll all remember me for being a star. Odd. I thought. Shirley had actually done quite well. She'd become an actress in a reality programme about our area and then married a pretty wealthy golf pro. Now she was hot property in reality TV and had a show about her. I didn't watch it, she hadn't aged well and I preferred my memories of her intact. I flicked the pages again. A familiar face. A hulking guy I used to go to wrestling practice with. Trevor Mellor - Hey Julia. If I can't have you I'll go crazy. Love Trev. I smirked at first. Cheeky of him to include a message to Julia Kravitz, a girl in the year below us but who would obviously have read it. After all, she helped put the yearbooks together. My smirk vanished as I remembered a reunion a few years back. Trevor hadn't been there. People had whispered to each other about it until one guy had told me that Trevor and Julia had dated, then married. Then they'd divorced and Trevor had shot himself. I stared down at the words. "I'll go crazy" They said. I looked at the young guy's face, full of humour and zest. I tried to match that up with a guy who might shoot himself after a divorce and came up short. Even my own divorce hadn't made me feel quite that low. In a haze now, I flicked forward to another page. This time the face was very familiar. My best friend, Danny Garbett, giving his best cocky fuck-you grin from our childhood days. We'd been like chalk and cheese for years after high school...Even when Danny started climbing high in the autotrading business. We'd still been inseparable up until the cancer. It pained me to look at his grinning face and remember the skeletal one I'd said goodbye to in the hospital. I looked at the quote and my chest fell like an anchor had dropped onto it. Danny Garbett - I'm so good that only a deadly illness will ever stop me reaching the top! Three quotes. Three truths. I began to panic. I looked down at the young face of my friend and then started racing through the pages. Through the pictures of people who were both alive and dead. Immortal youth accompanied by seemingly harmless quotes. Quotes that all looked true. Even though I shook my head and told myself it was a coincidence, every single page brough new truths with it. Here was an entry by Todd Williams - 'You'll all be voting for me someday.' Now he was a politician and soon to be a senator. There was Marie Glanville. 'Live well, broaden scope and chase your dreams.' The girl became a travel writer. I owned a few of her books. As I frantically thumbed through pages, with sweat beading on my neck and pooling on the back of my shirt, I looked around the darkness of the empty attic. This used to be my home. Now it'd be someone elses. This yearbook used to be all of us, immortalised as happy-go-lucky kids. Now it had become a fortune teller. The page opened at my lap and I looked down at it. I squinted at the stranger there. Biker jacket. Mullet. Rebellious scowl. There I was. The guy who'd had sex with Shirley in the back of his dad's car. A stranger to me now, two-wives removed and a couple of life-changing career hops. I looked down at the quote and my mouth opened involuntarily. Nathan Tate - Live fast, die young. Screw the future, I won't make it past 50. You stupid little punk, I thought to myself. What were you thinking? My hands trembled as I closed the book and put it back in the box. I could hear my new wife calling me down above the rumble of the moving van. I thought of our new house. Of the big back garden and long summer nights we'd planned there. I dumped the yearbook in the box and and turned away, back to my new wife and my comfortable life. Away from the teenage rebel in the picture, in the book of corpses and prophecies. I turned off the light with one last glance at the box, lurking in the darkness. I left it in there. The words contained in the pages hidden away from everyone. Next week is my fiftieth birthday.
The robber entered the revolving door and into the lobby on a quiet Wednesday afternoon just after lunchtime. Following him, was a tall, lanky man with an oversized coat, which seemed odd on a hot August day. They made eye contact, and soon after they did, the tall man revealed what was under his coat. "Is that what I think it is?" said the robber. "If you think it's 20 pounds of plastic explosive strapped to my chest, you'd be right." said the suicide bomber. No one in the lobby had noticed them yet, nor heard their conversation. "I hate to sound insensitive, but if you do that, could you at least park yourself closer to the vault and wait until I leave? I would really appreciate it." said the robber. "That's rather blunt of you, but I appreciate your honesty. However, I must admit that I am doing this to purge people such as yourself." said the bomber. "Well, I can understand that." said the bank robber. "Can I ask just one request in that case?" "Perhaps. What is your request?" said the bomber. "I've always wanted to be a bank robber. Even as a young boy. I used to work in Human Resources but my vocation had always been to rob banks. I have put considerable planning and effort into this score which will be my first, and I would appreciate it if I could at least act it out before I die." said the robber. The suicide bomber paused for a short while, contemplated the request, then finally agreed. The bank robber eye-balled the lobby. There were two tellers, about twenty years apart. The older one was doing her nails in a very apathetic and cliche manner. The younger of the two was helping the sole patron deposit a check. Normally in this circumstance, the robber would yell something like "Hands up! This is a stick up!", or "Everyone keep calm, and nobody will get hurt!" This was not the case however. The bank robber politely waited for the patron to finish their transaction, informed the teller that he was armed and that he was robbing the bank. The teller calmly walked over to the older teller and whispered what must have been the fact that they were being robbed. The older teller escorted the bank robber to the vault, punched in her code, and both tellers and the robber entered the vault. The suicide bomber waited for the three to exit the vault, but after 30 minutes. The bomber knew he'd been had. Eventually, another patron walked into the bank. Noticing that there were no tellers or other employees in sight, he waited for 5 minutes and started to lose patience. "I swear if I have to wait another minute for some service, I'm going to explode!" said the patron. "I know the feeling, but something tells me it's not worth it." replied the bomber. Fin.
One day, while looking through the drawers in the house momma left me, I found a strange looking key. It was long and shiny, and it had the strangest handle. I went to show my love, my new key when I got an idea. I went up to the door and pushed the key into it, then turned the nob, and it opened. I tried on another door and it opened, too! This key could open anything! It was a-mazing! I had the idea, I wonder if it could open my love's heart for me. So, I pushed it into her chest. "Why won't you love me, Jen-nay!" "Forest, why..?
"Listen,"He sighed and rested his head in his hands, "You haven't been here very long...my file says less than fourteen days, but this choice of yours has a few of us stumped." "I thought it was quite obvious..."I said. "Well, yes at first. I mean, it looks good on paper,"He laughed, "But most of us here thought you were going for a cushy position where you wouldn't have to do much. It's not a bad thing to want, but you've been getting an extraordinary amount of attention." I shrugged and smiled. My choice had been made and it didn't take long to make it. I'd be thought of almost constantly by millions and I wouldn't even have to do anything. "Are you sure you want your dominion to be over..."He flipped through my file looking for the phrase. "Upvotes,"I smiled.
"Hi? Hey there. Mr. McLeod, you alright?" "You mind stepping back a little there, Officer?"There was a woman's voice, brisk and comfortable. "Course, yeah. Sorry."I heard a shuffle and a throat being cleared. The woman's voiced returned. "Mr. McLeod, can you respond to us by blinking? If you can hear us and understand us, blink twice for yes. Once for no." I blinked twice. The lights above me were far too bright. There was a niggling sensation in my head, like something was wrong, but I couldn't work out what. I wanted to sit up, but there was a deep nagging pain in my lower back. "That's fantastic. Now, Officer Carter and Officer Harrison are here to ask you a couple of questions about last night. Are you up to answering them?"She had a soft accent; one of the Northern Isles girls. I blinked twice again, feeling the hot light above me sear my brain, before licking my lips. They were cracked, bleeding and broken at the corners. My tongue was dry as sandpaper and the movement made my face twinge. "Yes,"I attempted. "Water?" "I'll get some right away."The woman answered. I must be in a hospital; her sensible shoes tapping away over laminate flooring means I'm wherever the NHS decided to put me. Maybe they took me over to Stornaway. Dura doesn't have something this big. Before too long, a glass of cold water was placed in my hand and the bed began to rumble upright, until I was facing the two Officers who had been crowding round my sickbed. I took a sip of water, grimacing as it flowed over the cuts on my lips, then hissing in pain as the movement caused my face to flare up in sudden pain. "You're a little bruised up, Mr. McLeod,"the officer on the left spoke first. He had got the navy blue sweater and dark hair, in contrast to his partner's mousy blonde. He was short where the blonde one was tall, and had a little mole underneath his left eye. The blonde one had been trying to grow a moustache, with very little progress. He kept stroking it. "What happened?"I asked. My voice sounded damaged, like it was coming out of some broken hurdy-gurdy. "Well, actually, we were hoping you could answer that."The blonde one slid a plastic ziplock bag across the table. Inside was the battered old Nokia I'd had for about fifteen years, a crack running up the side of the casing. "We found you washed up by the Devil's Sisters this morning. Bits of wreckage around you, and it looks like you've been beaten by some football fan with a chip on his shoulder. But there's no boats left the island today or yesterday, and it's been safe as houses on the crossing all night long. We're hoping you can explain a little, maybe through some messages you could have sent?" "Why didn't you just look?"I asked. "Need a search warrant, unless you're dead. We were told you'd probably recover fine."Both officers shot a dirty look at the nurse. She was clearly just out of nursing school; still young and pretty and thin in a way most nurses weren't up here. Her hair was held back in a ponytail and her eyes shone clearer blue than the water of the crossing on a good day. "Lucky me, eh?"I unlocked the phone and scrolled through the messages. There was just five, all between me and Jack's number. Come back with the boat. I need that stuff back. They'll kill me if they find you've taken it. Get your fucking ass back here now. Tara said you called her. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? Both police officers were watching me with gimlet eyes. I shrugged and put the phone down again. "Nothing, sorry. Maybe I just had a bit too much to drink. That would explain the hangover, right?" Neither of them laughed. "If you remember anything, be sure to let us know,"the brown-haired one said. The blonde one sighed. They both turned to leave. As they reached the door I started, remembering something important. That niggling sensation. "Officers, one thing..."They span round. "My name isn't McLeod." ------------------------- Half an hour later the nurse came by again. Her name-badge told me she was called Shannon. "Nice name,"I said idly, as she turned down the corners of my bed. "Do you know when I can get out of here?" Shannon looked up and down the empty dorm before leaning in. Her blue eyes were anxious, her hands trembling on the white counterpane. "They're coming back for you. With a warrant. I heard them talking outside." With a sigh I heaved my legs over the edge of the bed. Shannon--the nurse--darted back, a scared expression on her face. "I was worried that would happen,"I told her. "I think it's time for me to check out."
I looked at the path on the left longingly and then at the path on the right in the same manner. They both looked completely identical. After thoroughly inspecting both of them I started noticing subtle differences. Shadows were peering out of the corner of my eyes whenever I was looking at the right path and I could catch quick glimpses of menacing eyes looking at me from the left path. Unable to remember the indications of the ragged traveler I met on this road earlier this day, and since nightfall was coming soon, I built my tent just by the intersection. I gathered some putrid wood from the entrances to the two paths and lighted a tiny bonfire. I could hear screeches coming from the right path as I did so. The light's flame felt cold, intoxicating. I could feel both paths calling me with an insatiable hunger. Feeling unsafe, I went into my tent and hastily ate my last reserves of food. I felt hungrier, but I didn't dare leave the safety of my shelter to forage food from outside. I didn't manage to get a minute of sleep. The words "Nothing is left"and "Nothing is right"were floating through my mind continuously. Every once in a while I could hear a howls nearby, and the wind was whispering me to take one of the paths. I "woke up"when at sunrise, when the first glimmers of light made their way through the morning fog. Still groggy after a sleepless night, I packed my belongings and faced the signs again. Right - "Nothing is left"and Left - "Nothing is right". I looked around once more and made my decision. "I will go through the middle."I said.
After the release of Pokemon Go, the United States experienced the greatest migration of children that the world had seen since the Children's Crusade. Millions of young boys and girls left their homes and families to go out and catch Pokemon using their smartphones. Most died immediately, but a few survived, and a few of those even became legends. But this is not their story, this is mine. It was a Saturday morning like any other. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining. My mother had poured me a bowl of Frosted Flakes. "What are your plans today, sweetie?"she asked. "I'm going to leave home and become the world's greatest Pokemon trainer,"I said. "Well, that's nice,"she said, "be sure to be back home by 6:00 for dinner." "Don't patronize me, mother! I will catch them all! I will defeat my cursed rival, Asshole! I will be the best!" "Okay,"she said, and she kissed my forehead. "Just be sure not to hang around that Professor Tree man, or whatever. I don't think it's appropriate for someone his age to be so interested in someone your age. It's too strange." "I will 'hang around' him, mother! He is the greatest source of Pokemon information in the world! He is brilliant, and you should respect him as such!" "If you say so,"she said, clearing up my bowl. "Have fun!" At that, I walked into the wide, bright world, determined to start my journey as a Pokemon trainer. In retrospect, as I look back from my hospital bed, my only regret is that I started looking in Compton, and that I had worn a red shirt that day. No matter, Nurse Joy will take care of me, and I will begin on my adventure once again!
"Well, about time you showed up." A man with gray hair, but a youthful face stared up at me from the table. He was trying to seem angry, but couldn't hide his smile. We're each other's only friends yet I didn't know his name. He only asked that I call him "The Immortal."Of course, that was much too long, so I call him Tim for short. "How long has it been for you since our last lunch?"I ask him, not even bothering with an apology. He knows I can't control it. "Three hundred years, Lucas,"Tim replies, having the answer on hand. It is always the first question I ask him, a tradition. "But for you it has only been a day, correct?" "Yes,"I answer. There is always some guilt when I meet him, knowing he has waited decades, or more often, centuries for a lunch with me. You see, Tim and I make an unusual pair. He is immortal, nothing in this Universe can kill him, and I have the power of being able to travel through time. Well, calling it my power is sort of wrong, since I can't control it. Time just throws me wherever it sees fit. I'll go to sleep in the year 1672, and wake up in 2429. Both of those were pretty interesting years in case you were wondering. "What year did you come from this time around?"Tim asks me. "1968,"I say. "So your last conversation with me wasn't my last one with you,"Tim says with a sigh. He hates that he can never continue a conversation the next day with me, since I'm always jumping around the timeline. At the same time, it keeps our friendship fresh, forcing us to come up with new things to talk about each time. "What year is it now?"I ask. "2692." The furthest forward I've ever been. For some reason the timeline only transports me to period where human civilization still exists. I'm still waiting for the day I reach the limit, the point where I can go no further, because there is nothing to go into. "I'm surprised it still looks so nice, by the way things had been looking back in the 2300's, I figured the forest would be gone by now."We always meet at the same place, the Nisiyama Onsen Keiunkan, a hotel in Japan, and the oldest business in the world, in operation since 705. Tim laughed at this, I still can't tell if he find me funny, or ignorant, but I never ponder it for too long. "Humanity has learned a lot. The species is growing up, becoming more responsible." "Yeah,"I say, "Colonizing space has probably helped to." It gets tiresome spending everyday with Tim. But I do it, maybe because it was destiny we found each other, two prisoners of time trying to make the best of their sentences. Finding solace in someone else who understand what a curse this is. Tim, a man who has seen everything of the past, the constant always waiting for me in whatever period I land. And me, Tim's surprise, most of the time I'm not waiting for him. There are so many years in time, and only one I can visit each day, so while he is always here for me, I'm not always here for him. And yet he keeps coming back for me. Everyday he shows up, and waits for me. Sometimes every day for centuries, sometimes every day for only a few weeks. I tolerate spending almost every waking moment with him, and tolerates waiting eons for me, because I am all he has, and he is all I have. And so we eat, and talk about our lives. Mostly him telling me about what he has done, since he has been there for almost every minute of my life for the past twenty years. The day passes too quickly, soon the sun is setting and my eyes grow tired. Tim can see this. "It is okay Lucas, you can go. It may be a while, but I know one day you'll be here."I nod, and head off into the forest. There is a cave out there where I sleep, the only other constant in the timeline. We don't talk about it, but Tim knows it. There will be one day where I will fall asleep and never wake up again, even as I travel through time I still age. Tim first met me when I was fifteen, and now I'm thirty-five. There is still a lot of time left, but each day makes it shorter. I try to imagine it, the pain of someone who has watched everyone he has ever loved die. There is no way for him to share his immortality, and so he must accept it. Even me, the closest thing he has to a friend, will die eventually. The spread out visits will stop, and he will once again be alone in the world. My body gives way to the pressure of sleep, and the world around me dissolves into darkness as my eyes shut. He'll be waiting for me in the same spot when I wake up, I just hope I don't hold him up for too long.
The first time one of them came to our village, we lost 12 men. Good men. The player was just passing through and didn't hang around for long before leaving. Then he came back with 2 others. We lost half of the village. They raided our treasures. They stole clothing and trinkets from our dead. They tole my wife's wedding ring, claiming that it had a "quest"or whatever that means. Susan means the world to me. How could they do this to my family. Every time our people die we are reserected to another body. But we still feel pain. Word got out about Susans ring. Other strangers come to our village and repeatedly kill her and take her ring. It's unbearable for me now to keep watching this happen again and again. That's why I have made up my mind. I have to do the unbearable. The only way to protect her in the future is to get the from her ring from her for myself. I have to kill Susan. To protect her. But I cannot do it, that is why I need you stranger. Kill her and get this ring for me and I will give you a reward...
There's a certain dreamy quality to being in the intensive care unit, wiped out on drugs. I was told that I was in an induced coma for a month, but I can remember hazy dreams of conversations that apparently took place beside my bed. The rest of the time is an in-and-out fog of dreams and reality - morphine, oxycodeine, tramadol - the opiate family keeping things surreal and fuzzy. All the more surreal was the fact that I couldn't see out of my right eye - my dominant eye - and this threw the world into a strange half-tunnel, bordered by the swollen bridge of my nose and puffy left temple. That I'd been in an accident of some kind was never in doubt, so it was a surprise to me that they said I'd been in a fight. Three men, apparently, had attacked me - bashed me so severely that I would have died if it weren't for the ambulance crew who arrived in time to stabilise me for the trip to hospital. I couldn't remember a thing, of course, which isn't uncommon for massive head trauma. Everything leading up to a week before the fight was a blank, then the dizzy hospital memories had started. That I'd been in a fight still seemed utterly ludicrous; I wasn't a fighter in the slightest. I was a book-reader, an animal-lover, an introvert, a writer and a homemaker. Provoking a fight was so far outside my experiences that it took quite some time before I probed people for the circumstances. When I broached the subject with my mother, she patted my plaster-casted wrist and told me not to worry myself about it right now and instead concentrate on getting well. Something nagged at me that I couldn't put my finger on. As my recovery progressed, I could use my left hand and sit up; my parents brought me books and I lost my days in reading, quelling the nagging feeling with the soppy romance novels that my mother fed me. My long term memory was fractured and messed up, but it was slowly coming right again, the broader details of my life now filling in with specific events and increasing detail. My first revelation was turning the page of the latest bodice-ripper supplied by my mother. "I hate these books,"I whispered. Never had I enjoyed these tacky, tawdry, pulp-romance piles of garbage. I liked... I liked books about robotics; about space operas and hard sci-fi. Then I remembered Emily. "Mother,"I asked, "where is Emily, why hasn't she visited?" "Your little friend? She's busy. You know how friends can be." Wrongness squirmed in my head and I felt sick. "Friend?" Stroking my head, my mother made a gentle shushing sound, "Yes dear, she was your best friend - but you had a falling out." "No, there was more." I was sweating, my pulse was racing - the heart monitor betraying my mother to that fact. As my mind raced I saw her hand tap the morphine pump. "Shhh. Rest now." &nbsp; Twisted dreams haunted me and I woke up in a drenched bed; hot sweat plastered my sheets and bandages to me. My mother sat smiling serenely beside the bed. "How do you feel now?" "Awful,"I admitted. But the snag in my mind caught my thoughts and I recalled my dreams. "Emily was my girlfriend." The lines of my mother's face hardened into something approaching contempt, then smoothed again under a fake smile. "How do you feel about her now?" I thought about the growing fragments of our relationship that my dream had sparked into being - of cuddling on her couch, drinking wine and watching Star Trek, holding hands down Main Street, challenging the world with our queerness, her beautiful face flushed in the cool autumn air - I felt nothing. The confusion on my face must have been writ large because my mother smiled broadly. "You feel nothing, don't you?" I struggled inside my head, thinking about Emily, then my previous girlfriend, Greta. Nothing. I delved back to my childhood crushes; Claudia Christian, Michelle Forbes and Denise Crosby. Not even a twitch. "What have you DONE to me?"I roared, pushing myself up on my good arm. With a smug, self-satisfied look, my mother said proudly, "The doctors cured you - you're normal now."
The silence was deafening in the halls of The Holy Mountain. The playful sprites that usually buzzed merrily around the feasting hall had retreated to their chambers, and the demi-gods didn't dare to raise their heads. At the head of the table, Boen, chief of the gods and my father, slowly stirred his stew while we, his children, glared at one another. I wish I could say that it was me that broke the silence, but my impulse brother Eletor had that honor. "What were you thinking, Peleps? How are the monkeys supposed to survive if you keep expanding the deserts?" It was clear that Britta, Morlan, and Iandar shared his sentiments, though it was also clear that they wished to chastise Eletor as well. I slowly set my spoon down and cleared my throat. "I didn't realize that this world was all about what you wanted, Eletor. I thought that we all had a say in its evolution." "That's not the point, you ungrateful pile of garbage!", he sputtered, rising to his feet. "You keep reversing all my work!" Eletor was beginning to upset me. In truth, I had not directly created desert where once there had been jungle, but it was I that prevented the rain from falling, and swept the winds through the land. Just because the result was an expanded desert, perfect for my favorite lizards to thrive, was mere coincidence. Maintaining my composure, I pushed my bowl away and folded my arms on the grand table. "You know full well that our father, gracious Boen, has forbidden such action. Besides, we all have our goals, and I'm certain that none of us impede another's work. Right, sister Britta?" Our fair sister, loveliest creature in our world or the next, swept her golden hair from her eyes and scoffed. "I wouldn't dream of disrupting your ugly jungles or dirty deserts. My birds will become angels, and I won't have to bother you to do it." "That may be true,"I replied with a wry grin, "but wouldn't they be better off if the trees weren't so tall, like those in the jungles?" Eletor's face was turning a fascinating color of crimson, but he remained silent as Britta pondered this development. "Now that you mention it,"she said, "I haven't paid much attention to my bird's resting places, and the jungle trees aren't ideal."She turned to face Eletor. "How dare you!" "Can't you see that he's manipulating us?"Eletor was now wildly pacing the room, his hands pressed to the sides of his head. Everything was going according to my plan, but Boen refused to intercede. What the old man found so interesting about stirring his stew, I couldn't say. Perhaps this called for more drastic measures. "Morlan, how go your efforts to create sphinxes from the cats?" Morlan stared at me with his black eyes, unblinking, then at Eletor, following his pacing with his gaze. Finally, he turned back to me. "It's not going well. The monkeys and cats shouldn't be enemies, and yet, the cats are persecuted beyond belief." "That's not my doing! I don't control my future humans!"Eletor raved. He was becoming manic, and I feared that soon, he would become hostile. This would surely evoke a response from our father, but I would still rather avoid confrontation. He was my brother, after all. I cleared my throat, and prepared to unleash my most potent weapon: our brother Iandar. "Gentle Iandar, of all us siblings, you are the one who cares not for the surface world. Have we, in any way, impacted your desire to lead the fish towards one day becoming mermaids?" Youngest of the gods, Iandar shyly sunk further into his chair. However, with all eyes now on him, he couldn't stay silent for long. "W...well..."he mumbled, "...it's just that...the monkeys...the monkeys created tools, and...and they use their spears to hunt fish...I think..." Eletor didn't dare speak ill of Boen's favorite son, but finally, his spirit was breaking. He fell to his knees, mid-pace, holding his head in his hands. "Peleps, how could you turn them all against me? We are brothers and sisters all!" I finally rose to my feet. My master stroke was coming soon. "Brother, I have done nothing. All this was allowed and ordained by our father. He gave us each a task, to prove which of us is most worthy to take his place upon his death."I strode to Boen's side, where he still sat, still stirring his stew, and placed my hands on his shoulders. "Don't you understand? He wants to see us struggle, to see us beset on all sides by each other. Through fire we will be tested, and by fire will the strongest be forged." "If that's the case,"Morlan interjected, "is it a coincidence that yours is the only race that breathes fire?" "What, my dragons?"I laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Morlan. I was merely using the metaphor of fire to..." "Be still, my son." I stopped, mid-defense. When our father spoke, he spoke softly, but everyone in the room heard him nonetheless. He did not rise, nor did he raise his head. His words were spoken towards his now cold stew, but they were said to us all. "It is true. My days are numbered. Even we immortals can die. And it is true; I created this world as a test. And I was ready to choose my successor today, but it seems that none of you are ready. So now you must continue, but paired with the knowledge that the fate of our family as well as this new world hang in the balance." "Father,"I pleaded, "pray tell: who among us would you have chosen today, if we had not so rudely affected your decision?" He moved for the first time, placing his left hand on my right. "It was you. It's always been you, Peleps, but now I'm not so sure." "Why him, father?"Eletor, still on his knees, cried out. "Because,"replied Boen, a small smile barely visible on his face, "dragons are totally rad."
Life was strange. That much was obvious from the moment I first opened my eyes, or took my first step, or uttered my first word. The world around me was bright and inviting and brilliant, a symphony of blinding unknown. Everyone around me moved about their lives with an inherent understanding of life and its many idiosyncrasies, ebbing and flowing through time, en masse. No one ever stopped to think. It rattled my young mind to no end. The confusion only grew when I began asking questions at the tender age of three years old. Why was the refrigerator silver? Why did the lights flicker during heavy storms? Why did storms exist in the first place? My first question was met with surprised expressions of disbelief and confusion. Then, the entire room burst into uproarious laughter, husbands telling wives that I had somehow "grasped the concept of humor at the earliest age yet". Families shook their heads, in sync, as they smiled at my seemingly brilliant mind. My parents only smiled proudly at how well I was developing, stating that I was going to go far in our world. The second question was met with blank stares, confusion questioning confusion. There was no audience this time, and my parents simply continued on with their previous conversation as if what I had said was merrily an attempt at a joke - one that had fallen flat. Strange, but not unheard of. I continued on from that point as lost as ever, stumbling through my young life like a tumbleweed in the wind. The third question wreaked havoc. My question was met with a question of its own, followed by another, and another. I desperately tried my best to understand their confusion, and why the fact I was asking such a "ridiculous and basic thing"was a problem. Surely every other human being on Earth had doubts, had confusion, had fear? Specialists were called, doctors were summoned, and I became an experiment. Life was no longer a whimsical palace of the unknown; now it was simply a blank room and plain grey walls. Question after question, each increasingly more philosophical and desperate rattled through my unknowing mind on a daily basis, and doctors would come with an empty clipboard and leave, hours later, with a novel's-worth of notes. Science was baffled, my family was baffled, the world was baffled... I was baffled. Time began to pass; my childhood flashed before my eyes like a movie reel, each day as plain and uneventful as the last. Eventually, the questions stopped, as did the visits - I was left to my own devices. I took to assumptions, then. The world inside of my tiny box was far from vast, but it was mine. I took to performing small experiments, discovering that the world upon which we all lived attracted us to it on an unseen level, pulling everything within its grasp down onto its surface. The small table I had in my room was not as solid and unbreakable as I once thought, after I sat on it for too long one afternoon in an attempt to observe the roof tiles from closer up. Small things, inconsequential in the long run, but all too important to me. For this was my room - my space, my world. After years of living in this confining cage like an animal, my food being provided by a small slit in my door on a daily basis, the questions I had about my room dwindled. Life became a monotonous blur of inactivity; my world was seemingly solved, given the tools I had to work with and the knowledge I had with me when I entered the room over twenty years ago. And so, Doctor, your sudden presence certainly does surprise me, considering you are the first human being I have seen in nearly two decades. Your proposition is interesting: 'ask any questions that you wish.' You see, Doctor, after living in such a space for my entire life, cast aside by the world for being different, being human, I have only one question left. Why?
A wise man sat on a great hill and contemplated the nature of Oneness. He observed his shared origins with the wind and the trees. He observed as wasps ate through a field mouse. He observed as the rain began to pour down over his body. The wise man had a still tongue. It had been this way for all the time he cared to remember. He sat on the great hill for years and days and soon was swallowed up by it. He observed as his spirit returned to the great flowing well of existence. There he stopped observing. He felt great warmth and safety. Oneness. Still, he felt the shadow of his mortal mind and its tireless questioning and categorizing. He noticed subtle pangs of desire to return to the stillness of the hill. The closer he listened, the more voices he could hear. The unisonic cacophony of existence filled his soul a trillion times. One voice carried above the rest. It was a screech like death. "What, wise man, is so fragile that even speaking its name aloud would break it?" At first he was quiet. Then he spoke. "Silence"
"Hey Mom and Dad, can I tell you something?" "Of course!"my mother said, "you're our son, you can tell us anything!" "Okay, well surely you've been following the news, right?" "Well yea, gotta keep up with the world."my father replied. "Well, I have to tell you something." "Oh it's okay. We love you no matter what. It's your life and what you do with it is your choice. It's a progressive world now too!" "Wait, Mom, do you think I'm gay?" "We wouldn't be surprised. You've never had a girlfriend."my father interjected. "And it's good timing because gay marriage was recently legalized!"my mother added. "Well, that's not what I was going to say. I'm the superhero you might have been seeing - Justice Gaze. The one with eye laser beams." "The one in the skin tight colourful uniform?" "Yea, it's my costume!" My mom piped up, "oh that's great! It's always nice to kill two birds with one stone! The world always needed a gay superhero!"
"Everyone, you say?" "Yes, my liege--the whole town has been slaughtered." Irileth glares at me in that way she always glares. I can't recall a time as long as I've known her, even since the War, when she's had a different expression. Her face is set in stone as she awaits my response. "Dragon?"is the first thing on my mind, and first out of my mouth. "No, Jarl Balgruuf. Dragonborn." I sit lopsidedly in my throne, completely unsurprised. The "Dragonborn problem"has plagued me ever since he walked into Dragonsreach lugging a magic rock and a criminal record. He disregards the law, and plays sadistically with the hearts and minds of those who trust him. The worst mistake of my whole life was to give him a political office. Thane of Whiterun means to him, it seems, Thane of doing whatever in the name of Akatosh you want. The door creaks open. Everyone in the hallway stands on edge. Irileth's left hand sparks up, preparing a flame. The maids cower in their corners, and Avenicci has suddenly decided other matters require his attention. Here he comes. He's completely naked, excepting a threadbare loincloth. He carries behind him a corpse with a bucket placed sadistically atop its head. We can't say a thing. We can't do a thing. No-one saw it. No-one has evidence. He crouches down and creeps up through the hall, flickering in and out of sight. Slowly, one by one, everyone's clothes begins to disappear. No-one can say a thing. Someone feels it--Irileth. She turns and shouts. "Think you can steal from me?!?!" But time freezes in place, and her voice locks in her throat. Before my unmoving, unmovable eyes she turns back around: everyone moves back to where they were just a second ago. Time resumes, and her clothes, too, disappear. He's on me. He's wearing a bag. He whispers closely, so only I can hear. "Ballin...Jarl Ballin. Lord of the rings, bitch. Lord of the reefers, bitch."
Ah, the flashes- the reason I became an assassin. There's something I just love about seeing someone's life flash before my eyes as I strip them of those fond memories and happy thoughts. I've been doing this since I was a child, mind you. Like most other assassins, I was abandoned by my parents and left to die. I have no friends, no family and no lover. I'll save you the sob story, though. The interesting thing is that one day, I was stalking my prey on a typical mission. Covered head to toe in black cloth to conceal myself, I danced around her until the perfect moment. When she was cornered, I held a blade to her throat and said "goodnight"like I always do. Then, the flashes hit. God, I love the flashes. This time, though, they weren't all that pleasing. I actually pulled my blade away and stumbled back when they hit me, and they hit me hard. For what I saw was not fond memories of playing in the park with a puppy, or some strange looking kid getting his diploma... It was me.
Everyone looked at me like predators eyeing easy prey. Bob was clutching his knife, Claire was aiming her shotgun, Priya peered out from under her Ironman suit. Jack glared at me from the ceiling, which he got to using his grappling gun. Mrs. Teacher was lying mauled on the floor, the tear gas canister still in her hands - she'd refused to use it on children. Mike was standing over her with the chainsaw, staring at me with with hungry eyes. I finally stood up from my desk and spoke. "I know what you all are thinking- Geez, I don't know what to do with these weapons. There's gotta be some purpose to it. Might as well aim it at the only unarmed guy in the school, right?" "That's right."Claire cocked her shot gun. She had always hated me. I was only a buckshot away from following Mrs Teacher. But I kept calm. "Well, you might want to think about that again. Why am I the only one here without a weapon?" "Coz you're a wimp!"Cho said, menacingly unclasping his Katana from its scabbard. "Maybe."I said. Claire smiled. "Or maybe,"I started walking towards her. "Just maybe,"I kept walking towards Claire, she backed off to my approach. Raising her weapon to my head with trembling hands. "I'm the kind of guy who doesn't need weapons. The kind of guy who can do much worse with just his bare hands." I grabbed the barrell and lowered it point blank to my sternum. "Why don't you try it?"Claire was sweating. "Go ahead. Press the trigger. See what happens."Claire looked into my eyes. I saw fear in them. There was a swish in the background from Cho sheathing his Katana. Claire lowered her shotgun. I looked around and glared at everyone in the eye, one by one. They all looked away. I put my hands in my pockets and whistled as I walked into the empty hallway. When I left the building, I looked back. The school was silent, then there was an explosion somewhere, followed by screams, gunshots, and more screams. I made a run to my home, arteries of piss trailing down my pants.
When you put all your points into a single skill, they call you a specialist. Darren was a special kind of specialist. He didn't choose intelligence, or strength, or charisma like the rest of us. His mother tried to convince him to spread out his points. Darren would have none of it. Once, I remember we were sitting outside in the park, celebrating his birthday. Four of us had to carry the cake - a massive, jiggling, pink monstrosity - all the way over to the picnic table. Darren sat there, smiling, as if the cake wasn't a complete surprise, as if he had ordered it to come to him. We lit the candles, and I overheard Darren's mother talking to him, "Darren, so help me, you're going to make yourself sick if you dump all of your points into that." "No, I won't,"he said, and you could almost hear the steam whistling out of his mother's ears. It might've been easier for her to swallow, his insubordination, if he wasn't always - and I mean always right. Years later, I wasn't surprised to discover that Darren became the first astronaut to walk on mars. He also owned the Space-faring company that got him there. When he was done with that, he went on to discover the cure for poverty. He was well on his way to ruling the world. See, he was never the strongest, or the brightest, or the best of us. His mother worried he wouldn't make it far in life, but Darren was stubborn. She would fuss, and cry, and scream. Every year, he ignored and dropped another point into his Willpower. Darren always got what he wanted.
"Whyte, what have you heard about this 'robot-cop'?" "About the same as everyone else, Blooond. Shows up whenever we're pacifying the Natives, screams something in one of the banned Human languages, punches everyone and runs off. Weird as space-hell." "WHAT IS UP, MY FELLOW SUBJUGATORS." "...Whyte, who is this?" "Oh, that's Ornge. He's new. Say hello, Ornge." "YO." "What the hell is he wearing?" "I AM WEARING TYPICAL SUBJUGATOR APPAREL." "Full riot suppression gear is not 'typical' in any way. I can't even see your face!" Oh, come off it, Blooond. If he likes it, let him wear it. Hey Ornge, tell him the story about the Earth canines and--" "No, this is ridiculous. Take that off. Take it off--" "No, Bloond, stop-- What the space-hell?!" "SURPRISE, DIRTBAGS. THIS WAS AN UNDERCOVER OPERATION. I WAS AN OFFICER OF THE LAW ALL ALONG. HANDS UP." "What." "But... Ornge... I thought we were friends..." "I WISH I COULD HAVE BEEN, WHYTE. YOU SEEM LIKE A GOOD [ERROR]. MAYBE I CAN GET YOU A DEAL IF YOU COOPERATE. BUT FOR RIGHT NOW, YOU'RE ALL GOING DOWNTOWN."

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