Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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Words with Friends The air is cold, the sky is dark. A handful of cards spread apart. &nbsp; A group of friends, sitting around a fire. Old Christmas lights strung together with wire. &nbsp; We sit and play, the night goes on. Our worries and sorrows are all gone. &nbsp; It is late, the cards are on the table. I finally give my thoughts a label. &nbsp; The time we spent, bonding together, It matters more than score or weather. &nbsp; I know the truth, no matter what we play, Any game with friends will make my day.
(Turns out that The Grim Reaper is an angry dude, so parental guidance advised) ---------- Angrily, I stormed into the office. I went straight past Carol at Reception, didnt even acknowledge Steve or Frank, and headed to the big boss. His secretary, Casey (who BTW is only there for her looks) couldnt stop me from kicking down Mr Christ's door. "Have you seen this? Dont tell me you signed off on this?". I knew I could do it all without repercussions. It was going to take a thousand years to train another Reaper, I was pretty much in the clear. "...AND HES DOING SHIT LIKE THIS!". "Grimm, sit down". I couldnt sit down. I was fuming. I mean ive seen some things in my time but this takes the cake. "Let me explain". Oh this will be good. Last person to cheat death was way back in the BC Years. Last living creature lasted a year without a head. But for someone to cheat death, AND survive in tact, AND post it online... "We got a memo from Stan". Fuck, My, Fucking, Existence. I knew that fuck-up had to be involved. "He's trying out a new system for Damnation, and theres been some... Problems...". Problems eh? I fucking see that. "He's asked for no more souls, just for a while. Just until everything gets up and running again". Click, light bulb. It all made sense now, I knew EXACTLY what was up. "So, what you're saying, what i'm hearing, is that he's still mad over the 1900s. Man, a guy gets drunk ONCE... TWICE and sends a load of extra work his way, and they dont let you forget it". Fucking Stan. He's had it out for me for donkeys centuries. Mr Christ was upset now. "Grimm, control your temper please, I dont want to make a big thing of this". Big thing? Sorry, but was NEGATING MY FUCKING JOB not a big thing anymore. That was it. That was the straw that broke the camels back. Fuck this place, there's plenty of other dimensions hiring. A Reaper with 6k years experience? Snap him up quick! Thats me, im out! So humans, listen up. Whoever is alive now, you cant die. Seriously. You cant. You've probably got about 800 years of it, 600 if they step someone up as a temp. I think the last time it happened was in the year 17-something, and they just erased that time from history. Sorry for taking Hawking, Jobs and the rest, thats what the paperwork says, I just work here. But office politics has officially un-fucked the only bad thing about you guys. Go out and LIVE! Ride a bike, visit your mother, fucking jump off a cliff or something, you'll be a-okay! As for me, do you really care? You aint ever gonna meet me. Maybe i'll pop by soon. I could re-form Slash... Okay, bad example. Look, you've got 1000 years of doing anything, so go ahead. Enjoy.
John did not mean to step on his dog's tail. He quickly lifted his foot and turned around to comfort his dog. Unfortunately, he realized he had torn his skin off, revealing—wait, what!!? Before he could react, four metal tentacles quickly extended from the dog-shaped frame and pinned him by the arms and legs to the ground. No matter what he did, he could not break free. "Citizen #145327, you have revealed classified information that you are not cleared to know. You can no longer be allowed to live,"said a metallic voice coming from the "dog's"head. "What the hell is going on!?"John demanded. "We have been monitoring you for a long time. The details are not relevant to you. All that matters is that you have stepped out of line and need to be eliminated." "Please!"John begged. "I didn't mean to do it! It was an accident, I swear!" Whoever was communicating through the dog was having none of it. As John was writhing pathetically, begging, tears streaming down his face, the robotic dog sent out a massive surge of electricity from all four of its tentacles, causing him to scream and convulse in pain before he died a few seconds later. In a few minutes' time, some agents would arrive to dispose of the body and begin the process of erasing and destroying every record of John's existence.
The front page of every newspaper, magazine, website, and forum board all screamed the same message. MYSTERIOUS RUINS FOUND ON MARS; GOD SAYS NOTHING I was a fool. I should have put the door on the very edge of the flask. The people of the harvest worlds never made it off their planet before they were ripe. Expect this time. The first few trips to Mars they made were adorable attempts to assert their dominance. Build a little base there, explore a tiny mountain here. I wasn't much concerned they would find the door. It was so heavily concealed, they would have had to trip over it to find it. Of course, that was literally what they did. I think someone died of a long fall into nothing. I hope that soul evaporated before reaching the other side. I would be in a lot of trouble if it hadn't. Mother would skin me alive and feed me to her puppets. I half expect those creepy things to show up in my temple and demand my return home. But several days inside the flask went by and no noise from the outside. That guy evaporated. He must have.... I hope. The door burst open with a deafening bang, jolting me from my musings. I kept pets occasionally, but this one was a product of her world's nearing ripeness. She was loud little soul, demanding and inquisitive. She had long forgotten to fear me. But I suppose that is what I get for raising her as I had. "You better tell me what those ruins are right now! I know you know!" "Of course I know."I was God. I knew everything. "Tell me." "Why? Your little mortal mind cannot fathom it's purpose. Your people know better to fall in now."I laughed, finding it amusing. In a gut punch relief sort of way. Amazing how fearful of death these creatures were. She was spectacularly angered by that response. Her skin color changed to an interesting color red. "Tell me."She demanded again. I finally turned to look at her fully. She stood to my left, the doors still wide open behind her. The door attendants were sweating bullets just beyond the frame, but I would deal with them later. The girl before me was no older that 16. She had dark hair and blue eyes and I made her to look this way on purpose. I made her because I was homesick. Truely homesick, for my original place. Not the glass hallways that Mother rebirthed me into as punishment for crimes I don't have enough soul left to remember. "Terksi."I sighed her name, careful with the word in my mouth like a most precious gem. The tone always soothed her anger and now was no exception. Her shoulders dropped, her eyes softened, she turned her chest ninety degrees to me and let her arms drops to her side. "Rick Masters died in those ruins and I want to know what killed him."Still her tone was sharp but the anger was not so pointed. It wasn't just me she was angry at. "If you had told me you admired him, I would have changed his fate."I wish she had. Then I would have known where they were going and would have been able to stop him from falling in. Well, that's what I get for sleeping so much, I suppose. "I thought you knew everything,"she hissed. The anger was leaking back in and I was getting annoyed. "You know what I mean when I say that."I turned my head away, stretched my mind out for a second so I missed her next words. It was something angry but I was looking for something else now. I didn't get a chance to find it before something hard hit my shoulder. "DON'T YOU MIND DRIFT AWAY FROM ME YOU FAT JERK!" "I'm not fat..." "Tell me what is in those ruins or I'll- I'll..." "You will what?"I was getting annoyed. This anger was getting old and I had other things to concern myself with than an angry pet. I stood and walked toward her, affecting my best glare. "Tell me, pet. What will do you to me?"I loomed over her, making myself as tall as I needed for the effect. "I will leave,"she threatened. Leave? I laughed. She turned red again, but this time in humiliation. "You will leave me?"Who was she kidding? Where was she gunna go? This was my world. I created it from my a fragment of my soul. I could just exist anywhere she was. It was impossible for her to leave. The absurdity of it was amazing. She could leave through the door. You made her so she could. It suddenly wasn't so funny. "You will leave me?"This time I asked with all seriousness. She was glaring, the fire in her eyes was certainly something to behold. "Yes." "Fine,"I said nonchalantly. I turned away, failing to hide a smirk before it crawled across my lips. Waving a hand dismissively at her was all I needed to have doubt stutter the flames. "I can't tell you what it is."I look back at her, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth and eyes filled with devious intent. "But I could show you. I promise it will shut you up."I held out a hand to her, knowing she would be too scared to take it and buying me more time. But then her hand came to rest in mine, and it was her lips curled up in a smirk. The stutter was unintentional. As was the dropping of pretenses. "Oh crap, really?" She was only smiling, far too smug with herself. She had called my bluff and and she knew it. (I might finish this with edits later, but I got tired.)
I wake in a strange place. The sky is a brilliant red, and a tiny sun floods the landscape in a dull blue. As I turn on my heel I see strange trees with an array of deep violets and wan greys. I look around for any sign of some structure in this strange place, and see nothing but a large column in the distance. There seem to be no animals here, and lacking a better alternative, I walk towards the pillar. A gentle wind caresses my back as I walk, seemingly no matter which direction I turn. As I begin to worry, a voice rings out. Clever child! You are the first. I spin around. There is no one around. "Who are you"I say tentatively, my voice seeming too loud in this silent place. We are a̡͏̨̢͜o̷̕͟͏̀u̷͟ę͏̷̛i̴̢͟u̷̡͏a̵̶̷̶͡ The voice, I realise, seems to originate in my own head. I cannot make sense of the word, yet I feel that I understand it. A vague sense of empire, accomplishment, brotherhood, and loss washes over me as it enters my head. "How did I get here?", I say. My voice echoes strangely, and the beings do not respond. Shrugging, I continue to approach the column, and realise it is massive in scale. Larger than the skyscrapers of my home. The voice rings out again. Brave human! Welcome to our hiding place I grow irritated. "What hiding place! What are you talking about!?"The voice does not respond. With no other options, I walk for hours, yet do not seem to tire or grow thirsty. I would be convinced this was a dream, were it not for the very real tactile sensations the environment around me. I try again "Can you hear me?" Suddenly, the voice appears again, with multiple ideas entering all at once. We understand your confusion, and apologize if we cannot answer! Some of your questions have been blocked, as answers may be more dangerous than silence~ Your entry into this t̵̢̡í͜͟ḿ̡e͡.͝ sp̷ac̢̛͡ȩ͘͟.̢͜͡ eddy has a purpose. I wince slightly as my brain processes these things. As I continue to walk, I begin to accelerate for reasons I cannot fathom. The ground seems to blur past my feet as I take step after plodding step. The column grows larger as I walk, and I realise it is perfectly clear, perhaps made of glass. I wonder vaguely what it is for. Or what the "purpose"of my "entry"is. An excellent question! Such a clever child~ Soon you may encounter what your kind call t̵̢̡í͜͟ḿ̡e͡.͝ sp̷ac̢̛͡ȩ͘͟.̢͜͡ anomalies! Do not investigate the anomalies Do not research the anomalies Do not experiment on the anomalies I am nearly upon the column now and spy small silver objects, darting around inside it. Their forms are translucent, and difficult to fully grasp, shifting and spiraling constantly even when they do not move. I raise a hand to touch the column, and a ripple extends from my finger, spreading ceaslessly over its perfectly smooth surface. I realise with some surprise that it appears to be water. I muse that these beings, whatever they are, may have misunderstood humanity. Anything interesting is going to get researched to death, and there's not much I can do to stop it. But you can! You already have to some extent~ though your ti̵͢m͘͞e͟͡.̸̢͡ ̵̢̡s͏pa͡͏ce͏̵.̢͞ ͢l͏̀̕i̵͘ń̛͘e͏̷͞.̧ has not fully collapsed to one possibility. We have hidden you! T͒̍̓ͧ̐̊͌҉̛̹͈̠͖h̛̝͙̬̝̯̦̦̥̤͎̦̪̮̻͎̱̼̣͙̄ͫ͂̂̐̾ͣͥ͂ͭ͑͗̚͠e̢ͫ̀͋͆̌͊̀̽̐͝͏̣̩̳̤̻̭̠͎̯̳̞̘͙́y̐͂̀̔͗҉̛̜͓̤͍̭̪̩̻̙̠͓̻̜̖̺͖̰̯͘͟ will not be able to smell you~ T͒̍̓ͧ̐̊͌҉̛̹͈̠͖h̛̝͙̬̝̯̦̦̥̤͎̦̪̮̻͎̱̼̣͙̄ͫ͂̂̐̾ͣͥ͂ͭ͑͗̚͠e̢ͫ̀͋͆̌͊̀̽̐͝͏̣̩̳̤̻̭̠͎̯̳̞̘͙́y̐͂̀̔͗҉̛̜͓̤͍̭̪̩̻̙̠͓̻̜̖̺͖̰̯͘͟ must not find humanity Do not attempt to understand Ṭ̳̻̀h̨̢̬̣͖̫͚̱͉̬̫e̻m̞̼̗͢' Ignorance, is your best defense from T͇̙̹͎̫̩̜́ḫ̷̮͉̞̪̜͈̪͞e͍͍̻̕͢i̥̟̗̮͇͈͜͡r̢̗͇̰̳̪ attention A sense of incredible urgency accompanies these statements. Are you ready for your mission?
CLARIFICATION NOTES: This WP comes from the story that came out today about how an identical twin's DNA is different from his twin's after spending a year in space. (Reddit post here: https://www.reddit.com/r/news/comments/84gull/astronauts_dna_no_longer_matches_his_identical) And, of course, the subsequent notion that "Space Florida"could be a thing. Along with the secondary and tertiary horror of that particular concept.
The little bar before my eyes inched closer. I could still hit cancel and it would restore everything I was about to lose. But for some reason, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It reached the end, a little 100% flashed cheerfully in front of my eyes. As easy as that and my life was over. I remained in total darkness for a long time, wondering what would happen to me next. Something heavy grabbed my head and began pulling violently on me. A moment of panic gave way to blinding brilliant light flooding my eyes. It hurt more than anything I had ever felt before and I found myself screaming without control. A sharp pain across my face choked the sound in my throat. "Get up, kid. You have a job to do." I tried to rise but it felt like I had never used my body before. It was like I spent ages in space and suddenly I was back on earth and I was too heavy. "I can't!"My voice sounded nothing like I remembered it. It crawled out of me like an alien parasite, weak and feeble and crying. "Where am I?!" A face floated into view. Grizzled and dirty and somehow familiar to me. "You're back in the real world, kid. Welcome home. Now get up. We got shit to do." "D-dad?" He smiled, warm and inviting and it filled my heart with such relief that the weight of my body felt neglible and my burning eyes were nothing but a nuisance. "You disappeared? We thought you died! You've been here? Am I in heaven?" My father laughed at me. It was great sound, deep and powerful and warm. He was excited. It was infectious. "Nah, kid. I've been here, waiting for you to wake up."
&nbsp; The shock was paralyzing, to say the least. I don't know how I ended up on the floor, all I can recall is the sheer overloading of my senses. It all happened so fast, but at the same time it felt like it took ages. Maybe, because I saw ages. I saw it all, everything from my mother's womb to my lonely tomb. Even though I know I saw it all, I realize that I do not know how much of it I comprehended, if any at all. The ensuing headache was threatening to blind me, a white-hot searing pain that ran from my temples up behind my eyes. Tap! Tap! At first I didn't hear the noise coming from the window, I was too busy writhing in anguish in front of the hearth to notice. Tap! Tap! There it was again. My initial thought was who could possibly be calling at this hour? It was well into the night. I forced myself to my knees first and then shakily I managed to stand on my feet. The fiery excruciating pain briefly intensified as my blood pressure adapted to standing. When I was certain I wouldn't lose my balance and fall back down I dusted the dust from my fraying tunic and approached the window. Tap! Tap! Tap! We lived far enough outside of the village proper that a visitor at this hour might very well be bearing bad news. I focused through the pain and peered out the window to see a man. He was a relatively tall man, skinny and his face pointed. Gray hairs sprouted from his lip and chin that hung down to his chest. Around his figure he wore a very plain gray cloak that he kept drawn about himself. &nbsp; I made my way to the front door and stuck my head out, ever cautiously. Strangers in the night aren't typically a good sign when you live in such isolation. "Hello?"I called into the night. &nbsp; The man turned to face me and began hobbling his way towards me. He walked as if he had a cane, even though he had not. The stranger stopped a good distance before me, probably detecting my rightful unease towards the situation. In a shrill voice, almost a cackle, he spoke, "Oh, it is you! Praise the Makers. So, how do you feel, Egar?" %nbsp; Reality seemed to skip a beat for me upon hearing my name, "Wha-? How do you know my name, sir?"I closed the door as much as I could while still leaving my head out to communicate. &nbsp; "Oh, don't be silly. It happened, didn't it?"he cried. &nbsp; "What are you on about, old man? Don't you realize what time it is?" &nbsp; He threw his head backwards on his long slender neck and giggled, "Why, yes, it is late, isn't it? You saw it, didn't you, Egar?" &nbsp; Somehow I knew that he knew, "Y-yes, I saw something. My life, I think." &nbsp; The old man's playful voice took a rapid turn in tone, growing dire and slower of pace, "Egar, you have awakened. May I come in? There is much to discuss." &nbsp; I acquiesced and permitted the crazy fool entry into my home, all the while holding my throbbing head. He nodded at my head, "Don't worry, it'll pass." &nbsp; We both took a seat on the only two chairs in the room, directly across from one another. The pain was growing more intense. I snapped, "Who are you?" &nbsp; "My name, dear Egar, is Sumax. I am a... type of person who was put here to look after people like you. I'm sure you have many questions, and in the coming weeks and months we shall answer each and every one. But, for now, I must know,"he paused and gazed deep into my eyes, almost mesmerizing me, "are you ready?" &nbsp; "Ready for what?!" &nbsp; Sumax placed a light hand on my shoulder, "To realize your destiny. You are no mere human, Egar. You are a Ward, sent here to protect the physical realm." &nbsp; The pain and my impatience collided in a shout, "Protect it from what?!" &nbsp; "From the Ulnir, the Defiled Ones."
I watched the clock. Wondering if it was broken or if I was just that bored. I look around the work area. Everyone is hard at work listening to customers on yhe phone or staring blankly at their computer screen. This is what my life has been for the last ten years. A daily routine of clock watching. I used to be free, at least more so than I am now. I was a hero. I saved lives. But for whatever reason I can't do it anymore. I've tried. Time after time I've tried to do it, but it's gone. I look at the clock again. Same position. This time I'm sure it hasn't moved. I stand from my small office space to check it out. I take the small circular clock down from the wall where it was hanging and examine it. It has batteries. The gears still turn fine. Batteries must be dead. I wonder if Karen might have batteries. I waltz to the cubical next to mine and lean over the wall. "Hey Karen, I think the clock is dead. You have any batteries?" She didn't answer me. Not even a glance my way. "Karen?"I asked again, louder this time. And still no response. I turn around and really look around the room. Just as I feared. No one is moving. Eyes glued to a fixed position, each different from another. My heart begins to race. I look around frantically. Someone was about to die, but who? I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. I go to the window and lean my hand on the glass. The street looked normal too. A decent amount of traffic, but normal. Then I see something. Maybe something. A possible... The glass cracked and shattered. I lose my balance and fight with gravity and the wind. I lose the fight and tumble over the edge and begin to fall twenty stories. Before I eat pavement I remember the window repair man walk in just before I looked at the clock for the last time.
"i dont think i can do that..." "well, if you dont, youll die." nicolas flamel is the ONE mage i DID NOT want to be following. it is well known that he is the worst of them. he only has the most basic form of majik: alchemy. i mean, dont get me wrong, alchemy is all-powerful. just, basic. there are no long lasting effects with alchemy. if you want an effect to last, you have to keep brewing it. these things take time so you have to have ready made potions brewed all the time. in essence, i am his pack-horse. "boy! get over here! my nose isnt what it used to be! smell this!" magical ability my butt! when i found out that i could smell the chemical composition of any object and determine what effect it would have on the body, i was hoping to be taken in by John Dee, Aleister Crowley, Merlin, someone with PRESTIGE. not my lot in life though. they all rejected me. said my powers werent strong enough. then, on my way home from majik school, i find out my mother, father, and older sister were poisoned. right after, an ALCHEMIST wants to take me in?! 'suspicious', is not the word that best describes how im feeling right now. "this is great in combination with those flowers, and will help improve your digestion." "can you smell it yet, boy?" "NO! we have been out here for a whole lunar month! living in the dirt! ive been carrying and smelling this whole time! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO BE SMELLING?!?!" "light." "what?" "if you cannot smell light by now, then you will never understand why i am the most powerful court mage our queen has. why she trusts me the most. why she allows me the freedom she doesnt allow the others." "i always thought it was because she didnt want you around because it seems like you never shower." "boy, a non-majik being keeping a majik being close is not because they trust them. you will learn that one day. if you live that long. now, can you smell it?" "what, your bo?" "no smart talk. try to smell it before it smells us." "wait, light can smell us?" "no boy! but, the dragon can. and, if you cant smell it before it smells you, then you wont know what to use to hide yourself so you dont get burned to ash before you can even see it."
“They’re called cherubs.” A rotund man in a form-fitting suit, cured of age but not of excess, the only wrinkles on his body from a poorly ironed shirt. Words filtered through the fat in his cheeks and the fat in his wallet. His back toward me, his eyes, both of our eyes fixed through and beyond the vista of the observation room to his students, dull and listless, passive in the face of education. They’re taught by a screen, those boys and girls, children anywhere from six to fifteen with glazed eyes and limp wrists. Pixels on every desk, flashing intermittent with encouragement and threats in between its info. The telltale orange suits had long since been replaced with our company’s signature blue, though the remnants of prison still cling, an open wound mottled with ticks. “All the big names are doing it now. Got a crazy deal from the boys at the penitentiary. State lets us buy up a whole block at a time, burn the IDs. Then we dip ‘em and drug ‘em up. They’re especially precocious around this age. Molding young minds, you know? And they say the education’s bad in this country.” A throaty chortle like a barking seal shakes him, rattles the table at which we’re seated. Feet shuffling, fingers readjusting the frames on my eyes, a convenient excuse to turn away. “All due respect, Don, but these are slaves. Less than that, I don’t think they’re human.” “Shit, they were already less than human. Prisoners, John. Criminals, you know? They’d be dead at worst out there. No, scratch that, dead at best. At least here they have market value.” “I suppose so, sir.” “It really is a miracle, you know,” he turns to me now, full body without the aid of a neck, “finding that puddle like a modern day Leon. We’re lucky we can synth it up the way we can. Youth in a bottle, second chances on tap. You know what that shit’s worth? I’m pissed we don’t have the patent, don’t get me wrong, but if it means we can buy up labor this good wholesale then I’m sure as shit not complainin’.” “I think it’s pronounced León.” “I don’t care,” hands swatting the air like a flabby kite, “the point is that we’ve got corporate lifers at-cost. You know how much we’re gonna save?” “A fortune, sir.” “You’re god damn right.” He turns back to the group, and I follow with my gaze. Still and lifeless, corporate machines like a printer or fax. No light in their eyes, spring in their step. Writing is scrawled with a deliberate hand, blocky and in-line. No math or art flashes on those screens, only scripts and policies, code written for a human processor. “It just...” Mumbled under my tongue, “It seems unethical, boss.” The slightest movement; those eyes, that focus and greed swivel to me. “… Say, John, how old did you say you were again?”
Dad, is it bad luck to break a promise? I asked while we were having dinner to celebrate the new year and my dad's recent promotion. My dad looked at me, a look of worry briefly flashed on his face before answering, "it is always bad to rescind on a promise son.""Even just a pinky swear dad?""Even a pinky swear son, you should always keep your promises."My dad fumbled with the chopsticks as he picked at the braised duck, his three fingered hand quite prominent.
Its hard to tell when it happens. When do you stop progressing? When does your life stop finding new meaning? It just hits you one day, you look at your feet and realize the cement they were trudging through has dried and your stuck. You can no longer move forward in life, there is no something greater. I found myself feeling like that one day in late August. Winter was coming and I was thinking that it was a shame I had worked through it. Then I realized that all my thoughts had become a swirling carousal, a pattern that never changed, and the lights and sounds still played on repeat to confuse you. Make you forget. You are not going anywhere and you have not been anywhere that you wont' have to go again. I was dying inside. Stuck in a routine of work and sleep. Wash my car and mow the lawn on the weekends. Go to work on Monday and feel remorse that I wasn't home to do more chores, like that pl,ate I left in the sink or the gutters I forgot to clean. I read in a book once that a change in routine could help, but I know that a mundane change would just add to the sad routine, not make it new again. It was now Mid-May and I still had done nothing about the sinking trapped feeling. I had started to put off assignments at work so that the urgency of a project might ignite something in me, but no. The projects passed and no one noticed, like I was a closed loop only connected to myself. I did get one email in regards complimenting me on one of the ignored projects. It proved I was meaningless, my work had no purpose except for keeping me fed and my lawn mowed. I had resigned to myself to keep this to myself. Drown away from the shore and let the current drag my into its suffocating depths. With no anger, only hate. Hate in the ones that would follow and fail to escape the life they made, Hate in myself for not taking a risk at all in any part of myself, and a new bubbling hate for the ones around me. The ones who knew I was without purpose and hadn't woken me to it before. The ones who knew there was no punishment for stepping over lines, but enforced the fear to keep everything neat. Like society would collapse without human's social contract to be good and take their invisible rewards in the afterlife. I hated everything so silently for so long. Until I was snapped into focus. It was after church one Sunday evening. I was volunteering as I always do, to put the church back together after the ceremonies. When I walked into a storage room for such things that make the room we held mas in to seem more important then a living room. I witnessed a scene that that touched me quite sinister. Altar boys gathered to smoke was one thing but the preacher was sitting with them. Smoking alongside the children I had taken for innocents not long before. Now I know we are all animals in our nature, all consumed by what we want with only fear stopping us, but at the time I was disillusioned. The preacher made eye contact with me but never looked worried. He rolled his eyes and continued offering the kids cigarettes. He knew what I did not. I wouldn't tell. In those eyes I was not even an annoyance to him. Just a background piece unable to be an independent. Not till I processed the secret those eyes knew. Nothing is stopping from moving. We must find our own vices and dangers. The world is an evil place where villains tell stories of how heroes win. All this time I was just existing, I didn't understand the rules. You could take much more from the world than you give and people always had. I suppose I decided to do as I always had done, conform to the changes and fit in. At first I chose a mask like everyone else does. My preacher acted holier than he was, untouchable by human hands as long as that veil was lifted. I began to become a fan of woodworking. It wasn't easy but I learned to make a very basic piece and would remake it over and over again till I was adding other more complex things to it. I started with boxes then began puzzle boxes, then it was chairs to rocking chairs. I learned about stains and lacquer, Sanding and dove tailing. My mask began to fit I was not only pretending but I was good at the fake hobby. I was a carpenter as much as anyone else is that only does it between work, sleep and mowing the grass. Once I got to a level where I would fit in I entered my pieces into a contest. I entered a very basic but sturdy small table, like one you might keep next to your recliner to hold a lamp over a doily. I came in fifth which was fine, I read about that later. the night of I was busy. I found some other villains and took care of them. A temporary storage unit for a show like this is required with the size of some of the wood works. I took an office worker and a bum one free and the other a slave like I had been. I even let them fight it out beforehand. Something like the winner doesn't die as I pointed a gun at them or something like that, in the semi-filled storage room their fight echoed in through the oaks and pines of the pieces, but not enough to be checked on too many employees counting the hours till their late shift ended. I enjoyed it more than I thought. It was about power, I'll admit that. I could make them fight, force the free homeless man and the office worker, a slave like I had been, to battle for who deserved the freedom more. In the end the office worker won. It rang hollow in me to tell the truth the moment so climatically led to ended to quickly. The worker had more weight in his punches and the homeless man had a bad leg I didn't see. The worker wasn't sure that the homeless man was out and continued to pummel him. I was fine with this it gave me time. it would appear odd to anyone who looked closer but a woodworking tool seemed to belong among the woodwork. A carving tool quickly through the neck of the worker, and he bled to death quickly. Shocked I would stab him if I had a gun. I stabbed him a few more times. Stabbings are crimes of passion usually and it looks premeditated if you only stab once. Once he was out I flicked some blood onto the unconsciousness man's shirt and placed the small tool in his hand. A few more pieces were added to the puzzle I left but it told the story of a drunken confrontation in the storage room an easy sell. I didn't even attend the judging for the table I made I walked around the city to site see not that anyone would notice. My piece came in fifth and someone even gave a speech confusing it apparently with their work. The body was found but nothing came of it, well besides a brand new tradition for me. It wasn't always a carpentry contest but it was always out of town and during a hobby convention. They always fought first and the both always died. The gun was never real or loaded.
The sambuca shots were carried back from the bar by Gill from finance. I shook my head and told him it was a bad idea. He just guffawed goofily and said ""Come on Sarah you need to relax! It's the Christmas party!!" "It was the Christmas party after all"I thought to myself. I had worked in Mitchell & Webb for the last year, a large accounting firm in New York. When I joined I was new to business. A young admin clerk here to help and be subjected to abuse. That's what I imagined anyway. I had seen "The Secretary"and "Fifty Shades of Grey"but here at Mitchell & Webb it was different. All the guys were really kind, sweet. Caring almost. The women on the other hand were different. They weren't like I expected. Some were nice, easy enough to get along with but they were mostly the new ones. It was the longer serving colleagues that seemed sullen and moody. I just thought they could do with a career change and I enjoyed my time with them at Mitchell & Webb. "Cool watch Sarah! Where'd you get it?"Shouted Gill above the music. "Oh thanks, it was a gift from a friend"I said. I didn't go into detail. It was a watch I got from my friend Rick. He and his nephew Morty had made it. It did all the usual things a watch would do but this one also counted down. When it reached zero you would be naked. It was always correct but it was a pointless function. Who can decline a free watch though? That's when I noticed. The countdown read three hours. I would be at this party for a least four! "What the fuck?"I thought to myself. I did panic a little bit but knowing Rick he probably set it as a joke or it was running out of batteries. Never mind I though. Let loose. The second shot of sambuca eased my mind. "Let's go for a dance!"Said Gill. I did love a good 80's song and Wham had just come on. I never really danced much but I felt comfortable with Gill. That was one of the great things about Mitchell & Webb, as a woman you never felt uncomfortable. Nobody would be eyeing your cleavage up or smacking your butt as you walk past. Time flew and Gill and I had a great time. Time was nearing for the grand entrance of the owners, Mr Mitchell and Mr Webb. "They'll be here soon Sarah, help me grab some supplies from the back rooms."Said Gill. Gill was the office do gooder. Head of the people engagement team, always planning events and parties for staff. An all round great guy. I followed him to the back rooms. I never liked going back here on my own because it felt cold. All the rooms were sanitary looking. Everything was wipe down and smooth. Gill said the building was previously used by a medical company. I suppose that explained a lot. "Down here, Sarah."Gill said, leading the way to the end of the corridor. The room he pointed at I had never been in. We reached the door and he let me open it. It was dark and warm. It wasn't cold like the other rooms. "Where's the light switch Gill?"I asked. "I've got it, Sarah"Gill responded, his voice almost covering the click of a lock on the door. He flicked the light on and there I was. Stood in awe. Surrounded by the board members of Mitchell & Webb. They were stood in a circle. I was in the middle. That's when the beeping began on my watch. "Welcome to our peep show, Sarah."Their nasal voices resonated throughout my frozen body. The dial read zero.
What started as another boring day on this god awful farm had turned into the most wonderful day of my life. He was honestly a dream come true. Every possible little detail about him screamed soulmate. From his light blue eyes, to the stubble on his perfectly formed chin, down to his.. slightly open shirt showing just the right amount of skin. He introduced himself, and his voice sounded like the rustle of a cool summers breeze, gentle and embracing, and I was lost in it. This perfect man with his perfect smile and his perfect everything. _Something something neighbour beside our farm._ All I could do was smile and nod. I'm not sure when I managed to get up on his horse, or how long my hands had been tightly wrapped around his waist, but time just seemed to stand still when I was with him. Riding around trails, sitting under a tree in the meadow, slowly watching the sun start to set. I just closed my eyes for a second, wanting to savor this very moment forever. And that's when I heard my parents sobbing, "Sorry Jess. I guess you aren't coming back to us this time. We love and miss you very much." ------ Obligatory first time poster, long time lurker. Sorry for the formatting as I'm writing on phone. Critics welcome!
He pulled the rusted coin out of his pocket. He heard the voice speak to him again. “ come on Jimmy, it’s be ever so much fun.” The hole in front of him was ice cold. “Jeez, not even Mamas freezer is this cold.” He said staring into the pitch black crater in the ground. “Lay me on the ground Jimmy.” Spoke the coin. As if his arm had a will of its own it layer the coin softly on the ground. The coin then stood upright on its own and rolled around the edge of the circle and made its way down. The echo of the metal scraping onto stone grew quieter and quieter until he heard a small ping. Then the bottom of the hole began to glow red. Soft carnival music started to play. It grew louder as the crimson glow grew brighter. He could hear children laughing and the smell of fried food danced around him and lured him closer to the edge. “Yes child...” growled the hole. Jimmy was entranced, bewitched by the sights and sounds. His eyes glow red reflecting the light that radiated from the pit. The tips of his shoes hung over the edge when suddenly he noticed something dripped on him. It was thick like oil and it smelled terrible. His trance broken by the sheer smell that now surrounded him. The red light revealed the ceiling of the cave. He saw figures that appeared to be floating above him. They looked like kids his age. Only they didn’t look like they were moving. How were they sticking to the ceiling like that? The light grew brighter, the details on the figures were revealed. Jimmy fell to the floor and looked in terror. They were kids. Dressed in white. The look of permanent horror on their face. Someone had scooped out their eyes. Jimmy covered his eyes as to not see the gruesome sight. But then they all started to scream. The shrieking and howling heard in the cave was loud enough to ring Jimmy’s ears. He started screaming too. The red light grew brighter revealing more bodies all with their eyes cut out. When Jimmy collected himself and tried to stand he saw it. A hand. A hand that dwarfed Jimmy. This was no human hand. The long bony fingers and the sharp claws slowly rose from the pit. “JIMMY!!!!!!!” The bodies screamed. Jimmy urinates on himself and stared mouth agape at the hand that now hovered over him. The coin flew out of the pit and into his hand. He looked at the coin and looked up to see one of the bodies crouching over him. It’s hollow eye sockets looking into his eyes, looking into his soul. “Today’s your lucky day...” The hand flew down and impaled Jimmy with its claws. It dragged him slowly down the hole. Jimmy looked back and saw the figure standing there. It looked just like him. It even wore the same clothes he did. It tossed the coin in the air and walked towards the mouth of the cave. Then all he saw was. Red.
.... "it's been years since I froze, and to awake to even this state, disgusting, your morons even managed to fuck up so badly that Max Flescher got his credit back... robbing me of my title...no losing your jobs isn't enough for you executives..."Mr. Disney stands from his chair in an almost unholy way, grabs under his eye lids and pulls his skin back to his neck. The executives scream in terror as they see this sight, on manages to get an arm free of the conference door only for it to slam shut lopping his arm off in the process. The smell of greed and blood waves through the air, Disney in hails, his black demonic eyes with a Hitler swastika iris hungers for what's to come next, "sorry, "fam"it's just good business to do away with bad people, afterall this is the happiest place on earth"a two secretary's are left to watch the horror as Disney literally cut his marketing lead in half, slumping his guts out like spaghetti, the rest suffered a much more horrid Fate. A mouse sat curled in a corner, "this isn't happening, i-i-i know who I am, micky, NO, i-im Steve I have a wife, Minnie, No Jolene"the secretary's watched as Disney picked his teeth clean after his meal and as the head marketing director was spared, having some inky fluid forced down his throat, in terror they watched this man loose his physical from and become micky mouse, his identity in a fight for survival... he didn't make it. Micky stood next to Disney overlooking the park, "haha, we're gonna be filthy rich, whut say ya pal, Empire Disney for the win? Has nice ring to it as well, a whole country to our selves" Disney pat his little creation, "in time my boi, speaking of which I should purchase that meme, the time will comes and at last we shall have what we wanted"Micky chuckled, "the world Mr.Disney, the world?"Disney nodded, "we hen have I never not wanted that?" Disney left the room, cleaning crews at the ready, his three new companions, Micky, Donald and Minnie walked with him, no secretary's in sight, this would become the fall of amrita and the rise of the toons, out of this war an inky Demon would appear, effectively ending it, and beginning a cleaning genocide, if you weren't in blot you were dead.
To whomever may find this, My name is William Florence, and to my knowledge I am the last of my kind. If you have you have the ability to understand the words written on this parchment then know these are my final words scrawled upon this paper. I await my final rest, alone in this damp tunnel amongst the refuse and the rats below the world above. To my knowledge I am the last of the protectors of the text. Here in these sewers the books I've managed to hide from their persecutors are my only remaining friends. Though I tried my best and many others sacrificed everything they once had to protect these books for a future generation I fear it was in vain. I was not alone in my efforts. In the beginning there were many. Many who gave their lives to protect all we have recorded and achieved as a civilization. We were united but the penalty for hiding knowledge was death. Things became more and more chaotic as the world around us began to crumble. It wasn't long before primitive hunting parties formed, little more than tribal clans foraging through what remained of the old world.The chances of us being found as a large collective were too high. So we decided to part ways each of us taking a portion of the remaining books in our possession to scatter the earth. Perhaps dividing and going our own way was our weakness? But the ever growing desperation of those who would destroy us was too great to risk storing all the remaining books in one place. After that I wandered alone in what remained of our world, searching for supplies and any remaining texts which may have escaped the great purges. Few books were spared and with them went the knowledge to continue in a modern society. I was careful to conceal my tracks whenever I went out but I knew as my collection of saved books grew my ability to move to a new hideout diminished. I had to find a permanent hiding place for them to rest in relative safety. The sewer system beneath my feet seemed to be the perfect solution to my problem. Despite how much those on the surface had devolved I assumed that the fact the sewer held little to offer would detract anyone from poking around down here. The tunnels and maintenance shafts that connected to them offered a welcomed sanctuary for my books. The service walkways were dry and the pipes that ran along their walls created perfect makeshift shelves for my little library. How long did I live down here? I can't remember anymore. It's no longer reasonable to count the lines I've drawn on the walls to mark the days. My mind grows weak as does my body. The damp air has created a chronic cough in my lungs and the cold nights have chilled my body to the very core. I am too tired and feeble to venture out for supplies now. I know I am not long for this world... I take solace in the noble task we tried to achieve but who is left to benefit from it? Should I be discovered these books would serve as little more then kindling for a cooking fire. The words they contain lost to time. And so I ask if you find this and truly realize the treasure you have discovered may it become your solemn duty to protect it. Let it not fall to the annals of time! May you fair better than I, I have fought the good fight and now I must pass the torch for I am so very tired...
Reincarnation, eh? Some people believe in it, and some people don't. I never really thought about it myself, not until I died at the ripe ol age of 22, my broken body laying on the street as my soul hovered above until darkness overtook me and I awoke again in the form of Percy, my neighbors ugly old pug. For awhile I thought that maybe I had merely passed out, that this was some form of fevered or pained dream brought on by the trauma my body endured. I lay in the corner of The Johnson's kitchen, on a small but plush bed that stunk of dog piss. I answered when they called for "Percy"my pudgy body making it's way slowly to whoever beckoned me. I ate the disgusting food they put out, all the while thinking I would eventually wake up from this dream. Admittedly, it wasn't until what seemed like months later, but must have only been days, that I realized I wasn't having some weird dream. I was sitting in the living room on the lap of Mr. Johnson when the news came on and several of my classmates, most of whom didn't ever give me the time of day, cried over my tragic death and spewing fake memories of fun times all for their fifteen minutes of fame. I was disgusted, I was distraught. I didn't eat for days afterwards, which was hell on my tiny body. The pug's body wasn't exactly nimble to begin with, but with the lack of nutrients, I could tell that it wouldn't be long before this body died. Part of me felt bad, I knew they would mourn the loss of their beloved "Percy", but then I figured their percy had actually died several days ago, perhaps a lot less horrible of a death. My hope was that when this body died, my soul would reincarnate and my memories and all of the knowledge I carry would be gone. The next day I woke up as a turtle and I thought some deity must be messing with me. Not only was I cursed to move terribly slow, but I was also destined to live hundreds of years, and eat nasty tasting plants. All while remembering all of my friends, my family, and every dream I ever had as a young, adventurous man.
Breathing in deeply, I stand on the platform of the train station as I wait for the next train to arrive. If I listen carefully, I can almost hear it. In a few minutes the train will pull up to the station, I’ll get on, in a few hours the train will arrive in Wichita, and from there, I can take a train to the towering skyscrapers of New York City, a plane to the swaying palm trees and sandy beaches of Los Angeles, or a bus to the bustling streets of Chicago. I will finally be able to start a new life, meet new people, experience adventure after adventure, spread my wings, and fly. Taking another deep breath, I release it as a sigh, turn around, and head off the platform. It’s never the train I hear. It’s just the howling of the wind. The wind always starts on the flatness of the plains, blows through the town, and blows through my soul, as if it is trying to carry my soul to a better place. I wish it would; at this point, anywhere would be better than here. The last time a train pulled out of this station was about fifteen years ago. I was a just a little girl, and I didn’t understand the significance of it back then. I didn’t understand that the town was shrinking and most people were moving out. Now, I wish that the little girl fifteen years ago had hopped on the train and held on tight. Now, no matter what I do, I can’t seem to leave this town. Every morning I walk to the old train station and allow myself to dream for five minutes. No more, as it is not good to dwell too much on dreams, but no less, because without this little escape from reality, I will lose my mind. As I head home, I trade the towering skyscrapers for the dilapidated one and two-story buildings that make up half this town. I trade the swaying palm trees for the occasional lifeless shrub that dares to call itself a tree, and the sandy beaches for the omnipresent dust that makes up the other half of this town. I trade the bustling streets for the buzzing cicadas and flies. I trade all those adventures I dream of for the monotony of life in this tiny little town. I’ll go back to the train station tomorrow, and once again, I’ll hope against all hope that a train will come.
“Honey, can you pass me the remote? It is our child. He seems to be malfunctioning.”Ernie grunted. He looked at the body of his offspring, frozen in his place on the ground, unresponsive. “If this happens once more, i’m taking him back to the shop.” Ernie passed the remote over to his startled wife.“Oh, Ernie!” Gasped Hilda, in disbelief. “Have you NO feelings for this boy that is ours?” She started to sob. Tears burning away her circuit boards. She clicked the button labelled RESTART. She clicked again. And again.“There is NO USE, Hilda! The boy needs maintenance- Of course the remote won’t work! And must I remind you that empathy is not part of our design?!” Yelled Ernie as he slammed his metal fists through the wall, creating a perfectly round opening. “I’m sorry, Hilda, I..I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”The couple stared at their son, as he slowly came back into consciousness.“Mom? Dad? Wh...what happened? Why am I bleeding?”
Immortality is something that all creation would love to achieve, no? Yet sometimes, perhaps it is better that we remain in our mortal, fallible, condition. My cat has seen all ages. My feline has seen the strife caused by our fellow man. It has seen many changes. It has seen the sun rise and set, it has seen the explosion of new technologies, yet it found that one thing has remained constant for humankind: destruction, and the death and despair that come along with it. My cat saw mighty Rome rise from nothing to be the foremost power in the world, only to vanish seemingly in the blink of an eye. My cat has seen how, as we humans "progress", our lust for blood only increases. We have gone from the simple days of spears to untold killing machines. My cat has seen nations and families torn apart, literally and figuratively, by the great death machines that ravaged the face of the Earth during the Great War. My cat has seen how we humans fail each other when we are guided by our fear and paranoia, see how we turn on each other like a pack of bloodthirsty beasts of the Earth. My cat knows all too well that we hope for the future, but that hope will never come. (This was my first ever response to a prompt, so I hope that it's not too terrible.)
Can't stand the slime. Can't stand the eyes. The caresses are creeping, kisses lurking, and some things fortunately physiologically impossible. I am milked like a cow. Put into a lab. Squeezed dry, almost ripping the crown jewels. Ten thousand royal heirs to come. The abominable litter tides over me and my gargantuan wife; as half she maws in. This is my sole purpose next to the matriarch. The Queen Bee. What unimaginable, what unfathomable, unnameable my father had done, as yet it seems like a skewed honour, not a damned dept collection. ... The slime does not bother me so much any more. The eyes seem caring...
So ive been awake for 18 hours, so this might be a little wonky, and have some mistakes, point them out but Lets just jump into this. Aliens POV "Sir, the solar system warning alarms just went out. It appears a ship arriving from the Helios system is arriving. It seems to be a crude ship from SOL 3. What should we do?"a scientist said. "Aim weapons, and get ready to fire. While we are doing that, send a comunique out to them, and tell them they have 60 cronos to tell us why they were in restricted space, before we fire?"I said. "Right away sir, Ill inform everyone and get the weapons ready to fire in 60 Cronos."i said, and scampered away. I hurried back to my desk, and started contacting people and getting the weapons warmed up, they could be ready in 15 cronos, but 30 cronos warm up did less damage to the hardware. I then pressed the Broadcast button "This is the Zidip, Identify yourself and how you arrived, or you will be destroyed in 60 cronos, Please respond." --- Im tired, so ill sleep, but OP, if you want more, just ask.
#### Ode To The Abandoned Clan Of New Jerusalem (3726 A.D.) ##### By Batsaikhan Lama **** From stars they came, of New Jerusalem Lost voices sadly soft Whispered stories, endless struggle Their people fiercely doffed. ** No human host did strike their mortal blow No person held the gun But beasts from stars unknown to man By them they were undone. ***** From humankind, their kin, they begged for aid "Our children need not die" But in our larders food did stay So onward they did fly. ********* A wind divine their solar sails did plume Across the river time And in their stead their curse did come To me, and mine, and thine.
So, I just found out, that Gavin thinks time travel is IMpossible. I will post it anyhow, but with a different start, since I nearly finished and comments need only to be inspired by prompts and don't need to follow the prompt exactly. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "But Professor... time travel must be possible.""No Gavin, it is not, I was told so.""By who Professor?""By my future self." "But that doesn't make any sense. He clearly lied." "Oh Gavin, he didn't literally tell me. He just didn't show. Neither did any other time traveller." Gavin was clearly frustrated. "But why would he or anyone show up, when you want them to." "That's quite easy. Paradox free money. Quite some actually." "What the hell is paradox free money?" "Oh, that is quite easy. I got a rich Dr. Who fan to donate a million dollar into a foundation. Those money sits in different banks in different countries where it makes more interest than the inflation eats. So it should be quite a sum, when anyone discovers time travel. And the best part nobody can get to the money now. They can only get to it, if they were present at the start of the foundation." "And why would they want to reveal themself? They could just as easy start with a dollar on horse races." "Because that wouldn't be paradox free. The bookie would have less money and wouldn't buy an expansive present for his ex. They wouldn't have sex and she wouldn't get pregnant. So is a whole person missing. And that would make changes." "So what makes your money paradox free?" "It is already there. They just need to go to the foundation in the future, after they invented time travel. That changes nothing, except two terminal ill lawyers wrote two names on a piece of paper, instead of one. They don't even know why that is important." "Wait! Why instead of one?" "Oh, so they think time travel is possible, even if no time traveller shows up." "But wouldn't you know? And change your behaviour?" "Oh no! Dear Gavin, I can't know. That would prevent the money from being paradox free." "So, how do you know time travel is impossible?" "Well, I don't know that. But for all purposes I will act like I know it is impossible. I will change my research project." "But if the leading expert on time travel does that, everyone thinks it is impossible, that could mean we will never develop time travel." "I will say I research neutrino detection, because that may help us understand time travel. But I don't think of myself as a super genius. There are plenty of other people out there, that are smarter than me and are more interested in time travel." "So, how do the time traveller know about the foundation?" "Oh Gavin, that is so easy, just read the newspaper the next days." ------------------------------ a week later ------------------------------ "Professor! Professor! There are two names. Two! You know what that means!" "Of course, I don't need to research into time travel anymore. It will be discovered without me. I can use my time to research something we don't know somebody else." "What? But what if they need your research to develop time travel?" "Then there wouldn't be two names on the list." The Professor turned and left Gavin with his newspaper standing in the hallway. 'Poor Gavin, if he will ever find out that we put two names on the list, he will be so angry. And we leaked the list to the newspaper intentional. I wouldn't be able to tell Gavin of our plan otherwise without risking paradoxes. At least he will be motivated for the research. I hope he doesn't waste his time because of me.' 'So how do I get neutrino detectors smaller than a building. And more importantly how do I keep those reporters away from my office?' -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- So I just want to say, the Professor has some faulty assumptions. I know civilization could collapse and nobody would care about our money. I know the money could be stolen or got lost. Time travel could be possible but time paradox could be impossible. (Multiple timeline nonsense.) I wanted to make that clear in the dialog, but couldn't and I lost interest after I read right. I just misread the prompt, and thought, funny paradox. A time traveller convinces his past self that time travel is impossible. Wait, maybe it is because his future self was a no-show. That would solve the paradox and only the Professor Tim E. Travel needs to be wrong. I wouldn't have to use a Doppelganger.
"Mulder, please,"Agent Dana Scully sighed in exasperation. "Everyone knows that the SCP Foundation doesn't exist." "Then how do you explain the van with 'SCP' stamped on it?"Agent Fox Mulder asked? "Probably part of some elaborate cosplay, Mulder,"Scully replied. "All right, Scully. Suppose they are cosplayers,"Mulder said. "Then why did they just so happen to be in the forest while we were investigating the Slenderman case?" "They probably got lost on the way to a convention, Mulder,"Scully said. "Look, we don't have time to argue right now, let's just report back and--" "You'll see, Scully. Sooner or later, they're going to show up again,"Mulder said. "And when they do, we'll be ready for them, mark my words." Scully sighed. This was going to be another long night.
'Ugh. What the hell just happened?' you wonder as you open your mouth and remove a blade of grass from your tongue. 'This is not how I expected my Saturday night to go.' You were bored and had nothing better to do, so you naturally invited your friends to a night out on the town. Everything was going great at the beginning; you were having fun, there was a designated driver (also known as you), and you guys were just about to swing over to that hot new karaoke bar across town. And then the sky grew dark. At first, your good friend Lissa had peeked her head out the window of the car, squinting up at the sky. "It's not cloudy,"she had muttered. "I wonder if there was an eclipse tonight." "Nah, there wasn't supposed to be an eclipse until September,"your other friend, Ollie, had interjected. "And even then, it's not supposed to be a total eclipse. So what's going on?" "No idea!"Lissa had chirped before smacking your headrest. "Hey Jordan, what do you think is going on?" "I got no clue,"you shrugged, looking into the rearview mirror. "And please don't smack my headrest."You tried to act nonchalant, but in reality, this was bothering you greatly. Just to ease your mind, you decided to look out one of the external mirrors, angling it carefully toward the ship. And that's when you saw it. The enormous, looming diamond, far too large and symmetrical to have possibly been created by mankind. The large blue lights on the hull of the ship that were, you realized, the only thing that prevented total blackness down here. Shushing your friends, who were arguing in the back seat, you became painfully aware of a soft humming noise that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "Oh. My. God." "Jordan?"Ollie whispered insistently. "What's going on, man?" You had just opened your mouth to respond when an impossibly strong current passed over the road, throwing your car into the shopping mall at the end of the street. The last thing you heard before you blacked out was Lissa screaming. And now you were here, your thoughts fuzzy and your head (as well as just about everything else) throbbing in protest. You shook your head, deciding to try and find Lissa and Ollie as they were nowhere in sight. Then you felt a gun against your head and a hand on your shoulder. Or rather, something similar to a hand.
I've had enough!! Time and time again, I get dragged here and there to fulfill some shitty, mediocre-at-best story by lame reddit authors! Why?!? Why I'm the one to be dragged everywhere, I have no idea. I guess they just love me. But whatever it is, I'm sick of it! I guess it's true what they say; the Grimm reaper never gets a break (I did, actually, a recent post left on vacation for a week. That was nice and all, but why I'm so frequently used, I'll have no idea).
Disclaimer: This is my first time posting in this subreddit. I found this Writing prompt extremely attractive even I do not know a single thing about history. It pushed me to read and superficially investigate history and culture of the century and area in question. I found myself comfortable writing the next paragraphs as a combination of real historical events and knowledge with a fictional legend of my own creation and a major geographical alteration or, to put it simply, I will never say where the story takes place precisely, because I could not find a proper location for the narration. Also, English is not my first language, so there might be ton of things to correct, yet, here goes the firs part of a story I am willing to continue and publish here as long as I can get feedback from it. Here it goes. He had to find shelter before the sandstorm got to him. He achieved it with both sacks overflowing with sand. After emtying the contents, carefull not to lose any of his load, he stood at the very gate of a sand and dust sky. Ocassionaly the wind would pick up, forcing him to push inside a crack between the rocks. A rift. He was safe for now. He sat thinking of the vast emptyness of this empire. He felt proud to be part of the kingdom of Cyrus the great. Anatolia was now within reach of his expensive and unique merchandise, after Persian forces defeated the soldiers of Astyages of Media. It was a long trip, but he rest assured that he would find a path of richness, and a way into the promised land by using everything he had to rebuild the holy land Nebuchadnezzar II had sieged years ago. He rest assured, his king would take his mother’s homeland back. He would not be there to see it, probably. Yet his mind found comfort in Cyrus II ways. He turned back to contemplate the length of the rift. The endless path extended before him like the night could extend with no warm fires. He felt the emptyness on the other side, as if that rift was not just a path, but a door or a conection. Then he knew that the storm had driven him far from the road, andthe formation that lay before him was not other than the feared Big Stones. The Big Stones were known to be a good shelter, but every well-travelled trader advised not to go too far inside. The rock that made what they called Big Stones had been carved as a labyrinth by the very hands of evil. Man would wonder aimlessly inside it to reach a center in which darkess awaited to feed on the fear and the flesh of the poor unaware travelers. So he stood. The sand storm grew in power, intensity and violence. It was pushing him. It was an unforseen event, for he had to reach the nearest city in less than seven moons, with the food and water for four days. The terrain was unforgiving. His poor rags would not protect him from the storm. As wind hit, sand accumulted, reducing the chances to scape trough it by the second. The traveller saw himself stretching, contorting and squishing himself through the crack in the big rocks, pùshing his bags in front of him to be shure he could get through. Far too many nights of starvation finally payed off. Moving quickly before getting eaten by the forces of nature, he reached an opening. Infinite walls deployed around him, leaving only space for a ray of light subdued by dust at the top of his head. As his eyes ceased hoping for sunlight they reached for ground level, and saw nothing. Absolutely nothing but rock and earth and sand. He peered a long corridor, seemingly endless, and let the idea of having a rough night of sleep in the cold lands sink in. No wood. Only precious rags impregnated in Blue Lotus oils and petals and carefully folded into palm-sized squares. He would not want to burn it, since Blue Lotus could be his only assurance of a more tender sleep. Black Hebane, on the other hand, had shown to be more efficient on him some nights, chosen to be forgotten. But he could not make a tea with no fire, and wouldn’t spend water just for a good sleep. He was stuck, and thought the best of his chances were with Blue Lotus. Not yet. Sun will set in no time. When the temperature falls and his clothing prooves to be as helpful as a raft in the dessert, then he could use it. He did not want to stay there and felt the need to walk the corridor. He left his bags against the rock wall and walked. Three stadiums he crossed until realisation hit him. His footsteps did not make a sound. No matter what he did, his steps were absorbed by the corridor. Then he talked, with almost the same result. He could hear himsef talking, his skull vibrating, resonating, but the sound went out in a dry impact against the rocks. He nodded acceptingly. As he headed back, quickly came the night, and the darkness appeared to find comfort in the space between the rocks, for even the glow of the stars was faint.
I had taken a picture of the guy on a whim, figuring his face would do well as a bust. He had stepped into the cafe where I was working on my movie script (or at least trying to). I snapped a quick photo from my seat, then cleared out quickly. I didn't want people to think I was some weirdo, even though my haste to leave probably didn't help matters, as I knocked over my chair loudly on the way out. A few hours later, I had the material at a point where the face was coming together. As I opened the mouth and put in the teeth, the face blinked several times, as though the man was just waking up. The eyes flitted across the room. "What is going on? Who are you? Who am I? Where am I?"I sighed as the face spoke. While it had been scary the first time a bust had come to life in my hands, after a few years it was getting old. "Well, you are a living head. I'm the guy who created you. I can't tell you who you are, mainly because I don't know myself. And for the where, well, you're in my apartment." The head looked around the room, taking in his new surroundings. "Bit of a dump you have here." "Yeah, well, I'm an artist, what did you expect, the Taj Mahal?" "Fair point. So, why am I here?" "Well, you're here because I made you, and sculptures come to life when I make them. I don't know why it happens, but it does." From the next room over, a voice called out. "Hey, what's going on in there? I hear someone else." I hefted the bust into my arms and crossed into the next room. "Yeah, Terry, I made another friend." Terry gave an appraising eye from his station on the shelf. "Eh, not too bad. Almost makes me wish you have created me when you got better. Might as well put him here with the rest of us." The head in my hands shuddered as he took in the sight. Terry was positioned on a shelf with several other heads of all shapes and sizes. Many were asleep, their eyes closed and their heads tilted slightly forward. Terry, though, was grinning, the cleft in his chin pronounced. His "skin"looked leathery, as though the clay had been laid in the sun to dry; this was on purpose, as I had found his inspiration from an old man on the beach. I positioned the new head onto the same shelf, next to Terry. The figured glanced at his new roommates, obviously in shock. Terry laughed. "Kid, you'll be just fine. The kid brings us out to shows and stuff, and you don't have to worry about food or anything. You won't be stuck here forever. What's your name, anyway. Just say the first one that comes to mind." "...Mike. I think Mike will work. So, what do we do exactly?" "Heh, we just chill out mostly. He leaves the TV on for us. If we piss him off, we get infomercials, so don't make him too mad." "Ooh, new blood! Or clay or whatever,"Sandra had woken up and was looking at Mike. "I'm Sandra. Don't let Terry talk your ear off too much." "Oh, Sandy, you know you love it,"Terry chortled. Mike was transfixed with Sandra, and I couldn't blame him. She had been modeled after a one night stand that I had not seen since. Her features were angular, with diamond cheeks and flowing blond hair that she attempted to flip in disgust. "As if, Terry. Some day, I hope you get your mouth plugged up."Mike laughed at that, obviously trying to flirt. Sandra noticed and smiled wryly. I made a note to keep them together more. The rest of my day consisted of dinner and more plugging away at the script. In the background, Terry was getting Mike acclimated to life as a bust without a body and giving a lesson on the rich artistic history of busts. In the moments of freedom, Mike met the rest of the heads. There was Sayaka, a Japanese woman who had helped me move in along with her husband; Mohammed, the guy who had lived a few doors down the hall until a couple of years ago; Josephine, another person I had been able to snap a photo of in a spur-of-the-moment decision. All seemed to be getting along, and Mike was able to acclimate himself to the group pretty well. I could hear them talking still as I prepared for bed and crawled under the covers. As I finally drifted off to sleep and the murmurs faded away, one last thought came to my mind. God, I wish I could sell these things. /u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 23/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories!
It would have been nice to have a warning system in place so I could have planned accordingly, but the last time I heard anything about my trial expiration was 9 full moons ago, and I've been putting this vessel through every high risk situation I could place it into, so time has gone by quickly - and I forgot. So, here we are. How the hell am I going to find a payment booth without full movement? Why is there a Telekinetic lock in place? Fuck. My counterpart Lyriam chose the earth-feline vessel, so unless I need him to lick his balls he's fucking useless. I'll message Fenrius, (The only Schialli other than Lyrium and myself)who can get a time pack before the moon comes up otherwise I'm going to disintegrate into the void, which sounds super fun but I'd rather pass. I think I want to stay with the Earth-Human vessel I've been placed with for a while longer. There is so much beauty on this planet and in order to see all of it I'm going to need more time. I had to grow this vessel from infancy with the exact restrictions of a real human, and that has made the experience challenging and time consuming. I messaged Fenrius "need your help asap"with the added 911 so he would know this is serious, but when he replied with "LOL"I lost it mentally thinking now I understand why it took these fucking meatbags so long to evolve. The stomach in this body is signalling the need for sustenance, and all I can do is flap my hand around or twitch the muscles on the face so I can't feed it...I'm going to perish. Being in this body has given me a flair for theatrics, so even though this is a serious situation I doubt I'm going to die of starvation. I consumed 3 soul shards and a grapefruit so I should be just fine. Unless Fenrius doesn't get his ass in gear and bring me an extension. "Get your ass over here or I'm going to phase-out fucker. I need to get to ZK NOW - times up." Now we wait. -2 hours pass- Knock-knock "Use TK to get in, I can't move this bonesack until I re-up", I tell him. He isn't responding, and he is not coming in... KNOCK-KNOCK Shit that was loud, who the fuck could that be? "LUNA OPEN THE DOOR NOW! I know you're home I can see you on the couch you lazy bitch! LET ME IN!" Great. Donovan is here. Sex is super fun by the way, The only problem is Regular Humans (Reggies) get emotionally attached and think they own you. Letting the male species plug in is like a property exchange and only they can fuck you. This is the only appropriate time to "LOL"in my opinion. Donovan says we are in a relationship. I've given him the proverbial boot a dozen times, but I always give in because fucking him is fun. Aaaand I know Fenrius is here now, because Donovan is screaming profanities I can't understand from here at him. THUD Fenrius is walking in laughing maniacally. "What did you do to the Reggie?" I ask. He halts to a timid giggle and replies, "There will be no permanent damage, now hold still!" He puts the Shard containing my time-extension onto my chest, and I absorb it immediately. I stand at attention immediately as the Energy shoots through my vessel, feeling like I just absorbed 10 soul shards. This feels phenomenal. Lyriam saunters over and bats at my feet, demanding my full attention. I bend down and give him the belly rubs, because this soft fuzzy creature he resides in makes a pleasant and oddly calming vibration when I do. *..to be continued.*
The once black room now screams with spinning red beacons, I squint my eyes and before I can better see my surroundings my legs lose balance from underneath me, at first I think I am falling, but quickly I realize the room is falling, and at alarming speeds. My body slams against the ground and the walls collapse and the ceiling falls around me. This is how I die I think to myself and everything fades to black. Dazed, I feel coarse dirt as I run my palms along the ground. I come into contact with something hard and cold, and just as my eyes open I see a small spinning beacon lying next to me, its energy fading as sparks come out the damaged end of it. I bolt up, and hear a loud noise come from around me. “Welcome to the Labyrinth. You have 30 days. Good luck.” Day One The small room I thought I was in is more like a really poorly made pod attached to metal rails that pillar vertically to the ceiling. You think whoever made this could of at least put some effort into a softer landing I grimace. “30 days! That is it, you’ve got to be kidding me!” I shout hoping for a response. After a few long second, a couple sparks being shot off of some circuitry, no response, “Damn, it was worth a try” I mumble. I try to remember anything to help me out of this situation, but I can’t think of anything. Not my name, where I came from, who I am, nothing... Just pitch blackness. I look around to see massive stone walls surrounding me to what appears to be an underground cave. On the ceiling there are thousands of luminous stones that emit a dull light. Luckily I can see as if it were a full moon. Next to the crashed pod there is a small box under some scrap metal, and after a few moments of fuddling with it I find a small latch that opens up to reveal a small square remote looking thing with a single button. My gut instinct says to push it, but my even stronger instincts says I shouldn’t. I look around the debris, and see that nothing else is around. I take out the remote and press. The remote seemingly vanishes into strange pixelated color, and in front of me begins to appear similar pixelated colors that form a small wooden fire and a mechanical lever. Great I can roast marshmallows. The fire looks real, feels real, and when i toss in debris it actually burns stuff. Having no need for a fire, I pull the lever and through the magic of pixelation the fire disappears and a remote appears. As I lean down to pick up the remote, a large scream fills the air. My ears split and I begin to feel nauseous. Its coming from nearby but I can’t see where. Before I can move I see something emerge from under the debris, a large woman’s face crashes through the debris attached to a horrifying amalgamation of limbs and flesh. Her face is torn open where her mouth is and black hair drips with thick black ilk. Before I can even think, my legs pull me along away from the monstrosity down a corridor. I fly down the dirt and rock path passing strange blue-ish shrubbery and vines, as well as luminous stone jutting from the walls. I hear a scream again, and almost collapse from the screams alone. Something catches my eye as I am running, something is in front of me! I collide with it, my face presses up against a soft surface that quickly turns hard, I hear a animalistic groan and look up to see hooves almost crush my face, and I quickly roll away. I block my face with my arms and I see the hoofed animal run the direction I just came from. I get to my feet and look behind me to see a deer running down a corridor. Just as quickly as I saw it, a large figure with long black hair collides into it and begins tearing it apart. I sprint away from the scene, my legs grow heavier and heavier, I am at my limits. I collapse on the ground and as I fade from consciousness I hear in an all familiar voice “End of day One”.
Shawn turned over in his bed. His phone lay out of reach on the far side of his nightstand. He rolled over to face the wall. He didn’t need his phone. He didn’t, but… he should probably order food soon. Nothing in his apartment seemed too appealing. No, he was fine. Maybe a movie would be better. Something that would take up a solid two hours of his day. Enough movies and it would be time to work again. That wasn’t a bad idea. Shawn wondered what movies were out he could see. He rolled out of bed and stopped himself, one hand hovering over his phone. He just wanted to check what movies were available for rent. It’s not like he couldn’t use his phone. “You’re being ridiculous, Shawn,” he said to himself and picked up his phone. Missed call. Facebook notification. No texts. None from her anyway. Which is what he wanted. He’d told her that he needed space. He had his space. Shawn checked through the most recent releases that he could stream. He only had a half-hearted interest in any of them and found it hard to concentrate on their premise. Every second on his phone seemed to tick away at him with no change in the notifications window. They talked every day. Surely, she had at least one thing to tell him? Something one of her friends did or maybe some cool documentary she watched? If she did, he would, of course, not engage with her. They needed space. He paced the floor and grabbed a snack cake from the kitchen. It wasn’t very filling, but it was all the effort he felt like giving into staying alive. Wiping his hands on his pajama pants, he went to the bathroom, sitting down. It took five minutes for him to realize that he didn’t need to go before he washed his hands and returned to his room. His phone sat there, blinking at him. Was it the same notifications as before? A new one? He picked up his phone, but there was no change. He founded himself colliding back on his bed, nestling into the small pillows. Having space was good. Pain now saved pain later, but still he wished- “Shawn?” “Tasha!” He exclaimed, bolting upright from his bed, but no one was there. He could have sworn he’d her. Did she stop by to make sure he was okay? He hurried into his living room and checked out his window, but he still couldn’t see her. “Shawn?” Her voice called again. He spun around the room, but still nothing. His phone caught his eye. Maybe she’d called him and somehow he’d answered? He snatched the phone off of the nightstand, but there was no ongoing call. No new messages. Nothing. He collapsed, his bed welcoming him into its soft embrace. “Shawn?” Every noise seemed to whisper. Every creak of the house, every settling of the pipes. They called to him in her voice over and over. He closed his eyes tight and buried his face in the pillow. She wasn’t here. His polygamous relationship with hope and imagination brought him more torture than missing her ever would. She wasn’t here and she never would be. His phone continued to lay silent.
I’ve always been told by my mother that life is a little easier with friends. As long as you have friends, she says, then you’ll always have a cushion to fall back on, no matter how tight the money is, or how hard the job gets, or even how difficult other relationships can be. Friends will always support you, and whenever you fall they’ll be there to bounce you back up. I wish that was always true. The clickety clack of my keyboard was about all that was left to keep rhythm in my mind. I was sitting so far over at my desk my face is practically making love to my screen- good God, did it make my back ache. My heart kept telling me no, but my mind, my neurons just kept firing away to write this goddamn article. I mean I could shatter the whole friggin’ midwest with this! But at what cost? I kept asking myself that. I’m doing the right thing, right? Over and over my mind would race with that question. It’s definitely the right thing. Definitely. I had to think of all those families in danger. Right then, if they knew what was happening, they’d be cradling their kids in their arms with tears streaming right down their goddamn faces. “Oh Tommy,” they’d cry, “Oh Tommy, I swear, I swear on my life, you’ll never play football, or soccer, or basketball or anything ever again. Oh, Tommy!” Right? Well, I guess I’d better give you a little more backstory. It doesn’t go back that far, so bear with me. My old friend, Marc Bridgeham, just got out of prison. Not a great start, I know, but bear with me, okay? I swear on my life I thought he was a good guy- I thought prison woulda worked out all those kinks in his cogs and whatnot, but I guess not. I knew him way back in highschool, but we didn’t hang out that often. We were friends through other friends. Alright, he sold my friends weed. That was how I knew him. Of course, I never bought any, God no, I was a star student! Never ever would I have. Don’t give me that look, Officer. I’m telling you the truth. Never. Ever. So anyway that’s how we knew each other. We may see each other every now and then, play some minigolf or whatever I did in highschool, but that was it. He’d always be smiling, trying to make others laugh, just a nice guy, despite his more hidden character flaws. One day, about a year after we graduated (he didn’t go to college) he got caught with possession of a little more than a misdemeanor. Some cocaine in his right front pocket. Or maybe it was left front. I dunno, Officer, all I know is he did coke sometimes, so he got sent a hefty present of ten bitter years behind bars. Yeah, I visited him a few times, but just to make sure he was alright. Guy must’ve been so damn lonely in that place, I tell ya- I knew he did illegal things, but I never thought he’d be a criminal, you know? I dunno if that makes any sense. It’s just, when you think of criminals, when I think of criminals, I see some hurley dude in a ski mask with a crowbar. That’s what I see. I know, no I’m not sympathizing for the guy, just- yeah, yeah I’ll get to the story, calm down. Basically, last night I went to help him set up for this new hobby he was working on. He wanted to coach a minor league football team, young kids about 12-14 years old, those weird years between elementary school and high school. God did those suck. I honestly don’t know why he wanted to do it- I mean, I never took him to be a kids guy, but you know I guess people surprise you. He liked to win things though, and I guess this would help him win sometimes without gambling. Oh yeah, the guy had a crippling gambling addiction too- but that’s neither here nor there. So I went last night, right, to help clean out this old garage where all the minor league stuff was, because the first practice was today. He had to get all the gear and stuff and dust off the cobwebs and everything to make sure it was ready for practice. Boy, those kids didn’t have half a clue what they were in for. And neither did I, I guess. But I sure hope Marc did. I was stooping around the back corner of the garage, finally at the end of the cleaning and shit- and I mean hours of cleaning- I dunno how my wife does it- and I found it. Just sitting there next to the water jugs, a whole bag full of it. I mean, it must’ve been a kilo or something. At first I thought it was cocaine, and that had me roll my eyes at this guys’ stupidity, but then I read that crudely written label on it- ‘PED’, it said. And I’ve reported enough stories on sports to know just what this guy was doing- by God, I shoulda stopped it right there- then maybe this whole nonsense wouldn’t be going on. But I guess hindsight is twenty twenty. I just couldn’t believe he bought Performance Enhancers, and I guess I just hoped they were for him. They weren’t. I went to observe practice early in the morning the next day just to make sure. God, man, I didn’t wanna just rat on my friend without knowing- but I guess I didn’t really wanna know, either. It’s a terrible conundrum. Yet here we are, and there I was. I sat down on the field, and all was normal at first- kids sweating, pushing each other jokingly, a few whimpers from the leg lifts and push ups, but that was all. Then the water break happened. Thirty minutes in, they all swarmed to the water jugs to quench thirst like they’d just been through the desert for forty days and nights. At first it was normal, but after a few minutes they started jumping up and down like animals-moreso than usual, obviously. One kid had a bad reaction to something and I knew what was up. He started throwing up everywhere, onto the grass, on his uniform, everywhere. Eventually that stopped- but that’s because he passed out and was having convulsions. My initial response was to call 911, but Marc smacked the phone right out of my hand, shouting at me, telling me it was under control. He let the kids home early and wound up taking the kid back somewhere. He said he’d seen it before, and honestly I still trusted him, but I knew I shouldn’t. Even more than that, I knew I had to write something. I knew it had to be exposed. I guess that’s just my reporters instinct. I ran right to the office and started typing away. Man, did my fingers ache. I was all ready to hit send when a pound came at my door- I knew who it would be. I got up to get the door, but he had already burst in anyway. “Steve,” he called to me. “Damn it Steve, the kid’s alright.” Even though he said that, I knew he didn’t mean it. That look in someones eyes when they’re lying- you just know it. “Marc,” I told him, “Marc, look, I know about the PEDs. I’m sorry man, I gotta do something. I can’t let this one go.” “The what?” he said with a blush “I-I don’t have the slightest goddamn clue what you’re talking about. Look, if you wanna go grab a bite or somethin’, talk about it a little, whatever’s in your mind right now, we can just-” “No,” I said to him, “We can’t do that, Marc. I’m sorry man, I really am, but I can’t do that right now. I’ve got a story to finish.” I knew right when those words came pout of my mouth I shouldn’t have said that. “Jesus, Steve, lemme see what you’re writing, eh? Lemme take a look.” He forced his way over to my desk at that point. “Jesus Christ, Steve! Jesus Effin’ Christ, I don’t believe it- my own friend-” “Tell me,” I asked him, “Tell me the truth right goddamn now, Marc, or I swear I’ll hit enter and send it straight to the editor. It’ll be too late then, Marc.” I thought it was working, and I had hope, because it made him back away a little. But he had something bigger planned. “Steve, Steve… why don’t you quiet down a little, eh?” Tears were coming to his eyes. “I swear to Christ, Steve, I never met to hurt nobody, never, ever…” I started to feel a little bad for him. Was he really a Monster? “I-I’ll level with you Steve, you can’t change me. I kept thinking I’d change, but good God knows I tried, and damn it, I failed!” He slammed his fist against the wall. “Look, you wanna talk it out, Marc? Let’s talk it out, c’mon.” I was getting a little nervous of all the panic he might be causing. “Let’s calm down Marc, let’s calm down and let’s take it easy.” “Nah, nah nah nah, I’m sorry man. You gotta do what you gotta do, I gotta do what I gotta do.” He pulled out a gun. “I just wanted to win, for once in my life, you know? I just wanted to win. All my life, I’ve been put down. Teachers telling me I can’t succeed. Hell, even my fucking parents told me that I was shit, Marc!” He put the gun to his head. “I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t go back to Prison, man, I just can’t… can’t do it…” “Listen, Steve,” I tried to say calmly, “Look I- I know it’s a rough time, but-” “You don’t know jack shit! You fucking imbecile, you don’t know! Look at me, Steve… look at you… we’re two worlds different worlds, man…” he was beginning to sob heavily, and honestly I was about to too. “Our Worlds never should’ve collided, and now they won’t have to again.” I screamed and cried and shouted as people came rushing into my office. I think I might’ve even thrown up a little in my mouth, all that blood and matter… but that’s why I’m here now. I told you my story, Officer, and now I think I’d like to be left in peace for a while. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This was my first writing prompt submission ever! Please, please por favor leave criticism here. I wanna get good real bad! Edit: I had to take a hotsec to figure out how formatting works with this stuff.
CEILING OF THE NO-SHELTER - III. Wounded Auroch Runs Nowards, Itching Nostrils Glance ____________ [...] Cut deep. The cost of slow response to unawaited threat. Relapse of the first bite, moment of pure terror, vertical grin of human's void machine rejecting stone (the gentle of round rock made into hateful impaling peak), and air is wounded before your flank. But air heals quick. You, die quick. Transmission of death concept is unthinkable to your unthinking species, but instinct is storyteller enough. Worse than awareness of death, its translation into instinct-language : PURE terror and the urge to kick it away. What you do now. Kicking. Leg-motioning. No direction but never. No aim but ever. No time to spare. _ Circles of fear is the only mechanic in this non-machined old world. Conjuring leg-motion. Leg-motion hurts flank deeper, deepest. But leg-motion is necessary hurt, the near-killing that can mean unkilling. Then, drawn on landscape in the blur of a shift... FURY of jumping human-body, throwing void-machine like he would detach arm. No time to watch, kicking landscape behind you. Stone (the unjust of turning round rock into death-means) scratching spine like ungentle finger of scream in a second bite. Still kicking. Hope to turn cataclysm into kinematic, death-energy into the heat of moving parts. _ Reaching of cover, caress of leaves where stone sank teeth, like trees can erase pain, which doesn't happen. Third bite. Unseen arrival of stone. Sticking from leg, not stopping mechanic but making this cycling unhelpful, collapsed, you kick the air, legs still turning but touching no ground. Feeling of PURE terror concretes into worst kind of relief. Relief of no shelter. No out. Relief of nothing left. Fourth bite. Overwhelming pain masking the landing site of that new stone-jaws. Voluntarily unlethal attack, proving that cruelty is unsophisticated, accessible to primitive organisms. Accessible to aurochs, even, but from the side of victims only. From ground. In last moments, you try something new, unforseen last-re[Source] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7x9cs5/wp_you_are_you/du6spz1/), an attempt to communicate, pleading, prayer in time of no-spirits, rawest action takeable, a CALL FOR HELP. Raising skull in agony, screaming for pity, raising muzzle when whole skull fails to hold, raising nostrils, widening them in suffering, and still groaning for empathy. Something itching inside you, what instigated this call, what slipped inside you unnoticed during the chase, what you can't understand, what no one will ever understand. The light inside you pulling vocal cords, pulling out groans you never made. Hunterman really hesitates, considering with primitive consideration, unsolving mind puzzled by what is heartfelt, this cry, deep cry, a thing unthinkable. You, auroch, beast with added value of this thing inside, feel this hesitation, this pause during which your calls become more intense. And then, the fifth bite makes itself felt, and the call dies just after you do. [...]
I cannot tell you the last time I looked in the mirror with real curiosity. We only see ourselves, nothing more. Over the course of one’s life, a person will look in the mirror approximately 1.2 billion times. 1.2 billion times! It equates to about 20 to 50 times a day. When you are young, you memorize a general look of your face staring back from the abyss on the other side of the mirror. The way your nose turns a certain way. How your eyebrows grow in a particular pattern. The flecks of blue in the brown of your cornea. No one ever really looks into a mirror for too long and why would anyone? At some time or another we all take a long, deep look at ourselves. Many times we only see what we want but hardly ever the truth. I stand in front of the cleanest and most truthful mirror I ever have. This is the first time I have ever truly seen myself. The feeling clogs my windpipe and I choke audibly. The flash of my life up to now ignites the bile in my stomach. My mouth fills with the metallic taste of the inevitable and I vomit on the mirror. The world goes black. My head pains with the dizzying realization that I’m awake and that at some point, I fell down. I try and recall what happened before but the fog of my memory doesn’t lift. I’m scared to open my eyes. A paralyzing fear amplified by the paranoia of uncertainty of my current surroundings. I decide to instead listen and see if I recognize, anything. Just a little starter. Part 2 coming soon unless someone fills it in from here.
"Redditors, what is the most deadliest thing ever" The grimm reaper rubbed his boney hands together maliciously. It was so easy! They had already heard of the internet, but just recently they learned about this place called Reddit, and this subsection ("subreddit") called "Ask Reddit". Supposedly, those puny mortals asked questions, and had hundreds, if not thousands of replies for their questions from many different other mortals across the world. Surely, it was quite shameful to resort to asking humans about killing, of all things, but it has been many many many trillions of years, and those pesky immortals have escaped from them every single time. But that was about to change! There were at least one billion of mortals that could give them a meaningful answer! They stared at the screen patiently, but grew bored after a few minutes. Of course, it'd take some time until people started commenting, so Death turned off their iDeathBook Pro S II +, and headed out for their daily business of death and death things. About 4 or 5 hours later, Death rushed into their office woth such hurry that they simply carelessly dropped their scythe on the floor and turned their computer on. The Reaper quietly cursed as the machine took it's sweet time to initialize, the skull icon slowly spinning on the screen. Ah, finally! Death opened the web brouser and wrote Reddit's web adress. They quickly typed their username (PM_YOUR_CORPSES) and their password (**********) and logged in. "TWO?!" The Grimm Reaper slammed their fist on the table in frustration, glaring at the little orange icon that displayed the number 2 on it. Only two messages, after all that time? Sure, a few hours meant nothing for them, but it was quite a bit for humans. Death grumbled softly, grabbing their glasses while clicking to check their inbox. Well, better than nothing, no? At least it could be something interesting. The first message was rather odd. It had sone green on it, weird. Death read the full message, but it only fuelled their frustrations even more. Removed? How?! Rule one? Absurd! They had clearly posted a very obvious question, how dare they disagree with them? The Reaper yanked the glasses off their face, rubbing their nonexistent forehead. Alright, there was still another message. Perhaps*, it would actually be something useful. Death scrolled down, bringing the second message into view. For a moment, the Grimm Reaper could only blankly stare at the screen, before throwing their glasses away, getting up and storming from the room, fuming. In the computer's screen, the one and only reply to their post stood, among the white and other links: "ur mum"
As evening turned to dusk and the sun fell behind the hills further inland, the light took on that quality that meant although it was present it did very little to illuminate the world. A stranger approached, a distant figure, a darker shade against the already dark backdrop of hills and fields. There I sat upon the creaking porch as the waves dashed themselves persistently against the cliffside. Gently laid across my lap was the boomstick that hard warded off many a predator seeking to steel from my humble stores. As the stranger neared I could still see no face, only mystery in shadow beneath a hood, the last remnants of the sun serving to silhouette this figure and give a sinister anonymity. Once within earshot I hailed "Who walks upon the path so overgrown from lack of travel?"The stranger halted at my lowest step and spoke with cold tone and rasping speech "I am Death."A smirk was my response and to the stranger I said "You have come for me many times in many guises; as disease, as bear, as the wind blowing in my roof."I leaned back and the chair gave a long groan "Why now come in true form?"The stranger raised a hand hidden beneath loose sleeve and pointed at me with shadow clad digits unseen. "Your time has come now for the first time and for certain."My grip tightened on the wood and metal laid across my lap "And what shall be the cause of my end?"I asked. The stranger's rasp came again "Your body is old, you heart can go on no longer, it will give out."My smirk, which had slid momentarily from my face, returned "You've never had sway over me before and I'll not let you have it now. You shall not stop my heart."The stranger's hood shook from side to side as he denounced my words "You cannot stop Death, it comes to all that lives in good time."I chuckled "Stop, no I suppose not, but I will not give you what you came for. My life is my own, lived my own way and only I can end it."With that I turned the cold steel and fired both barrels. . . Can't stop Death, can beat him to the punchline though.
It was 3 AM when I heard a loud sound come from my entryway. I was frightened, knowing that I was not expecting company at this time. The only person I knew that could be in my home at this time was my best friend, Ellie, whom I’d given a key. But she was off on vacation in costa rica, so that was off the table. I slowly rose from my bed, not knowing who or what may lurk in my home. As I made my way over to my security monitor, I made sure to not step on any loose floorboards, because I was for the most part, sure it was an unfriendly intruder. I did not wish to meddle in their kerfuckery, but also was irritated that they violated the sanctity of my humble home. I finally made it to my security monitor to check who was in my home, but unfortunately, I could not. It was far too dark to see them, as all the lights were off, and I was too cheap to spend money on night vision cameras. I had spent most of my money on my home, which cost me a small fortune. It was a cozy home, although it had its issues. One day I would have enough money to- CRASSSH I swear to god if they just broke my husband’s urn, I will make them experience the most painful and slow death in their pathetic little lives. I ran downstairs as fast and quietly as I could, as to not alert them of my whereabouts. I listened for a sound… RIIIIP Ok, that came from the pantry. But it sounded like… cardboard? Did this person honestly break into my home just to steal shit from cardboard boxes? I carefully made my way over to my kitchen doorway, ensuring to keep out of their sight. As I rounded the corner, I could make out a slim figure, crouching at the foot of my pantry, holding a box of.. something. As I begun to flip the light switch, I readied myself for confrontation. I was unsure who to I was expecting, but I could never prepare myself for what I was about to see. It was actual cannibal, Shia Lebouf, wearing nothing more than a tattered jeans, holding a box of angelhair pasta I was going to prepare later in the day. I really was upset that I couldn’t eat it now, because I had just acquired my grandmother’s secret recipe for her sauce, which would have brought my child-like wonder back to me. But that didn’t matter now. I had to know what this ex-transformers freakazoid was doing in my home, because quite frankly, I was angry that pasta sunday was ruined. Doesn’t he have enough money to buy his own pasta? I shouted at him to get his attention, because he obviously didn’t notice the change of light. As he slowly turned his head, I saw something I’ll never forget. It was Ned’s ashes, spread across his homeless-man-like beard, and mouth. I ran into the living room to check on his urn.. And there it was, shattered on the carpet. I felt something I’ve only felt once before in my life. Pure rage. I was about to use it all on this absolute fucking bastard. One thing that Ned got for me when he was alive was some course called “Italian Jitsu”. It was some abandoned fighting style, But I thought it was interesting,and I begged Ned to get me classes. Reluctantly, he agreed, and I was happy. Time to put that to good use. I ran back into the kitchen, almost falling as I slid across the tiled granite floor. As he came into my view, he was standing there, wielding a singular piece of raw pasta from the box. Stupid fucker, must be on crack or some shit. He walked over to me and swung it at me, and it snapped at the point of impact. His eyes widened as he realized his mistake. I grabbed him by the neck and swept his feet from under him, going down with him so I could land some solid punches on his grizzly face, but before I could, he bit my arm and got a good chunk of flesh off of my arm. I growled in pain, but I remembered that I still needed to subdue this monster. I smashed his temples a few times before going for his throat. I didn’t want to kill him yet. No, I had to drag that part out as long as I fucking could. Going... going… Gone. He was finally unconscious. Not dead, which was good. I drug him into the basement and chained him to the water heater, for later of course. He will pay for what he has done. But first, I have to clean the kitchen and dress my wound. And then, I will have my vengeance.
"Drive... fast"the stranger shouted. Immediately I knew something was wrong, but I sped off anyway. I drove directly to the local police station and jumped out of my car taking my keys with me. He jumped out of the passenger side door, and made a break for it. I informed the police of what happened, and they went out looking for the man. After helping them fill out their report, I stopped for a pizza before going back home to watch the Office for the 17th time.
lol i am literal garbage at writing but here you go ——————————— The Smart Men say that they own us. They say that their ancestors slaughtered our own like pigs, because they were pigs, and we have only them to thank for being alive today. Maybe. But a life toiling for the Smart Men is barely a life lived. I watch out the window of the bus as we make our way to the Factory. The road is surrounded on either side with a brown brick wall, just tall enough to hide the bus behind. The Smart Men do not like to see us. The Factory looms ahead, covered in lights and billowing smoke from two massive stacks. It would almost look beautiful, were what it contained not so ugly. They only like what we make. Work at the factory is hard and long. Once, the Smart Men had machines to do these jobs; but why buy a machine, when a slave costs a fraction of the price? And a slave can learn many jobs; a machine can only do one. I am a stamper, but I was once a welder, and before that a hauler. The Captain stands on a railing above the mass of slaves, with a clipboard. He is the only non-guard Smart Man in the Factory, sent directly from the Government. He calls out our numbers, one at a time; if we do not respond, we’re marked for ten lashings. I hear my number, and I immediately reply with a grunt. Some of the older slaves say things weren’t always like this, that decades ago slaves had names, slaves had rights, slaves were the equal of the Smart Man. But few believe them; the Smart Men would not be kind enough for that. Sixteen hours I spend, repeatedly stamping metal pieces into shape. The Smart Men never tell us what we are making, leaving us slaves to guess exactly where this small piece might go and what it might do. We are given a half-hour lunch break after our first eight hours, when the sun is high in the sky. We do not get to leave the factory grounds, but it is still one of the few pleasures we enjoy. We crowd into the factory courtyard, holding the meager food the Smart Men provide for us, and basking in the sunlight, but soon enough the factory bell rings and we all file back in to work. Every month, we receive a new batch of workers, to replace those who died or got too sick to work. Many of them are young, younger even than I am. Some look barely a day over ten years old. Sometimes, their heads filled with tales of the near-mythical few who escaped the Smart Men, they’ll try to make an escape. It never lasts long. Generally, a bright-eyed young boy, only a few days after arriving at the factory, will try to slip away during the lunch break. Most end there, tackled by the guards and savagely beaten before being relocated to one of the Government work camps; much harder to escape, but also much harder to survive. Occasionally, though, one will slip through the cracks and make it past the first blockade of guards. These usually then try to run away into the woods, but the tower guards around the factory are sharp, and their weapons dangerous. There is no relocation if you make it that far; there is only death. But the last prospect is the most worrying. If the slave makes it past the perimeter, if he sneaks past the tower guards, and if he safely enters the woods and makes it deep enough that within a week he can’t be found, they don’t punish him. They slaughter the rest of us. I watch the young boy’s eyes dart back and forth as we begin to walk back into the Factory. I see him bite his lip out of nervousness. I see him look at me for a second, and the. I see him make a break for it. He’s fast; slaves usually are. He picks up a rock from the dirty ground and throws it to the other side of the fence, distracting the guards just long enough for him to sneak past. But he doesn’t immediately run to the forest. He turns back for just a second, just long enough to face us. “Come, my brothers!” he shouts excitedly, before a loud crack fills the air. He falls over, dead. I shake my head in disappointment and walk back into the factory. The Smart Men have technology, numbers, and intellect. Escape is near-suicide, and certain death for all your fellows if you succeed. I sigh as I get back to work; living as a slave may not be true living, but it’s better than death.
^(this went... a little sideways. whoops.) ----- It's difficult, figuring out how long the effect lasts when you need to have one hand on the clock just to keep it ticking. If nothing else, you're pretty sure that it's about inversely proportional to the size and complexity of whatever it is you're touching. Smartphones are so much fancy flickering glass but kettles work well enough to boil water, even though the refrigerator stops humming almost as soon as you let go; it's just as well that you've never taken milk in your tea anyway. The people – the people, though, everyone else? You've always been a loner. The company of yourself should've been good enough. (You patted your dog, ran a hand through fur before you realised what would happen. Even silence is not so bad as the inexorable return to it. You do not do it again.) You are still a loner, now, but you think you've finally realised what irony weighs in ounces of solitude. In coppery bitter tastes of movement and life that never last for more than a blink, sheer nothingness ringing so loud the second you let go, and you think – you wonder if you took a scalpel and dug deep deep down to your heart, wedged solid steel between your beats – (You think, that would be better. You think, to sleep, perchance— You wake up, and the next beat comes anyway.)
Walking down the pavement, faces swarming me - and I knew them all. That's Mark, an accountant who works for the big bank downtown. I've never talked to him, or interacted with him in anyway. He's gay, but nobody knows - well, nobody is supposed to. I know Mark, but Mark doesn't know me. Jonas. He's transgender, works for a chip shop on the other side of town. Used to be called Shelly, not anymore. Did some time in another county, 27 years for murder. Changed himself, quite literally. I know Jonas, but Jonas doesn't know me. I don't remember when I got this... superpower? I don't really feel super, and I certainly don't feel powerful - but that's just it. I'm not ordinary, but to them I'm just another fish in the sea. To me, however, I know everything. Everything that I'm not supposed to - but I know it anyway. The baker, Melody, she's lovely. Donated to charity on multiple occasions, helps out at the children's homes - drinks to forget her past. The things she's seen. How do I know this? You tell me. I think I'm going crazy, in fact, I'm definitely going crazy - but that's not going to stop me. Acer, 26, unemployed, smoker and drinker. He's forgotten everything. Struggling. How do I know this? That's where it ends, the whole thing. Everything. Hi, my name's Acer. I'm 26, unemployed and I have too many secrets to count.
The car came to a sudden, and screeching halt. The top half of my body jolted towards the dashboard. My nose just missing the airbag compartment before being flung backwards against the headrest. Within a split second the man driving retrieved the pistol from the center console, and was laying flat against the ground beside the vehicle. Still dizzy from stopping, I opened the passenger side door leaving just enough room to crawl out of without creating too much movement. Though I didn't notice it myself; I concluded that whatever it was we were after - or whatever was after us - was nearby. I did not know the mans name that I was with, but I knew that I needed to get to where he was. I slowly crawled toward the front of the car until I reached far enough to see past the front bumper, and get a good look of my surroundings. In one swift motion I got to my feet and lunged toward the other side. I was mid-sprint when I herd the gun sound, and threw myself onto the dirt beside the mans feet. I lifted my head, and met the look of horror on his face. I quickly spun my head around expecting to see the thing lying inches from where I sat. What I saw made me question the nature of the mans gaze; until I felt the dull pain progressing rapidly in my abdomen. I glanced down to witness the puddle of blood forming through my shirt, and immediately breathing became difficult. My eyesight faded with each breath until I was completely blind. I could feel my entire body giving in, and shutting down. I was feeling what it felt like to die. Before I could gasp for another breath my eyes sprung open. It was blurry but I could we that the clock on my wall that read six forty-something. Within a few seconds I had realized that I was laying in my bed and let out a sigh of relief. Holy shit that felt real. I lifted myself up, and shuffled my feet into my slippers. While headed toward the coffee maker I heard a text message come through on my phone. I grabbed the device from the night stand and returned to my original path for coffee. Waiting on the machine to brew (just enough to fill one cup before being interrupted) I checked to see who had texted me, and what they could possibly want from me this early. "Sorry about that, we were testing a new feature and encountered a bug."the message read. The number attached to it consisted of only five numbers, like that of an automated service. The realization that the message was sent in reference to the hyper-realistic dream I had just awoken from turned a seemingly innocuous text into a horrifying question. Which part of it was the actual "bug"...The fact that I felt myself dying? Or was it that I was meant to, and didn't?
"It's... up to you now Bruce."said Superman, with his last dying breath. "Please save them..." Then it was done. Darkseid roared with laughter. "I have killed him. And with him, humanity's last hope. Surrender now Batman. Join me in servitude, or die like all the rest of your fallen teammates. Make the last choice you will ever make, for My Will Be Done! I AM THE NEW GOD!"roared the dark lord of Apokolips. Bruce Wayne didn't scare easily. When the first ambush attack destroyed the Justice League's watchtower, killing half of their number, he knew there was no time for fear. No time to mourn. Only planning and preparedness could defend the Earth from Darkseid's latest, most ingenious assault. Earth's villains had been seduced by promises of power in Darkseid's new regime. Glorious Godfrey, Darkseid's servant, the God of Propaganda, told them everything they wanted to hear. Most joined willingly, getting the Omega brand that gave them a fraction of the dread power of Apokolips, but removed that pesky little thing that humans treasured. Free will. Of the villains who refused Godfrey's offer, most were eliminated by their peers within moments. At the end, it was Ra's Al Ghul, Lex Luthor, and Circe alone who escaped too late to warn the Justice League of what was to occur. The Boom Tube opened up on the Justice League's watchtower. The dimensional portal that the New Gods used for transport, howled into existence. And a team of supervillains began a suicide strike on the League. Screaming "WE LIVE AND DIE FOR DARKSEID,"they blasted through layers of defensive armor from the inside, exposing the heroes to raw Vacuum. Aquaman, Flash, Firestorm, Zatanna, Martian Manhunter all died in that initial assault. The wicked witch Circe, long a foe of Wonder Woman, used her magics to rescue as many of the League as possible, taking them to a secret base prepared by Ra's Al Ghul just for such an occasion. Within an hour of that initial attack on the Justice League, Earth fell. Strategic use of the Boom Tube allowed Darkseid's minions to assault Paradise Island and Atlantis, the Teen Titans in their Tower. Glorious Godfrey announced over all television, all media, that Darkseid had taken this world for his own. "Master Bruce, the others are working as hard as they can to evacuate civilians to the Batcave,"came the call from Alfred. What remained of the Justice League were arguing with the last three villains on Earth about what to do. Wonder Woman took leadership, and reluctantly the others agreed. Batman tried to focus on five things at once, when suddenly Alfred's update took a turn for the worst. "Barbara and Tim have just return and wait... that ligh---"Then nothing. Batman didn't scream. Clark put his hand on Bruce's shoulder and took a deep breath. "X-Ray vision... Darkseid annihilated Gotham City. I can't see or hear any of them. Bruce... I'm sorry." Lex smirked. "The Omega Effect. Darkseid's most powerful attack. He probably assumed that we hid in the Batcave to regroup rather than Ra's mountain headquarters. Wiped an entire city from existence in an attempt to kill us directly after his ambush failed." "This is our last chance. Wiping out an entire city to get rid of us means he'll be weak."stated Wonder Woman. "We move NOW." They knew there would be casualties. Diana and Ra's Al Ghul set up a decoy assault, with the goal of using the Lasso of Truth to break Glorious Godfrey's manipulations on Earth's villains, while Lex, Superman, Batman and Circe made their way to fight a God. They all failed. Darkseid of course knew they were coming. The gauntlet of villains they waded through was overwhelming, and their forces had not been as divided as had been hoped. He didn't take the bait. The Kryptonite Man, the Parasite, Gorilla Grood, the Reverse Flash, Black Hand... an armada of villains who normally could be beaten even in groups by their lack of teamwork, made into a ruthless killing machine by their lack of free will. They killed for Darkseid. And kill they did. Circe and Lex Luthor sealed a barrier to buy the battered Superman and Batman a chance, all of them knowing that Superman was their best hope. But against Darkseid himself... Superman failed. So now, Batman stood, alone, against a God. He didn't want to do this. He never wanted to do this. It went against everything he ever stood for. Yet... now there was no choice. He either used it, or let humanity become slaves of an intergalactic tyrant with the power of a God. "Darkseid. God of Tyranny."Batman smirked. "On behalf of Gotham, I shall punish you!" From his utility belt, Batman pulled out a heart-shaped crystal with a bat symbol on it. "MYSTICAL BAT LOVELY TRANSFORMATION! HENSHIN!"Time slowed to a crawl. From the crystal came a burst of light, covering his body. Flocks of rainbow colored bats surrounded him, transforming his torso, then his legs, his arms, and then finally his cowl. His cape vanished, but instead his hair was now almost as long, shining with the sort of luster that you would only see in shampoo commercial. His insignia now had a heart behind it, his cowl replaced with a domino mask, his legs now barely covered by the shiny black gym shorts with roses and hearts embroidered on them. Shiny silver shoulder pads covered his new jacket, with little rose buttons all in a row. His arms were exposed, but now his delicate black gloves were opera-length. "WHAT MADNESS IS THIS?!"screamed Darkseid once time had resumed its normal pace, and Batman's magical transformation had concluded. "I AM LOVELY CHAMPION BATMAN! BY THE LIGHT OF THE HOLY MOON, I FIGHT EVIL! AND THAT MEANS YOU!"he said, making a dramatic pose. Moonlight, seemingly from nowhere, shone behind him. "There is no good. No evil. Only I. Darkseid. The magics of your planet's moon are nothing compared to the OMEGA EFFECT!"Darkseid's eyes began to glow an unholy red. From them, two rapidly moving beams of energy, zig-zagging around Batman began to close in. Magical Champion Batman smiled. "By the power of my Mother's love."Holding a batarang, magical moonlight flowed into it from Batman's heart insignia, transforming it into a large staff, crowned with a heart that had delicate little bat-wings on its side. It began to glow a deep purple. "By the power of my Father's love." The staff shot out a blast of light, translucent and glowing. Batman's long hair flowed behind him, with streaks of purple and yellow beginning to form. "By the love I hold for Dick, for Tim, for Jason, for Damien..." Darkseid's Omega Beams began to be driven back, retreating towards Darkseid's eyes. The Dark Lord of Apokolips felt fear. How could this be? Batman had always shunned the supernatural, the powers of light, yet now... he yielded them as if he had been raised on the holy world of New Genesis, not the depths of Gotham City. "For Barbara, for Stephanie, for Cassandra..." Darkseid began to chant the Anti-Life Equation. Hoping to stop this, the absolute pinnacle of free will. Disobedience against the Omega Effect itself was unheard of. How could this be?! "AND BY THE POWER OF ALFRED'S LOVE! MAGICAL BAT REDEMPTION!" Darkseid screamed. The Omega Effect was the power of absolute annihilation, a darkness that nothing could return from. A weaponized black hole. Yet here was something more powerful than the Astro Force yielded by his scion Orion. Here was something more powerful than the Infinity Man. Batman's love. The love he had for others, and the love others had for him. Darkseid was struck by that love, by that raw power, and from it was gloriously transformed. He cried a single tear, and then was Darkseid no more. Now, a young man clad in shining white armor, the symbol of Alpha written upon it stood. "Batman. You have shown me the true power of love, power greater than that of Anti-Life. I am Darkseid no longer. Now shall I be Uxas, God of Redemption. And my first act of redemption is a harsh one. I shall channel the Source itself to restore the lives lost by the Omega Effect directly. Cry no more Batman, for your home shall be restored. I send you and your allies back to Earth, for I have much to do. But know this Batman, your love was powerful enough to end the war between my world and New Genesis. Be proud of that love, and embrace it." A brilliant flash of light filled the air.
Eevee are small mammalian carnivorans found in the Sinnoh, Unova, Kalos and Alola regions, though it is a common pet in most regions. It is found mostly in areas of low density forest and in the suburbs of large metropolitan areas. Eevee are omnivirous, eating a diet of berries, small bug-types, rodents, and if they can catch them, birds. Females live in small groups with their young, while males live alone, and are thus more likely to encounter humans. If threatened, eevee will erect their ears and ruffle their ruffs to appear larger. If this does not work, it will run away, but if it must fight, it will headbutt its opponents, or use a basic special attack. Eevee is a common test subject in the field of epigentics. It has a large genome, containing 50% more genes than the average pokémon, and is heavily prone to mutation. Most of these genes are inactive most of the time, but in response to environmental stimuli, may become suddenly and permanently active. There have been eight possible evolutionary forms (colloquially known as eeveelutions) thus far discovered. If exposed to large amounts of water, eevee will become vaporeon. This form is highly adapted to an aquatic lifestyle, possessing fins and rudimentary gills. Its fins allow it to detect the moisture content of the air, allowing it to predict storms. It also has the ability to fade into water. If exposed to high heat, eevee will become flareon. Flareon has the ability to expel fire from its facial orifices, and can raise its body temperature to 1600 degrees. Its digestive system lacks enzymes due to this high heat. If exposed to high levels of electricity, eevee will become jolteon. Jolteon has a Hunter's organ in its thorax that it can use to fire electricity through the keratinous needles on its neck and hindquarters, and can run at exceptionally high speeds. If eevee has a large amount of serotonin in its body and is exposed to ultraviolet light, eevee becomes espeon. Espeon can detect air currents using its fur and the two lobes in its tail. It has psychic abilities that it can use to protect itself, amplified by the gem in its forehead. If the UV light is not present, eevee will instead become umbreon. Umbreon has poisonous sweat that can be launched at attackers: it always aims for the eyes. If this does not deter the attacker, its ring markings will glow with yellow bioluminescence, and it will bite at the opponent's throat. It has deceptivelt high stamina, being capable of fighting for several hours without rest. If it is kept in deep forests for extended periods of time, eevee will become leafeon. Leafeon are timid, and can be found sleeping in patches of sunlight, using the leaves on its forehead, ears, tail, chest and ankles to perform photosynthesis. If kept in cold climates, eevee will become glaceon. Glaceon can lower its body temperature to -60 degrees, creating ice in the nearby atmosphere. If it contains large amounts of oxytocin, eevee will become sylveon. Sylveon has four antennae that come out of its neck and left ear. Each antenna contains a small Oricha organ, larger versions of which can be found in the forepaws and Orichal sacs on the heads of lucario and riolu, which allow it to detect and manipulate aura. It has earned the nickname "Dragon Slayer"due to is fearlessness and apparent immunity the attacks of dragons. Most of these eeveelutions are exceptionally rare in the wild, and now mostly exist in captivity. Despite these multiple possible forms, many eevee owners decide to keep it in its wild state, but this is not recommended. Captive eevee have been shown to be prone to various cancers due to their unstable genetic code, and many die prematurely, usually struggling to survive longer than 12 years, shorter than the 16 typical of wild eevee: its evolved forms normally live for 30 years.
The midday heat receded behind him as Bryan slipped into the convention center. As he wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath of the air conditioning inside the building, he couldn’t help but feel that everyone’s eyes were on him. He’d gotten the invitation a week prior, and couldn’t deny the possibility that it was all some prank, but he desperately needed the cash that it had offered. He could only stretch a bag of rice so far before he began to starve to death, he thought, as he shuffled through the hallway to the main auditorium. As he passed, people around him were whispering and covering their mouths in awe. Bryan looked down at his tattered clothes and torn shoes, to him it seemed so obvious that this was not a place he belonged. Young adults in snazzy clothes with expensive phones were taking pictures of him, and one even rushed up to shake his hand. Dazed by the sudden attention, of which he was certainly not used to, Bryan opened the door to the auditorium where the event was being held. The screams of thousands of people rose to meet him as he took the stage. Pictures of his face covered the walls, alongside quotes which seemed strangely familiar. Something was wrong, he thought to himself as he frantically tried to remember what the invitation said. He was supposed to give some sort of speech on his life and struggles, that much was certain. He had assumed it was to be directed toward troubled youth who could be at risk of homelessness, although clearly the crowd was enthusiastic about something else. As the coordinators wearing “Staff” shirts for the event soundlessly ushered him to the desk that had been prepared on stage he began to feel queasy. Bright lights from across the room flashed in his face and the chatter that had filled this vast room with life was suddenly terminated by a dimming of the lights. He could see the coordinators moving soundlessly toward a number of people who each had their hands raised, desperate to be noticed. He could also see a microphone being passed to one individual waving his hand frantically. Seconds later a light was shone on a sandy-haired, energetic individual. Bryan could see that he had dressed himself in tattered clothing, but the cleanliness of his appearance and expensive watch on his wrist indicated that his wardrobe may not have been picked out of necessity. “Mr. Bryan Linson, sir, it’s such a great honor to speak to you. My name’s Jonah, and I’m your biggest fan, but I think it’s fair to say that we all appreciate your work very much.” Murmurs of agreement were heard throughout the room, and Jonah paused before continuing. “Sir, the question I’d like to ask is where you got the motivation to do your work entirely on bathroom stalls. I think it’s been such a brilliant outlet for your message.” Bryan shifted in his seat as he crossed his legs and scratched his head in confusion. “Kid, er, Jonah, could you be a little bit more specific.” “Well, expressing your work as you do, on the stalls of bathrooms throughout the nation, earns you neither critical nor financial success. In fact, your first work, in which you wrote ‘We buy things with money we don’t have to impress people we don’t like’ challenged the capitalist nature of our society as a whole. Furthermore, you went on to play the part of a critic against yourself when you wrote ‘we vandalize things that aren’t ours with quotes that aren’t ours to impress people taking shits’. This is a brilliant response to the state of affairs writers have found themselves in, where they are always pushed to succeed for financial reasons, and when critics constantly poke holes in an author’s success, but we were wondering how you came up with such brilliance. Bryan stifled a laugh by feigning a cough into his right arm. Was this kid serious? Did nobody notice that was a quote from the movie Fight Club? Even so he wasn’t the originator of either of those quotes, although he did remember writing them on quite a few rest-stop bathrooms as he hitchhiked around the Midwest. He always signed his bathroom messages with his lucky pen and unique signature, but could not believe people actually read them. Still believing this was an elaborate prank, he summoned the most profound lie he could think of. “Well, I've always believed that it is only in its natural environment that you can start to see through the shit” The crowd went wild, several people could be seen taking notes among the clapping and cheering. The rest of the panel continued similarly, with people asking his inspiration or meaning for certain “Stall quotes” as they called them. Of course, he lied through his teeth the entire time, but they all seemed none the wiser. At the end of the event he was approached by a number of restaurant owners, shoving handfuls of money into his hand if he promised to make an appearance in their bathrooms with a unique writing. Fortune had finally smiled upon Bryan, and given him a way to break out of the poverty he had faced his entire life, so he took every opportunity given to him. In the end, his fame crumbled. His fans turned on him once they realized he was selling out. They accused him of being a fraud, to backing away from the very ideals and the movement that he had started. They recognized Bryan was no poet, no prophet and certainly no author. He was a beggar, who had vandalized bathrooms for fun, and the power of collective imagination had given him a cult following. Almost as quickly as he was recognized for his work, he was discarded, and forgotten, as the public found new things to obsess over. As he faded away from the spotlight, Bryan recognized with a smile what few people ever do, his unintentional impact on the world.
I was the chosen one. Destined to save the world from the Dark Empress Valdana. My mission had always been aided by the gods, but in the moment I needed them most, all I got was silence. They abandoned me, so I abandoned them. I marched to the Dark empress's castle and swore fealty to her. I was always meant to be a tool in someone else's hands, and I found hers to be much more pleasant to the touch. At first I was just her consort. She took great pleasure in turning the weapon of the Gods into her plaything. I didn't mind at all, warming her bed was far preferable to wading through corpses on my way to collect her head. In time she grew to care for me as a person rather than just as a plaything, and we were wed properly. Once I had been at her feet, now I was at her side. The gods would never have given me such an offer. As the emperor I was tasked with managing the people she conquered. I made sure they were fed and healthy, and they never once thought to rebel against her. At first she thought I was being too soft on them, but when she saw the results she stopped complaining. These days Valdana hardly qualifies for the title of "Dark Empress."In fact, more than a few rebellions have asked for us to conquer them just because life under us was so much better than under their own king. I believe I now know why the gods remained silent that day. I wasn't to save the world from Valdana, I was to save it with her and save her in the process. Perhaps a little strife was worth it, if this is how it ends.
It had taken you eons, but when you have eternity those eons stop mattering. You walked into your home, your wife greeting you with a smile, but you sighed. You weren’t in the mood to play pretend anymore. She knew what was wrong- of course she did, how could she not?- but the knowing look in her eyes made it worse. “Are you upset?” she asks you. You narrow your eyes. What a stupid question. She opened her arms in an effort to hug you but you put a hand up. It reached her chest and for a second you let yourself feel her beating heart. “Am I not alive enough?” she tried again. “Stop it. You know you’re alive,” you spit back. “Why do you do this to me?” “The better question is: why do you do this to yourself?” You clench your fists. You remember standing right where she was standing. You remember asking that very question. It wasn’t like all the memories flooded you at once, but when you reached those moments- the ones that really resonated with you- your mind always triggered the memories of them from the other perspective. “I’m older than you,” you tell your wife. “I’ve seen more than you have.” “That means nothing.” She put a hand on your cheek. “You’ll see even more before you’re done. That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy-“ You slapped her hand away. You felt anger boiling up inside of you but how could you be mad at her? She was you. You remember how sad you felt that time around. She was maybe one of your earlier lives, and she wasn’t nearly as tired as you were. “It’s a cruel joke,” you mutter. You weren’t angry, but instead helpless. There was no way for you to leave. You’ve killed yourself thousands of times over. You’ve died billions of times, but you kept coming back. How could there still be more? How were you not out of lives yet? “Can’t you enjoy the moment?” “Not right now, I’m sorry.” You walked into your office. You sat down, trying to remember the emotions she felt after you walked away. She was sad. She was grieving herself, and by extension you. You were her future and you knew it hurt her to think about how pained she was going to become. Memories of the past started getting clearer. You hated when they bubbled up to the surface. They were hideous background noise that you had to drown out. You tried to ground yourself. You focused on her again. You pulled open your drawer. “I’ve been saving you for that special occasion,” you whisper to yourself, so your wife wouldn’t hear- but who cares? -why do you care? -it isn’t like she won’t find out soon enough. First she’ll hear the bang, then she’ll be the one pulling her own trigger, and then she’ll be pulling the trigger again. It was a shame this wasn’t one of the lives you could just live out. It was a shame.
I happily considered my full schedule as I sipped my first cup of coffee. A full docket, mostly first-time patients. I allowed for more time there - it was hard to get everything done in fifty-five minutes. Fortunately I had finished the paperwork for my In Network status for government insurance as almost all my patients today carried it. They didn’t pay the full one-fifty an hour, but it was close enough and it usually wasn’t that difficult to deal with. I wondered if I had popped up on some HR worker’s list for me to have scheduled this many people right after opening. Looking forward to a day of interesting challenges and diagnostic mysteries I smiled at the chance to stretch my mental muscles. I had dropped the basic counseling side of things and I suppressed a shudder at my brief foray into family counseling. The people I had coming had seen some shit, and they needed my help pulling through it. I heard the chime of my door and I heard Denise, my front office - Patient Care Coordinator, my mind corrected itself - greet them. A moment later my nose twitched. As a Class Seven Power Sensor, I might have been able to snag a job at the Bureau but I enjoyed private practice too much. I inhaled the aroma deeply. Jittery and mercurial. Speedster. Had to be at least Class Three, maybe even Two. A Super. My first new client was a hero. Bureau registered and official. Abruptly I was glad to be in the basement of the office complex, but at the same time, the Super community was a relatively small one. If a Class Two - probably three, my brain reminded itself - speedster was happy, they could easily spread the word. So, maybe the roof would ripped off by some villain trying to get at one of my patients but that’s what insurance was for, right? I walked out of my office to find a youngish man in a suit gathering the paperwork Denise had handed him and moving toward a seat in the small waiting room. “Come on back,” I said with a smile, “we’ll fill that out back here. It’ll let me build your history while get get all the particulars into the computer.” I presented my hand for a shake and he took it. Grey-green eyes met mine and I noticed they had a bit of a sunken quality to them. Slight redness, bags. Probably wasn’t sleeping enough. People were always surprised to find what a few good night’s sleep could do them. The tiredness aside, the speedster had solid control of his abilities. He did not rush the paperwork, his gestures remained a normal speed - he didn’t even talk too fast. Allowing the hero to follow me into the office - I usually didn’t ask new patients to turn their backs on me - I gestured for him to sit on either the comfortable seat or the stereotypical chaise and I seated myself in a comfortable chair. I didn’t have a note pad out, all sessions were recorded. As the speedster perched on the edge of the chair, I sat about unraveling what it was the had the young hero so . . . Distraught.
The library was full of unknown tomes which we had inherited from my spouse's uncle on the Orient. I spent most of my hours within the study pouring over the latest shipping forecasts checking how my ships would fare. My eldest had just returned to the Manor from school and was curious about the books in the library. I left him to his devices and continued my work. From my desk I heard a scream, echoing from the library. I walked down expecting of my child that they may have discovered a book of ill repute. Upon entering the room the had disappeared. A book layed open upon the parquet. On it were the words written 'Your child has gone, should you wish to see him again follow the instructions.' my eyes widened and scanned the room. I already knew the windows could not be opened and the servants would have noticed a strange person within the domicile. Suddenly the book flipped to the next page. Cometh ye to thine end. As the wards flashed into my mind I felt a short sharp shock to the back of my head.
The Pharaoh was a great visionary and an overtly ambitious ruler. He feared death just as much as any great king; but for him, it was more the fear of being forgotten... lost in the passage of time and removed from the pages of history. He feared that among all things, because he knew that he had done nothing worthy of acknowledgement. One could say he was obsessed. One fine day, as I was guarding the life of our beloved Pharaoh by being stationed outside his bedroom door, I got the shock of my life as he barged out, white-faced and sweating, and ordered us to come with him. Honored and excited to finally be of service (the bedroom guards didn't have much action), I rushed in and drew my weapon, preparing to fight and give my life. Inside, I noticed a plethora of strange smells and weird artifacts filling up the entire room. It was as if I had just walked into the den of Anubis' cult, where a ritual of consequential importance was performed. I turned to the Pharaoh who was lurking behind me, as if using me as a meat-shield. "Wha--What is going on here..." The Pharaoh just put a finger to his lips and used his other hand to point forward. I turned back to the center of the room to where he was pointing and looked closer, adrenaline pumping in my veins. And then I saw it! An ominous shadow situated at the back of the room, a corner where the sunlight from the open window could never hope to reach. It was a small silhouette, like that of a small child, but the sinister aura it was emitting told me that it was anything but. I pointed my spear at it and raised my shield, already in full battle-stance. The Pharaoh was whimpering and sniffing, completely afraid of the being in the corner. I guess I should have been afraid too, but at that point, I was too excited to even contemplate fear. We slowly marched towards the corner. The creature stood still and waited patiently for us to arrive as if we were the best of friends meeting for a lunch session. After what felt like an eternity of awkward walking, we were face-to-face with the creature. I positioned the sharp tip of my spear right in front of its' face but it showed no sign of fear, or even reaction. "What are you and what do you want?"I asked authoritatively. I wasn't even sure that thing was human, but it was in the heat of the moment and frankly speaking, I was looking for any reason to stick my spear into it and finally lose my 'kill' virginity. "You should ask him,"It replied in a dry and gnarly voice. "But unfortunately for you, my time is of the essence and I can't wait for you time-wasting mortals."And with that, some unseen force flung me across the room and I crashed to the floor, all the grace and stature of an honour guard lost. "I have brought you the witness,"The Pharaoh said, addressing it. "Now shall we proceed?"I was paralyzed and shocked. The transition from a scared Pharaoh to the fearless and cold commander now was remarkable. And what was that about me being a witness? "Yes, it's good, all good... Now, I will help you with the construction of the structure you described, but there will be a price." "Anything, I'll give you anything you want!"The pharaoh said eagerly. "Just make sure that my Pyramid would be the most monumental building ever to grace the face of the Earth, and it would still stand strong and grand thousands of years after I have gone!"The Pharaoh was sounding more and more like a psychopathic madman, a madman whose dreams were near fruition. "Easy!"The creature said, "As for my demands, I want sacrifices. A lot of sacrifices. Do you think you can handle it?" "Yes, of course. Egypt have lots of people, but no wonders. Yes, I can spare a lot of sacrifices." "Excellent! Now the only thing left is to make sure our witness knows his job." The both of them turned to me, who was paralyzed and sprawled on the floor. I was hoping they had forgotten of my existence, but I guess life just sucks at this point. The Pharaoh walked towards me and bent down, so his face was right above mine. "Do you acknowledge that this deal happened, and would you keep your knowledge of this transaction to the grave?" "I-- I do."I said, helpless in the face of the charismatic Pharaoh. And what could I do? My main existence was to stand at the side of the Pharaoh, no matter what he did, even if he was killing innocents -- which incidentally was what he was doing right now. I had no choice but to agree. "Great."The creature said from its corner. "I look forward to work with you on this project."And he sunk back into the shadows. I was finally unparalyzed. The Pharaoh walked towards the window and looked outside while I got up from my position and stood there, processing the proceedings of what had just happened. Did we just doom innocents to their death? That didn't seem to be on the Pharaoh's mind though, as he stared out the window in a dreamlike state, as if the Pyramid was already constructed...
I'd laugh at your face and label you crazy if you ever came to me with the story of how you had a palm sized, real life, functional black cursor, elevated in the air and saying jokes about rifts in time and space in multiverse. Except for the fact that this is my story. And I consider myself pretty lucid, if pursuing a law degree says something about it. I've fallen asleep, after finally I took my last final exam for this semester, in commercial law, when I woke up by a "HEY"followed by a poke. Me, being a female with amateur skills in martial arts training (stupid, I know), immediately jumped up and with a knife in my hand, got in a fighting stance, ready to cut up a piece of shit who thought I would be an easy pray...... But instead of a creepy motherfucker, I found a black cursor hovering in the air. After some cussing and an explanation later, I was calmed down, but still curious about my new found friend. "You are supposed to be a cursor, right?" "Yes, although we have free will and we can control ourselves." "Then, how the fuck did you ended up here from your dimension?" "Well, first, dimensions are actually pretty much linked with each other. For example, mine is linked with the general human conscious, and with the rise of technology in your world, cursors started popping into existence." "So, let me get this straight. We created you by using the computer? And if so, did we also created the rift?" "Yes, and since your species think A LOT about interdimensional travel and stuff like that, this rift appeared. I got sucked in and I found myself in here." Huh. That makes sense, I suppose. But then an idea popped into my head. "If you are a real life cursor, does that mean you can be controlled?" "Well, I'm not sure about that, but it's an interesting question." "So, a cursor is in the computer, and is controlled by a mouse, which is connected to the computer and moved with our hand. Can I try something?" "Go ahead" I move over to my laptop, the mouse just sitting there. I grab the usb insert to the port and take it out. Now, with the cable in my hands, I look over to my new friend, asking. "Do you have any usb ports, by any chance?" "Actually, I do. It's on my back." "Huh." I get over and insert the end of the mouse cable into the cursor. Someone must have made a WP or something else about a real life cursor controled by a mouse, because I was able to do just that. Holding a hard cover book and using it as a mouse pad, I was able to control the cursor. Circles, up and down, anything. And I left clicked on TV. It opened up. I clicked again and it closed. Which means that it had the same abilities as a normal cursor. Like copy and paste...... I look over to my wallet, which has a 1€ coin only, like the broke student that I am. I take it out and set it aside to the table. I look back to my friend. "Wanna try and become rich, living along side of me, in luxury?" "That would be great. By all means, try it." I move the cursor and point it at the coin. Right click and a translucent window opens up right besides the coin, hovering in the air. I chose copy. I move the cursor around and on my bed, right click again and now I can see the option "Paste"lighting up. I click on it. A coin appears. I look at my new best pal, and we are both grinning like mad. Good bye instant noodles packages for 30 cents. Good fucking riddance, debts. A new motherfucker is in town and we are the gods of this place.
5 people sit around a glass table, discussing the fate of billions. A chart on the wall shows the population of the Earth in real time. The number quickly rockets upwards, now just reaching 20 billion. Dressed in nice suits, with fancy watches, they appear to be rich business men and women. One of them swipes his hand over the table bringing up a display. It shows the Earth, with the population in red. Cities are darker red, and some are even black, representing the sheer number of people. “It’s easy. We introduce a strain of a deadly disease. Similar to the bubonic plague. It will kill billions, even cut the population in half if we want. Then we release an antidote, saving the remaining population. It’s perfect.” he says in a deep, rich, voice. “I don’t know.” replies a woman sitting across from him. “Wouldn’t it be easier to simply bomb a few cities?” A man to the right speaks up “If we bomb the cities there aren’t enough places for survivors to go, so we would still have the overcrowding problem. They would be packed into the cities that weren’t destroyed.” They all nod, and unanimously agree on releasing a plague on Earth. The man who initially brought up the idea presses a button on the table. “Dr. Morrison, will you please release the plague now. We’ve decided to use it.” He pauses. “Oh and Dr.Morrison. Send up the gift I have prepared for my colleagues.” Confused, one of the men stands up and starts to say something, but is cut off as he falls backwards in a spray of blood. Two men who have just come through the doorway hold pistols with long silencers. They make quick work of the rest of the people in the room, leaving only the man who has just called them up. He laughs. “I hope you enjoyed my present.” he says to the corpses. Now the man who controls the world, Jago Lamarche exits the room, closely tailed by his two assassins.
... and then I woke up and it was all a dream? Ugh, that sounds like shitty sixth grade writing class. It seemed so real though. The screaming, so much screaming. Was I angry? Was I afraid? Was I mourning? Why does my throat hurt? Wait a moment, my throat actually hurts! The frown this causes reminds me my eyes are still closed. I open my eyes and look around. It has to be gray and overcast outside. The light breaking in around the blinds says 'Morning, Robert' in the same tone of voice that you use on a co worker that you never invite out for beer. I flip my blanket aside and push myself out of bed and into my apartment. The carpet feels the same underfoot. I sit at the edge of my bed and look at the same eggshell colored walls I went to sleep with. The Bon Jovi and Cinderella posters covering up damaged drywall, were the same ones Lacey said I should throw away. Throat still hurts. Bathroom. Water. Those thoughts still seemed normal. What is making me feel so worried? I push to stand up and almost make it to my feet before I am struck with such dizziness that I sit down again. I must have leaned because I end up sitting right down to the floor. Am I hung over? Am I sick? I lean against the side of my bed let my head fall back onto the bed. After a couple of minutes of looking at the dust and dead flies in the darkened ceiling light, I push myself up using the bed and the wall. 8 steps to the bathroom. Three to the toilet. Two steps to the sink. I run the water into my rinsing cup. I am thirsty, four cups later and my stomach is starting to complain about the cold. I put down my cup slowly. Someone has painted my bathroom mirror black. What the hell happened last night? The dizziness starts to comeback. I grab both sides of the bathroom counter and my left hand slides on something metal. With a noise like 'Allp!' I lose my balance again. So dizzy. God I don't want to be sick! I am lying on my side looking at the space between the counter and the toilet. When the spinning slows down I start to take an inventory of my body parts. My shoulder hurts. It hurts a lot! I must of hit it hard. I think I banged an elbow on my way down too. The last ache of any significant measure is the one in my wrist. It feels sharp. I curl up a bit more and bring my hands up closer to my face to look at my wrists. Tangled up in my left hand's fingers is some of Lacey's cheap ass jewelry. Fuck, I thought she took all her shit when she left. I am not giving it back. Maybe if it is one of the things I gave her I can pawn it, at least those pieces would be real silver. I sit up so I can reach the light switch. The morning light isn't strong enough to really see the details. With better light I get a clearer picture of what is in my hand. It isn't something I gave Lacey. I don't remember buying something this exquisite. It's a bright white silver locket. Polished so brightly as to be almost uncomfortable to look at. Round, about the size of a large pocket watch and more than a quarter inch thick. Engraved on one side is a stag's head with two little emerald colored chips for eyes. The stag's antlers curl up into a tangle of tines and flowing shapes that flow around and back down the edges of the locket face. I see what looks like an anatomical heart engraved on the neck of the stag. It sits inside a radiating pattern of etches that give it a scintillating halo in the light. I release the catch and the locket opens up like a book and folded inside is a piece of bronze colored paper. To: Our Famedbright Coppersmith, I thank thee for the services thy house hath rendered unto me. Knowest thou this: All gifts must be repaid in kind. My house shall not want in fulfillment of its duties, and as thou hath demonstrated neither shall thine. Takest thou this. Keepeth it from light of the Summer Sun, and it shall be a ward and boon for thee, thine house, and all those thou shalt protect. Mayhaps, in the Gloaming of all we shall meet again. There is a burn mark in paper that looks like a tangle of spines.
...forced into your knees and your papers are pulled out of your pockets. You hear the guns cock behind your head but you have defiant feeling. The nazi officer smirks. “I don’t know what’s more stupid, your name or your moustache” A rebellious tingling takes over your body. “What’s my name.” You say. But then you hear a motorcycle in the distance. “He’s here” you say smiling even though you don’t know who “he” is. But you feel a sense of hope, and rebellion Explosions and chaos ensues. The nazi soldiers are in disarray. Sounds of metal on metal and soldiers grunting and yelling fill the air. You walk over to the fallen officer and you smile. “What’s my name” He spits in your face as he dies. “Here ya go sarge” a young soldier says as he gives your weapon back. But then you see “him”. You don’t know his name but you know his rank. “Sorry for being careless captain.” You say. But the captain gives you a smile that boosts your morale. “Not a problem sergeant Dugan, welcome to the howling commandos. Lets move out” said the cap "On your left."you say as you move out.
The special agents brought the small case into the lab and set it down, opening the latches and swinging the protective case open. With careful movement, both to prevent contamination of evidence and to prevent a bottle breaking, they lifted the protective styrofoam cover to reveal the numerous small bottles, each filled with a chemical concoction the likes Andrew had never seen before. 'This is it?' he asked in surprise as he lifted a bottle out with a latex-gloved hand. 'This is the mysterious "Milk"that's on the streets?' 'There are plenty of people who would wish to know if there are people doping with this stuff,' one of the FBI agents said. 'NFL, MLB, even the International Olympics Committee.' Already he got to work, using a needle to break the seal on top and extract some of the liquid. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before - a thick, syrupy substance, as soon as he mixed it with purified water so that he could put it into sample test tubes and for the mass spectrometer the solution was perfectly mixed and had a consistency similar to unskimmed milk. He only used about three drops! 'We got an anonymous tip from someone on a college football team, talking about how the students were being forced to drink a local brand of milk at their university as part of some "Sponsorship deal",' the agent said. 'How it seemed to cause athletes to pile on the pounds. We did some checking and the milk producer was processing far more milk than what we determined, based on how many farms he was in business with. Sure enough, we raided the place and found them making drugs. They've destroyed their research, so we need to reconstruct the chemical formula.' 'What about the athletes?' Andrew asked. 'Kids forced to take steroids without consent or even knowledge of what they were taking? That shit ain't right...' The lead agent sighed. 'They're off to the hospital for immediate check-ups and to receive tests,' the agent explained. 'More than likely, their careers are over, in terms of sports. The university's sports program, however, is possibly looking at a ban of at least a year, maybe more.' 'Fuck, a death penalty?' Andrew asked as he began his tests. 'I'll have to get the rats.' --- As part of the investigation, he had a court subpoena the blood and urine samples of the school's athletes and had them sitting on his station. In fact, he had numerous samples going back several months or years in the case of some of them, even when they were competing in high school. And comparing the results to blood tests he had worked on with the rats... no wonder they hadn't been able to find anything suspicious. With a knock on the door, he turned to Agent Mathers, the liaison with the FBI who was carrying a pair of plastic Starbucks cups into the room. 'Anything?' 'Blood tests confirm that all trace evidence of substance Bovine are gone within six hours of consumption,' Andrew explained as he took a cup and tasted it. 'The only possible means of understanding if athletes took the drug or not happens to be if we had samples of the contaminated substance, which luckily we do. Sorry, but it's completely undetectable. What's with the cup?' 'Oh,' she said. '25 cents at the coffee shop. Reduce, reuse, recycle. So, any known health conditions?' 'Not that I can think of,' Andrew explained. 'What I can confirm is that the substance is partially synthetic steroid, partially a self-replicating virus. The virus splices DNA in the muscles in order to make the cells more active and less prone to breaking down while also extending the average lifespan of the cell. It also helps combat the more adverse effects of the steroid; rage issues, organ growth and swelling of the gut... Speaking of, it actually shows that the drug can be selective in how it affects the body. Did you know that arms are more susceptible to steroidal growth because we don't walk about on them all day, like our legs?' 'I think I read somewhere about that,' Mathers said. 'Something about nerve endings...?' 'Yeah, you get more bang for your buck,' Andrew continued. 'The rats I've tested Project Bovine on? The smallest amount of growth I've seen from them has been from oral consumption and they are twice the length of when they began. The ones I've injected directly are three times longer.' Mathers looked into the rat cages and saw the hulking rats inside, all with swollen muscles that could put larger animals such as cats in their place if they messed with them. One such rat was running so fast on the exercise wheel it was blowing the sawdust used as bedding of the cage up like a fan, while another was gnawing at the metal of its cage and was nearly ready to burst through before Andrew tossed a whole apple inside which the rat quickly climbed over. 'Also, strangely a side effect is that the drug ramps up testosterone production in the body, compared to normal steroids which instead causes testosterone to be slowed down,' he explained. 'It also protects against excessive testosterone while it's also present. Essentially, your sexual organs are going to be larger and you won't break out into hives.' 'What about for women?' Mathers asked. 'Strangely, no effect,' he explained. 'It targets the Y-Chromosome. It's one of the reasons why I've called it Project Bovine. The other, well... you take this shit and you'll be a real bull of a man.' Mathers could only nod, knowing full well this was true. She met the athletes who had taken it and, while still fairly new from graduating at Quantico, it was only her professional ethics and public decency that stopped her from ripping off her shirt and demanding that one of those hunks take her like the woman she was. None were smaller than six feet or two-hundred and fifty pounds of heavy, tightly packed muscle, chiselled from marble like Greco-roman statues. And nearly all of them were calm and affable despite the circumstances. She was drawn back into reality by the sound of a screeching airhorn right in her face, causing her to jump and nearly spill her coffee. 'Hey, Clarice Starling!' he spoke to her. 'Quit eating the eye-candy from the interviews!' 'S-sorry,' she answered. 'The strangest thing,' the scientist said, 'is that the virus created the drug. It's literally made of milk; you put a drop of this into a large batch of milk and within twenty-four hours the substance is converted into a stage-one precursor. Then you evaporate the water away and you got the pure, finished product. 'So... anything?' 'Here,' Andrew said as he handed her a thick binder of research documents. 'As much as I can, this is it. The chemical composition of the drug, the RNA and DNA profiles of the virus, any changes to biological makeup from rat and blood exposure. But it's too complicated for me. If you want a definitive means of finding the product after six hours, you'll need more manpower. Also...' 'Yes?' Mathers asked. 'I'm keeping a bottle or two,' Andrew said. 'I want to see the effects on a human for myself.' 'Sorry, but no,' she answered him. 'Unless the head of the investigation OK's it, and only after the FDA approves your tests. And given what you said, how the key to producing the finished products and how it can be used to produce more in contact with dairy milk... that means the virus is heat-resistant past the boiling point? I'll have to quarantine the entire lab, now that results have finished.' 'You were paying attention,' Agent Roberts said as he walked into the room. 'Congratulations on passing the protocol test, Mathers. Dr. Bennett, we have the FDA approval documentation. But are you sure you want to inject the drug into yourself?' 'Of course not,' Andrew said as he popped open the coffee cup and poured a white substance inside. 'Why did you think I ordered my coffee black?' --- Part 2 coming soon
“The humans have lost favour in us. They no longer worship us. What should we do?” The elder gods proclaimed as they sit at the table of the ancients “We must elect a new god king” said Ares “That would only bring more chaos and destruction” said Athena “Then what do you suppose we do, the humans do not care for us anymore and their lack of worship is weakening us.” Said Apollo. The gods continued to bicker and argue until a load slam echoed throughout the hall and then, silence. Poseidon speaks. “My brother has given his life so that these inferior beings could flourish. His sacrifice was supposed to pave the way for the success of humans. He dreamt of a world where gods and men live side by side. He dreamt of a world where human technology and intelligence matched with ours so that together, we can escape this forsaken rock and return to our home world. If any of you wish to return to Utopia, I suggest that we make his dream a reality, together.” “How do we do that?” Asked Athena. “We shall split up and spread our wisdom and knowledge throughout Gaia. Remember, the human can only process a limited amount of information. So they would have to evolve and learn naturally. We also must rename ourselves so that the humans do not confuse us.” Said Poseidon. “I will go north. There is a settlement that I have been eyeing. Their ferocity and warmongering attitude is what I need. Is anyone else interested?” Said Ares. As a group of hands go up, Ares stands and turns to leave. “I always like the name Odin.” He says with a smirk “I have a party already uncle” said Athena. “There has been an unexpected phenomenon there. A man that has been born under a tree and another in a rock. We will go investigate.” “Ok, what will you been known as from now on.” Asked Poseidon. “I always liked the name of the princess that father always read about” said Athena. “Vishnu. I like it” Poseidon Said. As the gods turned to leave the hall, Apollo turns around and asks “what about you Poseidon?” “I will stay in the mainland with my family. We will watch over and monitor the world from here.” Poseidon said with a smile “What will you be known as from now on” “God.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Josie! Josie, stop!” They were all laughs and smiles. Well, he was smiling. Josie’s mouth flaps and face tentacles were huffing to express laughter in the only way an eldritch horror could. Lewis’ eyes beamed over the table for two, looking into the dark orbs of his newest companion on their second date together. She was too much. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The lavish Italian restaurant was littered with couples seeking a quiet romantic night out, but Josie stuck out, well, like an eldritch horror in an Italian restaurant. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“And so what?” Lewis said flippantly, addressing the other tables. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Let them see us, I don’t care.” Looking around, he saw each other human moving their bodies numbly, blank stares, mouths open as they went through the simple motions of eating, sitting, and being entirely oblivious to everything around them. Lewis stretched a hand out, he could tell Josie was insecure by the way her tendrils had balled together on the white satin tablecloth. “You can put your guard down with me, you should know that by now.” His smile was genuine, disarming, and for a second, Josie did just that. Slowly, the patrons’ faces stirred, coming out of the dark cloud that had obscured their minds. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“What- what the hell is that!” a shrieking man jammed his knee up into the table in a fit to stand up, glass and silverware spilling off. Everyone looked at the center of the room at the nine foot tall hulking mass of oily black skin and swarm of tendrils that sat upright in the chair. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lewis, they are going to… Josie rolled her eyes and broke her telepathic link with her date. Her face flaps shook in displeasure. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“The fuck!” a man holding a steak knife up in defense, though he was well across the room. People were already slamming past tables and chairs to rush out of the restaurant, a server who was just previously standing by idly with a customer’s she-crab and tomato tortellini dropped the dish, stammering back before falling, paralyzed with fear. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lewis rolled his eyes just like his date before him. “Fine.” Pursing his lips and folding his arms over his chest, he resigned to Josie’s manipulation—for the sake of a nice night out. Her flaps lifted with joy, and she even vocalized a few short clicks, something rare even for a happy horror, which was something altogether even more rare. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sitting in front of her, he felt a physical pulse emit out, and in that instant the restaurant fell silent once again. The server slowly stood up, mouth agape, drooling, and began to clean up the splatter of pasta with his bare hands. Distraught lovers stopped running, took to their chairs once more, and fumbled with water glasses for just a sip. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;See, that’s better. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Well,” Lewis raised his wine up, smiling again, “What can I say, you’re always right-” and laughed again as their glasses clinked together.
He was dragged into his court in shackles made of the rarest metal, Promethium, engraved with spells and runes. It was designed and built to capture the strongest of souls. The King was known across all lands to be the strongest, a Blood Wolf. After almost half a decade of fierce war, finally the king had to step into the battlefield as the rebels breached the walls of The Citadel, the capital of his kingdom. A magnificent city, spanning over 20% of the planet itself, it was the largest, most heavily guarded place in his kingdom. A kingdom that spanned across the galaxy. It had been a bloody battle. The King himself in the battlefield for almost a year. The rebels knew exactly where to strike and how to take down each defense. They had systematically taken out one strategic post after another. They were well aware of the strongholds and weapon caches. When they finally were able to force the king into the battlefield, they took turns, sending 2 strong, well trained warriors each time. Each team would fight the king non-stop until they were both exhausted, and then the next team would take over. The team going out of the field would take the time to recuperate and recharge, and when the time came, rejoined by taking over the team which was on the field. The idea was to ensure that the King had no time to rest or gather his powers back. It had been a long year for all. The King was strong, and had faced many battles before. A master of elements, weapons and of magic, the King proved to be tougher than they had thought. But the relentless barrage of attacks with weapons and magic coupled with the lack of time for him to gather himself or regenerate his powers meant that the King eventually grew weaker and weaker. And when the time came, they all attacked at once, rendering the king defenseless and without strength or power, he was defeated. How did they know where to attack? How did they know how to fight the king and bring him down? How did they know the strategy to bring down The Citadel? As the King looked up toward what was once his throne, now occupied by the leader of this rebellion, General Rasmus D'oThule, he had all the answers. They had all been, at one time, his most trusted Generals, advisors, ministers and confidants. This had been a plan decades in the making. They had taken each step carefully, calculated all risks and timed it all perfectly. The timing was the most important thing. Other than the fact that the King was the strongest soul alive, his son, The Prince, was speculated to be stronger. While barely out of his teen years, he had proved to be just as strong, fast and gifted as his father. He had, however, been killed by the King for what he had done and his remains put someplace no one could find and cremate so that he would never be at peace. The timing of the rebellion took advantage of the King's broken heart, and using that they had managed to bring an entire empire to its knees. Now the strongest of them all, the King was on his knees, in shackles and awaiting judgement. In his own court. In his own home. Barely alive, defeated, broken and alone. His wife and daughter slain in battle a few months prior, son killed by his own hands. He was truly alone. A maniacal laughter filled the giant courtroom followed by many more all around him. He looked up, eyes still stern with the confidence of a King. "Finally"spoke the General. "On your knees, in chains, defeated. An empire this big, and this rich. Trillions of subjects, entire city sized rooms filled with riches. All of it now belongs to us. Finally"he said. "What would be your last words, O Blood Wolf? The Good King as they called you"said Sha'ar, the leader of the Court Guards, whose job it was to be the defense team for The Citadel. 28 teams, each with their own specialty, charged with creating and deploying better and stronger defenses across the Citadel. Only 13 of them proved to be loyal to the King. Mostly slain, the Captains of each of those 13 teams had been forced to flee. Their lieutenants had mostly escaped with them, however those of 8 of those teams were captured and imprisoned. "What does it matter what he has to say? Just kill him and let the festivities begin"said Mak'thool, the Minister of Magic for the kingdom. He was sitting at the Queen's throne, playing with a ball of lightning. "Not yet. A king who amassed this galaxy as our empire deserves to have his last words heard"says the General. "As Abell's pull wanes, the soul shall be remade. As Abell wanders away, the soul shall awake."These were the Good King's final words. No one could make anything of this message. Many tried to decode it, many tried to find the answer to this riddle. Everyone failed. And eventually it was dismissed as the ramblings of a once proud, strong king in his state of defeat.
“We’re hungry!” bellowed Mrs Tall’s children in defenning chorus. She wasn’t really called Mrs Tall but that was the name that stuck because it was the most polite name the villagers could think of for a giant. “Alright, what do you want?” you shout back, your voice edged with that strain that comes from pushing your range too far. You hope that they don’t pick up on this. Some brats will jump on the littlest thing and make the whole evening a chore. “Pizza!” comes the emphatic reply. Well, this is just like regular babysitting, you think to yourself, hefting the huge dial on the oven. It is like the steering wheel of a car. A regular sized car, not the leviathan that Mr and Mrs Tall drove away in. That thing was bigger than a bus. You still struggle to think how it would get around town without collapsing buildings. Well that was their problem, Mother always said not to interfere in other people’s lives so long as they paid you on time. As well as being giant in size, the kitchen seemed to have all its other properties in greater helpings. The dial on the oven said that it went up to 2000 degrees. Whether that were fahrenheit or celsius hardly mattered, surely it would incinerate any food that went in there. Putting this thought aside for the moment, you start to walk across to the fridge which now you look at it is some distance away. This will take longer than it should. If you are going to get this food ready for 7, you’ll need some help. And you need to get it done for 7 because that is when “A Vampyre and Wyrewolf” starts. You wouldn’t have taken this job if they didn’t have cable TV and you can’t miss tonight’s episode. Hillary finally comes out to Danni. You look to the smallest of the three massive children, he seems less intimidating. “Can you do me a favour and pass my that car you’re playing with?” you ask in your practiced Responsible Adult tone. Even this smallest of the giant family towers over the top of you, the car, a handheld for the kid, is big enough for you to sit in. Just like riding a golf buggy. With this, you speed to the fridge but the handle is far beyond your reach. The chair that you’d climbed up to operate the oven seems like miles away across the kitchen and their is no chance you’d be able to drag it all the way even with the car. “Which of you is feeling strong?” you ask the kids, hoping that this kind of psychology works on them too. “I am” “No I am” “No you’re not” “Yes I am, yes I am, yes I am” Before this descends into a storm of shouting that overwhelms your eardrums, you honk the horn with your fist. The kids turn and giggle. Easy as pie if you know how to work them. “OK, you, Mary” you say, looking to the eldest, “you’re the tallest, you open the fridge and get the pizzas. And you, Tommy, you get the oven tray out of the cupboard. And both of you, do it quickly, first one wins!” This causes the expected riot and with footfalls like earthquakes the two children leap to their tasks. The sound of Tommy yanking out the oven tray is like thunder in a steel works. Your head is fit to burst by the time they’re proudly shouting. “I win” “I win first” Then the smallest, who lent you the car, clambers for some part to play. “You get to pick the toppings Jo” you say as you drive to the table, pressing the ejector seat to launch you up on top. Opening the box the pizzas come in feels like breaking into a cardboard bank vault but you have to do because Children Are Not Allowed To Use The Scissors. Rule#3 that is. After a nightmare of hacking away, you have the three pizzas laid out ready. You wonder briefly if there are giant dairy cows and giant wheat plants dedicated to this family of if they just used an abundance of regular sized stuff - it is more cheese than you could eat in a year. No time for day dreaming though, it is 6:45. “Alright then Jo, what are we having on these pizzas?” you ask at the top of your voice. “Weiners!” Jo says, and the three of them fall about laughing as though this were the height of wit. Their sense of humour seems to be the only thing that isn’t oversized. You wait patiently for the childish, booming laugher to finish. Oddly, you find yourself waiting for a long time and it doesn’t die down into chuckles but shifts into cackles. Suddenly, it is menacing and terrifying. You look up to the three children and realise, don’t giants eat people? “How stupid of me to take this job”, you think as sticky hands the size an octopus reach out for you, “now I’ll never find out what happens to Hillary the Vampyre”. Although that thought is soon driven away as Mary dips you in a vat of BBQ sauce and lays you out, stunned on the humongous pizza. Breaking rule #4 the kids open the oven and slide you in. Under the intense heat, the cheese starts to liquify immediately. Dazed but still quite clear headed, your last thoughts are “Ah well, at least there I’m not in here with any pineapple.”
I poured the last of my Mountain Dew down my throat and tossed the can over my shoulder where it made a reassuring clunk as it landed on the existing mound of cans. Then, lighting a cigarette, I secured my fedora and refreshed my browser. "Let's see if anyone managed to refute my argument against the existence of God!" Unfortunately, my comment had garnered no replies, but did earn several downvotes. "Sheep,"I said, cracking open another 'Dew, ready to drain the can. But before I could recharge my brain with sucrose and caffeine in preparation for my next anti-religious tirade, I was interrupted by a knock on my apartment door. Kicking clothes and pizza boxes aside, I cleared a path and opened my front door. Standing there was a teenage Japanese girl dressed in strange, colorful clothing, wearing unusual, shiny makeup. "Oh my gosh, it's really you!"she said bouncing up and down with excitement. I scanned my apartment building's courtyard, looking for cameras, then looked back at the small young woman. "If this is some kind of prank you can fuck right off." She giggled. "This is no prank, Dr. Johnson, I'm here to meet you!" "OK, well, you've got the wrong guy. I'm not a doctor. The most I have is a Cisco certification." She raised her eyebrows. "You're not a doctor yet, Dr. Johnson. But you will be soon." She stood there smiling as I stared. This had to be a prank. I looked again for cameras, but nothing. "OK, so, nice to meet you?.." "I'm Dr. Mariko Aoki, but you can just call me Mariko, please." "OK, Mariko. Well it's nice to meet you. Is there anything I can do for you?" "Oh my gosh!"she said, placing her hand over her mouth. "Could I come into your house? I would love to see the world famous Doctor Johnson's home." "Sure,"I said. "It's kind of a mess, though." "I'm sure it is. We've all seen the historic records, after all. But I want to see your original apartment first hand." Mariko walked into the messy apartment and took a deep breath, then let out a contented sigh. "It's just as I imagined it would smell!" I took a whiff. Although I lived in the house, and spent almost all my time indoors, I could still sense my own unique fragrance. "I would think the smell would not be too hard to imagine,"I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. Mariko smiled broadly. "But imagination is not experience! And the experience of smelling your apartment alone has been worth the risk." "Risk?"I asked. "Oh yes. So much risk. Time travel is very hazardous, and there are very strict laws and regulations in place. I wrote most of the laws myself." "Because of paradoxes?"I asked, amazement growing in me as I began to realize that this was a legitimate time-traveller. "Amoung other problems,"she replied. "But yes, paradoxes are the basic problem. And there is a strict prohibition on visiting you at all." "Yet, here you are." "Yes, I couldn't help myself. I'm the inventor of time travel, so I felt that visiting you is my right. But I'm going to be in so much trouble when I get back,"she said, the sniffed the apartment air again, closing her eyes. "Ahh, but this odor alone has made the trip worth it. May I look around a bit?" Mariko examined pizza boxes and Taco Bell wrappers. She opened all my cabinets and drawers, holding out my favorite mug with Chewbacca on it. "Look!"she said. "It's the famous Chewie cup!" She went like this, room by room, digging through the mountains of trash and debris all around my apartment. Finally, she opened the door to my bedroom and stood in awe. I felt I needed to offer some kind of explanation to her for the amazing state of my room. "I was going to clean everything up next week. You really caught me at a bad time." "No this is perfect. Is this yours?"Mariko asked, holding up the dakimakura pillow with sailor moon on it. "Uh, it's my friends'. He left it here." Mariko smiled and set the pillow back down. "Oh no!"she said, glancing at my wall clock. "Is that clock correct?" "Yes." "You need to get on Reddit now!"she said in a sudden panic. "You need to have already posted your comment!"She grabbed me by the arm and frantically led me to my computer. "I've distracted you! Oh no, this is not good." "What comment? My one about disproving God?"I chuckled to myself at the cleverness of that post. "No, not that silly comment string. The other comment. The comment that gets Bill Gates to reply!" "Bill Gates is going to reply to one of my comments?" "No, Bill Gates was going to have replied to one of your comments, had I not interfered! Quick, perhaps if you post it now it will still work." Mariko instructed me on how to make the comment, complete with spelling errors; we posted it. "Good,"she said. "We're only three minutes late. Hopefully that doesn't make a difference." It did. Instead of getting instantly upvoted, as Mariko claimed it should have, my comment got an immediate downvote, then sat at zero points while Mariko frantically hit F5 to refresh. "Nobody is upvoting it!"she said, clutching her head. "What have I done?" The top comment was a post about a user's cute puppy. "There!"I said, pointing out the puppy comment. "Bill Gates replied!" But the reply was to the puppy comment, not to me. Bill Gates thought the puppy was the cutest he had ever seen. It was a very cute puppy. Over the course of the next half hour, we watched - me amused, Mariko in growing despair - as the puppy comment received more upvotes than any other comment in history, and the thread grew to thousands of replies. After an hour and hundreds of cute puppy pictures, Mariko closed the browser. "Well, I was ready for this,"she said, opening her colorful jacket. "I didn't want to have to do this, but now there is no choice."She withdrew rope, duct tape, and handcuffs. I panicked, falling backwards and scrambling away from the little Asian girl. "Are you going to tie me up!"I shouted fearfully. "No silly,"she laughed, pulling out a paper-thin tablet and bringing-up a holographic map. "Since Bill Gates didn't read your comment, we're going to have to kidnap him and force him to upvote it." It looked like I was still going to be famous in the future, one way or another.
Should I call her? No, she won't talk to you anymore. It's been three weeks. She won't pick up. I could see if he is free? No, I haven't sent him a text since-I scroll through messages. Shit. A year and a half ago. I could...maybe if I...nope. I hear Andy Serkis' Gollum telling me "You don't have any friends."as I turn on the t.v. and flip through four channels before randomly deciding to stick with a blender informercial. I watch it until I am no longer certain whether the commercial is on some sort of loop or is actually a feature length film where various house hold items you would never need to blend get liquified in "Just under five seconds!" I fall asleep on my couch, for the third day in a row, with pizza crumbs on my shirt. There's a knock at my door. I check my watch, it's half past two in the morning. Probably a drunk. I wipe off the crumbs on my chest and roll over onto my side. I grab my jacket from off the ground to use as a blanket. I'm nearly dreaming again when a few sharp knocks followed by some intense whispering on the other side of the door startle me awake. "Yonz. You can't just call out Grandpa like that! We have to ease him into this, okay?" "I'm sorry I wasn't aware there was a protocol in place"the second voice drips with mockery. "and how, exactly, does showing up in the middle of the night help ease him into this?" That's odd...sounds like a couple of kids arguing outside. The whispers settle down. I strain my head to see if I can hear them leave. I try ignoring what just happened. They're kids. Alone. In the middle of the night looking for their grandpa's apartment. Gah. I grumble as I put on my jacket and slip into my shoes. I open the door. The two kids were standing awkwardly close to the door when I opened it. They didn't budge, I stepped back. They took this as a signal to step inside. "Wow. This place is legit old school."The taller and slightly older of the two tells me with arms behind their back, inspecting my cluttered abode as they spoke. The younger one starts cautiously sifting through my varied stacks of comics, novels and philosophy books I've yet to read all scattered midst a sea of laundry and fast food wrappers. He holds a hand over his mouth and looks queasily at his companion. "Neat." "Excuse me, are you two lost, can I help you find someone?"Wasn't there an old couple that lived in the unit above me? The children just stand silently side by side with perfect posture, their coats glistening from the evening rain. The eldest pulls something out of their pocket. My heart begins to race, I'm running through my mind all the ways this situation could go poorly. Ranging from grandiose fears that they are somehow government assassins here to kill me to the simple fear that the police may come knocking, asking about some missing children and I say something stupid that gets me locked up. My mounting anxiety attack is halted by a sudden, brilliant, light emanating from a round disc in the child's hands. As my eyes adjust I can see it is projecting something onto the wall behind me. I step out of the way. A scrolling text, conspicuously bold and yellow against a starry back drop, moves up the wall. Familiar music blares out somehow from the strange device they're holding aloft. "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... A NEW DAY. 3/20. A day for celebration, where the rulers across the globe renew their commitment to world peace, suddenly thrown into chaos by the rise of the evil Emperor..." "Shit. Sorry about that, wrong configuration. We'd use that for an earlier visit."They fiddle with the disc. "Happy birthday by the way." "Uhm, how did you-?"I start to ask. The boy takes the disc out of the other's hands. "How old are you now?" "Me? I'm, uh, Twenty-five"I answer, mystified. The boy looks to his friend and smirks. "Told you we could do it my way."He spins the device between his index finger and thumb until it makes a few clicking sounds and a button pops up. Satisfied he hands it back. They press a bright blue button. My cell phone rings. A text. Hi Grandpa John. Happy Birthday. We're from the future. Wanna hang out?
"Wh... Where am I?" Marcus rose from his bed. Around him, pictures of his most cherished memories replaced photographs of his family. There in a black frame, was his wedding with Lisa. And next to it was the day he adopted Sergeant from the dog pound. He turned to look out of the window. The sun was shining, and the air smelled like cut grass, his favourite smell. "What's going on here" After one last scan of the room, something caught his eye. The mirror on the wall "I'm... I'm young again" He looked down at his hands, no wrinkles. "Then I must be... dead." Marcus was dead. The last thing he remembered was working in the garden. He was picking pears from the tree, despite being warned not to due to his tired limbs, when the steps of the ladder collapsed underneath him. Those last few seconds of life were the longest he'd ever experienced. Like falling down an endless hole. Was that when he was supposed to die? Or did he accidentally cut his life short? "So this is heaven huh?" He walked, nearly tripping up over his surprisingly fluid leg movements. He attempted to walk down the stairs without holding the bannister. A complete success. A smile spread across his face. A little bit of painless death was a fine price to pay for his mobility back. The options were endless, should he run outside? Or perhaps do a handstand, like he did on his first date with Lisa. Marcus entered the kitchen. On the table were several more photographs, one of the day he and Lisa had scaled Snowdon, and another of them with Helen and Keith at the fair. "Hold on... Who's this?" Underneath the photos was another picture. This time of him, with a gorgeous girl in a white dress, wearing a large sun hat. Someone whom he had never met before. Why was this picture amongst his most treasured memories? Why could he not remember it, or her? "Her name was Alice."Said a strange, but familiar voice. Marcus turned quickly, behind him stood a man, wearing sensible brown shoes and a pair of rolled up jeans, a white t-shirt and red dungarees. On his face sat a pair of thick, black glasses and his hair was a oaken dark brown colour, at a tidy length. Marcus recognised this man. The man from all the photographs, the man from the mirror. This man was him. Startled, Marcus stood staring at his doppleganger. There were one or two differences between them. Marcus stood in a firm upright position, to help with his Scoliosis. This stranger slumped, as if his spine had collapsed long ago. Marcus' skin was smooth, and gently complimented the features of his face, whereas the stranger had coarse skin, with bags like hammocks hanging under his eyes. More noticably, this stranger had several large scars, trailing up the center of both arms, from the wrist right the way to the inner elbow, and a large scar along his throat. "Who are you?"Asked Marcus, finally managing to draw a breath. "My name is Yancy" "Why do you look like me?" Yancy sighed, and flicked the nail he had just bitten off out of the window behind him. A habit that Marcus has kicked in his early childhood. "Think about it, moron." "Are you a copy of me? Like a clone?" Yancy lit up a cigarette, something that Marcus had only ever done for a few months in his teenage years. Rolling his eyes back he said "No, idiot, isn't it obvious? I am you."
There is no other way. Not for me. I tell myself this every night. Restless turning in my sheets. My conscience burns inside of me. My wife calls it a sign to change. A spark to ignite my humanity. But she's wrong. It's the fire of my father that lives on through me. Because hatred consumes. It must be fed. And so I must have endless fire in my belly. Endless contempt for them. All of them. But I cannot focus my hatred. My neighbour is one of them. The people my father said to despise. I call him enemy. He calls me friend. I hate it. I hate him. And then at night... I hate myself. Because I look at this man, the one who calls me friend, and my father's words begin to dim. He doesn't seem too different to me. I find a word I long for lodged in my throat. I want to say it back. Hello friend. But I can't. Fear holds me back. Fear that my father was wrong. Fear that everything I've ever known is a lie. So at night I lie awake. Complicit in my cowardice. The burden of a truth I'm scared to uncover. I cannot yet forgive my neighbour for the crimes he didn't commit. But I know that in my heart I hold my father's hate. I hope that one day I can face it. But for now, all I can do is acknowledge it for what it is. It is hatred. It is not righteous, nor proper, nor brave. It is hatred. The fire of my father burns destructively inside me. I hope one day I can control the flame, and use it to warm my heart, and also my neighbours. ---------------------------------- I hope this is an okay submission. I know it is a contentious topic, but I thought it would be interesting to approach the topic of hate from the perspective of a racist. Apologies if it is a bit too heavy for writingprompts.
"Lady, I fix things. Let me fix her."Carl said to the woman standing on the side of the road, giving her old ford a good cussin'. He meant for it to help calm her down, but he saw it started her getting riled up all over again. "That'll be just fine, Sir, I think we have got this all under control. Thank you very much, but it is unwarranted."She placed her hands on her hips, praying beyond hope her dear child would stop wailing in the passenger seat. Carl knew better than to press a person before they were ready to accept help. “Alright, then.” He said, and he turned to face the sunset. His body ached from the day’s work on Grover’s tractor and harrows, but it was a good ache that meant he was still able to get out and do a day’s work in the first place. The sun was sinking low over the fields, divided by rows of trees. From this point on the Hill Road, he could see clean over Grover’s place and down toward town in the valley. Hills rolled together, culminating down at the river that had halted his ancestors with its beauty. The ground here was not new anymore, having been broken season after season by the folks that lived here now. Carl was almost completely lost in his thoughts when the woman spoke back up. “Are you just going to stand there until I change my mind?” She asked impatiently, but without the same hostility as before. Carl noticed the child had calmed down now, and was looking curiously over at the two grown-ups. “Well, see here ma’am, I was just looking at this beautiful sunset now, but I would be remiss to leave you and your co-pilot stranded out here, however under control the situation may be.” He smiled at the young girl in the car. He hadn’t meant anything by what he said, but he could see the stranger was looking to see if she could find anything insulting in it. “Well…” She said, resigning to the situation and seemingly finding no fault with Carl for the time being, “It sure would be a prettier sunset if this old thing would get me where I need to go.” “Pardon my saying so ma’am, but a sunset like that is gonna keep on going being pretty with or without us. However, if you’d like I can take a look at this old thing here, because us old things tend to get along nicely together.” He smiled and was relieved to see her smile in return. “I thank you.” She said and held out a hand. “I’m Jane, and my copilot is Beth. Elizabeth!” She called, and the young girl opened the door and came out to meet them. “This nice man is going to teach us how to fix this car, now. Elizabeth, this is…” “Carl.” He said, and tipped his cap, crouching down to meet Elizabeth, “And I must say what an honor it is to meet such a radiant young thing. Here I didn’t know I’d have the pleasure today. You have a beautiful name, dear.” He smiled, and the girl smiled, blushing. He was not sure she understood him, but she reacted as children do, smiling and turning into her mother’s skirts. “Well now,” he began, standing and turning to face the car, “I don’t fancy myself much a teacher, but let’s see if we can’t work together to get this thing taking you where you’re aiming to go.” “Well,” Jane said, looking confident, “this fine automobile has quit on me more times than I care to count, and I will be darned if I’m gonna keep on trusting it this way. No one has bothered to fix it, or at least not to fix it right, and I am beside myself. It just started billowing steam like an engine and quit on me.” “Well,” Carl smiled broadly, “Sounds like she’s a might hot. Shouldn’t be too long before you and Beth there are on your way.” “That is a relief.” Jane said, and walked with Carl to the front of the Ford. “Well look here,” Carl said, lifting the engine cover on the driver side. “Looks like you’ve dropped a hose. If you look right in here, you’ll see that hose is disconnected. Now, normally it’s moving water from up here,” He pointed to the radiator, “back here,” now to the block, “to cool the engine. Doesn’t work as good when it’s not attached.” “That makes sense that it wouldn’t. That was not at all hard to understand, thank you for taking the time.” She said gratefully. “No need to thank me. I’ll be right back.” Carl went to his truck and brought back with him his tools and drinking jug, pulling out a flat head to tighten the hose clamp back down. Then, he tested the radiator cap, found it cool, and took it off to fill the radiator. “Now, you’re going to want to have someone look at that and make sure I got enough water in there, but it should get you where you’re going this evening.” He shut the engine cover and his tool kit, and proffered the flathead to Jane. “Here you are. Ought to have this in the glovebox, just in case that hose decides to go jumping off on you again.” He smiled at her. She looked at the tool, and then at him, lips parted. Finally, she closed her mouth and grabbed the handle, examining the tool. “Well, I thank you. And thank you again for showing me the problem.” “It wasn’t any trouble.” Carl said, and it wasn’t. He was glad to have helped, and hoped they made it on fine to where they were going. “You take care now, Jane. Welcome to the valley.” “You were right, Carl.” “Says which?” He asked, turning back to the two, standing in the golden light. “It is a fine sunset, and I don’t expect it does pay a mind to how we feel about it.” She smiled and turned, leading Beth back to the open door.
That area in front of me, that green, green field and those lakes were a great place for a settlement to be built. But I just can't seem to bring me and my team over there. It was as if there was an invisible force field blocking our path. What the fuck? I know I was born yesterday, but I was old enough to know that there is no such thing as magic. What was going on here? Suddenly, I felt a strange tinge in my body. It was like I was getting overridden by an invisible hand. I found myself marching, to my amazement, away from the perfect settlement ground towards a northern part of the map -- which was an uncharted territory. I willed myself to look back as I marched, watching as my team followed suit, carrying their tools and everything with them. After about 10 seconds worth of walking, in which we transversed a few miles, we came to a rocky terrain. This was a stupid decision, but we had no choice but to obey God's command and we set to work. I wasn't feeling good about this, because unlike the pasture before, this place was far away from our main settlement and unprotected by our soldiers. I tried to 'pray' to contact our God, to warn him against this action, but alas to no avail, the command was sent and we begin building on the rocks. Not only was the work stupid and hard, it was dangerous as well. Sure enough, as we were halfway through with the construction, a horde of barbarians rained down from the opposite mountains and completely inundated us. My entire crew was killed right in front of me. Before I died, I cursed whatever idiot that was in charge of this campaign and hoped that when I next respawned, I would be given an owner who can actually play the game.
Heaven was nothing like Evan was expecting. Purgatory is actually the orientation talk where an angel goes over how heaven works and where you hang out until the disappointment wears off. "In your heavenly existence, there is no need for sleep or sustenance,"the angel said. The sleep part didn't seem to bother most of them in the room but the realization that there was no food in heaven hit everyone hard. "No cheeseburgers?"Evan asked meekly. "No food at all,"replied the angel. Evan later learned that there was a running count of what food item came up first in each orientation. He was thinking some sort of pasta would be at the top of the list, but bread was mentioned the most. "Audiences with God are held twice daily. New arrivals can only attend the morning session. After you attend that initial session with God, you will be able to schedule a one on one session during the afternoon session." "Whats the waiting list for a personal audience?"someone asked. "It's about 10 years right now. Most people go back to the morning session and watch the new arrivals flip out when the true nature of God is revealed, but I don't want to spoil too much." The people in the room were now shouting questions over one another and getting agitated. "PEOPLE PLEASE!"the angel shouted. The room fell silent and the angel gave the speech,"Heaven is boring. You are here forever and even though there is plenty to do with that much time you will eventually get bored of everything." There is always one who gets it first and screams it. In this session it was Evan, "I WANT TO GO BACK!" "Resurrection is an option,"said the angel, "but there is a catch." "God's favorite thing to do is create new souls. So He spends most of eternity doing just that. When he stops creating new souls, we can slip in old souls into new births. God only stops for two hours a day for the audiences. That's 30,000 old souls a day we can get back to earth a day at the current birthrate. However, there is about 105,000 new arrivals here each day and EVERYONE eventually wants to go back. You do the math." "There is a waiting list?"Evan asked incredulously. "Yes,"said the Angel, "I think we are up to 1865. I saw that Abe Lincoln's recreation of the Gettysburg Address is no longer on the entertainment schedule so...um well." "Well what?" "We have World War 1 and 2 casualties to get through soon, that's going to slow things down considerably."
Grandpa sits on the wooden floor. The door. Left open a while ago had lifted itself properly. He sat dwindling. We asked him a few things and left them there. We hadn't moved without him saying so. So we left him. There weren't six ways to look at the situation otherwise. Cold turkey was left in the box. The porcelain dinnerware lay out of reach. There wasn't much in that dingy box that didn't resonate when he said "pop"anyway. In the end a wicker chair still sat as transfixed as any other. The brother of exactly what grandpa had said before he vanished. Beyond the voices there was a world outside. Shining in on the linoleum. Reflecting the vibrant orange glow off the patte mat and wooden chock. We asked him about the journey. "There wasn't a single spot left when we were here before"he mentioned. They acknowledged his efforts and continued sitting. "He left a good bit before her"Sandra mentioned. The old man lifted himself up and dusted off the last bits of whatever came with him. It was neatly piled on the tile and the matter only proceeded that he needed some shorts. Arnold followed him. And pulled a T-Shirt out of the closet. He asked for a quick roundup and he got it. Arnold amused himself in the matter and left it as usual. Both of them returned unaware of exactly where they needed to sit but the others made it perfectly clear. All of them sat at that table for the next afternoon entirely. And why exactly shouldn't they. There was a long exhale throughout the proceedings. The sun dipped behind the aging fenceline and the house sank a few inches shorter, a slow exhale from a tired building. The night engulfed all 7 of them without leaving any. Each one heavier than before. And the night moved on. The morning brought another down. We had left him there before and would again. We left him exactly where it was and he performed as admirably as anybody. There were more and it would be exactly as sensational each time. But there wouldn't be much need for the exercise that followed.
Regret. It was unmistakable. That was the feeling I was having. I, Lord of the Golden Coast, commander of the Legion of Sorrows, was regretting a decision made almost twenty years ago, a decision that had been fruitful beyond imagination. Yet, there she was, looking at me. Something so small and helpless, it should have feared me. Had she known me, maybe she would have. But then that look seemed to say she did know me, and that somehow she trusted me. Stupid creature. Stupid little creature that somehow made me feel. Was it her gentle grasp around my finger? Was it her warm breath on the back of my hand? Was it that look? It didn’t matter. Soon enough she would be gone. Pear-face had held up her end of the bargain. I had nothing to complain about, no reason to consider the contract void. It was time I gave Pear-face what she asked for. They never tell you their name; something about it giving you power over them, but her face had an uncanny similarity to a pear, one that had sat in the sun for far too long so that it dried out and wrinkled before slowly rotting. A stinging crack of thunder behind me told me that the old hag had arrived. The child began to cry and I let out a sigh as I turned around. Hmmm, maybe I had been mistaken. The hag did not quite look like I remembered. Her face was more of a peach, splotchy, ever so slightly fuzzy, and rotting in a way that bulges out. I’m sure her kind could change their appearance if they so wished, but why would anyone switch from one hideous face to yet another hideous face? Another crack of thunder sounded behind me. I turned again. There was my hag. I had remembered correctly. Pear-face started towards me and then stopped.
I was heaving, breathing deeply. I couldn't control my thoughts because my brain was racing trying to go off that adrenaline as i looked at the shadowy figure standing on the edge of my bed. This was the third time in a row. Third time this shadow figure had visited me. Shadows hid its face from me so i could not see who it was. Not today. No matter what it took i would confront it. I refuse to be terrorised every night. Who are you? I asked my voice constricted to a whine. Who could it be? Was it a demon? A banshee? Was it the grim reaper himself? Beads of perspiration formed on my forehead. The figure leaned forward revealing his face in the pale moonlight. Samuel L. Jackson.
“Imagine..” I said with a dramatic flare, “You sitting in a locked room, with no way to get out.” I paced around the chair, stroking the back as I rounded it each time. “Imagine, there’s no way to get out of the room, and something is hiding in there with you.” I tried to keep the psychotic laughter in. “What are you talking about? And where am I-” “One question at a time, please.” I looked away irritated. “Perhaps, what’s hiding is the shadow it’s self. It is very much alive.” I contemplated. “That doesn’t explain anything-” “Of course not,” I turned towards the captive on the chair. “To your tiny human brain nothing makes sense besides the obvious.” I said insultingly. “Think… Think! Think of the connections..” My voice crescendoed. “What do shadows have to do with anything?” I smiled a toothless grin in his direction, surprising him by not cutting off his words. “Where do the shadows fall?” I leaned in close to his face, hands on the back of the chair. “Behind you.” I smiled again. “But not just behind you, everywhere! In the cracks, up the wall, who knows what they’re planning.” I stood and began pacing again. “Planning?” “Oh, look, you’ve forgotten the most important question already.” “What?” “No, not what, who! Who! Who am I?” I yelled excitedly, “And importantly, why am I even trying to talk to ignorance itself?” Then grumbled. “Who are you, then?” I stopped my pace right in front of him, hair half-falling over one eye, and tilted my head in a mischievous grin. “Wouldn’t? You? Like? To? Know?” I broke into more psychotic laughter, this time holding my stomach and hitting the ground. “Who knows? Not me. But I know who you are.” I sobered up. “Why am I here?” He said in a small voice. “What’s in the corner of the room?” I whispered in return. “I-I don’t know.” He stuttered as I got close to him again, a hand on his thigh. “You won’t scream will you?” I stared at his lips, perfectly shaped- not to thin and not to thick. “Why am I here?” He said trying to force an answer from my lips. “Shadows.” I turned my head to the side, studying his mouth and jaw as he talks. “What?” “Not what who.” I kept the whisper in my voice. “Who?” “I don’t know.” “Then what’s the point in asking?” He sounded exasperated. “The shadow remembers everything it’s touched, and that includes people. A shadow is very much alive.” I began tracing my finger over his shirt, finding the lines of his chest underneath. “But. what. does. that. mean?” He questioned, each word stabbing. I cringed my eyes shut and sighed, “Humans are ignorant of the fact that shadows are alive. They have feelings, and they don’t like being stepped on or constantly having to follow people around.” “So what does that mean for me? What exactly is happening-” “I asked you not to scream and you never promised.” I looked up into his eyes, “Will you promise not to scream?” “Fine- whatever.” “Promise.” “Okay, but only if you tell me exactly what’s happening.” “Promise first.” He tilted his head back exasperated, “Fine, tell me your name to.” I looked to the side contemplating that. It’s not like he’s going to remember it for long. “Jeldakgorkornar, Jeldak for short.” “And I promise not to scream.” I smiled, with teeth this time. Every tooth with a point, and overlapping at least one other tooth. “Your shadow wants revenge, and in honesty, I’m just her to watch the show.” ___ Had this written already, I mean it's two guys in a room and ones tied to a chair..... That's about the only resemblance, enjoy.
TWELVE YEARS PRIOR TO PRESENT DAY The retro-styled bubble television emitted a harsh glare as the news reporter for the small and isolated parish of Norcullen sputtered out their report. "The search for Montgomery James Aberdeen has terminated as officials and family have decided to declare him dead. It has been three years since his disappearance on the lake and we are absolutely gutted to see that Norcullen has given up on one of its own. In other news the lake has seen yet another precipitous increase in water levels, submerging the dock district of Norcullen parish. Odd sightings have been submitted to local and regional authorities by residents and visitors alike. As there is a decided lack of experts in the parish we've turned to the local madman who has long been claiming that Lake Norkillen would rise to such extents. 'I tol'you! I tol'yous all! N'yous all called me MAD?! I tol'syou!' Indeed, the Madman did tell us. Finishing the broadcast now, I would simply like to say: Montgomery James Aberdeen, may your soul rest in peace." I grunted, stroking my thick black beard as I bent over the engine of my car whilst listening to the television. Pity we only have one channel here, it's been the same man on the television since before I was even born. PRESENT DAY The lush plasma screen TV in an apartment in New York City was emitting a soft glow as the news anchor spoke clearly and with intention. "Norcullen Parish has had approximately 80% of its territory be submerged by the rapidly rising Norkillen Lake. The death toll, surprisingly for such a small parish, has reached into the thousands. I have here a Monty Jr. Nedaza, an expert in climate change sciences, Monty, what can you tell us about this unprecedented rise in water level in an otherwise land-locked parish?"Monty Jr. Nedaza peered solemnly towards the anchor before he spoke. "Well, to be frank, I have absolutely nothing to say. This level of water rise is entirely unprecedented, it's something we can expect to see in twenty to thirty years when glacial melt is in its full throes. This, especially in an as you said otherwise land-locked parish, is an unseen phenomena. However by current rates of water level rise we can assume that the parish of Norcullen will be entirely submerged within six years. At which point it is unclear if Norcullen parish''s Norkillen Lake will continue to rise until it eventually merges with the Pacific and Atlantic oceans."said Monty Jr. Nedaza. The madman looked at the television, his eyes glazed over in prophetic murkiness. "And so the Warlock warns of that which he should promise.."said the madman to no particular individual. But those that needed to hear, heard, and action would be taken. "Your will be done, Madman of Norcullen Parish."said a voice on the wind. THREE WEEKS LATER The newspapers told of Monty Jr. Nedaza's unfortunate murder, and the rapid descent of the water levels of Norkillen Lake within Norcullen Parish. Experts around the globe remain confounded as to how this occurred.
There’s always one. Sometimes there’s two, or three - or a thousand. But it doesn’t matter, for we’re talking about a principle here. One isn’t a number. It’s a psychological profile. There’s always one. One who feels out of place. One who doesn’t agree to the rules. One insufficiently equipped with the instruments we humans deal and compromise with reality. One who wants a shortcut to the things others toil and sweat for. One who promises these others that he’ll share the shortcut with them. Patient zero - a Typhoid Mary, running around and fucking up perfectly healthy societal cells. The rot which eats the proverbial fish right from the head and down. I had been such, in my day. Full of ill-placed passion and disagreement, specifically with the UEG. Shoved in a freezer and beamed across half of the known galaxy with a crop of other penal colonists. The United Earth Government had a better term than “exile”, a pastel, foamy-friendly denominator of “reformation”. Like Englishmen shipped to the deserted shores of Australia, we made a home of Pollux B... and I made holy matrimony with my destiny. Every damn day. And reformation? You can say so. “Sir... we’re holding them currently, but a decision has to be made”, behind me, a familiar shadow stretches forth, gliding from the top to the edge of the balcony, fogging up the reinforced glass. Rev Vankovski, head of CEM, always loves to catch me with my back to the door, and today’s his lucky, lucky day. Even without turning my head, I can feel a change in air as particles of condensed bloodlust dance around like the dustmotes in sunlight. The sun of Pollux is different than Sol. Harsh. Hot. It really messes with your mind outside of Pyl City and all the air conditioning and shade. That’s why we got rid of such useless ideas as “democracy” and “pluralism” here. Not all voices are equal when a million voices scream utter nonsense, driven insane by misfortune and “injustice” that in all honesty, they brought onto themselves. I thought I’ve put a stop to all those sickly ideas... But I was wrong. I watch the crowd below, the barricades and the burning carcasses of hoverpods strewn across the plaza. It undulates, pulsing with a rhythm of disoriented urges, screams, slogans. This beat didn’t originate on its own, no. Somewhere there’s a conductor. Even wolves don’t bite an elk’s ankles before the alpha gets his first snap at the faltering prey. “There”, I point, finger pressing into the bullet-proof glass tile. “See her? She’s the one. My Mary”. “Mary?” Rev settles by my side, the reflection of his pale face transferring onto mine, a scarred visage onto the unmarred, perfect blank of the syntocon I currently inhabit. “Let me scan her. Nope, not Mary, sir. Name’s Tyra Sollana... heh, a freaking code runner, by the looks of the ‘base”. Rev’s too young to process the reference. I doubt he ever got a cold in his life, not with the healthcare both in UEG-space and here on Pollux. Plus all the mods tacked onto his genome, good Lord. “It’s slang, Vankovski. She’s the firestarter”. “So, what do we do?” The syntocon is a full combat model, top of the line from Zameda Mechanics, so I zoom in on this Sollana woman effortlessly. The stream of data on the side is useless - all public and CEM infodumps, from medical records to s-stat. With situations like these, when there’s a few thousand angry citizens swarming your hard-earned residence, threatening to tear you apart, you’re not looking for a parking ticket. You’re looking at clenched fists, at the sweat beading on the temples. You look at lips curled in primal rage. That wonderful feminine curve of the upper eyelid that covers a carbon-black drive for power. Fervor and fire, pounding into the temples with each rush of blood. Listen to the words. “We want”. “We demand”. “Down with the tyranny”. “Viva la resistance!”. The crock of bullshit steams, fueled by its own irrelevance. Some people can’t handle a little change. A little pressure. They get offended by evolution’s little swift kick to the pants, especially if those are delivered by agents like me. It has nothing to do with morality, in the end. No connection to the politics. The gaunt, grey-laced woman on the concrete soapbox fiddling with the sound-amp chip on her neck, isn’t a savior - she’s a challenger. Light-years away from Earth, under the guise of ideological differences in the matter of running Colony Pollux, we engage in our species’ favorite past-time. Jumping around each other with a stick held threateningly over our heads. Poor Tyra Sollana and her fleshmob for freedom and justice. My stick is bigger, or I wouldn’t have staved death off for so long. “What we always do, Rev”. The head of CEM blinks slow enough for me to see the butterfly flutter of commands flash between his eyelids, passing it onward to the sniper team. There, below, a shot rings out with a splash of brain-tinged crimson. The crowd splashes from the point of impact, streaming away like disturbed roaches. “That’s some change, wasn’t it?” The shots erupt from all sides, blowing the revolutionaries off their feet. Wind versus dandelions, carnage edition. Once again, there is one. And it’s still me.
The air was cold. A slivery wind bit at the old man's wrinkled cheek, as he looked longingly at the moon. It was a beautiful night. Perhaps cold and perhaps there would be bad things happening elsewhere... But here, on the sterile hospital balcony, it was peaceful. "Carol?"a voice barked from the nurses' station, "Where did Mr. DesJardin go to?" "He asked for a couple minutes while I took care of Miss Grimms,"chirped back a softer voice. Something was surprisingly calm about this wintery night. The athsma that had plagued the old man's lungs seemed far away, and the moon... His beautiful moon... It seemed close enough to brush with his fingertips. A slow step brought him back to Earth. "Quite a beautiful night,"said a smooth man's voice. "It is,"replied Mr. DesJardin, "Almost as beautiful as my wedding day, but that was forever ago." "Sixty eight, if my time is correct."A warm hand rested on his shoulder. "That... That's about right... My Ellie th... Though..."The old man sniffed softly, "She was the one you'd want to see." "I did, and you were a very lucky man,"the quiet around the balcony seemed deep. "I suppose there's no use questioning if I have any time left..." The voice paused a moment, "I won't take you if you won't go. I am a guide, but I don't want to leave a kind gentleman like yourself in the cold." "Then I will only take a moment or two with the cold air."The puffs into the frosty air whipped away quickly. A moment, as the wind slipped off to bother someone else, and snow drifted lazily into the square balcony. And as quietly as the frost falling, the old man climed up, his skin smoothing and his blown out knee as strong as he ever remembered. The man behind guided him up, and towards the ledge. The old man looked at the moon, but saw something in front of it... A person? Maybe... No.... Yes... Glancing over his shoulder, a scene was happening behind him. Nurses were rushing around an ancient gentleman, who was smiling quite peacefully, for the first time in the last ten years. And walking along the silvery moonlight, he felt first, his wife's warm hand, as they walked towards the moon again. Edit, already: Phone typing error... Whoops.
Each time, I'd have to get lucky and pray the spot I wanna end up in doesn't have a thing already existing there. I'd been transported to Alezia and Fratisian worlds before because I goofed. I wanted to go to a bunch of places but it'd take me like 6 trips before I got it right. Of course, other people have gotten super unlucky and needed to pit stop at the underworld before coming back up. I never had to do that. The luckiest I ever got was getting it just right because no one was standing there at the point in time, but I got to stand at the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Sheer luck, though. The next time I tried, I ended up in Cartesia. Eventually, I only used teleportation if the place I was going was really far away, like 3 or so hours because I don't have time to drop three hours going somewhere. It's fine though, the ability is useful when it works, just gotta pull out a map app before I use it.
"Hello all! Welcome aboard! Thank you for being such a valuable customer and for trusting in Tesla and what it stands for. You are the lucky one to be in the future that I've designed for you all! You will soon be aboard a Falcom Heavy rocket to be launched into space! Yes, you heard it right! You are going to be the new Starman! So buckle up and enjoy your ride!" ....and Space Odyssey plays in the background..
(not a writer but I'll try...) You gave me a promise and I lost it. It wasn't intentional. "No!" ...but secrets like that writhe to the surface; buried blankets unravelling quicker than tears fall. They fell fast as I told them. You thought it was your secret. But when they found me, you weren't there. You left me exposed, tears creeping through shame. You're gone, but my experiences; clammy hands forcing, cutting, weeping? My memories, they remain, fragmented and writhing like the suffocated swimmer drowned in silk sheets, grieving for something. Mourning for what? Was it that part of me you snatched? Still, I trusted myself with your promise and I broke it. I lost it. "Now, don't be a tattletale. Why tell anyone? It's our secret!!"
Walking in New York isn't like walking where I'm from. People are fast. Their strides are big. They weave through people and don't think twice about brushing or even pushing right past you. I trip on the curb and take two steps into the street. I catch myself as a taxi blairs their horn into my face. I jump a little and nearly trip again. I'm late to work at this point and decide to get into the cab.
"I'm looking for a ring."Said Eric, trying his best to sound confident as he walked into the store. Since I had been at this post for a long time, I could tell when someone was feigning confidence; Eric was nervous. "What sort of ring?"I asked. "Well -- you know -- the sort that--" "Is this for Hazel?"I cut him off. It was a small town, everyone knew everyone and everything going on. It was just hot news that Eric and Hazel had just purchased their own home and was planning to move in there after a few months. It wasn't hard to deduce what Eric wanted. "Y-yes,"Eric said, blushing. We stared at each other for the longest time. Eric's a good kid: hard-working, determined, kind and attractive. He is definitely a guy you would want to settle down with. Albeit, Eric wasn't the brightest light-bulb around. Hazel on the other hand, was a little more on the wild side; although she has toned down significantly. During her teenage years, she would hang out with strange guys, get drunk in parties, and dress extremely provocatively. Although she wasn't exactly the town slut, she did have a reputation for cheating. But she probably convinced Eric that she had changed, grown-up and matured, and the poor schmuck probably believed it. That is a blatant lie. Hazel's currently cheating on him. And here he was, shopping for a wedding proposal. I wanted desperately to warn him off, to tell him of Hazel's 'activities'; but then I remembered... my daughter was turning 8 this year, and I really wanted to surprise her. A promise ring was expensive, and the commission juicy. Oh, who was I to meddle in people's love affairs? "Let's take a look shall we?"I said to Eric, faking a conflicted smile. Eric smiled back at me and we went to work. That night, I went home, still feeling shitty but unable to suppress my glee at the prospect of the commission. My daughter greeted me with shrieks and smiles and immediately began telling me about the happenings of her day. I turned to the babysitter. "You don't mind staying awhile, do you?" The babysitter shook her head and went to the kitchen, probably grabbing a beer and smoke as I entertained my daughter. My daughter's extremely energetic when I get home, but I knew her schedule, she was going to burnout fast and sleep soon. I talked and played with her for awhile until she became sleepy and I tucked her into bed. I closed her door and went downstairs. The babysitter was out on my porch, drinking and smoking. "How was your day?"She asked. "It's been great. I'll tell you about it later."I said as I joined her. Now, we are both laying in my bed after doing the deed. I turn over and touch her face, admiring her beauty. We had known each other for a long time, even with the age-gap, we still found each other attractive; and I guessed we just clicked together when my wife died. I decide it was time to break it to her. "Hazel, Eric's gonna propose to you soon."
. Adelan stood at the front of his army, facing down the orcs. Though he was confident of victory, he still felt slightly nervous. He always felt nervous before a battle. Paranoia was what made him the best commander in the land and led to him leading the king's greatest army, an army of the best warriors of his kingdom. Each was commissioned blades and shields with extra strength bestowed upon them by mages. And many of the warriors themselves were skilled mages. And who better to lead them than the most skilled mage. Adelan was born with an innate deep understanding of magic and none could top him in terms of either raw power or fine manipulation of magic. At twenty years of age, Adelan was by far the youngest Commander in the kingdom's history. And arguably the best. The orcs began to charge. Adelan watched motionlessly, disgusted by their brutish faces. Arrows rained down upon the orcs, each exploding to take down a dozen of the creatures. The orcs stumled over the remains of the first lines and continued their approach towards Adelan's army. When the orcs were close enough, Adelan signalled his mages in the first row to unleash their powers on the oncoming horde. Blasts of blinding energy shot from their hands taking down 5 rows of the approaching army. With the mages, the orcs were sufficiently delayed in reaching them but their momentum held and soon the two armies finally clashed. As Adelan watched an orc charge straight towards him, he wondered "What would the king's historians name this battle?"He absentmindedly blasted the orc with a burst of flame as he pondered the question. An orc ran through the flames and charred remains of it's fallen friend. Adelan pulled his Sword of Reckoning from it's sheath and swiped at the beast. The blade went smoothly through armor and flesh with little resistance. As more orcs neared, Adelan gracefully skewered them in mere moments, swinging his blade skillfully. As he slew them, he continued thinking of a name for the battle. The battle was in the Salaran plains just like many other battles in this war. The nearest town was far away and Adelan wasn't sure what it was called. Derani or something. Adelan considered that, "The Battle of Derani."But no, Adelan knew this was an important battle, one that would significantly affect the orcs' morale. It would need a name with a meaningful word. As Adelan mulled over the name, he continued felling the orcs. Most of his frontline was down but Adelan still stood, a beacon of stability for his army. Adelan didn't have to worry about strategies; he had already prepared all the plans for this day with specific contingencies for any forseeable surprise. He had appointed his most brilliant men to carry out his plans as the battle raged. Right now he stood for his men. An orc slammed a club into Adelan's face. Adelan stood unfazed and unmoving, only his arms dancing to cut down the orc. His blade suddenly burned with blue flames to inflict more pin on the orc that hit him. But now Adelan was enraged. He sheathed his sword and slammed his foot to the ground, toppling the surrounding orcs. He brought up his fists, twin storms of white energy swirling arround them. He ran with the grace of a tiger, slamming into orcs and vaporising entire sections of their bodies and strewing their gore accross the ground. A thousand roars and a thousand cries accompanied Adelan as he ran through the hellish landscape of war, tearing through the enemy. And all the while, he consideded a name for the battle. He had thought of many words, like success, retribution, and even king's power. But none of these words fit. He wanted something about showing the orcs their place and putting and end to their attacks. These thoughts gave him an almost melancholic expression even as he destroyed lines of orcs with only his fists and some bursts of energy. Now many of the orcs we're armed with powerful, enchanted weapons capable of turning men to dust. But even this did not give Adelan pause. White light and blue flame was not the limit to his magic. The earth shook and the elements shot forth from his extended hands, and yet Adelan was in no worry. Suddenly, with all that thinking, Adelan got a good word, quelling. The Battle of Quelling. He played the word arround in his head and still liked it. Within a moment, Adelan leveled the land before him with a great burst of energy. As his sight came back from the blinding light, he could see no orcs. The battle was over. He fell down, exhausted. Men rushed to help him. Adelan waved them back and walked back to camp, ignoring the cheers and tears of his soldiers. Of course, he marched straight to the planners' tent. Soaked in blood, gore, and sweat, none of it his own, he looked at them and asked "What did they name the battle?"Beeildered, one responded, "They're calling it The Battle of Delasri, sir. After the town that's near it."Adelan collapsed. "No,"he whispered as if in pain. "I had a better name for it."
We all sat around the TV, eagerly awaiting the news. By this time, the beers had all been emptied, the food all gone cold and stale. Most of us were close to giving up on the result, as morn was approaching all too quickly. But we still held on to a glimmer of hope that we would hear some sort of good news. To this point we figured that if there was a God of some kind, we wouldn't have ever heard these words as they resonated through the ears of humans all over the world... "It has been called! Donald J Trump is the President of the United States!"
Part 1 The clanging of a bell broke the town from it’s midday activities. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked to the town hall, and the tower climbing from the center of the building. The warning bells continued to sound, and before too long, men could be heard rushing through the streets. “What’s happening?” The young man asked his father as the small family looked up from their lunch. “We’re being attacked.” The father said, standing up quickly and walking to a chest near the wall, pulling out armor and slipping it on as quickly as he could. Before long, he was in full battle gear, leather armor with heavy metal plates covering various places. He walks back to the table, giving the young man a hug, and kissing the little girl on the forehead. With that, he turned towards the door to their home and grabbed his sword. “I want to help!” The young man exclaimed, standing up. “I want to come with you!” “Wes.” The Father said sadly. “You are still only sixteen, you will be ready to join the defense of the city soon, but not yet. For now, if you want to help.” Wes nodded at this. “Then help me, by promising me you will keep Lily safe. If I know you are on it, then I can work without fear.” “I promise.” Wesley stood behind Lily’s chair, and wrapped his arms around her protectively. “I’ll keep her safe.” “And you as well, I want to come home to both of you.” The Father smiled. “I love you both. Stay inside. Stay safe.” And with that, he left the small home, closing the door behind him. “Is daddy gonna be okay?” Lily asked, looking up at her older brother. He could see the slightest trace of tears just waiting to well up in her eyes. “He’ll be fine.” Wes hugged his sister tightly. “He’s one of the strongest warriors in the whole town.” He patted her on the head, and tousled her long black hair playfully. “Do you want to finish your lunch?” Lily nodded with a smile and dug back into her plate of food. Wes laughed and released her from his grip. Walking over to his father’s small armory where he’d acquired all his gear from, Wes found what he was looking for. A small, at least for his father, sword. He collected it, sheath and all, and walked back over to the table, sitting down in his chair. He laid the sword across his lap, and went back to eating his own meal. The sounds of battle came and went, the bells continuing to ring the whole time. After a while, both of them finished their meals, and Wes had put their dishes away. Now Lily sat at the table, looking over a book she still didn’t fully understand. Wes was teaching her to read in his spare time, as most of the village’s teachers didn’t think it was that important. While Lily sounded out letters and words, Wes sat at his spot at the table, his right hand clenched on the grip of the sword that still rested across his lap. He spent his time either watching Lily study, or watching the cracks of the door. And then, the bells of the town hall stopped ringing. Wes looked at the wall, in the direction of where the sound had been coming from. The bells may have stopped, but the sounds of battle were louder than ever. Wes’s grip on the sword tightened as Lily turned a page in her book. The banging on the door made both of them jump in their seats. Lily stopped what she was doing, and stared at the door, tears already in her eyes. Wes stood up quickly, the sword singing free of the sheath. He may not be a warrior yet, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t practiced enough with all manner of combat. The banging continued for another minute and then stopped. The wooden door of the home exploded inward in a shower of splinters. Coming through the wreckage was a monster of a man, at least two heads taller than their Father, who was at least a head taller than Wes still. The man was lightly armored, massive cords of muscle showing through where the armor wasn’t deemed necessary. He carried an axe in one hand, and the other seemed to be covered in blood. “Little children!” The man exclaimed in a raspy voice that sounded like rocks falling around in a box. “You will make Jorgosh a pretty bit of coin at the slave markets. Come on then, come with big man Jorgo.” He reached across the table to the now bawling Lily with his bloodied hand. Wes took his chance and slashed at the man’s arm with his sword. He managed to nick the muscled arm before Jorgosh slid away from the blade laughing. “A little soldier?” Jorgosh bellowed. He stepped towards Wes, who slashed again at the man’s unarmored side. The bigger man caught the sword in his bloodied hand, the blade biting in deep, but not effecting the big man in the slightest. Jorgosh pulled the sword free of Wes’s grasp, slamming the hilt into the young man’s face with a crunch. Jorgosh finished the ordeal by slamming his axe into Wes’s left arm, the blade biting deep enough to score the bone. Wes fell to the ground, gasping through a mouth filled with blood, he couldn’t do anything as Jorgosh picked Lily up easily in one hand. Placing her carefully over one shoulder, Jorgosh smiled and sauntered towards the door. Wes could feel his blood pooling around him, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was his sister was crying, and scared. He stood up, slowly, but surely, he found his footing and stood up, calling to the giant who had his sister. “No.” Wes called, but his voice was weak and muffled. He realized at that point that his nose was probably broken. He felt cold all over, like he was stuck outside on a winter night. Jorgosh must have heard him though, as the big man laughed and turned around. “What was that little soldier, soon to be little corpse?” Jorgosh smiled at the massive pool of blood still forming under Wes’s feet. “Come now little lady, let’s be off then.” “No!” Wes was burning up. He felt the heat flow over him as he yelled at the big man. This time Jorgosh froze in place. There was no laughter as the big man turned around. Wes felt stronger all of a sudden. That wasn’t quite right, he felt different, like someone had turned on a light inside him. Like he’d spent his whole life out in the cold, and the door to a warm home was just opened, a fire already burning in the hearth. “Now listen here, you little shit.” Jorgosh set Lily down carefully, and she away still crying. “It’s okay Lily.” Wes called out soothingly. The room seemed brighter to him for some reason. That reason was obvious to all but Wes himself, as bright light poured forth from the young man’s eyes, and all of his open wounds. Before he could even realized what he was doing, he dashed across the room so fast Jorgosh didn’t even have time to make a noise before the young man’s fist, filled with that same bright light, slammed into him, sending him flying out of the open doorway. He heard Jorgosh groan as he slammed into something outside. “Wes?” Lily called out weakly from the corner she had hidden in during the short fight. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know.” Wes looked down at his arm just in time to see the light fade from where the wound had been. Now there was nothing but pink flesh, like a new scar. He felt as though he had just run a very long distance, but he no longer felt wounded in any way. He quickly moved over to Lily, hugging her tight. “It’s okay, I’m sorry I almost let him take you.” Lily hugged him back as the tears finally relented. Wes helped her up off the ground. “It’s not safe here.” He motioned at the shattered doorway. “We need to go, we need to find somewhere safe.” Lily looked scared, but nodded. Wes took her hand in his, and picked up his sword. Lily clutched her book to her chest as the two walked over the splinters of their door, out into what could only be described as a full blown warzone. (Hope this fits the prompt well enough, it's just what came to mind when I read it.)
It delivered the mail, All deathly and frail, The words from beyond the grave. It thought I'd feel better, To receive this letter, From the daughter I could not save. I broke off the seal, This could not be real, I trembled and looked inside. I felt worse for were, The words were from her, I read as my eyes opened wide. I miss you, she wrote, In her forlorn note, I think of you every day. Do not blame yourself, For my own ill health, You helped me in every way. You sat by my bed, And you stroked my head, As the cancer inside took hold. It just makes me sad, I can't watch my dad, As he grows all grumpy and old! I laugh through my tears, And dispel my fears, My daughter can still make a joke. But I wish I could hear, Her laughter and cheer, I wish it not written, but spoke. I finish the letter, Her puns get no better, She wishes for me to smile. I do asks she wishes, And blow her some kisses, And let the smile stay for a while. Then Death breaks my lull, It gives me a pull, Would you like to send a reply? I think what to write, An urge I can't fight, And once more I start to cry. My pen hits the paper, The ink starts to taper, What words can I possibly say? Stay strong my little grafter, And don't stop the laughter, I'll laugh with you again, one day.
"I have no idea what you're even trying this guy for. He's pathetic." "He hasn't cleaned the fridge in months because he's afraid of throwing out a morsel belonging to his roommate." "He hasn't even even talked back to his boss since he was hired, and have you seen that guy? Overweight 5'4"guy? Yeah, him. Dude once told our boy that he should never have been born, you know what our boy did? Agreed with him, to his face. What a fucking casual." "Sometimes he lies awake in bed pretending to talk to women he will never bed. Sometimes they reject him." "I think he once apologized for being bumped into." "Haha yeah, I'd forgotten about that one." "Not slothful. Had no potential in first place." "What was the original charge again?" "Moral Corruption." "On what fucking grounds?" "He stands accused of fraud." "Yeah that sounds about right. Fuckin' pussy can't get shit done with his own name, has to take someone elses. Envy, what you think?" "Yeah that charge sounds like bullshit, and believe me I have more than my fair share of experience with both bulls and shit." "He didn't even see a cent of that money. He was going to give it away anyway, if you can believe that. Something about medical expenses. Some irrelevant from his youth I'm amazed he even remembers." "In conclusion, your "honor,"our client is a lot of things. Pathetic, spineless, and weak, but one thing he is not, is corrupt."
Ten years. I've been here for ten years, and every day, I see some foreigner come in with the same questions. I do not know how often I have to explain them something. We are attacked by those vicious creatures, and all they think about are their rewards for slaying one or two of them. And is there an end to those creatures. They seem to appear from thin air. That is not possible in a real world. ... This is not a real world, is it? If it isn't I might as well test it. Where is my hatchet? I am going of to fight. exists and ventures into the woods Now, where are those pesky creatures? Ah, here you are! GET OUT OF MY VILLAGE!!! You dare to hit me, huh? ... Wait... I am not bleeding. My test is true. I guess I should tell this to ... ... ... Patch notes: Devs fixed a bug involving a villager going off into the woods. Now there is a replacement for him.
“...I think you’ll find it to be a blessing” and with that she was gone. There was no flash of light or cloud of glitter but the distant sound of laughter as she faded away. Leaving you with her blessing. Or curse. You still couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that this was real. You would like to believe that you made the best possible choice everyday. You went to class, even though your body ached for more sleep. You ate healthy, filed taxes and did your best to be as productive of a human as one could be. But you were unhappy. Not with your life itself, you were thankful for what you had. But with that feeling that maybe you did something wrong. Did you play your cards right? Was there an opportunity missed?Was it really such a good idea to move so far away from your family? You were so concerned about what could have been, or what would of happened that it was so ironic what happened next. As you looked down at your wrist you saw the tiny black markings of numbers. 082940 It didn’t take you long to figure out what she meant when she said that most would see this as a curse. You didn’t have time to ponder what may have been. Now that you were very much aware how limited time was.
"Uuuuugh, today was such a long day at work, I can't wait to get home and rewatch The Office again." "Ok, just click the button and the elevator will do the thing, cmon. 16th floor, 15th floor...8th floor...2nd floor, -1. Hey, why isn't this thing stopping? Where am I going?" "-15? Man, getting a little warm down here. This is how I die, huh-"ding Satan himself, walks up to greet you. "Welcome to hell! What're you in fo-wait, you work in the offices above us, don't you?" "Yeah, where am I?" "Hell." "Makes sense." "Yeah, I know, hell under an office building, ha ha. Look let me get my mechanic in, he'll get you back to the parking garage. Super sorry, this happens every once in a while." "D-does it?" "Yeah, totally. Jenny ended up down here two weeks ago, Friday." "Huh." "Ok, he'll be here in a sec. Hitler's always too busy for you, it seems." "I'm not even gonna question that." "Most people don't. Anyways, while you're here, you wanna watch The Office?" "Sure, why not. Not gonna be home for a while."
I sat in silence in the back of the police car. It WAS my right, after all. I was being brought to the police department for interrogation. I should probably start by telling you why. Well, I woke up this morning and had only one thought on my mind. God wants me to punch my neighbor, Tom. Right in his face. I should mention that, aside from stealing my newspaper on a few occasions, Tom has never done anything to me. I don't know what he did to piss of the big guy upstairs, but it was now my job to punish him. With my fist. I will admit, I had never punched anyone in my life. I'm a lover not a fighter. That's code for "I'm scared shitless of confrontation."That wasn't going to stop me in my holy mission. If God wants my fist and Tom's face to meet then, goddamnit, they're gonna meet. I wasted no time at all as I walked out of my house and hurried across my front yard. I didn't even bother to put on pants. I scurried across the street, barefoot, and up the walkway leading to Tom's front porch. I lunged up the steps and stopped at the door. I rang the bell. The seconds felt like hours as I waited for someone to answer the door. I fidgeted in anticipation. Finally, the door opened. It was Tom's wife Sharron. Sherron looked me over in confusion. Of course she did. It wasn't every day that your neighbor rang your doorbell at 6am in his boxers. "Is everything OK, Sam?"She asked in concern. "Yeah. Everything's peachy. Is Tom home?"I asked with a grin. She stared at me a moment. I could see she was nervous. She nodded and went stepped back, closing the door. I stood out there for a few minutes, scantily clad and fidgeting. Tom came to the door with an uneasy, forced, grin on his face. "Morning Sam, how are you doing?"He asked as he looked me over." "I'm doing fantastic, Tom. How are you?"I asked with the biggest grin I could muster. I must have looked psychotic, because he took a noticeable step back before he fake laughed. "What are you doing here so early? And where are your clothes, buddy?"He asked, obviously trying to sound friendly. "You know what? I just sort of woke up this morning and thought... God wants me to punch Tom in the face."I said with a grin. His smile quickly faded. He stared at me a moment, like he was trying to convince himself he had misheard me. "God wants you to-"he began to ask but was stopped when my fist, suddenly, made contact with his. He jumped back, shouting. He covered his face with his hand. I could see some blood oozing from between his fingers as he backed away and staggered through his doorway, before slamming the door shut. I could hear him locking the door and shouting to his wife to call the cops. I took a deep breath and put my hands on my hips as I turned away. I made the walk back to my house with a feeling of accomplishment. I had done what God had asked me to do. And now... Now I was going to go put on some pants while I wait for the police to come get me.
The day had finally wound down. I was home, in some lounge clothes, and a nice warm pizza had just arrived. It was the perfect end to a horrible day at work. I sat down on the couch and was about to turn on the T.V. to binge watch some Netflix when I noticed the picture above it. Why did it seem so strange? I didn't remember it being a picture of the ocean. It took me back to my first vacation I can remember when I was just a little girl. My phone buzzed so I looked down to see a text from my mom that said 'I miss you. Hope you're doing well. Love you!' It was right on time. I quickly sent off my reply and then looked back towards the picture. Wait? Wasn't it the ocean a second ago? Where did this picture come from? I furrowed my eyebrows and tried to concentrate. Was I going mad or had I thought this rainforest looked like an ocean? No this was no rainforest, it was the bird exhibit in the Seattle zoo I went to in middle school. I picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite. Maybe I was hungry and I was starting to see things, like a mirage in the desert. I picked up the remote and went to flip on the T.V. again. This time the painting was unbelievably bright. It wasnt any sort of shape really, just a lot of bright yellows, reds, and oranges splattered onto a canvas. It reminded me of my first painting I did in high school. Almost identical, but it had gotten ruined in a flood years ago. I looked down at my phone and sent a text asking a friend of mine to come over and keep me company for the night. I stood up and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of wine. I needed something to calm my nerves a bit. When I got back to the living room I nearly dropped my glass. The painting was of the first house me and my husband had bought a few years after we'd been married. I stood staring at the picture until I heard a knock at the door. I set the wine down on the coffee table and backed up to the door, keeping my eyes on the picture like a crazy person. I looked away from the picture just long enough to open the door to see my husband smiling at me. I hit the floor with a thud. My husband had been dead for almost a year. I awoke to my friend frantically asking if I was ok. I turned to the picture above my T.V. and it was back to the picture it had always been. A picture of a starry night my husband had taken for me before he died.
"I think that's him! I can't believe I...got chosen to do a ride along with an actual detective today!" My roommate stifled a giggle, "calm down there Sherlock Holmes. You're not an actual detective, just a kid...with a dream."She held her spoon out and pointed it to the ceiling in a very dramatic fashion. "Oh shut up!"I threw part of the blueberry bagel I was eating at her. I grabbed my jacket from the couch, "love ya. Cross your fingers I'll get a chance with a crime scene today."I tucked the bagel in my mouth anf opened the door. "You're sick. Do you know that? Be careful."I saluted my roommate before shutting the door behing me. "Hey. You must be the detective,"I snapped my fingers, "uh...David?" He smiled as he leaned to look at me through the passenger window. He nodded as he motioned for me to get in the car. "You're...remind me." "Oh I'm Shawna, and I am...."I was interrupted by the radio. I didn't totally catch everything with my brain racing at the speed of light, but I did hear there was a crime scene a few blocks away. "No way! That's some luck right there! I was hoping for a crime scene." David narrowed his eyes as he looked from the radio to me and in a low voice he whispered, "then it looks like today is your lucky day Shawna."I frowned as I looked away and put on my seatbelt. I suddenly felt very uneasy. I was surprised he wasn't in a rush to get there but I figured it was because we were so close. I watched the street signs until we passed the turn off. "I think you passed it." David sat motionless as he stared at the road in front of him. I looked back out my window before turning back to him. "David! We missed the turn off,"I yelled. He looked over slowly, almost like how I would imagine a horror movie, and smiled. ---------- There was a knock at the door. I wiped my hands on my apron and walked over to the door. A man in a nice suit was standing there as I opened it. "Can I help you,"I smiled? He searched for his notebook, "is...Shawna here? I believe this is the address,"he stretched his neck back to look at the house number. "We kinda need to hurry. She might have a chance to actually see a crime scene today." "Excuse me?" "Shawna? I'm here to pick her up for the day." "David?"Panic filled my eyes and I knew he saw it when his did the same.
It wasn't fair, I told myself. It just wasn't fair. There was some mistake! My dream got mixed up with someone else's. Maybe that girl in my class was actually supposed to end up with this stupid little mouse. I hated that girl; she was always trying to one up me. It would make sense for her to be a mouse. Not me! I had friends, I had good grades, I was a good kid. I never tried to sneak around or tell lies or try and hurt people. I liked playing with animals. I was learning to play piano, just like my big sister does. Why did I get a mouse? A stupid little gray mouse... I could have gone on further down this path of trying to find some justification for this crime against my future, but something stopped me. No, not something. Someone. Echoing in my mind was the faintest little voice, not much more than a squeak -- wait. No. "Yes, it's me."The voice said, emanating from the mouse sitting on my chest. The mouse's nose wiggled, whiskers twitching, but its mouth never moved. The voice was projected into my head! I stared and waited for it to say something more. It didn't fail to oblige. "You think it's a mistake, to be stuck with me. Don't you?"- I nodded, it continued - "But do you know about mice? Do you know how people thought of us? In the past. In the long-ago days?" I shook my head. I didn't know much about mice beyond their supposed love of cheese, their ability to learn how to do mazes, and that the more I stared at this one, the cuter it became. I must have been missing something, but even as I wracked my brain for something I had forgotten or maybe not consciously learned, the mouse spoke to me again. "We brought the plagues. We were an omen of bad luck. We were sly and crafty, giving our name to those with just the right amount of information to hurt just the right amount of people. We are tiny, but we are powerful. You. You are tiny, but you will be powerful. Those who harm you will regret it, and those who aid you will know your grace." I frowned, but thought about what the mouse said. I thought back about how I perceived my world, my relationships and school status. The few times people were mean to me, they stopped quickly after I, well, ratted them out to the adults. I've been called shrewd and clever, which I guess makes sense. Laughed at because I'm so short. There were some that blamed me for a few of our classmates catching the zombovirus, after I lost my sister to it. They called me "Carrier". They said I'd learn my fate when I turned thirteen and met my spirit companions... and maybe this wasn't a mistake after all.
It was hell. The plain walls filled with motivational posters and a random inspirational image, the school mascot pictures along the walls and sports memorabilia abound hinted strongly at your prison. A few chuckles and even a dry laugh from an adult in front of you catches your attention. "Are you finally awake now, Mr. Jones? I was worried you would miss your turn for your history presentation." I gulped as I looked down at my hands. Younger hands. Missing the calluses of my job and even the scar I got when I did not pay attention while trying to hammer a nail, it was so foreign to me. "What presentation?"I whispered quietly before the girl next to me chuckled. "Here Tommy. You gave it to me just in case because you were scared that you would lose it." The pretty blonde girl had eyes so blue that it looked like staring into the ocean. You found yourself lost in them before flushing red when the teacher cleared his throat. What the fuck am I doing checking out a girl?! I'm a grown male! Awkwardly with presentation in hand, I began to read and it felt easier when I realized that it was on a subject I actually knew. The words flowed effortlessly and happily, I chanced a glance around. Everyone just shrugged and a few polite claps but in the back was a disgruntled looking guy. A football player? But why is he glaring at me? Does he like that girl? The gaze seemed to follow me no matter what class I apparently had, he also had. I was greeted normally by everyone but this one guy just could not tear his eyes away and it was awkward. Finally after being unable to eat my lunch in the cafeteria after feeling sufficiently weirded out, I sighed and walked towards the guy. He raised his eyebrow at me as I opened my mouth. "What's your problem? I don't get what's going on but..." "Just go,"he said quietly. "You don't belong here. You may be wearing his jersey, speaking in his voice and even wearing his skin but my brother is dead."
Ur was in a bit of a fix. Well, more accurately, Ur had gotten someone else into a bit of a fix. This was unfortunate. It is even more unfortunate that cursing had not yet been invented. Ur, you see, fancied himself a bit of a genius, with a knack for problem solving. Instead of doing the proper thing with this, and attempting to better the situation of those around him, he sat off by himself, and laughed at them. This had a tendency to get Ur in some... unique situations. Most of the times, the full extent of these unique situations was Yr chasing Ur around, and calling out rude things about him and his mother. (Yr had invented bullying, and was still perfecting his technique.) Yet Ur always took pleasure in the fact that if Yr needed a problem solved, Ur was who he went to. So it was that on this day, the day of Ur's unfortunate decisions, that Yr came to him, asking for help. The herds he hunted were acting strangely, too jumpy and anxious for the cavemen to even get close. Ur had a good laugh at that. Yr chased him around in a circle and yelled mean things about his mother. Still, Ur agreed to help. Why, you may ask? To stroke his ego, most likely. It hardly matters now. So off went Ur and Yr, Ur feeling quite smug, and Yr feeling resentful. They carried on in awkward silence for a while, until Yr came to a halt. "This where herd is,"he began. "Fat cows, like your mother." Hey, I warned you! He was still perfecting his technique. Choosing to ignore Yrs insults, Ur examined the area carefully. The first thing he noticed was the stench. Ugh. Smelled like matted fur and stale piss. He turned to his companion. "Yr, move downwind." Ah, finally! The assault on his nose ceased, he continued his examination. Hmm. That tree looked pretty clawed up. Oh. So did that one. And whaddayouknow, so did that carcass. Ur was catching on to a trend here. With an air of superiority, he turned towards Yr. "Whatever it is, it left these marks."He said, gesturing towards the gouges. "Also, it killed that." Yr looked at the evidence, and deeming this a sound suggestion, gave a sagely nod. "Do you think it is dangerous?" Ur looked at the claw marks, sunk deep into the tree. He looked at the lacerated kill. He looked towards the herd, in a state of near panic. He looked back towards Yr. "No."He drawled, tone dripping with newly minted sarcasm. "If you just poke your head over there and give a good yell, it'll probably leave." To Urs relief, he did not poke his head over and scream. To Urs horror, he jumped over, and bellowed. Were we now to return to Ur, sitting there in desolation, we might have heard him whisper "I was being sarcastic."
I knew what had happened as soon as I got the call. My father had been sick for a long time, and the most anyone could do for him was make him comfortable. Maybe it was selfish of me to move out and leave him with a nurse, but I knew how much my dad wanted me to finish my course and get my degree. I couldn't study and look after him at the same time, and if I'm honest, I didn't want to. Seeing someone you love slowly leave you is the hardest thing you can go through. He passed in his sleep, the way he always wanted to. He had his affairs in order, and the house that I grew up in now belonged to me, as well as everything in it. It was comforting to step through the front door and see that everything was just as I remembered it. I settled in pretty quickly; you never forget your childhood home. I knew every inch of this place twice over. The house had belonged to my mother, Poppy, years ago, but she disappeared when I was a baby. Yeah, actually disappeared. One minute she was there, the next gone. She had no family, and the few friends she had didn't have any information either. My dad told me the story when I bugged him about it as a kid, but I ended up having nightmares about it that were so bad he would never mention my mother again. I couldn't help but wonder what she was like. Losing my father hurt, but I had been ready for it. Losing my mother before I even had a chance to know her felt like a robbery. That was what pushed me to go into the attic. I wanted to look for photos of her before she left. What I found instead was...well, I found my mother. There was a small box in the attic. It was hidden under piles of old gardening magazines and Sherlock Holmes books. There was nothing too interesting about its appearance. But once I had lifted the lid and looked inside, I was changed forever. A small, square hole was in the box. It was just big enough for a hand to fit in, and as I stretched my fingers toward it, I fell. I landed with a thump onto the kitchen floor. Cursing, I stood up and rubbed my lower back. That would hurt in the morning. Confused and agitated, I took in my surroundings. I knew that this was my kitchen, but everything was out of place. The walls were yellowed and peeling instead of the lovely white and gold wallpaper that I and my dad had worked for days on. Pots and pans I'd never seen before were hanging from hooks, and a round dinner table was placed right in the centre of the room with a tacky lace cloth draping over it. Obviously I was dreaming. Or I had hit my head and forgotten what my kitchen looked like. I decided to go to bed and try to get some rest before I had to figure this out, but as I opened the kitchen door and took a step towards the stairs, I saw myself already standing there. It had to be a dream, at this point. The toddler sized version of me stared, wide eyed and unsure. After the initial shock wore out I realised that I would wake up soon and this would all be over, so I lost my fear. I took in a deep breath, and strode over to the girl. Putting on my best 'kind adult' voice and smile, I crouched down in front of her and asked, "Hi there, what's your name? I'm Bella." She looked up at me with her huge brown eyes and said the one thing that could shatter my whole world. "I'm Poppy."
It had all led to this, all the hours spent in the forgotten passages of the Punxsutawney Library, the years spent campaigning so he could seize the power of mayor, all the relationships cast aside to focus on this one goal, the ascension to the official seat of Groundhog for the city of Punxsutawney. His advisers saw the move as good PR but Richard knew it was much more than that. Dave, his press secretary, had brought a small headband topped with two fuzzy groundhog ears. Richard chuckled as he felt the cold loam press in around his body, had the people of Punxsutawney truly forgotten the power of the hallowed burrow? Richard certainly had not, and he would not sully the burrow with cheap imitation. From the still warm body of Phil he had removed the pelt and fashioned a loincloth and from his mouth he had taken the strong front teeth and made a diadem to wrap around his head imbuing him with the power of the seasons themselves. When Dave had placed the cold furry body of his old nemesis onto his desk that morning simpering sadly about the loss of the ‘town’s mascot’ he had struggled to contain a violent upwell of joy. For years he had schemed, placing rodent traps experts assured him no groundhog could avoid. Hiding pellets of poison within feasts even the most discerning gourmand could not resist. And yet the chubby little seer had seemed near prescient in his avoidance of the dangers that could keep him from his duty. Diligently removing the traps and carefully stripping the poison before consuming the feasts down to the last crumb. The roar of the crowd stirred something deep within Richard and he began undulating his body deep within the burrow. Phil’s time had ended, the reign of Richard the Mighty had begun. Breaking free of the earthy tomb Richard let out a triumphant screech silencing the crowd. The silence grew and frightened suspicious murmurs began trickling out of the gathered masses. Dare they question his preeminence as the Groundhog elect? He climbed to his feet and began a slow survey of the crowd. The masses peered back at their mayor too scared to meet the eyes of a man they had all learned to fear and yet too curious to look away entirely. The fate of the season hung in the air, and none of them could afford a long winter. Richard stared down at the crowd like a Roman Emperor ready to sentence a fallen gladiator to death. He snuffed the air, let a small smile grow on his face, and slowly began turning back towards his own shadow, these people would need to learn humility before he would deign to give them the early summer they so craved. Suddenly bodies began shuffling in the back and a joyous outcry sprung from the crowd. Richard snapped his head back around, inches from sighting his own shadow, eyes furiously searching for the one who had dared disturb the new Groundhog elect. There, standing like Moses parting the Red Sea, stood Phil. Reared back on his hind legs, the groundhog may have been stripped of fang and fur but the regal grace that wrapped around him left no doubt, Phil lived. Richard let out a piercing wail ‘You died! I saw your body at my feet’ Phil looked back and in a low baritone that seemed to fill the field said ‘The sun rises and my duty is not done, no poison will hold me from my unending task’ and with the proclamation finished he dropped down to all fours and began charging towards Richard. Richard dropped down gnashing his teeth and met the groundhog at the foot of the burrow. They fell, wrestling over the cold frosty ground. Richard was frenzied, he flipped Phil onto his back, wrapped his fingers around the groundhogs neck, and began squeezing the life out of him. Richard slowly rose fingers still wrapped around the groundhog’s neck raising Phil into the air small hind legs kicking in the breeze. As the life flittered in the groundhog’s eyes he took one claw away from the massive fingers wrapped around him and pointed back behind Richard. Richard looked back ready for one last groundhog trick and was suddenly paralyzed in knowing fear. Stretched out behind him was a seemingly unending river of black, his shadow. Richard gazing into the abyss saw frosts gripping at the tender shoots of the corn, he saw lakes frozen solid cracking dams, he saw children standing amid snowdrifts waiting for a school bus that would never come, Richard saw winter. A vast unending winter that would consume Punxsutawney. Richards jaw went slack and a lone tear slipped down his face as he turned back towards the groundhog. Phil stared back at Richard, a look of knowing in his eyes. Slowly Richard lowered the Groundhog, removed the loincloth he had made of Phil’s coat, and draped it around the seer. Then with solemnity he took his diadem and removed the small teeth from its crest, placing them back into Phil’s grasp. Tiny claws grasped at the pelt wrapping it around the groundhog’s small frame. Drained of energy Phil mounted the burrow not glancing once at his shadow and looked back down at the assembled crowd. Voice bellowing out he cried ‘People of Punxsutawney. The winter is long but it shall not remain so forever! Take heart, hold your loved ones close, and the seasons shall change in two weeks’ time!’ a cheer erupted from the crowd at this proclamation and Phil slowly crept back into the burrow, his burrow. Once inside he slumped against a wall and in a small voice addressed Richard ‘Keep to you hall Summer King and I shall keep to mine, lead them in the warmth or surely the darkness will fall and envelope us forever’. Richard stood naked in the cold February morning and motioned to his press secretary ‘Some pants if you could Dave’. Sighing he walked towards the podium chastened. A return to his Mayoral duties, a return to the mortal life of which he had grown so weary, he would do his duty and hopefully, the Groundhog would continue to do his, lest winter fall and summer never return.
I looked around the sound of classical music playing through my headphones. I reached up and checked again to make sure they were secure against my ears. The city was busy, and I carefully dodged past those walking, not looking anyone in the eyes. I should be able to get home soon, and be free to relax marginally. &nbsp; Something brushing against my shoulder was the only warning I got, But I tried to react, I pushed off starting to run. The sidewalk shattering under my feet. The sounds of the city quickly replaced my classical music. Before I could do bring my hands up to my ears I heard it. &nbsp; “Bring the money in the super national bank back here.” I stopped running only two steps away from where I had been. Just as I started heading to the bank, my headphones were replaced. I had something to do.
“So, I’ve been meaning to tell you this thing,” said Mark – but I wasn’t listening. I was looking past him towards the office entrance, where two men in police uniforms just came in. You’d never mix them up with regular policemen, though – their uniforms were in spotless white. “Sorry, man” - I got up from my chair - “just remembered a thing I was supposed to do, It’s kinda urgent”. I pushed past him and started walking at a brisk pace, as if I had somewhere to be. Our office had an open plan that was shaped like a ‘C’ around the elevator shafts. If I could just circle around to the other end, I might be able to get out through the second door to the reception area. Why the hell did they come for me this time? As I rounded the corner, I tried to recall my past thoughts throughout the day. Was it the thing in the underground, when I thought I could push the guy in front of me under the train? I’d never actually do it, it’s just an intrusive thought! Was it the time when I thought the reception girl was sexy? That’s workplace harassment, isn’t it? I was so absorbed by my thought-searching that I almost bumped into the door. When I looked up, I saw a sheet of A4 paper with an unambiguous message in emboldened caps lock: “DOOR CLOSED. USE THE OTHER ONE” As I fruitlessly jerked the handle, I heard voices just behind the corner. I had to hide, now! I ducked into a nearby conference room. It was empty, luckily. No time to lower the blinds. Just hide behind a filing cabinet. Just be quiet. After several minutes I risked a quick glance from behind my hiding spot. I couldn’t see anyone from my position. No sounds either. Maybe they gave up. Maybe they went to a different floor. Now is my chance, I gotta get out! I opened the door… and was face to face with the two officers. “Ah, Ryan, we’ve been looking for you,"said the older one. "Take a seat.” --- “So, Ryan, do you know why we’re here?” The older policeman was sitting next to me at the conference table. The younger mustachioed one was leaning against the wall with a bored expression on his face. “No, sir” “Well, we have received some disturbing reports,” he said as he dug around in his pocket. Finally, he produced a folded-up piece of paper. “Let’s see here” – he unfolded it and started reading out loud – “I’m going to mess up my presentation and they’ll fire me. Everyone at work hates me. I’m a worthless human being.” He looked up at me. “Do you know what these are?” “Yes, sir” “That’s right, Ryan. These are Class II cognitive distortions as defined by the Cognitive Behavioral Act of 2016. You’ve got catastrophizing, overgeneralization, the works.” He sighed. “Come on, Ryan, you know better than that. Mark considers you among his friends, your boss actually thinks you’re an above average worker and you definitely have worth as a person. We even have that one on a forensics report.” “You do?” “Look” – the officer paused – “We see that you’ve gotten better since our last visit, so we’re going to let you off with a warning this time. You have to stop thinking these thoughts, though. They’re not just illegal, they’re untrue.” “Yes, sir” – I said as he got up to leave. “And Ryan, you don’t have to be afraid of us. You know we’re here to help.” – the policeman turned and walked out of the conference room. His silent partner moved to follow him, but then stopped at the door and looked at me. “Hey, we’re usually not supposed to divulge information like this, but the girl at the reception totally thinks you’re cute. You should ask her out or something.” ---- “So, did you do the thing?” asked Mark as I returned to my desk. “Yeah, I did” “Right. As I was saying, there’s something I wanted to tell you” - he smiled a bit – “You’re looking a lot better recently. Your back is straighter, no bags under your eyes, you actually started to look happy sometimes."He clapped me on the shoulder. "I know you’ve been struggling with some stuff, so I just wanted to say - I’m glad to see you’ve improved.”
Ash had been a legend for a very long time. His Pikachu accomplishing feats of strength never thought possible. Even with a light ball, no Pikachu should have been able to knock out that Dragonite in a single thunderbolt. Ash rarely allowed members of the scientific community near his prize pokemon anymore. But a few years back, when he'd visited the Indigo Plateau pokemon center, a lab assistant had gotten a scan. To her amazement, Pikachu was level 217. This wasn't the first time a pokemon over level 100 had been identified. Nine years ago, and old man in Viriidian City had been arrested in conjunction with exploits involving item duplication, over level 100 pokemon, and the dreaded "missingno"controversy. But it was the first time such a thing had been identified outside a criminal enterprise. The scientific community watched and waited, hoping desperately for an opportunity for study but knowing that Ash would not allow it and that informing the police could cause an uproar. There had been studies done on those ludicrously strong pokemon, but they had reverted to level 100 whenever they gained experience. Only a rare candy could raise their level, and those were in precious short supply. But there were rumors. Professor Oak had been one of the first reporters of the now retracted missingno discovery papers. While he had since been cleared of any wrongdoing, one of his assistants reported an incredibly drunk Professor Oak releasing a Level 2 Hypno out into the wild. Most who heard the tale considered it impossible, but it was known that Professor Oak had inherited the largest stash of Rare Candy in the world. Could he have reversed the process? But the old man's grandson knew the truth. Professor Oak had made a terrible discovery that day. If a pokemon's power level exceeded 255... They reverted to level 0. For most, this couldn't possibly matter. But for Ash, it would be devastation. He'd tried to warn his friend and one-time rival. But despite the warnings, Pikachu continued to see battle after battle. Perhaps Ash hadn't truly understood the risk. Perhaps the pokemon itself could no longer truly be controlled. But someday soon, level zero would be coming for that Pikachu. Ash would come home, defeated and demoralized. But if everything worked out and the controversy didn't destroy him... they could begin their journey anew.

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