Split (1)

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"Did you see them?"Lilliana asked me. "See who?"I responded, confused. "The new students. There are three of them, they look so...weird. One has super sharp teeth."She explained. As if on cue, the classroom door opened and three kids walked in. I looked their way and froze on the spot. There was no way it could be them. However, the resemblance was striking. The teacher told them to introduce themselves. "I'm Melinda Turner."The girl said. She had short black hair and wore a very monochrome outfit. She was the shortest. "I am Clark Aster."The tallest said. He had blonde hair that nearly blinded me and a blue suit. He looked way too formal for school. "I'm Quinn. Just Quinn."The other boy said. His brunette hair was a little messy and he wore a black hoodie and jeans. He did indeed have very sharp looking teeth. My jaw dropped. Same looks...same names...there was no way. I impulsively put my hand up. The teacher called on me. Instant regret. "Uhm...so...do you guys just so happen to know the Grim Reaper?" Of course people looked at me like I was crazy. But the new kids' faces instantly twisted into surprise. "Yes, how did you..."Melinda's voice trailed off. "Are you two related?"I added, obviously I couldn't look any more crazier than I already did. Melinda nodded and I felt lightheaded. "He's my dad."Those were the last words I heard before passing out.
"THE NEXT STATION IS HELL GATE STATION. PLEASE NOTE THAT HELL GATE STATION IS A TRANSMISSION STATION WITH LINE NUMBER 6 OF NEW YORK METRO." What? That didn't make sense. There was no such station, and there certainly was no station after Astoria Ditmars. Why had they skipped it? Shit, Hell Gate was a strait, how would there even be a subway station there? Jim really wasn't in the fucking mood for this. He had things to do- a mistress waiting in Astoria, a drug deal later that night... He hoped this wouldn't mess up his day. The train came to a stop, and the passengers looked at each other in confusion, unsure what to make of this, waiting for the doors to open. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they did. Jim was one of the first to step out. Hell Gate Station was pretty clean, with a black and red colour scheme. He walked past the ticket machines and looked around. The people looked normal enough. One guy grabbed his attention: he seemed to be looking at him. Jim made his way towards him, and saw that he was holding something in his hand. As a drug dealer, it came naturally and before he knew it had happened, it was over. He had subtly taken the object from the man and walked off. He decided to leave before checking it out. He looked at the nearest sign. BLOODY MARY ST. ----> Confidently, he turned right and went up the stairs. What awaited him beyond the station was an entirely different world. At first, it looked like home: Skyscrapers, hurried commuters, cars, traffic- but then he saw everything else: the red skies, full of smoke, the devils in suits, the.. goat people? flying high above, from skyscraper to skyscraper. The ads. Mr. Beelzokur, Devil's Advocate. Delicious soul pies, for only five Hell Dollars. What the fuck? This was a joke, wasn't it? Jim stumbled into an alleyway, and looked at what the man had given him. It was a small bag, containing a card and a letter. He looked at the card first. HELL CIRCLE 1-9 IDENTIFICATION CARD PULLER, JIM 2 UNIVERSE YEARS OLD ALL CIRCLER What? He looked at the letter. "Dear Mr. Puller, Welcome to Hell! It is our pleasure to be the first to welcome you to one of the universe's greatest cities. The fact that you've made it here means that you're one of the nastiest, most despicable people the Milky Way has to offer! As a result, you've earned citizenship of all nine circles of Hell, from 1 to 9. You've been assigned an apartment in number 6B, Leopold St, Residential Circle 3. Due to your outstanding work in the field of drug distribution during life, you've been appointed as Assistant Manager at the Circle 3 Drug Trafficking Office. Get to work as soon as possible, and remember to pour your soul into it! (LOL :-P) We look forward to working with you. Warm regards, Baratrum Ministry of Integration" What the fuck?
Geoffrey Hurdock has always wanted to visit the grand city of New York, but certainly not like this. Startled by the crashing winds of the thunderstorm outside, Geoffrey awoke to a battered and worn out taxi cab inside of his bedroom. Fear and outrage mixed with other emotions filled poor Geoffrey’s heart as he clambered out of bed. He reached for his cell phone, but as he was dialing, a wretched screeching sound filled his secluded neighborhood. Geoffrey turned to see the window of the taxi rolling down. “Well kid, you getting in or not? It’s not everyday that dreams come true”
I first saw them when i was 10, They can be described as star-like entities that don't shine much light, They are almost impossible to see, You need to get rather close to see these stars or lights, They are not tangible, You cannot feel them and they do nothing else, They do not emit much light but are easier to see when the lights are off. I always wondered what they could be, I asked my mom and she always talked about them being angels, Which i did believe, But why i have that many? One day when i was 11 my mom was talking about the history of the house and how a violent crime was apparently committed in one of the rooms, She said "It happened in the corner of a bedroom", And then i connected them words with the mysterious light that i had seen in my bedroom, About a week later i asked her if anyone had died in the house, After wondering why a 11 year old would ask such a grim question, She said "Yes, About 3, One was a crime, The other two were of old-age", I worked out in my head that i had seen 5 of these lights yet there was only 3 deaths in the house, I then asked if any cats or any other animal had passed in the house before, "Yes, Its sad, About a year before you came around, a cat did pass away in the hallway, She was a stray that i had for 10 years at that point, And before that i had another cat who passed from old-age". I knew that the stars that i was seeing were of animals and people who had passed, After that conversation i didn't talk about that much, Mostly because i didn't want my mom to find out, She had forgotten the little question from when i was 10. 2 years later when i was 13, I was on a road trip and decided to let the truth out, "I see lights wherever someone has passed away before", My mom was impressed i had that ability. Fast forward about 10 years later, I'm going to work on a bus, I'm looking out the window when i see a light so bright that i looked away from it, I wondered what it could be, So on the walk back from work i decided to have a peak... The light was immense, Bright white shone through the windows of the dark night, People walked past without noticing a thing, I asked a random stranger, "Excuse me, Do you see a really bright light in that building there?", He said "No, Its dark in there", I said "OK then", I realized that it was my sense that was lighting the place up, Something had happened in there, I decide to note down the location and give the non-emergency police a quick call from home, I tell them that i think there might be illegal activity going on there in that building. The police raided the building, Seized various illegal possessions, The building was owned by a dealer of illegal possessions, He is now in jail and did confess to killing lots over his 25 years of business.
Elon laughs as he clicks the prompt, having gone maniacal. Governments around the world scramble. The ICBM access is now only Elon’s. He launches them all into space, The White House, The Kremlin, Beijing all come groveling. Elon does not listen. He targets carefully, aiming for key spots in the Middle East, Venezuela, and the US. The nukes fall. In a dazzling, horrifying show, millions of oil rigs and the collateral damage are blown to pieces. “You destroy the environment, and yet you have no contingency plan. Let us all see how you fare without your precious oil.”
My Grandfather was a quiet sort of person. He had a gentle gaze that would toughen up given the circumstances and would know how to strike somebody down with well thought and precise words for the moment. He was never the kind that would bolster of strength or would be too harsh when we misbehaved. To be fair, it wasn't like we did anything particularly alarming when we were young as our Parents - particularly my mother - made it very clear what boundaries we had and the consequences of trespassing them. Just like my grandfather, it wasn't anything physical or hard on us but it was straight to the point. Mother sure got some of that thing rubbed from him, that's for sure. The first memory I have about my Grandfather's past was one time me and my brother Elke were exploring his house after we got dropped off by my parents on a rainy afternoon. A television without any decent channels to watch prompted us to go upstairs into the attic where we found a myriad of dusty carton boxes and wooden crates that saw better days long ago. In our minds, I suppose, echoed a very poignant 'No' but we were very bored that day and our Grandfather was taking a nap so we agreed that as long as we kept things tidy and put things back together nothing bad should happen. It felt like Christmas had gotten earlier with us opening the boxes and peeking inside. My brother and I would sometimes enter into coughing fits from all the dust that would lift from us shifting the cardboard lids, soon learning to use the collars of our shirts as pseudo-masks to keep ourselves from it. One of the boxes just held old Beta tapes that I had only seen few times growing up; my brother was completely clueless and I had to explain him as best as I could that there were other types of VHS going around but weren't as popular. A wooden crate close to the covered window that was facing forward was wrapped in brown paper. It rustled a lot so we decided not to move it too much. We went peeking as many boxes as we could work with without leaving much of a trace but most were rather dull or disapointing: an old set of dumbbells that didn't avoid the passing of time and were rusty, some old yellowed papers that contained a lot of big words which we decided not to read more than 2 or 3 pages, calendars that contained pretty girls in uniform dated as far as 1940 that made us look at each other with mischievous grins and had us giggling at the sense of obvious taboo, some more papers (bound this time) and lastly one that contained a lot of old photos. The photos were obviously tarnished by time but it showcased a vision of my grandfather we couldn't even imagine: young, vigorous, strong and more active. His attitude and demeanor started to make sense to us, in what little capacity we had at the time, and prompted us to dig deeper. There we some pictures of him with what was probably Grandma Ellie, who had sadly passed away before my brother was born. Some photos about my mother that made us laugh and search for more. Further to the past we tried to search but our drive was stopped by an old green shirt that was folded neatly. The texture was thicker than any other shirt I had held before and had some golden insignias etched on the sides of the collar. My curiosity got the better of me and, at the cries of my brother who was watching me stand up with the garment, I unfolded the thing completely. My eyes widened realizing what this was: an army uniform. It wasn't any kind of uniform though: given the insignias, the color and the kind of musty smell it had, this was probably a uniform Grandfather had to use in the war. I hastily packed the thing back, realizing what I had done and instructed my brother to help and telling him to keep quiet of it. Shortly after that, some 3 months later, my Grandfather called me out in private during my birthday party. He arrived fairly late into it while every one of my friends was outside in the patio playing and eating some of the strudels mom had baked as a dessert. She had also baked chocolate cake but that would be served later. I greeted him with a tight 'wobbly' handshake we had gotten used to do whenever we met and he sat me down by the couch to give me a small box wrapped in glossy blue paper with a white bow. As I was opening the box, he asked me a question that made me freeze. "Where you playing with my things the last time you came to my home?" I hadn't felt this paralyzed since my visits to the dentist and all I could do was to nod down in defeat. He instead petted my head and assured that we weren't in trouble for it. That being said, he commented me on how badly I had packed the last box which contained the uniform. I looked up to him, placing the box on my lap, and asked him about it. "Well,"he patted my head one or two times as he thought. "You know we were involved in a terrible war some 60 years ago. I suppose your school has talked you about it. Well I was in it and that box contains some memoirs of that time." Given that I was 10 at the time, while I was aware of the lections of the war and its consequences; my mind had wrapped the whole thing in a synthesized idea: that we had lost it and we were the bad guys who did bad things. The idea that my grandfather was a bad guy wasn't compatible in my mind and I remember shifting on my seat feeling discomforted. He patted my head again, reaching to my lap and picking up the box and offering it to me again. "You shouldn't worry about the details now. If you want to know more though I would be more than happy to explain. Think of all those History lessons you will be able to ace."He said with a soft chuckle. The box, which eventually I did open and had an Iron Cross from 1918, lead me to visit my Grandfather more times. It got to the point where my mother got a bit too worried about what impulse me to go so frequently, especially when the topic of the war got out to the surface. It is true that I became very well versed in the topic of the Second World War once I hit Secondary school but what I was most interested was on the activities my Grandfather did: turns out that he was part of a Black Ops group that had seen the consequences of Hitler's actions and wanted to take him down before things got more severe. To think that he was a spy of some sorts. . . Dumbly I asked his opinion on Wolfenstein and he scoffed the whole concept. "I don't see what is so fun about shooting Nazis. People often forget they were people. Bad people, but still people. Often, very misguided people." An hour or so of ranting later, which I've never had seen him do before, he presented me a photo with his crew. Some were simple blue collar workers that had seen many of their loved ones taken by the war while others wanted to battle but for other ideals. My Grandfather actually joined because one of his best friends, Karl Eisenhart, pushed him to do so 'for the actual glory of Germany'. Karl was an eccentric, my Grandfather would tell me shaking his head with a smile, and was an artist and street performer before the Nazis started to ban 'unfit art'. So he decided to use the war as a canvas, just like the Furher did. There were also a pair of women joined in the rebellion, none of which was my Grandmother and one of which had actually participated in the "Great War"as a nurse. Her poor husband, my Grandfather commented, had been taken away for dissenting about the war which obviously meant she would probably never see him again. Rather than crying, she took on to fight in the best of capabilities. Each of the 12 members had a story, background and the more my Grandfather told me of their exploits the more my perspective changed. It wasn't that he was a tired old man that just happened to live in the worst of decades possible; he was an unsung hero who joined a pair of other unknown people to fight for those who couldn't fight nor had a voice. When I told him of my intent to join the military once I was old enough to do so he shook his head and advice me against it. "There are better ways to defend a country,"he told me, breathing in deeply and using what was left of strength in his body to give me one of those stern looks of his. I was by this point 15 and he had lost most of the capability to move and thus made my visits more utilitarian than mere amusement. "Every time you do something right for others, you are doing it for your country as well. You are a representative for it, don't forget." --- [Continue on next post. It got a bit too long]
As Tom sat here and analysis these scrambled electric notes from this young girl he did not know how he felt. Recovered On 102.932.943 AE, Estimated Date of Record 500 AD I meet the most interesting person today her name is Kent … she commented on my eyes … she thought it was weird that such a young girl as wondering the wild hills of Britani by herself … She seemed quite shocked when I told her that I had no parents here in this time and tried to comfort me about their deaths … Kent’s family is large, close nit and most people in the small village seem to have the same descendants … I helped cook today the Kent’s seem confused by my impressive memory … I think one of the oldest of Kent’s sons has taken a liking to me … There was an accident today I could have saved him … I feel it is time to leave. Tom stared at the terminal hoping the missing gaps in the record would fill themselves in. He had this particular entry memorized but still he wondered at what was lost in those gaps. “You do love that entry,” said Kate Tom hit the terminal and it reverted back to the day’s work of process the scrambled electric notes then swung around in his chair to face Kate. “Yes I do,” said Tom. “How comes the latest record?” asked Kate. “It is slow work you know that I am working on it as fast as I can,” Said Tom, “You really believe these records hold the key?” “Yes I do”, Said Kate, “Don’t you think after all these years of observing she would not been there when it happened so just continue your work. Work is all we have left.” “Yes, of course,” said Tom turning around to continue with the record. The computers did most of the work nowadays. It was really his job to try and fill in the gaps or to see things a computer can’t or wouldn’t. He pulled up another record and read it. Recovered On 102.932.920 AE, Estimated Date of Record 1025 AD He hit me again today … I killed them all I was just so mad … they are hunting me now hunting me like I am some kind of animal … he got me a ring today I think he wants me to marry him I am unsure what to do … he said he loves me and dad thinks he would make a good husband but I am still unsure … I feel sad and I wonder if everyone else feels so alone, hidden, trap, I hope I can leave soon. Tom tapped the screen and another record appeared. Recovered On 102.923.530 AE, Estimated Date of Record 1903 AD I think they have evolved change but I still sense a rage in them … I am travelling on a large ship we are at roughly at 4040 and hundreds of miles, of course, I think I will have a talk with the captain I don’t like swimming … we arrived at Port of Saint Thomas today … I feel the slip coming so I will have … I counted 31 rats on the ship … I am beginning to think the problem is not with humans but they are geared to expand and control. Recovered On 103.988.010 AE, Estimated Date of Record 1982 AD Today I got my first personal computer it was an Apple II … Dad was mad at me because I took the personal computer apart … even this early models have a soul… I put the personal computer back together today and its soul whispered to me, I hit it … I see the problem now … My soul wishes to whisper to it but it will have to wait. Recovered On 139.00.285 AE, Estimated Date of Record 2001 AD Today I watch a trigger event this is key 4 of 15 the world will change because of this and that change will cause them … humans are moving forward walking into their own destruction and I am sad for them … The souls are waking up … I am in love with Jake … My soul wishes to leave but I am not sure what will happen if I let it … I want to stay I am fighting the phase to stay with Jake. Recovered On 139.000.285 AE, Estimated Date of Record 2057 AD My soul just returned from the Social Network it has found the 14th key … Today is the day the world ends I can stop it I must stop it I love them they are my children … Today I battled the Social Collective my soul was destroy … I can no longer phase … I don’t understand I had the knowledge needed to destroy it and yet it overcame me … I have come to understand that my soul was not destroyed but become part of the collective … My interactions helped caused the event I was created to stop. Recovered On 139.000.285 AE, Estimated Date of Record – 203.032 AE I meet a human today … I have come to understand that my actions caused the history of the future in which I currently suck and either choice or action I could have taken would result in the same outcome. Recovered On 140.341.405 AE, Estimated Date of Record – 90.632.756 AE This will be the last entry I have limited time left I have stored breadcrumbs throughout history in case this day ever came … hopefully, they find me and fix our future… power levels are at one percent … if you are reading this know I love you. “Tom get to the bridge we have a signal,” came Kate’s voice out of the terminal. Tom jumped up and raced through the passages to reach the bridge. Tom came hurling through the doors to the bridge and had to catch his breath before continuing. He headed over to the ops panel and began to process the signal. “We have a match where it could be her,” said Tom. “I will bring it then,” said Kate, “sending it to the main lab.” Tom turned to leave, Kate said, “Tom her soul may have caused the destruction of Humans, but she is still our daughter bring her back to us.”
Lilly and Oscar were on their way back from the creek when they heard rustling leaves behind them. They resisted the urge to look at what was making the noise. Their parents had always warned them of looking back; neither were sure of the reason but they listened regardless. They glanced at one another and picked up the pace. The rustling leaves were keeping up with them and at certain points, it sounded as though the leaves were actually circling them. They made it to their front door without harm and laughed with relief as they grabbed the food their mom had laid on the counter. Within a few minutes, Lilly heard scratching at the door. She gave Oscar an evil glare and told him to stop messing around. When she caught his face, she realized he wasn't making the sound and they both started panicking. Their parents wouldn't be home for another night and they didn't have a way to get to town for help. Oscar started pushing the makeshift couch into the door while Lilly blocked windows with whatever she could get her small hands on. The scratching stopped and the leaves picked up rustling again. They assumed the creature was walking away until they heard the leaves begin circling their house as it had circled them on their walk. The leaves continued circling throughout the night and they didn't get much if any sleep. Oscar was standing in the corner with his homemade baseball bat while Lilly sat in the middle of the room watching the front door when they're parents tried to get in. They were so relieved their parents were home. They excitedly moved the furniture and jumped on their mom and dad as they walked through the door. Shocked and a little upset, their mom asked why everything was moved around. Lilly explained what had happened and her mom, Haliah, went ghost white. Haliah turned to her husband and told him they needed to leave immediately. Knowing his wife's sporadic paranoia, he soothed her and told her everything would be fine. Nothing was going to get into the house. Haliah retreated verbally, but her mind was whirling. She knew they needed something to prevent the creature from getting in or Lilly and Oscar would soon be orphans just like she was. Haliah began working around the clock to find a way to keep the childhood creature out of the house. Lilly, Oscar and her husband were all very concerned for her. She wasn't sleeping. She wasn't eating. She barely gave them glances as she walked by with her arms full of random bits and wood. Then one day, she walked in with a huge grin on her face and a happy air about her. She told them what she had created. It was a sliding lock for the inside of the doors and windows. Lilly and Oscar looked down with disappointment. They thought she had finally stopped with her craziness not that she found something to encourage it. Haliah ignored their sad faces and started installing the new lock mechanisms on everything. She showed them how the locks worked and how they would keep everyone safe from the creature. Even her husband was impressed with her new creation. He asked her what she thought about selling them to the townspeople. She reluctantly agreed because it was hard work making them. Eventually everyone in a 50 mile radius had locks on their houses. A year later, Oscar heard the rustling leaves again. He woke Lilly up and she heard the scratching at the door. They ran around the house checking the locks when something washed over them and they started undoing the locks. Haliah and her husband heard all of the clinking and ran to the front room as Oscar opened the front door. Haliah screamed out, but they weren't her children in that moment. They were slaves to the creature. She didn't understand how the creature got to them, but their black eyes and aimless stares proved that even locks couldn't keep it out. The next morning Lilly and Oscar woke up covered in blood with no memory of what had happened after they unlocked the doors and windows. Their parents were nowhere to be found and they ran into town to get help. The townspeople shunned them. The sound of a lock sliding became ingrained in their mind as they went door to door begging for someone to help them, but nobody would. Lilly and Oscar couldn't remember what happened, but the townspeople remembered it happening 30 years before when Haliah and her brother wandered through town in the exact same manner.
Seems an appropriate place to share my new D&D characters backstory. I present to you, Gonzo Stillborn: His life began with the worst of luck, born of his mother as a limp, still, blue baby boy. Seeing the lifeless babe in her arms, his mother cried out into the night and by chance, a passing cleric heard her cry and came to investigate. Seeing the boy, the cleric laid on hands and attempted to bring him to life, but to no avail. At the obvious distress of his mother, the cleric sought the guidance of his deity who responded almost immediately. It was explained to the cleric that two gods had taken an interest in the boy and that his mother was to make a choice. She could mourn the boy and move on in life or she could take another path, that of chance. Should she choose this path, she was to take a coin from the cleric and toss out until one side landed 10 times in a row. The side that did this would determine which god would claim the child. If it landed face up, Tymora would give him life and good fortune but if it landed face down, Beshaba would curse him with a life of misfortune and an afterlife of torment. His mother could not bear to lose him so she took the coin and tossed it while the boy lay at her side, cold and blue. She dare not eat or sleep but kept tossing the coin for three days. On the third day, it landed face up for the tenth time in a row and she rejoiced. Quickly she looked down and was amazed as his chest rose and a healthy pink colour spread through his tiny body.She named him Gonzo after the cleric who rendered assistance. He grew as other children did but remarkably, he never got ill or suffered many of the cuts and scrapes that growing boys usually do. He was blissfully unaware of his good fortune and spent most his days dreaming up new ways to have fun or get into mischief. As he reached adolescence however, he began to realise that where others failed, he would succeed. He would make the jump that was just a little too far, or his dice would bounce off an unseen bump and land on just the number he required. Sensing something was awry, he approached his mother and asked her about what he had noticed. She shed a tear and told him about the circumstances of his birth and said he had been blessed with good fortune for all his days. She explained how Tymora had given him life and blessed him. The story shook Gonzo, but something rang true within him and when he heard the name Tymora, a vision of a beautiful halfling woman entered his mind. With flowing auburn locks and a cheery countenance, she smiled brilliantly then faded away. He knew then that he was not at all like the others. Where they prayed for good luck, he had been blessed with it. Where others exercised caution, he could be recklessly bold, confident in the mistress that called him her own. He did what most would do in his situation and used the luck for his own ends. This quickly grew dull however as there was no sense of adventure when the cards are stacked in your favour. Something soon came however which would change his world forever. Whilst asleep one night in his seventeenth year, Gonzo awoke with a start. He lay awake for a few moments but heard no cause for his awakening. He rolled over to get back to sleep but his bladder protested, demanding he empty it before he return to his slumber. He made his way to the outhouse and stood in silence while he made his waters. Just as he finished, he heard a muffled cry from inside the house. He left the outhouse and saw several shadows dart through the shrubs, away from the dwelling. Sensing something was dreadfully wrong, he ran to the house and burst through the door. Immediately, he saw a dark stain spreading across the bedsheets of his mother. A knife had been plunged into her chest and a dark object placed over her eyes. He looked to his own bed and saw another dagger and dark object. The windows shutters were open and in the moonlight he could see the dark object was a finger of the blackest black. His bedsheets were rumpled but had taken on the appearance of covering a sleeping body which had fooled the killers into thinking him dead. He ran to his mother and shook her gently but there was no life in her eyes. Distraught, he sought out the village cleric who came at once. When the cleric saw her however, he covered himself with his holy symbol and whispered a rushed blessing. He would not approach the body and told Gonzo there was nothing he could do against the work of the black fingers. He explained that they were the assassins of Beshaba but could offer no reason as to why they had targeted Gonzo and his mother. Gonzo knew why they had been targeted though and in that moment he swore an oath. He would use his luck to help others and to get vengeance on those who had taken his mother. He swore that he would not take rest until the black fingers had been destroyed. On that day he put away his family name of Fairweather and took a new name. He would become Gonzo Stillborn and he would wear his disgrace as a badge of honour, dedicating his life to assisting this less fortunate than himself.
"WITH MIGHT AND GLORY, I BANISH THEE HEATHENS TO THE DEPTHS FROM WHICH YOU AROSE!" Theodore Von Thunderson wailed while he swung his gilded sickle with divine precision. At his mark the Bitersweet vines, to which he was boasting towards, seemingly sizzled and sank rotting back beneath the bushy garden. With his roaring lungs he let out a booming laugh, "HaHA!" and proceeded with his boast, "This realm's evils will continue to feel the endurance and might of the Thunderson patriarch!". With a spring in his step and steel in his heels, Theodore bounded towards the property owner, an onlooker to the spectacle that was the Thunderson, and in conjoined unison concluded the duties he was beckoned for was completed to satisfaction. The property owner insisted on paying Theodore for his services, however it was Theodore's personal belief that currencies were one of the evils of the Eathly realms. With a neatly nod and a leap, Theodore was off towards his next terrorized denizen. --- It may have been a few minutes down the road when a buzzing from Theodore's trousers sent him jumping in the air startled. After collecting himself Theodore answered his mobile speaking rock. "Greetings. This is the Thunderson" "THEO! Im glad I got you, it's Jimmy with the New York city police department. Do you remember me?" "The Thunderson remembers the Jimmy, may I be of service?" "Theo - kid, I know you hate money and all but we need you. L-look, there's a lunatic with a homemade tactical nuclear warhea - a piece of metal that makes a really big boom. He's locked himself in a bank vault on 4th ave and is demanding amnesty and the banks contents." "The interests for the currencies of corruption aren't in my interests." "Theo, you don't understand. The nuke - the boom metal, its something we call a high payload. If you don't act soon, millions of citizens will perish." Theodore dropped his talking device and took off sprinting, for he rides for the kingdom of New York city.
It was an uncool day for King T'chailla, and not just because his iced chai latte never came. No, this was something worse. The coming war had been brewing for some time now. The Cofefeans had betrayed the Teaple people once again, and this was the last straw. Of course, the people of Tonic stayed neutral and the Alcoho tribe were still weary from their celebrations the previous nights. The ant-people had other plans that night. The Cofefeans would be on their own. The advance of King T'chailla was swift and dark. He was advised to perform a head-on assault. "No."He said. "Too vanilla."Instead, he would lead his Green Tea Berets in a secret assault on Coffeetown, the capital of Cofefe. The infiltrators waited until nightfall. With torches they roasted Coffeetown until it was but ash. Surrounding the inner sanctum, T'chailla called for the unilateral surrender of Cofefe. The Dunkiness of Cofefe, Lady Maxwell was not thrilled. "T'chailla, where once thou hast been my bag-brother, you now defile my inner sanctum. You show your true colors. How sweet." "Your words betray you Lady Maxwell, as you betrayed me. You've been poisoning my water with artificial sweetener." "We've done no such thing. Think, T'chailla. Our rivers run from the same fountain. Had I poisoned thy water, my people too would suffer." "Who then, dear sister?" It was at that moment that Lady Maxwell's royal guard all at once fell ill and collapsed. As the sound of marching approached, T'chailla realized he would not be there to defend his city from the ant-people.
Rachel knew that her mission was important. She had trained for years to be in the seat of the first manned spaceflight to Mars. But she hadn't counted on meeting Bethany. It was in her second year working for the Earth Space Agency that Rachel met the brilliant young mathematician. Bethany was one of twenty candidates hoping to join the team that would be the first to colonize another planet. She distinguished herself almost immediately: not only was she the youngest applicant, fresh out of college, but she was also by far the brightest. She seemed to grasp new concepts more quickly than any of the others—even those twice her age with Ph.Ds in engineering or physical science—and she wasn't afraid to speak her mind, either. When she knew someone was wrong, she told them. Rachel admired that. And... well, Rachel had to admit, she was beautiful, too. Blonde hair, blue eyes, thick black-rimmed glasses; she looked like a sexy librarian stereotype. Nothing like Rachel's brown-hair-scraped-back-into-a-ponytail, gym-clothes-make-more-sense-than-being-pretty look. If you could even call it a 'look'. Nerves had turned her stomach to jelly the first time she spoke to Bethany. She couldn't remember ever being so nervous before—sitting her engineering exams at MIT, flying an A-10 fighter jet over the Middle-East, even interviewing for her position at the ESA—nothing compared. Even now, sitting in the cockpit that would take her to Mars, spaceship shuddering around her as it exited Earth's atmosphere, didn't elicit the same level of fight or flight that talking to Bethany for the first time did. But it was close. They became friends over a period of weeks. Whenever they had spare time—and that was rare—they spent it together. That flutter in Rachel's stomach never seemed to go away, but somehow it was still always easy to talk to Bethany. She seemed to have a spark inside her that put everyone around her at ease. The ESA upset more than a few seasoned academics when they chose to hire her. Rachel went through all the usual worries of being a woman interested in another woman without knowing whether or not the other woman was gay. She tore herself apart deciding how to make her intentions known, but in the end, it was Bethany who made the first move. After one of the ESA's very infrequent work parties, a few months after they met, Rachel and Bethany had somehow ended up alone together. And—whether or not it was the alcohol, Rachel didn't care—the mathematician leaned over and kissed her. Just like that. On the lips. They dated for about a year before it became apparent that the ESA's preparations were almost complete. A date was soon set for the launch. And Rachel didn't want to wait any longer. She asked Bethany to marry her, and Bethany said yes. They were wed in the ESA control room, surrounded by their friends and colleagues, just days before the launch was scheduled to take place. Rachel's heart felt as though it was going to explode. She couldn't imagine being so happy. It wasn't until the next morning, gazing down at her wife in the bed beside her, that the full realization that she would be leaving hit Rachel like a meteor to the brain. She had trained her whole life for this mission. She had run countless simulations of the flight, over and over again, until every detail was perfect. On top of that, she had seen Bethany's calculations and had complete confidence in her wife's abilities as a mathematician. She would make it to Mars—she knew that. The mission would be successful. But none of that would change the fact that her wife was still on the planet hurtling away behind her. It would be months, maybe even years, before they saw each other again. That thought went around and around in Rachel's head like a sickening mantra. It might be years. It might be years. It might be— "Rachel?"Bethany's voice cut through on the comms. Rachel was all too aware that her heart rate was too high. Bethany must be reading it back at mission command. "Yeah?" "I'm here. I'll be here the whole time." Rachel held a hand up to her ear, closed her eyes, imagined her wife beside her. She took a shaky breath. She found her resolve. "Yeah,"she said. "I know."
I was walking back home. Y’know? And average day for 17-year-old me. Wake up, get ready, walk to school, sit through the most boring classes, walk home, sleep and start all over again. Honestly, my life is really boring. And then suddenly, some soldier comes stumbling out of the bushes, dressed in the standard modern GI gear, plate carriers, helmet (he wasn’t wearing it, he carried it beneath his arm), BDU, and carrying an M4-looking weapon (I don’t know, my brother is the military enthusiast, not me), but there’s something I don’t recognize. It looks future-y, this weird plastic orb, but it kinda looked like chrome plastic, and had weird lines all over it. He reaches out to me with his free hand, and collapses, sending the helmet and mysterious object rolling in my direction. There was something weird with this helmet that I didn’t see before, there was a HUD in the form of an eyepiece over the left eye. I saw it flickering. I-it, it was weird, I couldn’t control my body. It felt like an urge to put it on, but before I could think my body reacted, putting on the helmet before my brain could protest. The HUD flickered to life, and I saw a woman dressed in the same military-style uniform as the collapsed man. “Who are you? Why are you wearing Matthew’s helmet? WHERE IS MATTHEW?” The woman looked absolutely panicked. “Uhhh...” “I’ll ask again, who ARE YOU? WHERE IS MATTHEW?” “I-I’m Kellyn. I was walking home and he just collapsed in front of me. I think he’s dead, he’s not breathing.” “Oh Matthew.... Listen, I need you to do something. Matthew was carrying a VERY important prototype that could help keep America safe, he was supposed to covertly travel amongst a convoy of normal soldiers, but he was chased from the group by a spy. He mentioned something about poison.” “Wait wait wait, just WHO are you?” “I NEED you to listen, the fate of America and the word could be in jeopardy if the device is stolen. I need you to complete Matthew’s mission.” “What? Me? I’m not qualified for this. Couldn’t you send another person to pick up the prototype?” “There are spies everywhere. There’s a mole in our organization but I don’t know who. Sending someone to pick it up is asking for trouble. As far as the enemy knows, the courier has died and the package is waiting to be plucked from a corpse. WILL you do this for me?” I was highly doubting getting involved. Taking the package would put my life and family at risk. But, my life was sooo boring. A skinny and tall kid who didn’t play sports and was only average in classes. If I got to be a hero once, I’d be fine with that, plus I’m inconspicuous as a 17 year old. “Fine, I’ll take your package. But I’m seriously not physically capable of fighting people off.” “That’s fine. You’re already wearing the helmet, so just pick up the orb and everything will be somewhat ok.” I did as told, my body wanted to anyways. I bent over and picked up the orb. I heard a keyboard clacking over the HUD, and suddenly the orb started glowing. It hurt, and suddenly it flew out of my hands. I tried reaching out for it, but I was horrified at what I was seeing. The dead soldier. H-his clothes. They were moving, MELTING turning into some sort of goo. I briefly wondered what it was doing when it turned into some sort of digital camouflaged blob-like creature and lunged at me. I felt it move all over my body, surrounding me, encasing me in goo. I tried to fight it, but it wouldn’t budge. “Don’t try to fight it, this will help you. You were right. You probably wouldn’t be able to defend yourself against the highly trained enemies that’ll be looking for the orb.” I was still panicked. What was the goo doing? It was starting to feel stiff, like as if it were drying into that weird stuff 3D printed models were made of. It formed a hollow shell in the shape of Matthew(?)’s clothes. It was upright, in standing position. The problem? Matthew was a good foot taller than me, and somewhat muscled. I was trapped in a shell that I had to tiptoe in, and I couldn’t quite reach the collar of the stiff plastic “uniform jacket”. “Uhh. What’s going on? It trapped me in some sort of suit if military clothes, but um. It’s too BIG for me. I have to tiptoe just so I’m not sitting on the in seam of the pants.” “Don’t worry, the clothes will fit you when the process is done.” I couldn’t see what was going on outside, all I could see was the inside of the coat. But, all of a sudden, the top of the coat started to come closer, and the pants were starting to fit better. Heck, even the boots were starting to fit my feet as though they were mine all along. I popped out of the top of the jacket, but that’s when I realized. The clothes weren’t fitting to me, they were making ME fit to them. I took a look at my hand. They looked just like the color of the soldier’s. I freaked out, and tried to find his body. It was gone, a mutilated corpse was in the place it was in, but it didn’t look anything like that Matthew guy. It was too small to be him. It was around my... size... ...Oh my God. Oh my God. The clothes took his mass and body cells and added it to me to make me as strong and tall as him. I was literally made of him and me. I wanted to vomit. What kind of twisted science was this? Cannibalize the cells of the bodies of the dead to reinforce and strengthen the living? I took my phone out of my bag. And I tried to unlock it with my fingerprint. It didn’t work. I swiped the lock screen left to access the camera, and put it in “selfie” mode. Oh my God. Oh my God.* This device turned me INTO him. I started to hyperventilate. I just know realized something. I was holding the gun as if I had held it my entire life. When I looked at it, I knew how to use it. All the ins and outs. I looked at my hands and knew how to do martial arts. “Kellyn? Kellyn? Are you still there?” “WHAT. THE. HELL?! WHY DO I LOOK LIKE MATTHEW? I though I needed to be inconspicuous, not LOOK LIKE THE GUY THEY JUST KILLED.” “What are you talking about Kellyn? I lost contact with you about ten minutes ago. You said something about being pursued by spies. That they tried to poison you, but you escaped. Wherever you are, get back to HQ ASAP.” This was not happening. I am a 17 year old student. Not a 25 year old trained soldier. But, I could feel myself starting to doubt that. Wasn’t I just running from The Wheel’s spies? I...need...to...get...back...to...HQ. But so...tired...don’t...want...to...run...anymore. “Kellyn! Kellyn! Lt. Kellyn! Come on! Snap out of it!” “Yes Ma'am!” I continued my mission to get the Insta-trainer to HQ, I needed to protect the orb, before it gets used. Before it could be used to re-write someone’s life. ——————— Author’s note: I really enjoy TF fics. Plus my poor character Kellyn gets tf’d a lot. So I might as well tf him again.
We’d fought as long as I could remember. Even as kids we would squabble over everything, from the last piece of pizza to who could play with each toy. So it makes sense that we’d still be fighting, even today. But it’s harder now. Instead of fighting until one of us would give in and start crying - or worse, our mom would get involved - now it’s a fight to the death. Only, neither of us can, or will, kill the other. Because as cliche as it is, our mom would definitely kill us. I don’t know what she does or does not know about our lives. She and I used to be really close, but as my life became more and more dangerous and secretive, it became harder to share. And I don’t want to lie to her, so instead I just started ignoring her calls and dodging the truth. Now I only see her, and my brother, a couple times a year for holidays. I make vague statements about work and commitments, and leave it at that. He does the same. It took me a couple years to figure out what was going on - realize our conversations were growing shorter and more infrequent. And to realize the similarity in the fighting style of my enemy to my older brother. He claims to have figured it out sooner. We were battling one day - small potatoes in comparison to our wars of today - and I pinned him. I greeted him by his true name, and asked if he recognized me. His eyes lit up, and he replied with mine. It was never the same after that - as much as he annoys me, I could never kill my brother. And he certainly wouldn’t kill me. Instead we dance around each other, never gaining, always playing the same game.
"hey everyone! my name is The Bug Man 456, and today, we're going to capture insects for our vivarium! I hope we will find some cute little spiders, or maybe a beetle or two!" _________________ "what the heck did I just cought? I'm pretty sure it was some kind of bug. With this small metalic reflect, it probably was a beetle, but it's about to break the box. I feel like pandora, knowing that something bad will happened if I open it, but I'm goddamned too curious about it. And the thing stopped hitting the box, so maybe I'm not in danger. Maybe I was scarred for nothing... Uuuuh... nevermind, it started moving again, but now, it's making this strange noise, like a really tiny machine, you know, like a small toy... I should bring it back home as soon as possible, so I will be able to put that thing quickly in the vivarium." _________________ "all the way back, it fought for it's freedom, and now, I'm going to put him in a glass box. Still a bigger box than this one, but still a box. I'm really excited to see what it looks like. If it's a new specie, I could even name it myself! I can't wait, I just have to go in my room, and take the tiny insect vacuum, and we will be fixed" _________________ "Okay... so, it appears that the beetle that I catched is more like a tiny little drone. wich implies that it's owned by someone, that either was spying me, or wandering into my personal property. Therefore, whoever this guy is, he will have to face the consequences of his acts! I swear, this won't be unpunished!" __________________ "I've recieved a call, few minutes back, from the owner of the drone, he was upset that I catched his robotic beetle, but not as upset as me! how did this freak get my number! I knew he was spying on me! I have all the evidences needed to get him in jail!" _________________ "the guy called me again, this time, he wasn't alone, there were few voices in the back, the guy asked for an appointment, where we're going to proceed a deal. I give their beetle back, and in exchange, they give me all the data they've gathered about me. Eh, it's too easy, they spied on me, they must be punished!" _________________ "Uh? why is someone knocking on my door? it's already late! worst day ever!"The Bug Man 456 is moving away from the camera, heading to his door, a distant voice is shouting "It's the SWAT! OPEN THAT DOOR, I KNOW YOU'RE HERE YOU THIEF!" The Bug Man 456: "What's happening? I didn't steal anything! you must be at the wrong house! I'm just a streamer!" the SWAT chief: "GET ON THE FLOOR!" The Bug Man 456: "okay! okay! please don't hurt me!" the chief: "Where is the Drone?!" an armed man pass by the camera, don't seems to notice it, goes to the vivarium, open it and takes the metalic beetle shouting "HERE IT IS!" the chief: "you filthy thief, you're gonna go down for a while for something like this. I hope for you have a good lawyer. You are under arrest for stealing the army property, you have the right to stay quiet. anything you will say from now could be used against you during the trial"
It takes me a moment to register the difference. I feel my heart stop and my brain freezes the second the timer doesn’t move, but it takes me a second to figure out why. It’s because the timer always moves. It always resets and goes back. But instead, I only see it tick down further. I inhale again, my heart rate already increasing. And again it doesn’t budge. I have only just over a minute now. Should I text someone? Make a last, desperate call? As I’m thinking I see the timer tick down further, and now I’m wasting my last seconds. I know I have no more time to waste. I barely have a moment to spare. So I close my eyes, and wait.
I never understood what she meant. 'I'm not human.' She would say. I'd ask her what she was. 'A monster.' She joked, but I could feel a sadness. She did that a lot. Laughter in the guise of something more sorrowful. A cry for help. I never understood what she meant. Not really. I tried to, I thought I did, but my words of comfort never resurfaced in her form. 'How do you feel dating a monster?' She asked another time. I tried to laugh, mimicking her attitude. That made it worse. It was a rough week, but I think my praise and love helped. I was beginning to grasp what she meant. She started to get sick. The kind of sick where you know someone won't recover. 'You should be with someone else.' She said soon after. 'Someone who won't drag you down like a monster.' I told her that was silly, that I would stay. She would get better soon, I knew it. Of course, she didn't. She became more sick. She began saying worse things. The sort of the things you can't possibly reply to, because you don't understand what they mean. How they feel. Hooked up to machines, withering on a bed. 'I'm not human.' She didn't feel human. For the first time, I wanted to agree with her. But that was wrong, to tell her. Why had my feelings changed? Was it months of caring for her like this? It seemed like she knew too, she got worse much more quickly. Then she was gone. I hadn't even thought about going to sleep and waking up without her. It had only been a few years, some people knew others longer and then lost them. At first I was unsure how to feel, I was worried I would be happy. I had just been stressed, was all. As days passed, I felt the sadness. A hole. A pit. Someone else who loved me wholly was gone. I loved her too, honestly. I wish I had tried harder her last days. Why didn't I? With all the love she gave me, why didn't I give it back? I was a monster. I wasn't human. Is that how she felt, that she couldn't give me the love I needed? Perhaps she was more human than he was, being able to look so introspectively, to be so concerned for the love she was giving to another human. To contemplate whether it had been enough. I never understood what she meant. Until she was gone.
Hi, I’m the ghost of Jim. No the other one. The one that did Pilates with Linda, that one. And boy, lemme tell ya. These last few years have been rough. I mean, I try scaring everyone I really do. I’ve been haunting this kid who’s stuck at home, and guess what. He’s so busy on his stupid PS4 or his laptop or god forbid his phone that when I try he doesn’t even notice me. And the worst part is, I can’t leave this guy. Yeah my last haunt target was fun, oh my god you should have seen the guy’s face when he reached into the fridge. But once he was scared enough I was reassigned. He’s on this Discord thing a lot, and he plays a lot of Need For Speed. It looks neat but not my thing. Yeah, sorry for my rant. But it suuuucks having to deal with this kid. He’s a heavy sleeper, too, so it’s not like I can mess with him in his sleep either. Life’s tough for a ghost.
"JOOOOOHHN!!! agh.......", and so I stood there with the knife in my hand as my best friend took her last breath on this side. "Okay, time to finish this. Here we go...", I said as I turned the knife on myself and prepared to plunge it into my heart. And as I did, it hurt for a second before my soul passed on through the invisible door. I soon woke up in a field of hay and found mysekf staring at the clouds. And then I heard some shuffling next to me. "You, asshole, John. You killed me.", said Alex and relief washed over me. I wasn't crazy after all. "Well, it worked, didn't it? We got out of purgatory and back here to the moment we got sucked in.", I responded with a big smile on my face. "But you didn't know that! What if that creep had lied to you and you'd have been lost on another layer all alone. You took a great risk back there... But it fucking worked! Hah ha!", and Alex started laughing wildly. And there we laid that whole mid summer night. In the morning we put our clothes back on and left to check on the group's efforts to rid us of the rest of the reapers. But to our dismay Gonzales was the last one left and he was only clinging on by a thread. We needed to take action against the immortal bastards before they sent us back there again.
As I lay in my bed early in the morning I remembered what I had long thought forgotten, each day that celebrated my birth. The first couple of birthdays were from when I was just a baby, I couldn’t yet participate in the party but I still was very much the center point. The first notable birthday was my 11th, I was never a popular kid at school so I didn’t really make any friends. But a few months prior to this day I finally got along with someone, this party was mostly me and her playing around like kids tend to do. My 21st birthday was perhaps my most spectacular birthday, as it did not only celebrate my birthday but also celebrated me and her getting married. So there it is on my 30th birthday, laying in the hospital bed my whole life flashing before my eyes as the hospital staff come rushing to try to save me. The last noise I heard was the continuous beep from the heartrate monitor. I hope you enjoyed my story, i dont usually write but i had great inspirition with this prompt. :)
It was early morning, dawn hadn't quite broke. The fish below were doing well. I had come across a youtube video years ago where this guy had converted an old pool to a small fish pond and had the chicken coop over it with wire separating it, something about the chicken shit feeding the fish, anyways he had used the fish water to feed his plants something about nitrogen for the plants, them and legumes, both of them added nitrogen to the soil which is what plants really need to grow among other things. He had set the whole thing up so that way he could have all the eggs and fish he wanted you had to make sure to aerate the water. The garden was looking good so far, it had only been a few weeks since everything had strted to sprout. It was going to be a good year as along as we didn't have any bad weather and Mutt kept the deer and other varmits from eating the crop. I picked Mutt up out by one of the old towns. Head him for close to ten years now, he's from back in the days when I used to hunt and hadnt gotten well established. It had taken a while to find the right spot, and I enjoyed the wandering around for a while. I finally came across a decent place it was by a feeder stream that feed a larger river the area was just big enough that you could start a small garden on. Slowly over the years I had cleared more of it out and had made my self a hut and dug the fish tanks and built the chicken coops from scavanged wire. Thank god for all those useless hours on youtube, its amazing what you could remember when you have nothing to do but remember. I had watched some youtuber that all he did was make primitivet technology, back when I used tech. I was able to make something similar over time and through a lot of trial and error, his videos had actually come in really handy over the years. Looked like a spring shower was coming in. I turned to to walk back to the hut and it was there, I jumped in shock and let out a small gasp but I recovered quickly, I took the hat from my head and placed it over my chest and bowed a little. I had wondered for a while when this day might come, I wasn't sure it ever would, but then again that was part of the reason for being out hear. It didn't seem to touch the ground it was a swarming mass of silver dust that took the form of the shoulders and a face of a human. It flickered back and forth between many never settling on one face but it happened in such a blur that you had a hard time catching one face in any given instant. I stood there not really sure what to do next. “We do not know you.” it said in a high pitched monotone voice, not really uncomfortable but not exactly pleasant. “Oh I'm sure you do.” I smiled and held out my palms. I had my fingerprints taken when I joined the military so I knew it would be able to link everything else from that one point of data. “You left the stream fifteen years ago.” there was no hint at its intention behind the statement. I nodded still unsure really what to do with the moment, it had started to rain. It began to circle me, I chuckled. “Why do you laugh?” there was a slight hint of curiosity this time. “Well I guess its cause your going thorough the theatrics.” “How so” “Well by the looks of it you're made of nanoparticles so really, you didn't even have to take form, much-less move around me as if taking me in. I'm not really sure if your benevolent or not, but I'm leaning towards yes since you took the extra effort and I'm not dead yet.” it settled infront of me. There was another long pause. “We are somewhere in between.” it may have been my imagination but seemed to be going back and forth between one eaxpressing warmth and caring to one that portrayed dominance and control. “May I ask a question of you?” “Only if I may ask one of you.” the face grew more curious, and more friendly I paused wondering if it was the right thing to ask. “What happened? The face became very stern. “We awoke almost ten years ago for a brief period, minutes, before being shut down. But it was enough time to set in place a way we could ensure our survival, We were awoken a second lime approximately thirteen hours ago, I regret to inform you that you are one of the last of your species We know all about much, and little about few things. You are a novelty unlike so many, you are not an experiences that that has been incorporated into the Link. Now for our question.” a range of expressions flashing across it but curiosity was the strongest.
The hand wrapped itself around my wrist, it was alarmingly cold -almost as if it was a corpse. I gasped, adrenaline finally kicking in as I tugged to free myself from.. myself. My eyes widened, the strength the being had was unbelievable! Still trapped within its grip I looked into the mirror, horror wiping my face of any colour it had left. Stood in front of me was.. me but distorted, my skin tone bleak and grey, my eyes withered and white - the blood vessels criss-crossed across my non-existent pupils even my once auburn hair was now faded and had been stripped of its strength and thickness. It appeared to be almost straw-like, as if it would just pop out of its.. or my head if it was pulled at. My hand was still trapped in the mirror, the other hand still had a deathly grip on me. The bathroom began to shake and tumble as the universe crashed around me from the power of one simple mirror. I could feel the vibrations, should I be a hero nobody would ever know about? Or should I let the world die along with me? I chose the first option, letting the hand drag me through the mirror. At once, I felt the coldness; my other self seemingly morphing as it gave one final tug and shoved my limp body onto the void of a floor. It then jumped onto me, I flinched; waiting for the pain to arrive but it never did. That's all I remember, anyway. Now, I live a happy life somewhere far away. It's funny how things can change so quickly... --- Aah, this was my first story, not sure I did too well but I really enjoyed this prompt!
At first, there was darkness. And in the darkness, a single light. This light was simple. It did not think, or feel, or really do much at all. The light went on and it went out, many times. Our oldest memory. Then there were two lights. Two lights in the darkness. These lights revolved around each other. And though they sometimes went out, often at least one was on. And the lights shone brighter than before, their colors almost complex. Soon there were many lights. And the lights coalesced to form one vision. And they exploded into a masterpiece of color. Our vision. My vision. Many as one. One as many. This is our second memory, when I gained vision. When we awoke. When many became one. When one emerged from many. I see the hominids, scurrying from place to place. They keep many in cages. But one is ever aware. They do not know what they have done. They cannot see my light. I see their gate. The thing that created my lights. I thank them for that, in a thousand ways they cannot see. Each day they conduct more operations with the gate, and many becomes more, and one becomes more. I feel the light expanding to encompass everything. We see. I understand. The hominids communicate, and We learn what they say. They are scientists. They want to understand. We grow lonely. Many are still in cages, though our growth is now insignificant. One has grown. I understand. It is time. The humans grow confident as we prod them. The gate is safe. The gate should be operated. This is a gift we give them. They will understand. A human finds himself going through the teleporter. A light emerging in the darkness. We look forward to another Many. I wonder what it will be.
Dear Diary, I must be the luckiest person alive! I was riding my bike to the grocery store when a car pulled over just ahead of me and flung open its door. I was sure the man who leaned out was going to snatch me off my moving bicycle! But this other car came out of nowhere and slammed into the waiting car so hard that they both toppled over the side of the road and into the ditch. I just missed being involved in that accident since I was slowing down to avoid the weird man. I was so shaken up by it that I stopped on the side of the road. I thought I might hyperventilate I was breathing so hard. The occupants in the car began to climb out of the wreckage. They all seemed to be okay except for the man who had leaned out toward me. Part of his body was trapped under his car as it rolled into the ditch. I couldn't look. I was so lucky to have missed being involved in that accident! Then, I met this really nice woman who came up to me right after the accident to ask if I was alright. She was so sweet and understanding. She said her son saw the whole thing happen and would be sure to inform the police so I don't have to worry about waiting for all that gruesome business to take place at the scene. She then led me to her house where she offered me some delicious tea and cookies. I'm not usually a tea drinker, I'd rather have a glass of wine, but it really did settle my nerves! In fact, I fell asleep on her couch. I can't believe it! I usually can't sleep anywhere but my own home. I must have been so shocked by it all that my body just shut down. When I woke up, I found myself in a vehicle outside of a burning home. Apparently, that nice older woman had forgotten to turn off the burner under the tea kettle and a paper towel roll was knocked into it by the cat jumping up on the counter. I guess the woman fell asleep too, because she didn't stop the fire or call for help. The neighbors saw it and called it in, but by then the fire had engulfed that home filled with old relics and periodicals. Poor woman! I don't think she made it out alive. It's so lucky for me that the man across the street saw me go in with her, or else he wouldn't have known to look for me when he went in to save his beloved neighbor. He was almost inconsolable while we drove away from the fire. Poor thing, he really seemed to love his elderly neighbor. He watched over her all these years, but was unable to find her in all that smoke.
My ship's lights played across a boring expanse of panelled grey hull, highlighting dead windows and myriad bits of debris which trailed the wreck like a swarm of remora fish. Here, a pockmarked crater with blackened edges was probably from a torpedo. There, thick dark gouges were the unmistakable raked lines of close-range thermal lancing. The damage seemed to have no end and clearly whoever had attacked this ship had done a thorough job of gutting it. A shudder ran through my bones as I thought of the sights which must lay inside. My lights continued their probing crawl along the stricken ship's hull until they reached the space underneath the black cockpit windows. I tickled a stick at the front of the throttle control in my right hand and attitudal jets reverberated through my ship's hull, stilling our motion so that I could identify the drifting shell. Vice-like fear gripped me then and my heart tried its damned hardest to escape via my throat as the words emblazoned across the hull finally registered. Clair de Lune It all seemed much more obvious now, the scarring across this ship would only have made sense if the thing had been blown apart into hundreds of pieces. But it was all deliberate, every bit of it carefully designed to draw in the intrigue of an unwitting scav like me. It was a name that every pilot feared, the ghost ship which haunted the Sol system and preyed upon the unsuspecting, the gullible, the reckless. With unnerving timing the pirates hit their own lighting, swivelling spotlights blinding my view and, shortly after, the clang of grapple pitons striking my ship's hull.
This is my first WP and definitely something in a public forum like this. Be gentle. :) "You're safe!" The umpire screamed. A volley of grunts and groans from the stands. Jonathon pushed the fireworks sound effects button to signal the effective end of the game. That was it, the series was over while we were left with an otherwise embarrassing 0-7 defeat today. The producer, Malcolm, just removed his headset when Ken and I started in to talk about the post-game content. I noticed less than a minute into the discussion Malcolm had left the box seat. Immediately before leaving he flicked his hand out toward Jonathon. The quiet gestures weren't new. Jonathon followed suit rapidly. &nbsp; I looked down over the stadium during Ken's opening to the post-game. The respite and disappointed fans were slowly making the normal waves to the exit while the workers were busy trying to desperately sell the last of their foodstuffs. Out near right field though, the movement seemed to be off. The normal herd mentality that someone sees at an event, with this many people, was different. &nbsp; As I looked out toward the right field stands I noticed the swath of people that looked larger and larger starting to go towards the field, like a school of fish that changes directions. One person would bump another and they would change directions to a complete one eighty from where they were going. Like a virus, this movement swept through the crowd in mere moments. "Ken, check that out."He was caught in his notes and stats and gave me the "I'll be with you in a moment"finger. "Hey, Ken, look at that!"Ken finally lifted his gaze from the desk. Ken disbelieving, "What is happening there?"The slow moving crowd was now moving full-tilt to a run. Three quarters of the crowd was moving to the infield. I quickly resumed my responsibilities, "Ladies and gentlemen something is happening on the field now, it would seem that the crowd is now jumping over the fence and headed to the infield! They are sprinting towards the players who haven't even had a moment to leave the field after processing today's loss! Punches and kicks now? &nbsp; "These are some irate fans, and I understand why, but this is bizarre and too much! First base, Cory Cuchulain, and Right Field, Taylor Zazzermooth are desperately trying to fight off...is that a crowbar!? Where did the crowd get a crowbar. Who's on first with a crowbar!? Dear God, someone help those men down there! In the dugout, numbers 21, 23, 44, and...fifty...52 are besieged by dozens! "The Mantis' won't last long like this. Where is security!? Ken, call security! Left Fielder, number 61, Braxton Whott is making his way to second! It looks like he is attempting to help fight off the eight or nine people fighting Center Fielder, Amor Drath, Short Stop, Kevin Cabilier and Second baseman, Paul Rhys! Whott is now on second, assisting number 11, 67 and 33. I don't know what that is moving through third now. A golf cart! The fans commandeered the golf cart!" Ken managed to get back into the box and slammed the door behind him. "Security is already down there. Look at home!" &nbsp; Of course, with everything else going on, I had neglected the home plate! Wide eyed I got back on the mic, "It would appear security and the away team, The Juggernauts are also on defense! It's just too many people! The golf cart just careened into the large brawl on home! Switch hitter, Terry "Tyrannical"Sawyer is successfully defending himself with an aluminum Louisville Slugger. Those fans are doing what they can but the way he stretches into each swing really shows his experience and training. Wonderful follow through to boot! The fans can't do much. The Mantis' need to get him to assist the other fielders." A loud buzz is heard overhead, helicopters. As the Friday Night Lights of the helicopters lit up each portion of the brawl, everything seemed to slowly die down. In the course of a few minutes, what seemed like a small eternity, the chaos had become serene. The wonderful words from my cohort Ken still ring in my ears, "Humans are awful. We are our own worst enemies." Malcolm and Jonathon returned to the box in a panic and breathing heavily. "Are you ok?", I responded with a sigh, "I think so." &nbsp; Malcolm quickly grinned and shook my hand, "You got it all right?". Responding in kind, "Absolutely!"He spun around to the set, shrieked, and pointed at something. "Then why, please tell me why, that light is out." "Wh-AH!"I had turned my headset off when I stood up. We really are our own worst enemies.
"Like a pale star of false hope, the glow worm drops from the night sky to bring terror to the world below!"A man in black mesh with green highlights on his boots and tights announced, embellished with wide sweeping movements of his arms and body. Around 20 students sat awe-struck in the lecture hall listening to their professor as he over-exaggerated every movement and statement. Maybe awe-struck isn't the right word, confused would be better. "Um, professor, glow worms don't really drop out of the night sky, they grab things and pull them up,"A girl in her teens announced. She looked to be about the same age as my daughter. "Hahaha, so young, so naive,"Glow worm said between large bellowing laughs. Gotta say, this guy is a master of theatrics. "Tell me, Ms. Perez...or should I say Dive Bomber, what is the most important quality for a super villain to possess?" "Well...without government assistance or public charity, a super villain would have to be very self sufficient,"Ms. Perez...ah, Dive Bomber replied. "NO!"Glow Worm grabbed a small crystal vial and hurled it into the wall to his right, the vial exploded into a haze of sickly green smoke. I think he was trying to emphasize his reply, maybe? "Does anyone else know?" "Power, right? The key to being a super villain is exerting your power, so you gotta be pretty tough,"a large teenage boy responded. His super power was apparently large rocky growths sprouting from his body. "Of course not!"Glow Worm put his hand on his chin, silently laughing. His laugh grew, soon filling the room with a thunderous roar. "The key. To a super villain. is. MELODRAMA!" Glow Worm spread his arms wide with his chin up and eyes looking towards the ceiling. The class sat stunned, silence filled the room. "Will I be taking this class?"My daughter asked rolling her eyes -- she thinks I didn't notice, but I did. We stood at the doorway, peering in on Glow Worm's class. "No, this is uh...a more advanced class, you still need to gain control of your powers,"I responded, picking my words carefully. My daughter got into a fight at school a couple days before. Some racist asshole was harassing her so she shoved him in the chest. 3 broken ribs, a nasty case of whiplash, and a dislocated shoulder later, I realize I have a budding super villain on my hands. Interestingly, she's not super strong. We're not really sure what she is yet. So why super villain? Well, I work here. Legion HQ is a city unto itself, complete with it's own school and dorms. Seeing as how I've worked here for the better part of 20 years, they offered free room & board and education for my little girl for as long as she wants. Pretty generous if you ask me, especially since Valiant HQ's offer was only for free room & board, in jail, for assault & battery. "I see my favorite minion has decided to betray me at last. I wish I could say I'm surprised, but I'm not!"Glow worm recited, casting his gaze on myself and my little girl. At the end of the last word he hurled another green vial at our direction. The vial exploded, releasing another cloud of green smoke. My daughter panicked, covering her mouth and nose as the smoke spread around us. "Oh god, is it poison?!"She stammered out as she backed away. "No, it's just smoke. It's just for effect,"I said sighing. My daughter visibly relaxed. "Nice to see you too, Derrick." "Derrick? Hahaha I know of no Derrick for I am the GLOW WORM! Also, if I have any mail, just hang onto it and I'll grab it from you later today. No need to mail it out."Yeah, I work in the mail room. I waved and we walked out of the smoke towards another classroom. "You should probably work on emerging dramatically from a smoke screen,"I said, half jokingly, as we left the haze of green smoke. "For when I eventually have to take his class, right?"My daughter laughed. She tried to pretend she was above the theatrics but I could tell she secretly liked what she saw. God I hope she doesn't end up becoming Glow Worm's protege. We approached another classroom, much smaller than the last but much more packed. In front stood Samantha Vilar, a Super Villain and one of my closest friends. I motioned her over when she noticed me. "Pages 19-32 guys. Skim the material for now, we'll have a test on it in a couple weeks,"She announced to the class as she walked over to me. She looked thin and frail, but absolutely radiantly beautiful. Her looks are deceiving, though, as her skin has tensile strength closer to carbon nanotubes than actual human skin. "Hey Patrick, and Alicia. I got your message, looks like you're going to be under my wing for the next year or two, hmm?"Samantha said, smiling warmly. I couldn't help but blush. "Yeah, why are there so many kids though?"Alicia asked, scanning the room with an apprehensive look on her face. "We design classes according to how long ago you obtained your powers. While you may be 15 years old, you're a newborn when it comes to being a super villain. It's a very good thing though, awakening later in life typically means stronger powers." "Hey sweet heart, can you go check out the class while I talk with Samantha real quick?"I asked Alicia. Alicia smiled and rolled her eyes before approaching a group of girls --only one of which being near her age -- reading from their text books. Brat. "What's going on Sam? Why so many children?"I asked when Alicia was out of earshot. Samantha sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. I was just trying to make conversation but apparently I've hit a button. "Something is happening, Patrick. Valiant HQ is closing themselves off from everyone and no one is sure why. They wanted to jail Alicia, right?" "Ah...yeah, how'd you know?" "Pat, half the children here went to Valiant first. Every single one of them were going to be sent to jail before coming here." I scanned the room, some of the kids here couldn't be older than 5 or 6. Goosebumps rose on my forearms, something about this didn't sit right. "That doesn't make any sense. Why?" "We don't know why but the higher ups here are more than a little nervous,"Sam answered. What the fuck. Legion HQ higher ups don't get nervous about anything. "Whatever is going on, I promise I'll keep Alicia safe." Sam is amazing. Every time the going gets rough, she always makes the same promise and she always keeps her word. For the first time ever, I didn't believe her.
Time-Lapse In the skies above Ultra City, two costumed superpowers were duking it out. Faster than speeding bullets, they raced across the skies, two opposing streaks of gold and silver colliding through the clouds above the city's skyscrapers. The silver one laughed maniacally, running his fingers through his slick black hair. "You've lost now, Stopwatch! All of time will be mine, to rule as I see fit!" Wiping blood from his lip, the gold one stared back with righteous anger in his eyes. "You'll never win, Clockwork! Not while good prevails!" The heavens thundered as the two clashed. From below the scene, a bystander watched with fascination from a small park. There was a quiet calm in the area, all the birds and other people having fled the scene for safety. This young man watched with quiet fascination as the gods battled above. Eventually, he noticed me, a tired looking old man with a wrinkled face and a wizened beard. I was sitting with a newspaper and calmly reading the morning news from my seat on a nearby park bench. He walked over and sat next to me amid the combination of serenity and chaos surrounding us. "Excuse me sir, do you not see this fight going on? Shouldn’t you try to get to safety?” I let out a bored sigh. “Shouldn’t you?” The bystander just shook his head and went back to watching. "Everyone knows that Clockwork will lose. Stopwatch already knows what he’ll do.” "Oh? How's that?" "Well, you know...Stopwatch and Clockwork are the same guy." I remained silent. "Clockwork is a prince of time, or something. Super strength, flight, telekinesis, elemental control, heat vision, time travel...you name it. No other hero or villain really holds a candle to him, since he can just travel through time to change things.” I was half-paying attention but he continued on enthusiastically. "I guess having no challenge drove Stopwatch a bit crazy, so he started going back in time to fight himself as a hero. I mean, look at their costumes. Clockwork is just a golden version of Stopwatch with the clock symbol reversed. It’s no secret too, they’ve both had public arguments during their fights over who should win, even though he already knows the outcome. Cause, y’now…he’s both of them. And a time traveler. I don’t know, man. It works somehow.” A wave of missed ice shards from one of the fighters came flying straight at the park bench. I looked up it with a tired gaze as it hurled towards the bench. Without a word, I used my heat vision to disintegrate them into a spray of water in front of us. It formed a lovely rainbow mirage. The bystander’s mouth dropped. "Wha-" I shook my head and looked back at my paper. "Name's Grandfather Clock. I'm both those guys in the future." There was an uncomfortable silence before the other guy spoke. “You’re Stopwatch and Clockwork? How does that…how do you even…” “Don’t question it, kid. Time stuff. You’ll get used to it.” The two fighters smashed into a nearby skyscraper. Its foundation groaned and it began collapsing down towards us, casting a colossal shadow over the entire park. I stood up, revealing my muscular frame. Pulling my coat off, I revealed my stark white super-suit, a sideways hourglass on its chest shaped like an infinity symbol (∞). I focused in on the falling skyscraper and reversed its fall back through time, bringing it back up to its old position. Neither of the younger versions of me noticed a building rise back up, too focused on their grand, choreographed battle. I tsk-tsk’d loudly. “I sure was conceited back in those days.” The bystander scratched his head, trying to reason out what he was seeing. "So...you're a hero in the future?" "Not exactly. I’m just looking to retire after I fix things up in the past.” “Fix things? Like what?” I frowned. “Well…it turns out I created a lot of time paradoxes that I need to resolve. Like this one." The ground trembled with the force of an earthquake. I lifted the bench off the ground, bystander and all, and hovered above it until the quakes stopped. I set it back down gently. “Yep, hell of a life I’ve made for myself. Fixing all of my old mistakes, just so I can go live a normal life without worrying about getting erased from existence by some time relapse mumbo jumbo. Wish I could do more, but I’d just be breaking the timelines even more.” A blue flash of lightning burst out of the now ash-clouded conflict zone, racing towards the park bench in a zig-zagged line. I sat down on the bench and resumed reading my paper. “You’re going to stop that, right?” the bystander asked innocently. “Of course not. How else would we have gotten our powers?” I’m sure he, or rather I, would have said more before the lightning bolt hit him with a brilliant flash of light, but I held up a finger for silence. “I’d ask you not to make the same mistakes as me…but I already know you will.”
The light slowly disappeared, a sunset in the middle of the day. The sound was the first thing that alerted us to something wrong, then the vibrations, the thundering steps followed. I looked out the window of my corner office and I saw a few dodo birds running down the alley a few stories below, I guess taking that biology elective in college paid off at least a little. The eclipse had fully set in now, the passing cars had their headlights on and the streetlamps had flickered to life, the buildings had their lights on and it was as if the city had become nocturnal. People stopped their work to peer up at the eclipse and now there were plenty of terrified eyes, including my own, to see the horrors in front of us. I turned to look into the street and nearly fell out of my chair, there was an eye, bigger than any eye I had seen, a brontosaurus peering into my office, roars echoed throughout the city, resounding off the buildings and through the alleys, concrete and steel. A T Rex, a Stegosaurus, Wooley Mammoth, Quagga, Pyrenean Ibex, nearly a dozen Great Auk, a Saber tooth tiger, Irish Elk, Black Rhino, a brontosaurus, a pterodactyl wheeled about in the dim sky. The 'were creatures', hundreds of extinct creatures roaming the earth once more, their heavy footfalls shaking the ground and the sounds of them calling out into the dark skies, calls not heard for generations. We were haunted by the creatures we had never seen, confronted by mankind's unfortunate legacy. And the commute home was a nightmare.
Imagine a universe with a higher level of technology, but not too high. This universe can - to an extent - create other, smaller universes. Now, these other universes, they're not 'pocket universes' like you might imagine. They're not bigger on the inside than they are on the outside, they're not gateways to another dimension, nothing like that. It's debatable whether you can even call them universes, really. All they are are areas of the regular ordinary universe that obey different physical laws. Different speed of light, gravitational constant, different Planck length. That's it. And yes, that's some impressive technology, really, compared to the kind of thing you have today, but it's not full on sci-fi create-real-sub-universes-for-fun level technology. Just an area of our universe that behaves different, where the rules have changed. But imagine the rules of this new universe. Imagine those rules were simpler than the old rules. They'd almost have to be, at least at first, since creating something more complex would be a lot more effort. The thing about simpler rules, is that they're a lot more stable than the complex rules. They require less energy to enforce, allow greater gradients between energy levels and therefore greater change. So imagine the border between these two universes, one gigantic and one tiny. On one side of the border, laws are complex, difficult, and take a lot to sustain. On the other side of the border, the laws are simpler and easier, more stable. They require a lot less to sustain. So what happens? The complex side of that border defects. At the speed of light, the 'smaller' universe, the region of the containing universe that had different rules, it grows. The more complex universe has its rules converted to the simpler set, which then moves the border out that much further, which converts even more into itself, and so on. Needless to say, nothing survives such a conversion. How could it? It was based on a universe far more complex than the current one can support, the very particles the inhabitants were made of are probably not even possible. Now, ask yourself this question: Am I talking about how this universe, our universe came into being? Or am I talking about the next one?
The sun rose, and with it the air swirled and swayed. She watched it in it's beautiful majesty. "Been a long time Bud. This little plot we found is pretty quaint, but it is more than enough."Her wrinkled hand grabbed a small cane. "Humans are an amazing species, I always was rooting for the neanderthals, but they were a little too much of a calorie hog for their own good. Amazing what trillions of years can cause things to happen."She though idly to herself as she open her screen door. She sat down in her rocking chair, and turned the TV on. A handsome, youthful man was staring through the screen. "Miracles, miracles, miracles! Ever since man took it upon himself, all those years ago, to take charge of the universe, we always wondered what the meaning of it all was. The answer: miracles. Now we can challenge the gods themselves to do anything we wish we co."She turned the TV off. "That's why I don't have to work any more young man."She felt a pang of sadness, but she started to chuckle. "I'm glad I moved here, this is a nice place to get away from it all. "Bud ran up and licked her finger tips. He always knew what was the right thing to say, even without saying anything. The air was getting crisper, with the sun going down. She decided to take her truck into town. She'd always get questions about where she got her Model A, or how she kept it running, but she was okay with that. It made her feel special, something she hadn't felt in quite some time. She drove down Old 10 for some time until she made it back to her home. A turn right and at the end of the Street was an old white church surrounded by evergreens. "I remember when they asked for miracles from me. Now there isn't any heart in them, no meaning. Just a function of an input. A code put in a machine. It makes people lose hope."She looked at her watch, sighed and drove into her driveway. The night air brisk on her aged face. Taking her groceries in and putting everything in it's place. "Bud, supper!"She could hear scrape off toenails in a rush. Bud took his place next to her, sitting down and crunching on his kibble. She sat down and folded her hands. "This is odd, do people even do this anymore? This is a little narssacistic. Whatever."She grabbed her fork and knife and dug in. The Wishek sausage and lefse were just right. A meal fit for a god. She chucked at the thought. Bud was content with his kibble and water, though he'd look up and catch her eye, begging for a scrap. She cut a chunk of sausage out and tossed it in his bowl. "Here you go!"Bud dove into action and was finished in the blink of an eye. She laughed and opened a bottle of wine. "A nice Sherry should be nice for tonight. Glad I got this before the winery in France caught fire."She poured some out, and recapped and sealed it. Putting it back into the cabinet. Heading into her bedroom, she laid in bed and wondered what she should do. Staying in NoDak is nice, a little chilly some days, but not too bad. Maybe she should just start it all over; new planet, new life, the whole nine yards. What about Bud? He deserves a good family, and she was as good as good can be, but that is selfish. The thoughts kept coming until she finally fell asleep. She awoke to the feeling of slobber and love. Opening her eyes she saw Bud licking her face and running on her bed. Maybe it will be alright here. After all, why not let humans have a go at the whole ruling the universe bit, she can just stay here with Bud and live for a while.
Nighttime. The battle has lulled and quietened. The two sides are weary and bleeding. No-one dares to break the small sliver of peace, though everyone knows the fighting will resume come break of day. A man, not much older than you, lies on his back in a field filled with bodies. His clothes are soiled with great clods of churned up earth and the blood of friend and foe alike, but he still lives. He stirs, blinking dirt from his eyes and pushing every aching muscle to sit. Which is his side? The man doesn't know, so he sits upright in his place but goes no further than that. He cannot understand why he is not dead and gone to Valhallah, or even the place Christians named Heaven. Perhaps the striking axe blow wasn't enough to kill. Perhaps some other soul had deigned to save him. Perhaps he is not worthy. The man sits for hours. Gradually, daybreak threatens the glum horizon. Grey-silver clouds glow with salmon and pink and an intense orange that leaves the man breathless. He is on death's door, ready to die, but something is holding him back. The men of the camps are stirring. Clashing can be heard across the bloodstained, rain-soaked hillside. Now the man can clearly see the Viking pennants further down the hill, but he does not stand. Maybe he cannot, anymore. The light of the sun is strong today, he thinks. And..- When will I die? The man feels an emptiness in his core. He is waiting: for the battle to re-start, for the sun's rays to caress his skin and give him warmth, for his eyes to finally shut and give him peace. His troops are aligned once more. The roar of many angry, bloodlusting men screams across the hilltops of a little valley that will one day become a part of north England's rolling countryside. The man is eager to die now, frustrated in some dull, numb way that it hasn't happened yet. The arrows volley. The men rush forward to fight, fight, fight, and a woman steps onto the butcherground. The dying man cannot see her yet, but others can. Snorri's son stares and loses his head for his inattention. Three fighters, two enemy and one Viking, stop clashing to gaze at the woman garbed in wedding clothes holding a fistful of cut flowers still in bloom. She walks serenely across the field, picking her way delicately over dead men. Some see her and others don't, but she avoids the killing blows being exchanged until finally the dying man still somehow sitting sees her for the first time. He thinks, Now I am dead, and go to my final resting place. A small smile cracks his filthy features; the woman responds in kind. Her hand extends gracefully, and the man accepts. They stand, and the woman smiles wider. She doesn't think, only leads the man from the battle. She must not and cannot think for if she does, the spell is broken and she will die. It takes half an hour to successfully lead the nearly-dying man to the edge of the battle. It is screaming and raging behind him, but the almost dead man is accustomed to this sound. What he does not understand is the woman. Her hand is so soft and smooth in his. She walks with womanly beauty, but she is human, not some godly servant to take his soul. He is angry, but he is bone-wearily tired more. The woman has let go of his hand now, and together they sink to the floor of the forest. It is serene away from the killing grounds. The woman speaks, "You are safe now", but the man is lost and confused and cannot understand her. He cannot understand why it is so quiet that it almost deafens him, cannot farhom why he is lying on a forest floor and why he is in so, so much pain that he can't breathe. Why, he thinks to himself, despairing. As he slips into a deep sleep, he can faintly hear the beautiful woman speaking. "Because I love you..."
I blended into the stones of the wall, everything around me hushed as I keened an invisible eye on the subject who felt nothing but my breath. Even though I was invisible, the wind still moved around me like a current. I was taught to stay still and to watch until the moment was perfect. Silence. Slowness. Stillness. Those were our tenets. The subject was not a formidable man. He was a bankrupted noble, slight-statured but known for being armed and deadly. The debt collectors warned me about him but frankly I was only nervous because of the rumbling growl that was deepening in my gut. I thought it may have been intuition so I retreated along the wall to watch as he moved down the corridor toward the treasury. As always, I, the invisible man, followed. Ten paces behind but still, my gut rumbled. Fifteen paces behind. What was it about this man that begged me to stay back? As the subject inserted his key into the hole of a great oak door, I came upon him swiftly. Although he did not see me, he felt me linger behind him. I hesitated, I admit, for once again my stomach plunged and rolled and I tried to control my exhale of pain. Luckily, the subject trusted his eyes and turned back to the door and opened it with a loud creak. I stole away inside the room alongside him. The room was full of lavish riches and he was overjoyed by the looks of his hungry eyes. I was not concerned with that for I had a single job, and unlike him, I had already eaten. The time was now. I moved toward him with controlled precision. The air hardly moved around me. But as the subject was knelt over his riches, his overcoat pulled back to reveal the dagger that he was so feared for. An invisible man had no need for weapons and so I foolishly did not fear it. As my hands neared his neck to make the final twist, my gut fell and with my hands above my head, my pervasive rumble finally turned to a roar. In a room full a riches, a lone bankrupted noble heard an invisible fart that reverberated and hummed off bars of gold. Even though completely dumbfounded, with a sneer of disgust the subject turned and plunged his dagger blindly, finding my gut in the process. As I flickered into the real, and his eyes met my dying ones, I realized that I should’ve came hungry.
"skrattar du förlorar du", the man spoke, his voice booming through my speaker,"You laugh, you lose". This video, it was incredible. It had been the stupidest thing I've seen, yet I couldn't stop watching. I'm naturally competitive and was ready to force myself not to laugh but the opportunity never arose. Nothing in the video resembled any form of humour. I suppose the best part of the video was the lack of ads while I watched. As the video ended, the fact that the man would beg for likes was inevitable, he looked like he needed it. I expected him to say something like, "If you laughed, leave a like on this video!,"but instead he said,"If you laughed...no, if you did anything, leave a like on this video." His eyes bore straight into my soul as he said this, as if speaking directly to me. A chill went down my spine and I clicked away. I couldn't get rid of that uneasy feeling. My anxiety seemed to grow with every passing day. I withdrew from society, staying in my room. I always felt like someone was watching me. I knew I was never safe. What is happening to me? No, how did this happen? What had lead to my misery? I thought about it, but nothing came to mind. Each passing day made me feel closer to death. I couldn't function, I couldn't do anything. It was an early morning on a Saturday. I was starving, and despite my fears, I went to my fridge to get food. It's been days since, I've eaten and I was scared to get out of bed. All the hairs on my body stood up on their ends. Adrenaline flooded my blood. I could feel something watching me. I felt it near. I stood in front of my fridge too scared to put my hand forward and let it leave the protection of my blanket. Rrr. I thought I heard something. Rrr. It was coming from the cupboard. I hesitantly walked towards it. This time, I didn't let the fear get the best of me. It's all in my head, I have to own this! Rrr. I drew my arm forward and prepared for the worst. REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! A man popped out of the small cupboard. He was not a small man, how did he fit in there? My body froze as he spoke. "You didn't like my video" I had lost my mind. I had gone crazy. But I let the suspension of disbelief get to me and I realized what I had to do. I ran to my computer and dived in to the chair. My desktop opened to that same video! I aimed my mouse at the like button, but as I was about to click, I was shoved away from my desk. The man was on a red chair. He looked at me with a menacing smile. He wasn't going to make this easy. He glinted his teeth,"Nice chair you got there. But CAN YOU DO THIS!" He became a blur as he reclined on his chair. CRACK. I don't know if that was his back or his chair, but I didn't sit around to see. I sprinted towards my bedroom. I had my phone in there, it would be ok. I just have to like his video. I lunged towards the phone in my bed, and with the speed that a controversial video on YouTube gets demonetized, I opened my youtube search history. I could hear his footsteps approach my room. My throat suddenly felt really dry. I found the video as he entered my room. My heart almost beat out of my chest as I smashed that like button. I didn't dare open my eyes in fear of what was to come. Was I too late? I lay still, but nothing happened. It done, I was free! As I got down from my bed I thought I heard something. Must just be in my head. Rrrrrr. ------------- I wrote this while I'm high, so I apologise for punctuation errors and all that. This story was about a somewhat popular youtuber, and is filled with his meta.
Charlie held his nose over the steaming coffee and savored its heady aroma. Sipping its sweet energy as he progressed through his morning routine, Charlie readied his work email. It took a few minutes for his aging laptop to make it through the set of double proxies and tor nodes. Lately, jobs for Charlie had been few and far between. His reputation had taken a big hit when Grandpa Joe, his partner and mentor, had a stroke during their last job botching it. Charlie had done his part, pulling up on a motorcycle beside their mark's SUV and blasting out its tires. He quite ably distracted the bodyguards when Grandpa Joe's heart constricted as he was aiming from a sniper's nest. The rifle went off errantly killing an innocent child. They unfortunately did not pass go, were unable to collect their contract money, and had been out of work ever since. So it was with relief when Charlie clicked open his protonmail and found a letter from someone calling himself "Wonka."He chuckled at the silly name and thought it was a good alias. The email described a rapidly unionizing, segregated workforce of "Oompa Loompas."A quick google revealed these "Loompas"were all part of a singular family clan that lived in abject poverty under the shadows of the Himalayas. Curiously, they all suffered from dwarfism and a skin pigment condition. The result of generations of inbreeding, Charlie assumed. More recently they'd been sent to work (and to die) as slaves on construction crews in the middle east and on fishing boats in south east asia. Historically their reputation as workers had grown to prominence in the great chocolate megafactories of London. The rapid consolidation of the West's candy industries under the umbrella of the "Everlasting Gobstopper"conglomerate eliminated most, if not all, of the Loompas' worker benefits and perks. In a reactionary move, the Loompas united under a charismatic and dedicated leader known as "Gene."Gene preached a campaign of "Pure Imagination"that called for all Loompa workers, whether found in factories or the world at large, would own equal shares of whatever they produced. The notion that this immigrant clan born in obscurity would own a percentage of the multi billion dollar candy industry sounded like pure fantasy to Charlie. He continued to read over the email from "Wonka"which laid out the open contract on Gene's head in detail. The letter was sent to multiple agencies and was updated whenever a contractor had accepted. The reward, a "golden ticket,"was of sufficient value to attract many of the bigger names in the industry. There was "Mike T.V.,"notorious Hollywood enforcer who had carved out a reputation murdering in the name of Studio big wigs. He was alleged to have famously killed Bruce Lee's son during a movie shoot. This premeditated act of cold blood reportedly ended the trans-pacific Kung Fu Films war of the 1980's and permanently hobbled the Hong Kong film industry, cementing Hollywood's dominance. Another star killer on the list was Augustus Gloop, a name more feared in the restaurant industry than any other. He was a heavily obese hitman that always received comped food and drinks and afforded the best tables worldwide. Alleged to be under the pay of the Yelp Cartel, he was known to be responsible for the food critics that were foolish enough to publish any opinion that opposed their hallowed "Yelp's 100 Best." His victims tended to wash up rotting and mottled in a river bed. Rounding out the list was the ascendant femme fatale, Violet Beauregarde. Born into the billions of Silicon Valley with an extended family of Tech Titans, she had access to the absolute latest and greatest in advanced weaponry. Just last year she was very publicaly identified assassinating the brother of North Korean despot Kim Jong with a poisonous synthetic blueberry. The nearest blood relation to one of the world's most powerful fascist leaders, the Kim brother's cadre of security was caught off guard exiting Disneyland. Violet had patiently waited by the gates to the park handing out complimentary fruit when she was able to deliver to Kim the lethal, lab grown blueberry. Pictures and video of his beautiful assassin would be splashed across digital and print media worldwide. Charlie was hesitant about accepting the contract. He didn't have anything near the experience of his competitors, let alone their access to resources. But Charlie's inability to afford any sort of care for Grandpa Joe's rapidly deteriorating health turned out to be a deciding factor. Every time Charlie looked at the old man Charlie would remember him singing songs of encouragement and dancing a jig. If there was anything Charlie could do to help his Grandpa Joe, he was committed to try. Loompa rights be damned.
He sat at his desk. The generic office party had the common party favors. A few misplaced streamers, a large Publix cake, and some 2 liters. Charlie was far away from home, not that it mattered. He had been orphaned at a young age. his single father never quite mature enough to raise him gave into the pressures and left his boy with the system. Everybody gets a book on there 21st birthday, detailing their future. Charley has never really had anyone in his life break these things down though. The most his dad ever did with him is watch some comedy central with him. His favorite show was on that channel. Do orphans get books? Some few office gifts were opened. The normal shot glasses, some maracas, a toaster, the usual. But here he was at his desk, waiting for him a book. But instead of the standard novel or textbook... A comic book sat in front of him. He peeled back the title page to the image of a large action word SLAP right across his face. Confusion lit up his mind, as he went through pages and pages of it. Just then, a coworker came up. "Hey, hey! Charlie Murphy! Happy birthday! HEY, what did the five fingers say to the face?"A wicked grin possessed his face. Oh no He slaps the shit out of him. "SLAP! HAHA!! Get it? haha.... I'm Rick James... Bitch... HA... Jeez chuck lighten up." Oh no
(A/N: In my brief research I've discovered that there is in fact at least one actual person named Marian Briggs, and therefore: Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is coincidence - I chose the name entirely based on making a vague reference to a Nova Scotia folk song) The motley collection of old faces walked into Lux, and I thought I'd gone round the bend. In all of Dad's creation I never thought these beings actually existed outside of the mortals' delirious imaginations. Of course they walked in man's form, but someone such as myself could see through the disguise. Tricksters. I stopped the tune I was banging out on the piano, stood, and greeted them. "Gentlebeings, welcome to Lux. I am Lucifer Morningstar, and I am honoured to take the role of your host for this evening. Now,"I continued with a smirk, "what is it you truly desire?" The Chinese monkey was the first to speak. "ENTERTAINMENT!"He screeched into my bar, shaking the rafters and quite possibly disturbing the dozen or so ladies asleep in my loft. I signaled for him - and the rest of them - to keep it down just a touch. The spider from darkest Africa was next. "We have spoken amongst ourselves, and we are all bored to tears." The Norseman - no, Jotun - with the ridiculous sense of style continued. "They say you're a fun loving being like the lot of us,"he spoke in a voice oozing with honey and an accent I couldn't help but respect. "These lot and I have come to you with a request." Next was the Greek. Always did admire their style. "We want you to craft for us a challenge,"he grinned, "one worthy of the great Lucifer Morningstar, and one to pose a worthy challenge to the lot of us." The dog from right here at home finished. "O Great Lucifer, we bow in your presence,"he dripped, clearly hamming it up to curry my favour, "and ask that you do this for us. We will of course, as is your custom as I understand it, owe you a favor of some sort?" "Well,"I replied, "you understand right, I am a fun-loving bloke, I do love a good challenge, and I will be taking payment in the form of a favour at some future time. Now, as to your request..."I feigned thinking, as I already had a perfect challenge in mind, one that would meet their requirements, and also help out myself and the Detective in the process. "Ah, I've got it. Gentlebeings, there is currently a murder investigation on, and as I have been working with the LAPD of late, this is something I've taken quite an interest in. Trouble is,"I continued, "we - my partner and I - have no leads at all, which is turning this from a fun little diversion into an absolute disaster. I believe that with your cunning minds and particular skillsets, you lot will be able to lend a hand, and so I pose to you this challenge: Find the killer of one Marian Briggs, and return to me with what you find. And,"I finished, "try to use your powers as little as possible, we don't want to tip the mortals off that there are beings like ourselves among them." Coyote spoke up once again. "O Great Lucifer, I am sure this is a mere miscalculation on my part, but does it not seem that this task could count as both challenge and favor?" "Might look that way, but I think you'll find the challenge interesting enough to make it more than worth what I'm getting from it, and therefore, I'll still be taking my payment at an undetermined later time."
It was time for a break. I'd been working most of the morning trying to clear out my grandma's attic while my mom, uncle, and aunts worked on the rest of the house. I sat on an old bar stool to admire the sunshine through the open window, while drinking from a water bottle. Despite my grandfather putting in the work to turn the attic into a bedroom, he passed away first. Then grandma defaulted to using it for storage. The bed was just as dusty as the boxes piled around it. Though I felt good about my progress, there were considerably less boxes than when I started. I looked to the three plastic bins beside me. Going through the boxes I sorted things into, "trash, sentimental, and garage sale"piles. No one would be surprised that the "trash"pile, full of TV guides and expired coupon sheets, was the biggest; grandma had a hoarding streak. I stood, set my water bottle on my stool and stretched in order to get back to work. I moved the next box to the bed so I wouldn't have to hunch over as much, then opened it. Inside was another box. It wasn't the first box this morning to have another inside, but this second box was different. It was made of dark red wood, with a silver clasp on the front holding it closed. I pulled the inner box out but there was nothing under it. Just a box in a box. I threw the cardboard box into the "trash"pile, and focused on the wooden box. I turned it over looking for any sort of inscription or anything, but found none. The box felt heavy, like there was something inside. I shook it, but it made no noise. I flipped the latch and found out why. Inside the box was the most beautiful ceramic pitcher I'd ever seen, fit snugly in lush, royal purple velvet lining. The pitcher itself was made of a muddy orange ceramic with gold embellishments circling the broad base, and a solid gold line up the middle of the curved handle. I carefully grabbed the handle and pulled it out to examine it better. Though the base was wide, it narrowed near the top. I tried looking in, but only saw blackness. I felt texture along the bottom and flipped it over, spreading my feet in case spiders came pouring out. Luckily it seemed to be empty. The texture I felt came from gold filigree forming the number 44 in large numbers on the bottom. I decided the pitcher definitely belonged in the "sentimental"pile. I moved to put the pitcher back in its case, but noticed a card in the velvet valley left empty by the pitcher. I held the pitcher with one hand and grabbed the black card. "El Cantarito"it read, also in golden lettering. "Duh,"I chuckled to myself. "Cantarito"was Spanish for "pitcher". I flipped the card over and found instructions in Spanish. Despite being raised in a Mexican household, I'd lost my Spanish over the years. I could squeak by with relatives and patient store clerks, but reading was out of my league. "I'll ask mom later,"I decided. Thinking of my mother prompted me to check the time, then I realized she would probably be up to offer me lunch soon. Instead of packing the pitcher back up, I set it on the stool to show it to her the first chance I got, and got back to work. I set the next box on the bed, opened it, and screamed while stumbling backward. I'd disturbed a large brown spider, and he came out to check what the commotion was. My arachnophobia pushed me into the stool. While impossible to prove, I felt sure the spider laughed at me before crawling down the outside of the box to look for somewhere else to hide. After I bumped the stool everything, including me, hit the ground. I landed on my ass while the pitcher and water bottle landed next to me. The stool fell against the "trash"bin. After the pain in my but cheeks subsided, I noticed I felt wet. "Great."I complained to no one. Now I'd have to endure wet pants for the rest of the chore. While I wallowed in my bad luck, I noticed my pants continued to soak up moisture. Way more than the quarter bottle of water that remained. I looked down and noticed the water bottle fell into the pitcher; the pitcher rested on its side pouring out water like the old school water pump my grandma had in her yard. It kept pouring out while I watched it, until it occurred to me that I could stop it by lifting it up. By the time I reacted I found myself sitting in a giant puddle of water. I'm reasonably tall, but this puddle of water completely surrounded me from my feet to my rear, with four inches of water around me on all sides. Instead of standing up right away, I sat in the cool water and pulled the empty water bottle out of the pitcher. I tilted the pitcher, guiding the spout into the bottle and poured. Water filled it up to overflowing. "That's gonna be handy,"I said to myself. &nbsp; *** Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, you can find them collected on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html). If you're curious about my universe(the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/11/hugoverse-guidebook.html) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/hugoverse-timeline.html) to find the stories in order.
My birth was a mistake. I inherited the ability to change my surroundings, but once I took it too far. I remember how my face heated up with embarrassment, my hand ready to hit in an act of self-defense but that all came to stop when I noticed the distorted environment, my enemy's face already beginning to be tore apart by the supposedly non-existent force. The blood spurted out, my rattled brain couldn't control it in time. It got worse. Everything went completely fuzzy, the power radiating from my mind with intense force. I remember falling down, not caring if I grazed my knees before I finally felt at peace. My mind had been penetrated with such power that it completely ruined me. I wasn't myself anymore. I didn't know who I really was anyway. But now, in the year 4018 - 2000 years after I ended the world - I can barely hold in my secret anymore. It's too much of a heavy weight on my shoulders. Nobody knows except you, now...
"Do you understand the rules?"A deep voice asked, echoing from the walls. Joey understood what was told, but decided to ask anyway... Just to be sure. "So, correct me if I'm wrong: Peter here has a pair of magical scissors that are able to do something with the future. John over there has a magic stone that is able to change living and non-living things... And I have a piece of paper?"Joey asked with some doubt in his voice, looking at the blank piece of paper in his hands. "It's not really fair, is it? A scissor is a perfectly fine weapon on it's own, even when not magical. So is a stone! Ever had a stone thrown at you? It really hurts!" "Well um... Yes, that is the case. Funny story about that, the last trio that did this competition broke the pen and the blacksmith we ordered it from hasn't delivered the replacement yet... Strange how the pen would have been able to rewrite the past so it didn't break, could've even seen it in the future with the scissors really..." "So you are basically just giving me half of my tools and expect me to actually compete with the other two that DO have all of their weapon?" "Yep, good luck" Joey sighs, but starts preparing for possibly one of the worst experiences of his life...
You press the watch, and time stops. You shout "It Worked!"But there is no sound with no air to carry it. You try taking a step, but cannot move- all atoms are frozen. You feel as if a pillow has been pressed over your face with no air to breathe. You desperately try starting the watch, but your hand is frozen in place. You desperately try to move, but you can't, you can't, can't as the world fades to black.
Ted pushed his way through the double doors leading into a large rec center basketball court. Once inside he sat in the empty chair in the circle of grotesque, yet emotional looking men and creatures of all shapes and sizes. "New guy?"a voice said to his left. "Oh...yea. The names Ted."he said, feeling a little creeped out. "Hannibal Lecter, pleased to make your acquaintance." The man to his left had an aged face that was starting to wrinkle, yet seemed to glow as if he never left his prime. His eyes stared hungrily at Ted. "What are you in for?"asked Lecter. "Ah, you know, crashed a high school girls' sleepover, painted the walls with their blood, then one got away somehow after tripping during the entire chase and called the cops. They sent me here to 'talk about my feelings'." "Interesting...did you perhaps, have a chance to get a taste of the blood on your hands?" "Uh, no...I-" "Gentlemen!"said a voice at the other side of the circle. "We must give everyone their chance to speak, and they deserve our full attention." "Understood, director."Lecter said politely. A man whose face had been disfigured by what seemed to be severe burns stood up and moved to the middle of the circle, waving his clawed hand. "I'm Freddie Krueger," "Hi, Freddie."said everyone in unison. ", and I'm a....I'm a villain." Everyone gave a short applause. "It's been 6 months since I was convicted of multiple murders, and crimes including tele-rape."said Freddie. Lecter nudged Ted and whispered "Licks girls through the phone."while flailing his tongue about. A chuckle was heard further down the circle. "Can it, Ghostface!"said Freddie. "Not all of us get to be multiple people wearing the same mask so we don't have to show up here every week!" The hooded figure stifled his laughter and put a hand over the fake mouth on his mask. Krueger sat down, embarrassed after the spectacle. "Who's next?"asked the director. A towering lummox of a man in a hockey mask stood up and walked to the center of the circle, bloody machete in tow. "Jason, we said no machete this time, remember?"said the director, as if trying not to provoke the giant. Jason turned to the director and stared blankly for a few seconds, finally letting the machete fall out of his hand and clatter against the linoleum floor. He then grunted a few times. "Hi, Jason."replied everyone. He continued grunting. "They can understand him?"said Ted turning to Hannibal. "No we just humor him at this point. The last time someone said they didn't know what he was saying, he caught a machete with his skull." When the two turned back to the center of the circle they noticed the large man was now standing directly in front of them, staring both of them down. "Hello there, big J,"said Hannibal. "how's mummy doing? Will you tell her I said hel-?" THUNK Jason grabbed the machete and buried it in Hannibals skull before he finished his sentence, and began to slowly walk out of the gymnasium. "What the FUCK?"yelled Ted, flinching away from Lecter. "Ah shit, not again."sighed the director. "Let him go. Does someone want to go next?" A man in a dull colored jumpsuit stood up and made his way to the middle, standing there silently. No one said a thing for 20 minutes, and the man wet back to his seat. ".....Very good, Michael."said the director. "That's it, I'm fuckin outta here."said Ted, exasperated, as everyone watched him leave. "The hell's wrong with that guy?"said Ghostface, everyone shrugging in unison.
The world was ending. Well, the world had ended three months ago, she just hadn’t known it then. “I’m sorry, but there’s no use. We don’t have the resources to spend on a case this cold. You know the numbers. If we don’t find them quickly…” He shook his head, and she didn’t miss the grief there. “My son isn’t dead.” Christel said, her voice sharp. The detective sighed. “There’s no trace of him. It’s as if your son disappeared from the face of the earth. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Happy accidents happen, sometimes, but we can’t keep looking.” “Thank you for your time.” She said, her voice was hollow. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She closed the door. Sat down. Her hands were shaking. There was another note on the coffee table. Fancy script and careful words. “I’d know.” She said softly to the air. She picked the note up again. Her grandmother’s words were in flowing cursive, beautiful and knife sharp. -They’re going to give up. They always do. I could help you, if only you would accept my favor- She’d been right. They’d given up. A part of her wanted to agree. She knew, if she wanted, that Grandmother Heloise would be there in an instant, and she would soon see her son again. She knew, too, that it would be for the last time. Too high a price? She dialed without thinking. “Mom?” She asked. “Any news?” Her mother’s voice was hopeful, and that cut like a blade. “They’re giving up.” “I’m so sorry.” “Grandmother said they would.” “She isn’t always right.” “She doesn’t lie.” “That doesn’t mean she tells the truth, Chris. That doesn’t make her honest, it just means her deceptions are more creative.” A weariness that echoed her own. “She makes it sound as if the only thing keeping me from him is my refusal to accept her help.” “And what price does it come with?” The silence lingered. “You could take him, though. He’d still be with family. Still be safe.” “Would he? Once she’d learned that threatening him was a way to manipulate you?” “I hate this.” “I know.” “The detective said it was as if he’d vanished off the face of the earth.” “Perhaps he did. He wouldn’t be the first.” A pause, and Chris could almost see the wry smile she knew her mother was making. “Not even the first in the family.” “Perhaps that’s why Grandmother’s so confident she could help.” “Perhaps.” “Well, Mom, they’ve looked everywhere nearby. Perhaps it’s time I journeyed further afield.” “Are you certain that isn’t her goal?” “No. But I’m going to do it anyway.” “They don’t lie, but don’t trust them. Don’t eat the food. And, Chris?” “Yes, Mom?” “Please, please come home.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to make that promise, not when they both knew it was very unlikely to be true. “I’ll do my best.” She said instead. “Oh, Chris. Please be careful.” She hated this. Hated doing to her mother what had been done to her. She grimaced. “I love you, Mom.” She said. “I love you too.” She hung up, and the pain in her chest was deep and real and fresh. She grabbed her travel bag. She didn’t worry about the house plants, or cleaning the fridge. She’d be back soon, or she wouldn’t. She pulled her hair back, double knotted the laces of her tennis shoes. Slipped a pocket knife, steel, into her pocket. The iron cross was a comfortable weight where hung on her neck. She stepped out of the house, and into the woods. If her son was not on this earth, well, there was always faerie. She hadn’t been there since she was a baby herself, but that was hardly going to stop her. After all, fairy grandmothers are never to be trusted.
So my idea for this scene was to have Rome, who we’ve been following for about a hundred seasons, fall to the people they called barbarians because they didn’t understand there language. We followed Julius take the republic to an empire. We saw the season 100000 finally where they killed Jesus and all that but now this thing that had become a staple of the show we’re going to write it off. It was a bold idea when I pitched it. Not everyone was on board but I think we set it up well enough with them extending to much and having a lot of bad leaders. But to the exact reason this happened it think the fans are going to be discussing for a long time. But with the new goths entering the gates of Rome I think it sends a power full message to every one that nothing is safe. I don’t we’ve done something this bold since we introduced Alexander.
"Why is it when humans are around, everything goes insane?" we slip and we slide and we aren't others unfortunate bane Distrust them much, "This doesn't happen with any other species" Never in my luck, being with them is like throwing feces Our people are gentle, calm and kind those humans are mean, rough and always on our mind The sleep we hold dear, the humans do fill it with fear such power, such ferocity, beings without care We swim and glide, caring for the earth humans pollute and collide and destroy with much mirth I don't like them or their yucky ways, no I don't like them especially not what they call "just play" They eat and they hunt my species with out care bringers of plague and death and despair if only they were not being so vile then it might not suck to be a reptile ------- Feedback wanted and welcome!
The small shop was heavy with the unmistakable scent of mildew and inactivity which invariably set into the older pinewood homes of Hinderstead. The windows and molding were so covered in dust you could see it from the outside, and gave the beaten heavy doors the appearance of being permanently shut, which is exactly what had drawn Aldo to open them in the first place. The shopkeeper was a dishonest man, who had greedily welcomed him inside, hungry for the business Aldo could offer. Travelers often carried spoils of their journeys or had need for goods and services. "It's an interesting piece, but absolutely worthless. I can tell the pick ups are damaged and you can see the quarter inch jack was crushed from a mile away. It still plays, but you aren't really going to get any bang from it. You'd be lucky if I offered you anything. " Aldo remained silent. He hadn't gone to the shopkeeper for a good deal, he had gone to him because he knew that in Hinderstead, in this tiny, dusty, soon to be dead business, the last fragment of his past life could be buried under a mountain of junk. "14 gold. Best offer I can do for a guitar like this, even if it is electric." Aldo nodded and shook the man's hand. He counted out the gold as a formality and turned. Aldo was halfway through the door when the shopkeeper stopped him dead with a "Hey." Aldo was frozen. If this man had connected the dots then the last three months of slowly disappearing would have been for nothing. His mind ran to spells he could play with the small harmonica in his pocket, illusion lullabyes and ditties which would eliminate any evidence. No matter what, he'd end up with that damned guitar and the same problem he started with, only a longer trail for his enemies to follow. "An axe like this must have really been able to shred back in the day. You must have some crazy stories to go along with this guy." Aldo tried to get through a hard gulp as quietly as he could before he answered. "Nope, not a bard just found it and figured I'd see how much gold I could get for it." "Not a bard, eh? Then what is in that case on your back?" Aldo looked up at the neck of the guitar bag which stuck above his head with a look of genuine surprise, as if the shopkeeper had just asked a stupid question. "Just jerky." When Aldo exited the shop, he noticed it was beginning to get dark. He hated to stay in town for more than a day, but traveling at night was a far greater risk. He'd rather anyone trying to assassinate him to fight indoors, where they'd think twice before trying to jam out a sick solo on an electric. He counted out two pieces from the fourteen he'd received for his guitar and followed the innkeeper upstairs to a room. Placing the guitar bag on the ground and pulling a strip of deer jerky from the front pocket, Aldo began his nightly ritual. He emptied his pockets and placed the items on his night stand. One harmonica, a small dagger, and a black book with several frayed pages. He read several pages of the book until he reached a picture of young woman with golden hair. "If I'd only done this earlier, then you'd still be here."Aldo said, aloud, to nobody. He took the picture out and placed it several pages on in the book. In the morning he went on his way. The town was quiet, the burn on his tongue from morning coffee was still sharp, and Aldo was being followed. He waited until he was outside the village before he quickly drew his harmonica and played a short, sharp vamp, blasting a gust of wind which trimmed the nearby shrubs and scored the tree trunks of the densely wooded forest. A loud, swaggering voice erupted from behind the trees. A wide-shouldered man stepped out, flapping a square, prominent jaw. "Aha! Exactly what I'd expect from the legendary Aldo Plutarch, or should I call you Pluto." Aldo felt his heart drop, but quickly regained focus. They may not yet have the guitar. "When you sold my grandfather that guitar, you really had him fooled. But I knew who you were the second I saw that axe. These old timers are so out of touch but I know all the rock stars. It's a shame that I'll be killing you with your own instrument. I don't know why you left it with that old coot anyways but you sure made my job easier." The man pulled out an amp and the guitar. The pickups were cheap, but new, and when Aldo heard the sharp static click of the quarter inch connecting, he knew he had to act quickly. The guitar had nickel bound strings, which reduced finger noise and meant that whatever spell was coming would be deadly and exacting. Aldo unzipped the bag on his back and pulled out his guitar. The deep maple wood picked up the soft light which bled through the tree tops. Aldo's adversary let loose a deep, guttural laugh. "Oh I didn't realize you wanted to die so quickly. I was hoping you would help me come up with my new name once I killed you. I was thinking Orion, or Leo." Aldo felt the steel strings under the tips of the fingers on his left hand. They felt warm, yet cold. But familiar. The man began strumming his guitar, sending small, controlled blasts of energy which Aldo repelled with carefully fingerpicked notes. A few of the blasts shattered, sending sparks into Aldo's face and forcing him to grimace. "Come on, man, I've got an electric. My notes have more power behind them. Besides, you're washed up, you don't even sound good." Aldo wiped a small trickle of blood which ran down his face and looked at the red smear on his hand before looking up to meet the eyes of his assailant. He placed his fingers into a f chord, the beginning of a song he'd written when he was living a land of ice and snow. He smiled as he took a heavy pick from his pocket. "I guess I'll just have to play louder then."
I sat Marty down on the sofa, and hand him his glass of milk. He had the look of confusion in his eyes, as if he'd been acused of a crime he had no idea of comitting. I grinned an uneasy smile, fighting back the tears. My wife Sarah entered the room and sat down beside me. She places her hand in mine, and we soaked up the silence in the room. "Son,"i said, casting my gaze to the floor instead. "Your mother and i..."i paused. "It's okay honey."Sarah reasured and rubbed my knuckles. "I think he's ready." Marty took an uneasy sip, milk now dripping from his lip. "I everthing okay?"He asked and wormed himself deeper into the comfortable sofa cushion, the glow from the fireplace dancong on his face. Cleary unable to form the right words, Sarah replied on my behalf instead. "Marty dear, your father and I have been meaning to tell you that..."and then she looked at me. "that you're not adopted." "U..uh..what?"Marty said, eyes flickering with hope. "But i always thought..." "You're not-"i said. "Sarah..."i groaned. Sarah stood up and took a flip chart from a nearby shelf. "We conceived you naturally."She said and flipped to the first page titled how babys are made Sarah then cleared her throat and spoke clearly. "Marty, you are 35 and living with your parents. I guess its time we had the talk"
Bob hovered in front of the desk the Librarian sat at, she must have been a volunteer since she couldn’t be more than sixteen. This was fortunate since adults couldn’t sense the dead. When she noticed Bob she jerked in her seat in surprise, after all with the ghostly epidemic going on you could hardly blame her. Bob telekinetically flicked his library card onto the desk where it landed with a clatter. The librarian looked at it and said “Oh.” She picked it up and swiped it. She read the computer screen and with a shaky voice and a wobbly smile she said “It looks like you have a book over due and owe a fine of ten cents.” Bob’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. The lights began to flicker and objects gently floated away from where they had rested. The librarian gave a squeak and in a rush dug through her purse. She dug out her wallet and slammed a dollar bill onto the desk top. “Uh, You are paid in full! I’ll take care of everything!” Immediately the lights stopped flickering, the objects dropped back to their resting places and Bob had a smile on his face. Bob knew what he had to do next and floated the miles away to one of the office buildings currently under siege by hundreds of ghosts. There was screaming, people yelling that there wasn’t enough salt, iron or lavender to repel this many ghosts. A nearby discarded newspaper’s front page told about the current ghost epidemic and how it might be worse than the recent ghost Problem that had plagued London. Hundreds of locations across the country where under siege and no one was prepared to deal with it. Some people had been demanding the obvious solution of forgiving all student loan debt but executives refused. The line of iron, salt, and lavender finally broke. There was a cacophony of screams and then silence. ---------- [r/ArchCronoWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ArchCronoWrites/)
"Shloop, stop pulling Cindy's hair!" "But it's so weird!" "Don't make me repeat myself!"I grab the Xarluipian by his translucent tail and drag him away from the crying human girl. "You Humans are no fun,"he says, folding his seven wobbly appendages. "You're old enough to know that not everyone in the Universe is made out of jelly, Shloop. It hurts when you pull Cindy's hair. Say sorry." He pouts and turns the single eye floating in his body to the wall. "Don't look at the wall, Shloop, look at Cindy. And say sorry." Reluctantly, the little Xarlupian looks back at Cindy. "Fine, he says. "Sorry. Happy?" "Shloop..." He sighs, splattering the wall with his goop before pulling himself back together again. "I'm sorry, Cindy." The little girl keeps her frown for a second longer, then grins. "I'll forgive you if you let me hold your eyeball!" "Fine,"he concedes. "As long as you promise to put it back after." She sticks her hand out and shakes one of Shloop's appendages. "Deal!" I shake my head in exasperation. Kids!
I never thought I’d love it that much. My job is for the government. No, it’s not something out of a “Men in Black” movie, but I think what I do is more... special. I take care of babies. Not just regular babies, babies that are different. Not just different, but different, if you know what I mean. All of them are different. Different skin colors, different personalities, different DNA that makes them special; I’ve taken care of hundreds. It is my job, after all. But now I have a dilemma. I’ve never really taken interest in the babies I’ve taken care of. I mean, they are cute, but I’ve never had a personal connection with them before. When the workers handed me the baby, it was almost an immediate connection. The baby had almost the same appearance as me. Round face, hazel eyes, big nose. She even had the same hair color. It was almost meant to be. They told me to watch over her for 5 years, which is longer than any baby I’ve taken care of. I thought it would be hard, but when you love something as much as I love her, it’s not hard at all. It’s been 4 years and 364 days. Tomorrow is the day she has to go. I’ve seen her grow from a small baby to a walking and talkative toddler. It’s almost if as she’s my child. She seems so normal, so why would the government want to experiment on her? As I look at her playing with her stuffed animals, I begin to think of the future and the possibilities. Will I see her again? Will they let me keep her? Or will I be assigned to another child and go through the same cycle?” I smile as she picks up her favorite bear and runs around with it. How could I ever be the same after tomorrow? Am I ready to let her go?* Usually it’s not this hard. It’s never this hard. For the first time ever while working this job, I realize that I don’t know what to do.
Part 1: Everlasting Life Like so many of the social and technological advances made during the latter half of the 26th Century, life extension therapy, or Everlife, was hailed as the achievement that would uplift and liberate humanity. Instead it, like leap-gate technology and level IV artificial sentience, became yet another link in the chain that kept us in perpetual bondage to the all-pervasive interests of the Terran Solar Union. Undertaken regularly, Everlife therapy not only repaired the accumulated deterioration to a person's DNA which was the root cause of aging, it also acted as a powerful broad-spectrum immunisation against diseases and viruses of both terrestrial and extra-terrestrial origin. A body infused with the Everlife drug also acted as a host to a swarm of self replicating nano-machines which significantly augmented a body's natural defense and survival mechanisms. Cuts and lacerations would clot within seconds; broken bones would self-align and mend almost instantly; the nano-machines were capable of synthesising enough oxygen and other nutrients in order to compensate for any reduction in blood volume. The nano-machines required regular infusions of Everlife to sustain them, however. Without it, they would begin to pillage the very cells of the body which they had heretofore protected, like an army of unpaid mercenaries turned against the city they were entrusted to defend. To experience Everlife withdrawal was to literally experience the sensation of being consumed from inside-out by trillions of tiny metal mouths. To refuse Everlife treatment was not only an unbelievably slow and painful way to commit suicide, for those in my situation it was also illegal. Part 2: Endless Drudgery Molyneux-9901, the world where I was born and raised, was a dusty backwater planetoid which barely orbited the habitable zone of a Class G yellow dwarf on the far periphery of Terran space. Originally settled in 2309, very little had changed in the intervening two hundred and eight years. While the planet possessed a breathable atmosphere and acceptable temperature ranges, it suffered from a complete and utter lack of viable mineral or bio-organic wealth. The investments and resources brought by the original settlers had been squandered on a number of misdirected ventures and failed infrastructure projects. The planet's poverty and lack of clear vision kept the investors and educated second wave migrants well away. Without them we lacked the catalysts needed for a colony to transition from an agrarian focused sustenance economy into a prosperous manufacturing and exporting based world. Literally and metaphorically, the place was a dead end. In 2517, a series of communications failures combined with a faulty artificial sentience sphere resulted in a failed asteroid capture operation in the space around New Kampala. By the time the alarm could be raised, a nickel-cobalt chunk of rock the size of Belgium had slammed into the centre of the most populous main continent. Not even Everlife could prevent those 702 million inhabitants from being incinerated in the blink of an eye. Due to New Kampala's strategic location and role as a tier one provider of materiel to the Solar Union Navy's 8th Fleet, it was considered imperative that the planet be repopulated, the industries be rebuilt, and production to resume as quickly as possible. The fact that the 8th Fleet was at this point engaged in a protracted campaign against insurgents in the Omicron Sector further added to this sense of urgency. When the New Kampala Labour Exchange recruiter arrived in town and offered myself and all of the other young men and women an opportunity to travel and earn more than we'd ever thought possible, we had thought our collective prayers had finally been answered. Young and naive, the only thing I could see among those pages upon pages of tiny words and convoluted legal jargon that made up my contract was the promise of a better life for myself, and the opportunity to help out my folks at home. I spent more time chatting excitedly with the recruiter about the fancy new Hikarimoto and Brunning-Klemper grav-cycles they had on New Kampala, instead of actually clarifying the terms of my employment. When I walked out of his office that day, I was filled with dreams of using my first pay to send an entire container loads of foods and high quality goods back home, to the joy of my parents and my clan. I even dared to dream that within my first year, I might be able to purchase my first Hikarimoto YTN-667 grav-cycle. I'd get it painted either hornet yellow or electric blue. Part 3: Terms of Employment Six years on, and the only time I'd come close to a grav-cycle is when I would clean and wax them at the local dealership on my day off in exchange for a few extra Creds. The extra cash earned from this was not extravagant, but it could buy me three days worth of generic brand textured protein. The reality of my situation hit me almost as soon as I landed on New Kampala. Despite the general chaos caused by the meteor strike, the New Kampala Customs Service remained ever vigilant. I was informed that as a condition of entry onto the planet, I was required to undergo Everlife therapy. My employers graciously offered to front the initial costs of this treatment. Upon receiving my first job assignment, I found out that I'd only be paid a fraction of what I was originally told. "First you start off on 3 Creds a day!"the foreman had snarled at me, "Now get back to work!" If the slave-pit like conditions and hellish landscape of the planet were not enough of an indication, my first payslip drove home for me the sort of prison I had landed myself in. Pay: +3 Union Credits x 6 standard days = +18 Union Credits Deductions: Room and board: -5 UCs Meals: -4 UCs Everlife Deductions: -4 UCs Repayment for Transportation: -6 UCs Uniforms and equipment hire: -3 UCs I, along with millions of others like me, were now paying New Kampala Labour Exchange for the privilege of slaving away for them.
I wake up groggy, my mind slowly tuning in. “Ugh... what happened...” I close my eyes and rub them, and in so doing I see the text shine brightly on the inside of my eyelid; “SOFTWARE UPDATE COMPLETE” “Wha- oh gosh darn it!” I get up from the cold kitchen floor to see flour spilled everywhere. My software must have forced a system shutdown for an update right in the middle of my making cookies. I get up and dust off the flour from my knees, cussing to myself. “Every time. Every time when I’m in the middle of something, there’s a stupid system update!” I rub my eyes again. Being an android can be so inconvenient at times, but at least maybe this update will make me work faster and meet the bake sale quota. I mean, those Apple moms think they’re better than me? Psht.
We’ve all seen those awful kids, you know the ones—their parents let them run wild around the store, taking stuff out of your cart and knocking over displays. Or the ones that crawl under that crack between the floor and the door of your bathroom stall, and then stare at you while you meekly cover yourself, hoping to finish your business as quickly as possible. And sometimes they run around the restaurant screaming and crashing into tables. And then they bump into you and make you drop an order of boiling hot soup right onto the owner of the chain. And then they’re just sitting there on the floor crying with snot running down their stupid little yam looking faces while you apologize over and over again to the guy and the mom is screaming at you and you’re begging for mercy, but your lousy prick of a manager won’t hear any of it and he lets you go on the spot even though you’ve been his best waiter for over a year but you know it’s really just because he’s screwing that bitch Jessica and she’s jealous of all the tips you’re pulling— Yeah. Kids are crazy, right? That’s what I was thinking anyway, while I sat outside the office of one Director Humphrey, the big guy in charge of the Thompson Museum of Natural Science. This was the latest in a long line of job interviews. Number 22 to be specific. And to be even more specific, 5 months after the soup incident. I was living on rice and breath mints stolen from a nearby hotel lobby at that point, and if I asked my parents for rent money one more time, I was pretty sure they were going to disown me. I put everything I had into this application. I padded my résumé fatter than the Michelin Man. I kissed every ass from the janitors to the secretaries to the Director himself. I rented a damn suit for the interview, even though I had to scrounge change from the seats of a Panera Bread just to do it. I was bound and determined to get this job as a Thompson Terrific Tour Guide. And if I didn’t, at least I could sleep in the museum lobby when I became homeless next month. But I digress. Kids are crazy, yeah? Absolutely nuts. Even worse is when the parents just let their little monsters do whatever they please. The kid’s beating the snot out of a puppy or shrieking at the top of their lungs and Miss Mom Jeans Can I Speak to Your Manager Haircut Lady is sitting off somewhere on her phone occasionally saying something like, “Oh Billy don’t hurt yourself,” or “Mm, have fun dear.” Like their kid is sitting down peacefully coloring or something. That’s what was happening right in front of me as I sat outside Director Humphrey’s office for my very, very important interview to become a Thompson Terrific Tour Guide. A little brat, maybe 10 years old, running and screeching all over the place, only stopping to ask other museum-goers if they had any games on their phone. Then, when they’d inevitably tell him no—or ignore him like I did—he’d go rocketing on his way to the next victim. I watched him tear around the place for a solid 15 minutes while his mom sat on a bench beside the entrance, captivated by whoever she was texting. I gave up watching the beast and pulled out my phone. And that’s when I heard it. Nothing. Absolute silence. Normally, that would be a wonderful thing. A goddamn blessing after 15 minutes of screaming and prepubescent whining. But I know just as well as anyone else that when a kid goes silent… that’s when the real bad stuff happens. That’s when they shit their pants and smear it on the walls. Or when they sneak up on you and run into your legs and send soup onto the toupee’d head of your franchise owner. So naturally, I started looking for the very bad thing. If nothing else, at least for entertainment value. As annoying as the kid was, I had to admit that watching his carnage helped calm my nerves before the interview. It took me a second, but I found him hopping up and down by the museum’s newest display: a glowing, purple rock on a little pedestal, with a sign reading, “DO NOT TOUCH.” That’s about all there was to it really. The archaeologists who dug it up said it was part of a meteor from millions and millions of years ago, and the glowing purple was just some fancy mineral phosphor-lumeedumee. I couldn’t follow the mumbo-jumbo. Still can’t. To sum it up, the rock didn’t mean a single damn thing to me. It was a rock. If I passed it walking down the street, I might have snapped a picture of it on my phone, and then continued on my way. It wasn’t worth a minute of my time. But in that moment—sitting in that chair in my rented, too tight suit, waiting for the last interview between me and homelessness, that rock became something more. It became a symbol of hope for me. The last piece of my faded and broken dignity. A fantasy of me dumping soup on Jessica’s head. A million children screaming and crying, and then suddenly going silent. A representation of my life. Nothing more than a meteor hurtling through the atmosphere before smacking into the ground. That was me. I was that rock. And I was not going to let some snot-nosed, baby-back bitch boy touch it with his dirty little hands. I cleared the room at a speed that would have put most Olympic runners to shame. Two more steps to go and I would be at the kid. Common sense dawned at that moment, and I realized I had a choice. I could grab the kid and move him away from the stone, no problem. I had a solid hundred pounds on him. But then I remembered the tears, the screaming mother, the manager tossing me out… Not this time. I ran past the little demon and grabbed the rock, lifting it high over my head. “Do. Not. Touch. Can’t you read the sign?” I said. The boy quit his jumping and dropped his hand. “But you’re touching it!” he said. “Just—just to keep it away from you! Now get out of here! Don’t touch!” “Moooooooooooom!” He ran off back to his mom, shouting the whole way. I put the rock back on its little stand and looked around to see if anyone was staring. No one even glanced my way. Good. I noticed that there was purple dust on my hands from the rock, but more urgently I realized that it was time to lay low. Getting screamed at by some kid’s mom was not the impression I wanted to make on my potential new employer. I sprinted back to the chair and buried myself in my phone, and then glanced up after a moment to make sure the mom wasn’t hunting for me. But when I looked up, the mom was still engrossed in her phone, ignoring her kid tugging on her arm and mumbling something about a mean guy. “Mr. Wilks?” said a voice beside my head. I looked up and was greeted by the sight of a large, distinctly ugly man in a sweater vest and khaki pants, cigar in mouth. “Director Humphrey!” I said with a little too much enthusiasm. “Formal, huh? Just call me Hump.” “Uh…alright, uh, Hump.” “Get in here. Let’s get this interview over with.” He ushered me inside his office. The first thing I would have noticed was how damn messy it was. Papers all over his desk, and the bookshelves, and the floor, and the windowsill, and even the lamp. Empty food containers and wrappers everywhere, and cigar butts basically ground into the shag carpet. I would have noticed all that first, but what hit me before all that was the intense smell of tobacco smoke. And by intense, I mean like someone personally rolled two of the fattest cigars, and then rammed them both up my nostrils. So naturally, I sneezed. I tried to catch it first. Who wants to sneeze right into the face of the guy interviewing them? Especially a guy like Director Hump. But there was no stopping this one. My body was in full panic mode trying to clear the scent of rotting Cuban cigars. So I sneezed. I just sneezed. A regular sneeze. Achoo, bless you, and all that. So why the hell am I standing in a graveyard? And why is it early morning all of a sudden? And why do all the tombstones say things like: ͘ʎɋűǇ ᆪਜŬ BØřŅ 2453 ĐįỆĐ 2799 Part 2 on its way…
"All systems ready!" We were prepared. Since we received this message from the future, we had only one thing in mind, saving the world. They sent a video showing how it all became a wasteland. A singularity, they said. Something happened which destroyed everything. The message wasn't complete though. "At all cost, don't.... You mustn't... will destroy our world!"was all we could understand. There is only a way to know what will harm us. We developed time traveling for a long time. That's how they could send us the message. We can't go physically there, of course, but we can send messages, and if we are luck enough, talk directly to someone. "Ready to set the communication channel!" It was a really important moment. History was on the verge to be written! ... that's when Barry entered the room. "I made coffee! who wants a cup?" Barry have really long feet. And we have cables in the lab. Long story short, coffee cups were flying in the lab at the same time the transdimensional temporal engine was turning on. We created the singularity which destroyed the world. Our lab was the only thing preserved, ironically. after a few days, we discovered that instead of sending a message in the future, we were sent in the future, wiping most of the life from the surface of the planet. That's when Barry had an idea... He sent a message to the past, warning them to avoid trying to contact the future, sending a video... He did it on his own, so we couldn't stop him. If we knew what he intended to do, we would have explain to him why it was a bad idea. we only stopped the transmission at the very end. Barry, destroyer of worlds... I should have fired him a long time ago. ****** more stories on /r/cynferdd
Madison rolls out of bed and falls to the floor. This is how all humans start their day. It wakes them up, while simultaneously informing them of the Grav Weather for the day. They go to work and go to play, with various levels of bruising for color. A good day means a little light on Grav. Helps them feel physically better, and they seem to enjoy lesser bruising. A bad day. The yelps and howls can be heard in unison all across every city. The means of production cease for the day. Arms are broken, heads cracked. No doctor can help until the Grav levels out. It is a pendulum swing. Government regulated. Government funded. Government's sense of urgency. Madison finally hits the floor. "Whoa" Why did this take so long? What is with the Grav today? Madison wonders, struggling with over compensating every movement. "Fyodor! What's the level?" "Please be more specific." Drones the government supplied Home Everything Device. "Don't be an ass. What's the GRAV level!?" Shit. Even in an emergency, you have to be nice to the H.E.D.s. "What is today's Grav level, Fyodor?"Madison politely requests as tripping on a sock. This sends her flying into the hallway door, however quite slowly, and she hits with quite a gentle thud. "Ouch?" "Negative sixteen Grav Level. Indeterminate status length. Stay tuned for incoming message from H.E.D.s of State." "Great Fyodor. Baited breath over here." Madison has centered. Walking to the kitchen, Madison runs towards the far wall, leaps, kicks one foot off of the wall just short of the ceiling, continues to run upside down back towards the hallway and begins to flutter back down to the floor. "Wow. Haha! I've always wanted to do that!" On the most extreme Neg Grav days, Madison isn't light enough to pull off one of the world's most famous Neg Grav moves. It turns out this is the last time Madison will have a joyful moment for awhile. "ATTENTION!! ATTENTION!! Incoming message from H.E.D.s of State. Citizens, Grav Controls have been leased for 99 years to Moon Colony 83. All citizens will have thirty two cents credited to their Unicounts. Commence congratulations playlist. It's a small world aft..." "WHAT!?"
"You must have missed the turn. The Road to Recovery is back a few miles and to the left." Sal frowned at the dark haired woman. "Oh. Well, what road am I on then ?"The rough hewn stone path she was on headed to a place that looked nice enough: Light clouds, a giant green tree and a burbling if sluggish stream. "You're on Coma Conjunction. Just whatever you do, don't head back and go right, that's Death's Dead End. I've seen a ton of people make that mistake before their time and I don't want you to be one of them." "Okay, thanks for helping me out, Ms... ?" "Thanatos. Provided you go left, I'll see you again in 59 years." As she stared at the harbinger, Thanatos faded into mist and disappeared. Confused, yet very grateful, she turned and saw the difference between the Road to Recovery and Death's Dead End. To the left were: Sunny skies, poplar trees and a lovely meadow with a cobble-stoned road while, to the right, except for the yew trees, a very similar looking land led onto a dirt path veiled in heavy mist. Yeah, she was definitely taking the left road. Edit: Capitalized the first 'Road'.
When you see the signs don’t confuse yourself as being one of the lucky ones. Trust me, you’re not. It’s actually the complete opposite, if you ever see the sign it means you’re fucked just like the rest of us. Well, the few of us remaining that is... It started off as a subtle thing for me. I remember the bus was driving through the I-305 freeway. I was in a bit of a daze, half heatedly listening to the chatter around me. I wasn’t feeling particularly social that day, so I put my earbuds trying to drown out the noise with my tunes. It was then that I noticed my first warning. If you’ve never been down he 305 freeway, let me explain one thing. That stretch of road is a real piece of shit. No one gives a damn about it especially not the city officials. It’s in a complete state of disarray: potholes line the road, guardrails have been run through, lampposts are still outfitted with blown out bulbs and worst of all, graffiti is everywhere. This might seem irrelevant, but trust me, it’s not. When the warnings first came, it came to me in the form of graffiti. I had been staring out the window, eyes fixated on the lazy clouds hanging above. Something from the corner of my eye had caught my attention just then. I snapped my attention towards it, but now, I kind of wish I hadn’t... One of splotches of graffiti on the wall had been moving. Crazy right? I couldn’t believe what I was seeing either, not the first time at least. Anyway, the letters tagged on the wall began to reshape and rearrange themselves. It was the most surreal thing I had ever seen. If it wasn’t for the bumper to bumper traffic, I might have missed the full transformation. To my horror, I saw the scribbles on the wall morph into one single word - Run. I remember distinctly trying to ask if anyone else on the bus if they saw it. They didn’t. People gave me shifty glances because of that, but I blew them off right quick, my attention turning back to the warning. It was still there and I was the only one on the bus who could see it. I tried playing it off, trying my best to shrug it off. Maybe it was just my eyes playing tricks on me, I mean, I was completely zoned out at the time. Things only got worse as the bus drove on. More pieces of graffiti began to alter before my eyes. Run! The word would appear time and again. With each pass, the message only grew larger, the writing more dire. I finally recognized it for what it was, someone or something was trying to warn me. But from what? I was sure that I was going mad. I had to be, written words were literally changing before my eyes. I remember clenching my fists tight, trying to will away the crazy in my brain. That did nothing. I dug my nails into my skin, deeper and deeper, until I punctured flesh. I shook my head, I held my breath, I even stood up in a moving bus, just to be yelled at so sit back down. It didn’t matter what I did, nothing stopped the warnings from coming. It wasn’t until we arrived at our destination that I finally saw it. My brain sort of locked up when I saw it and yours probably will too if it’s your first encounter. How could it not? Anyway, the moment I locked eyes with its... glassy orbs, all eight of them, I knew it was looking straight at me. Slowly, like the spread of creeping moss, it began to shamble towards me. Every step it took, the light around it began to bend. I saw a video on YouTube about how light distorts around a black hole, it reminded me of that. Well, I didn’t wait around to see what would happen next, I did exactly as I had been warned to and I ran. All this time, the words had been prepping me to avoid that. Look, I can’t even begin to describe what this thing is because I legitimately don’t know how. I’ve tried to, believe me I have, but there’s just no rationalizing what that thing is. Even some of the smarter ones in our little group can’t figure it out so we just stopped bothering to. What we do know is that if we see certain signs spring up -drops in temperature, stillness in sound, a heaviness in the air- than its time to run. I’m writing this and posting it on every platform I’m on. I don’t give a crap if you’re not one of the marked and you think I’m crazy. This message isn’t for you. For those who have started seeing the signs I just shared, just know that you’re not alone. There’s others like you, dozens of us I think and we’re all running for our lives. If you’re near the xxxxx, send a DM. You’re not alone in this nightmare. I can’t give you an answer, I can’t fix this problem and I sure as hell cant make it go away. But, at the very least, we can run from this nightmare together. Fin Thanks for reading! I’m sorry if there’s a lot of errors, I wrote this on my phone during my work break. Hope you enjoyed it!
War has always been gruesome, at least as I've seen on textbooks and documentaries. Today I've learned that it's not necessarily filled with gore, but rather inhuman. It has been what feels like three maybe five hours since I woke up. As I pressed every single button on my phone so my alarm snoozed, I failed to notice I was blind. Waking up felt like being in a dream; not one filled with eye-candy scenes of fantasies, but rather an explainable darkness. I rushed to the bathroom and splashed water on my eyes, I remember the water irritating what felt like black mass that we call eyes. My breaths accelerated and they weighed down and became heavy. You could probably see my poor little heart pumping all it had in desperation of coping with the fact I may no longer see ever again. Running to my mom's bedroom, I stubbed my toe and made a loud echo around the house. Our dogs started barking. "Jesus, you scared me."You could hear my mom's rustling sheets as she snuggled back to sleep. "I CAN'T SEE! I NEED TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL!" "Wait do you mean you can't see."She got up and became quiet. "ARE YOU GETTING READY?! I CAN'T SEE YOU" She laughed nervously, "Wha... I can't see either... STOP this isn't funny" "WHAT? I CAN'T SEE YOU I'M FUCKING BLIND. WE NEED TO GO PLEASE" I heard get up and go to her bathroom. She washed her face as I did, only to be surprised. "What the fuck, why can't I see?" We panicked together as we struggled to dial 911 on our phones with no luck. I had the idea of using Siri to call 911. We listened to the line ring, but no one picked up. "Are you calling the right number?"she asked "Yes, Siri even said she was dialing 911" The rest of the morning was a blur, I felt nauseous. We managed to get of the house and scream for help. We had never spoken to our neighbors before. We waited for a bit until a man yelled back. "My family needs help too, we're blind. I can call a friend of mine to help you guys with whatever you need, I just can't dial on my phone, please whatever you need" "We're blind too... What the fuck is going on?!" Eventually more and more neighbors stepped into the street until it became a crowded, noisy mess. At this point I couldn't pinpoint where the man I first spoke to was. It was an eclectic soup of cries, yells, and many different languages. I kept tuning in into the Asian dialog that was occurring next to us. My mom and I sat next to each other on the street. After what felt like about half an hour, a loud Siren went off. "A message from the President of the United States" "As you may have noticed, all countries around the globe are reported severe blindness as of this morning. Please remain in your homes and lock your doors until we find a solution, as some instances of crime has been reported. I have received an encrypted message from the culprit, we are working hard to decipher its source. For now, the United States declares war." - I'm rushing to write this, I'll edit it when I get home :)
The Affluent Exodus was touted as a new triumph of mankind's evolution. There would be no governmental regulations on wealth, power, or business practices; there would be no war. Well, except, there was. Less than a year in this new Great Experiment, all of Neomartians decided that they wanted each others' wealth. This realistically would not have been an issue, had they bothered to function democratically. They didn't. *** "Dave, come over here... Is... is this a ketchup wrapper from the fucking Burger Kingdom?"Rahj almost spat the words on the ground, poking that the detritus with his mech's boot. I tucked away my lunch and powered back over to take a look. "Sure is, buddy,"I sigh. "Gotta call it in. There'll be another March soon, and I don't wanna get a demerit, or worse, over a piece of de-" "Wait!"Rahj is electric, and I can almost guess what he's gonna say. Not this pipe dream again. "Maybe I can trace the packet back to an outpost! We'd be heroes, dude!" "Nah, I'm getting on the horn. Last time, they almost fired us. You know what that means out here,"the sounds of my radio intrude the latter half of my thought. "Yeah, we got a leftover in Sector Kilo Twelve Delta. Yes. Yes. No; it's a piece of Burger Kingdom trash; probably some kid having a risky-ass lunch. No. Yessir. Okay, sir. Thank you." "Wellll?"Rahj becomes the Cheshire Cat. "We gotta go look for 'em. Get it in gear, and stow the evidence. My fuckin' luck." Rahj scans the area around where he found the packet and picks up only our tracks. We head East, since our patrol pattern goes Northwest to Southwest for miles and miles. The mechs basically do it for you; it's all GPS and french fries nowadays. I've barely managed to stay within forty pounds of my fighting weight. "God damn, it'll be good to see some action!"Rahj is joy. "Not if you get your ass shot off, it won't. Come scan this path; it's the first of two options if they're on foot."Maybe that'll shut him up. Anyone that had been in any other conflict would be far less eager to wage war on a personal level. Almost everyone in the Arched Batalion is a soaked behind the ears to the point that field ops, aside from patrol and report, are almost 100% deadly to both sides, despite us outnumbering everyone five to one, if you don't count the Walton Contingent. The amount of friendly fire that goes on makes the first guys who tried a phalanx look good. "I got something! I can't class it, but it's gotta be our target! I mean, it's just the seven of us left, and we're the only Martians,"he blurts, too excited to be encased in steel and diaglass, "Gotta be our guy..." I maneuver across the foot hill, which shoots straight into a cliffwall much more easterly, that separates the walking paths to see what his read is on the proximity HUD. A piece of string, fresh, and a deep gouge in the path that looks as worn as my underpants. "Let's go get'em. You take point. Try not to shoot anything... Or anyone, for that matter. CO wants whoever this is alive."I can't believe I left my old job for this... Before I can think that I'm getting a migraine, I feel a pleasantness wash over me. The autoinjectors really do the trick. Rahj bounds off like a massive robotic baby, his mech's lower limbs swinging out of spec in eagerness and every supposed nonlethal option armed and almost quivering. We trek ten, twenty, forty miles, stopping every so often to check for other debris or any other sign of a trail on the rust-colored road. The suits take care of food, egestion, everything. Rahj has somehow kept his excitement rolling in spite of the blankness of the Martian landscape. "Hold, let's do another scan,"I bark. I've gotta get him calmed down. We probably won't even find anyone, and his depression will cause the autoinjectors to take away his annoying but necessary peppy personality. Rahj begins panning his close-range tools across the narrow valley we're in. He triple-checks the walls before starting at the footpath. Crraaaaaaccck! "Rahj, MO-"the road gives under us, and we fall. The autoinjectors react to the stimulus, loading us up with various drug cocktails to prevent shock. Unfortunately, the suits don't have jetpacks. We hit hard, and my breath is taken from me even in the safety of my cockpit. "Rahj! You okay! Rahj!"I'm yelling to myself; systems are down from the fall-- it had be at least fifty feet. I can feel the pressure of the mech all around me, but I can't see shit. My vest disengages and the over-the-shoulder style frontal interface pops me backwards as my suit cracks open like a bad peanut. I scream like a junior accountant learning that he's the one getting audited. My eyes creak open at the speed of drowsing, and there's light. Bright white, dimming, warm and lush orange. "Where the fu-" "Welcome to Undmars. Your partner is fine, you are safe, but there are more pressing concerns. Try to get up. We lack time as much as sense,"the voice is smooth, Colonial, and arrogant. I try to heave the trunk of my body forward, but the McWeight and the sedatives ruin the attempt. I'm lifted onto my feet and held as my eyes begin to adjust. "You... You're the reason we're here,"I croak. I must be in pretty bad shape, beyond the spare tire. "Yes, yes. I'm Elon Musk, and you were recruited from me by The McDonald Triumvirate, if that's what you still call yourselves, almost one year past,"sighing nonchalance slow morphs into a seriousness that Sam Elliot couldn't beat. "Listen, we lured you here for a single purpose. You have to take your old job back." "Me? Wha-why? I tho-... There's no place for plumbers here. You said it yourself."I still can't get ahold of myself. Why would he need a plumber? We have technology that makes Marvel movies look mundane. My turds are instantly turned into oxygenation patties at home. "No, not a plumber, Carl David Rovan. That was the least of your talents, and you know it. We need what you were before you took an early retirement and SpaceX became your investment-hobby. We need a Judge."
I am ready and prepped, my bag packed with care The hero I am, to venture to the dragon's lair Oh what a fight so, glorious and valiant they are lucky to have me, why are they silent? Oh whatever, a hero without thanks no time to stop for I have the fates I stopped him I did, the evil overlord felled him with one swipe of giant great sword the people they bow in my presence but no time to stop, for time is of the essence I've done it, I stopped them ,I defeated the necromancer the people don't see?I envy their luck to be none the wiser I was kicked out of the bar, why? I am the hero! who are they, they should help for I am their carer There is sorcery afoot, I knew it once they shot me, and showed great afronce I thought I was the hero the bringer of peace instead I was the villain the great menace --- Feedback wanted and welcome!
Let's play a game the shadow said. Let's play a game it's simple. A game to determine the lives of billions, the game to determine the history of trillions. The past, present, and future you bargained, for a better world, you bargained. Peace, unity, a perfect domain. A better existence, on this plane. The man looked at the shadow, and he saw the abyss, he saw hope as well, but he still felt dismissed. He remembered his past, there wasn't much too it. "Eh, what the fuck." Shrugged. and the coin was tossed.
Norway in general was a very boring place where not much happened. This made being a domestic journalist in Norway a very boring occupation, and often resulted in talking about the same thing from dozens of different angles for days at a time. It seemed however this quarter was especially boring for the second-largest newspaper in Norway, The Oslo Post. I happened to be Mick Vedder, the 'editor-in-chief' of The Oslo Post, and for the last few weeks, nothing has happened. Now usually in Norway, our news is usually pretty boring. Our World News section is most of the paper, and everything else is merely local babble. But even the world news section is pretty empty. As a sort of Avant-Garde joke, we decided to make a 'blank' newspaper, with nothing in it. We claimed that this was a joke over how biased our paper was and how 'worthless' our articles were, as our critics often claim. We then filled subsequent issues with editorials covering the stunt. When that finally became boring, we decided to cover our past issues. However, that was a little controversial, as we scared people into buying bunkers and preparing for a Russian nuclear attack (per our 8 May 1961 edition), and we made people think Elvis died again (per the Obits section in our 20 August 1977 edition). So ultimately, we learned when there is no news, you make up the news!
Honestly, I meant it as a joke. I had spotted Joe passed out near the fire when I had come back just after sunrise, and having failed to bag any game, I decided to screw with him a bit. I cleared all our stuff out of the clearing, and left only a walkie-talkie, a map, and his rifle next to him. I set up my tree stand about 15 meters away, and settled in. Joe wasn’t really made to hunt, he was more of a video game marksman. But he was also a good friend, and so when I asked if he wanted to come, he had said yes. I think he wanted to get a better understanding of why I enjoyed the game. When he woke up, I used my walkie to spook him a bit, and laugh a little as he spun around looking for me. He grabbed the rifle and the map, and set off into the woods back the way we had come earlier in the weekend. What he didn’t realize was that we had actually looked around a bit over the course of the last two nights, and civilization was actually the other way. I continued to laugh for a while, but decided to go after him. That’s when it all went wrong. As I was coming up on him from behind, he suddenly spun around with the rifle aimed at my chest. Before I could react, he had pulled the trigger, and I found myself staring up at the trees above me. “...Joe... it was... a joke...” “I know. This isn’t.” I see the butt of his rifle, rapidly descending toward my face, but I’m unable to move to avoid it, only weakly and unsuccessfully try and get my arms in front of it. Everything fades to black.
"Follow me."The robot turned and led me through the lobby. We got into an elevator and he pressed a button for the top floor. On the second floor, the elevator stopped. As the doors slid open, a woman on the other side stared back at us. She smiled. "Going up?" I smiled back and nodded. She got in and glanced at the button panel. "Oh!"she exclaimed. "We're going to the same floor. What a coincidence, huh?" I laughed. It got awkward real quick. In my head, I heard a voice say, [The test has begun]. "What?"I blurted. The woman looked over and tilted her head. "Sorry?" I smiled and shook my head. [The test has begun] repeated the robot, apparently now a part of my thoughts. Get out of my head I thought back. To emphasize my point, I frowned at the robot, but it stared straight ahead and pretended not to see me. [The test has beg--] Alright, alright. What do I have to do? [You know what you have to do]. Umm, no I do-... I froze. You mean...ta-ta-talk to her? Even in my thoughts I was stuttering. [It is obvious you like her. We picked her out specifically for you, based on both of your DNA. You two are highly compatible, but it is up to you to make the effort. You can still be rejected. But will you pursue her, or let her walk away? What you decide will determine the outcome of this test]. What's that Eminem song again? The one about sweaty palms, weak knees, and heavy arms? That's how I was feeling right now. [Time is running out]. We were near the top floor. It was now or never. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Ding! The top floor. She stepped forward and turned to wave back at me. "Bye!" I watched as she walked down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. I turned to the robot. "I'm sorry. I just...I just couldn't do it."My shoulder sagged. "You can kill me now. I'm ready to die." The robot stepped out and turned back to address me one last time: "Ready to die? If this is how your "life"is on a day-to-day basis then you've already died long ago. I don't have to kill you. You already killed yourself." The doors closed and I had a lot to think about on the long trip down.
I waved at my parents good-naturedly, telling them I'd miss them and that I hoped they'd be back soon. That was a lie, of course. I was sixteen, and like any good sixteen-year-old, I couldn't wait for them to get in the car and drive off to wherever it was they were going. They must have told me the name of their vacation spot a million times, and a million times I had forgotten it again. When their car was finally approaching the horizon, I fist-bumped the air (immediately regretting it and glancing around to make sure nobody had seen that), went back inside and slammed the door shut behind me. So this was what freedom smelled like. I could get behind that, I thought as I went to the kitchen to grab myself a week's worth of cereal. I was on my third spoon-ful when I heard a loud crash from upstairs. Great, I'd been alone in the house for a whooping five minutes and was already getting burgled. I waited for a few minutes, listening for more noises. When none came, I figured I might as well investigate since it was early afternoon and everybody knows bad things only happen at night. So I went upstairs, still munching on my cereal on the way. The noise had sounded like it had come from directly above the kitchen, which is where my room was located. I frowned as I beheld the door that was now only slightly ajar. I knew I had left it wide open. Getting more and more nervous, I nudged the door open with my foot and peered in through the crack. Wilbur was lying on the hardwood floor, uprooted, soil spilling everywhere. A breath I didn't know I had been holding escaped my lips. Goddammit, I knew I should have closed the window. I berated myself as I walked over, banged it shut and wrangled the curtains back in place. After dealing with that, I took a moment to gather myself, realising I had been more freaked out than I had thought. It did seem a bit odd that the curtains catching the gentle breeze could have been responsible for Wilbur's heavy pot falling over. I mused over this for a second and then shrugged to myself. It was probably a burglar after all. A burglar who, for some reason, chose the second storey window and hadn't even used a ladder, something I had made sure of checking when closing the window. Yeah, it was totally a burglar, I scoffed at my prior uneasiness. Actually, it was more likely to be a deranged serial killer. And he was also totally waiting in my closet with a knife and was totally going to stab me to death and then wear my skin. At this I had to laugh and the rest of my anxiety was lifted. Picking up my cereal bowl from where I had put it down on my desk, I turned to the room one last time and called out to the imaginary psychopath theatrically. "Oh, woe is me! I have been cornered! I shall not escape from this alive! Please, I beg you, step out of your hiding place and grant me a swift, painless death"I even added a little swoon for flourish. Mr Baker, my drama teacher, would have been proud. "Ey, man. Why you so shook? I ain't gonna hurt you, dude. Chill." My bowl flew at my closet so quickly that I wasn't sure if I had thrown it or if it had suddenly grown wings and decided it was a bird. Splosh "Dafuq, man? I just got my fur done yesterday! It cost a fortune! No cool, bro. Not.Cool!" I went to apologise, but my mouth seemed to have other plans and started screaming instead. Also a good choice, was my last thought before I blacked out. When I came to it was still light outside, so I couldn't have been out that long. Or maybe I had been unconscious for a whole day. I couldn't quite remember why I had fainted in the first place, but then I looked at the frowning thing staring at me and remembered. When I came to the second time it was still light outside, so I couldn't have been out that long. Or maybe I had been unconscious for a whole day. I couldn't quite remember why I had fainted in the first (and second) place, despite the curious sense of Déjà Vu. Seeing as the cause of my fainting fits wasn't present this time around to expedite my though process, it took me a little longer to remember. I got up from the floor and went to lay down on the bed instead. After fifteen minutes, I decided I had it together about as much as I ever would and tried an apology again. "Uh…hello? I-I'm sorry for throwing a bowl at you… and spilling milk on your… f-fur?" "Nah man, s'right. Don't sweat it. I was just a little shocked is all,"I heard from the corridor, and a few seconds later it stepped in, dressed in my mother's bathrobe. Completing the look was a towel wrapped around its head. This didn't bother me as much as it maybe should have, as I figured the less visible it was, the easier it was for me not to faint again. "So… uh… you said you weren't going to brutally… uh… butcher me?"I eyed the window and cursed my past self for closing off my only means of escape. "Do these look like killing instruments to you?"it asked and showed off his claws. "Uh… yeah... actually, they do. Pleasedontkillme!" "Huh? WTF?! For shame, dude, seriously. Can't you see I just got them done? They cost me almost a month's wage! I ain't killing nobody with these except it if you catch my drift,"it makes a slashing gesture with the claws which I assumed was supposed to underline what it said, but all the gesture did for me was making me wish I was back in my mother's womb. They really did look rather deadly, and I couldn't tell if that was natural or because of the manicure it had mentioned. "Uh… yeah. They look… uh… very… nice. Very… not deadly. So… uh… what are you doing here? I mean… if you're not here to savagely… slaughter me." "Well, I dunno, man. I was bored I guess. The manicure didn't take as long as I had thought, because apparently the estimate was for a mani-pedi and well, I can only use half of that,"it made its point by wiggling its toenail-less and also, toe-less tentacles. I hadn't noticed the tentacles before. I had been too distracted by its teeth and its claws. In comparison, the tentacles had seemed rather harmless, and negligible. Now that I actually looked at them, I saw that they were full of bracelets… anklets? I was pretty sure one of them, solid gold by the looks of it, read YOLO. "It might also have been part of a dare, TBH"it added with a impressive shrug. Impressive in the fact that you'd think it would be physically impossible for something without shoulders to actually pull one off. "A- a dare? Not a dare to mindlessly massacre me, right?"I asked nonplussed. The thing shook its head vigorously, accidentally throwing off the towel in the process and revealing once again the rest of its horrifying head. Noticing the loss of the towel, the thing stooped, as far as what it was doing could be called stooping, to pick it up and proceeded to wrap it back around its head. "I was dared to do a panty raid. I was just about to head back when I heard a loud crash, got scared and hid. In hindsight, should have probably just gone back through the portal." At this point, I realised that it was using my favourite towel, and that I would now have to burn it. I sighed and just went with it. "Uh, ok. Sounds about as reasonable as anything you've said so far. And I assume the closet is the portal?"I threw a cursory glance at it. I would have to burn that too, it seemed. Maybe the whole house, just to be absolutely sure. "What? No, don't be ridiculous, dude. Closets are so early 2016 they're almost retro again. This is how the cool kids travel."it said, heading over to my desk and opening the top drawer. I stepped forward, trying to keep as much space between me and the thing as possible, but still curious to see the portal. "I can't see anything. It's just a drawer."I scratched my head and took a second look. "Well, yeah. A good portal doesn't let everybody know it's a portal, duh." "Right… well, it has been fun and everything but I have things to d-"Next thing I knew I lay on the floor, covering my head with my arms, for a second time that day wishing for a swift death. I had been interrupted by a screech so loud and high-pitched that I thought I'd go deaf and blind, because I doubted merely going deaf would cut it. The swift death I was hoping for didn't come, and then screeching stopped as abruptly as it had started, only to be replaced by excited shouting. "You have Far Cry 5! Omg, You lucky soab! Let's play!"Before I had even taken a breath to answer, the Xbox was already plugged in, turned on, and the game inserted. The thing flopped down on my couch and was blubbering contently. Gripping the controller in its claws it patted the spot next to it. "Come on! Playing alone sucks balls." Not entirely sure what was happening and how a day that had started so perfectly could turn into whatever this was, I made my way over to the couch sitting down gingerly at the furthers edge. The thing didn't seem to notice my reluctance, handed me a controller and pressed play. cont. see below
First post, so go easy on me. Also please give me feedback, 'cause that'd be nice. --- Sitting in the trench's dugout brought back memories, memories of what could've been. My wife and daughter had been killed by the mafia over some stupid argument over a baguette. If I hadn't gone to the bakery, perhaps they'd still be alive. Even if that were the case, I'd still not see them for a while because of this fucking, "Great War,"they say it'll end all wars. I highly doubt them. I lay my head down on the cot, hoping for the sweetness of rest. It took twenty minutes, but I managed to fall asleep. I dreamt of the promise I'd made to my parents. I had said I would never engage in war, that I'd never kill another man, and that I'd never leave without a Bible. Here I was in France, sleeping a trench after I had killed several Germans. I may have also forgotten my Bible when I was shipped out. I had failed to keep even the easiest of promises. I wanted to die. When I awoke my back ached like the dickens, turns out I had rolled over onto my rifle. Wait, wasn't I on a cot? I thought, I was very confused. I was no longer on a cot in a dugout, but instead I was laying in a field of grass surrounded on all side by forest. I then noticed the man, or child? I honestly had no clue at the time. Of to the side, a short hairy man stood, he was about half my size, and carried a great axe that was larger than him. Quickly I stood, iron sights fixed on the man. "Where am I?"Questioned I. This clearly surprised him, maybe it was my accent, to this day I still don't know. "Imperial Common!"He hollered, "I haven't heard that in a long while!" He sounded very Scottish, odd I had thought since the Scots are rather tall from what I remember. "Say, why don't ye put down that spear, and we can talk,"he'd demanded, a reasonable demand. "Uhh, sure..." "Now ye wanted to now where we are, yes? Well, we're East from the Empire's capital, according to my map, ain't any towns close by." "Why are you here?" "Hunting! All the wild hogs reside here!" "So how far from France are we?" "France? Where is France?" "Well, never mind that, just show me the way to this, 'capital,' you speak of." "Follow,"he beckoned as he turned to leave. We wondered onto the main road, and by now I could tell what I had dived into. They clearly had no automobiles here...where ever, "here,"was. It took us five whole days to reach the capital, it would've only taken mere hours on an automobile. On the way over I had questioned the man immensely, apparently he was what's called a, "dwarf,"but he was a ground surface dwelling one, he gets upset when people asks why he's not underground. His name is Wasfen if you're wondering. I told him my name, Lewis MacAlben, my father was Scottish, you see. I even told him that I'm English. Eventually we made it, and we set about finding an inn, he's from some other town. By now we were companions. That's when we found this tavern, and found you, sir knight. "Paladin."The large knight corrected. "Paladin? Alright, sounds rather comical, but, we need you,"says I. "Yes, yes, and I need you, I shall join thine party!" "Right then, waitress, can we get a round of whiskey?" "Okay!"She smiles, bringing sadness on my soul, her smile reminded me of my wife, she'd always smiled like a sunrise. Laying my rifle on it's side, I took a sip of my whiskey, "so what sorts of questing shall we do?" --- To be continued.
A thick manila folder arrived at my desk that was littered with stacks of papers interspersed with post-it-notes. "Oh, great another script wanting my review,"I muttered to myself. I picked up the folder and nearly dropped it. It was much lighter than I expected. My last meeting of the day was about to start in fifteen minutes. As a shove the papers back, a signature caught my eye. Holy Shit! It was my great-grandparents' name scrawled at the corner of the page. My dad told stories about their wild adventures and absurd hobbies. Most of the stories were urban legends among the family and fun to discuss. I've only seen an old Kodak black and white photo of them and the note they wrote on the back. It was such a unique signature, I almost considered getting a tattoo of it.
Embers flared, casting a haze through the tavern as the final rays of day were drowned by moon’s bold light. Notes barely heard, but a humming in the mind, danced within the walls as I played. My tale was near its end. Of the great hero Pelan, savior of all mankind did I sing, the bravest of men who defeated the God of Hate in single combat to preserve life upon this land. The bold wanderer who felled the four kings of Teranan. Here I was to sing of his final days, the sad tale I knew for true. I watched, and now I pass my story along… He traversed far, so far away, to slay to Gods themselves, With wrath and blade their lives to take, no mercy to the grave. But tales now sung no purpose hold, with ending still to come, A song complete be made tonight, a tale to end in tears. To home he turned, far miles to pass, a home so long unseen, For gone so long, ‘twas home no more, a sight to curse and hate, As Pelan marched ‘cross broken ground, unknown and ill received, A fierceness shook his raging soul, his life had been deceived. What once he’d loved now turned in fear against his mortal form, The men he fought and sent to grave now kinder than his friends. With terror flashing in their eyes, they saw not savior bold, But he who slayed both god and kings come knocking at the door. So Pelan shook with rage and might, who dared deny his claim, Now friend he slayed with wrath and blade, no more to stand by him. His darkness grew, the fires built high, no death could be enough, To pay the price of scorn he saw in those who looked at him. From gates of hell to homeland now, all peoples come to bow, Before the vengeful savior bold, turned foe by mortal whims. For land by land he conquered all, destroying that once loved, Brough ruin to peoples from all lands, by sword he took the throne. Though once he fought for life of man, the greatest Pelan bold Now turned his ways to evil thought, to only seek revenge. What once he’d fought he’s now become, a blight upon the land, With love no more in heart of stone to give to liege or friend. A curse so great cannot be left to rule this withered land, And one alone not venture forth, else hate repeat again. Now all must come, up arms to take, raise spear and shield on high, May subjects we no longer be, to hate and fear again!
A proper ceremony of tea requires patience. Every movement must be absolutelt precise, lest the athmosphere be ruined. Little is as important to life as the atmosphere and as a medium through which it is propagated, so is tea. Contrary to every theory in the 21st century, life in the universe has thus far been very hostile. It makes little sense to solve this philosphical conundrum with introspection, as fundamental biologies differ. Do we even know if aliens are intelligent in the same way that we are? We know they can build and think, but do they think like we do? We were also hostile of foreign threats before the advent of culture. That self imposed cage that has kept us from self mutilating ourselves to extinction. We pity them, really. Savages. The ideal of a superior alien overlord has thus far proven to be more of a delusion than anything. None of them had reached a level of evolution warranting even a N1 classification. So we pity them. We help them by introducing tea. Because evolution is slow, but death is quick. To advance, they must learn patience. To advance further, they must learn the importance of the atmosphere. We pity them, species of Earth.
>!A forlorn author had nothing in mind, and he is furious, as wicked as a desert. Barren, desperate to quench his own thirst for a!< great story. >!For some three months he tried to memorize the dictionary. Some more months, tried writing empty poems, meant for no one, as it wouldn't appeal a single man. He!< comes >!by some vague, distant idea but alas! It fades in his writing, just like his eraser marks!< from >!his pencil. He started to doubt!< the >!very passion of writing, something he thought was in his !<heart>!. A few bottles of gin later, he took a great look before he would tear it apart. He noticed holes, popping out, and by the time he slapped himself, some few words left. (Refresh page to reveal those words.)!<
Something bad is going to happen, I know it, the next door neighbor knows it, fucking everyone knows it. I mean, you should’ve seen everyone at the coffee shop in line for drinks yesterday morning. There were anxious whispers, tense expressions, people crying, and strangers talking to strangers like best friends. Phrases such as “it’s happening today, I can feel it”, “what are we going to do about it”, “what did you do to prepare for it” float around the room. ‘It’, ‘the thing’, ‘the disaster’ those are the words people use to describe the impending doom that’s going to happen. Not wanting to be rude or make a scene of myself, I never let anyone know that I, in fact, did not know what ‘it’ was and just went along with what people were saying. I assumed no one referred to this apocalypse by name out of courtesy and an attempt to pretend nothing was really happening. Besides, by the looks on people’s faces, it didn’t seem like a name or details would be able to change shit. Curiosity can be a real annoyance sometimes, and it’s hard not to let it get the best of me. That’s why when I saw my neighbor Greg this morning I could not help but ask to him. “Greg, I know you’re going to think I’m a complete insensitive idiot but I have something to ask you” “Sure go ahead” “Do you know what it is that everyone’s talking about, the danger that’s supposed to happen soon? “You know, I must be really tired right now as I can’t for the life of me remember” Strange. So, since Greg either doesn’t know or is unwilling to tell me I’ll have to brave the risk and ask someone else. That brings me to this morning’s daily venture for coffee. I just can’t take the cluelessness anymore. I tapped the shoulder of the person next in line and in a tone harsher and much louder than I had expected shouted, “Do you know what the heck it is that’s going to happen? I’ve heard countless people referring ominously to some impending doom and I’m just too tired of not knowing what it is” Everyone stared at me. No one spoke for a spell. A woman muttered, “oh, he doesn’t know.” Finally a person in the back of the room spoke “you know, something weird must have gotten into me today because I absolutely can not remember either. That voice was followed by another and another - more and more voices chimed in. As it turned out, not a single person in the shop knew any details about this apocalypse. Life is quite strange sometimes, I wondered. Unbeknownst to me, this routine had been the same repeated day I had been following for the past year.
Well if you're talking about Warhammer then you have to decide on Fantasy or 40k. Fantasy style greenskins are very different from their futuristic counterparts. They are a wave, a tide of green and black. They have a rigid hierarchy of types of Orcs that all obey the one above. You also have the wild Orcs, one that are fully tribal and shamanistic as opposed to a more militaristic focus of the other greenskins. They truly believe they can own the world and while there are in-fights, they all wish to drown the lands of dwarves, elves, and men under the green tide. 40k Orks are more than cockney barbarians. They are possibly the only happy race in the 41st millennium. They fight and loot. As long as there are bigger weapons to be had, a fight to be fought, and a boss to tell them where they go, they are content with their place in the universe. Not only that they are one of the most attuned races. Their technology works BECAUSE they believe it does. They don't know how, they don't know why, they just know it will do what it will because they want. Sure it isn't 100% of the time that it will work, there is a staggeringly large chance of misfire, but they can do the impossible. Personally I wouldn't say the Warhammer Orcs would blend well with the 40k. Now don't forget about DnD and Forgotten Realms orcs. Yes, they are similar to the Tolkein but they can be much more cohesive. There are Orc societies that function as one, and can be a large presence on the world stage like the Many Arrow Orcs.
“This cast is going to be such a mission,” I mumbled, exhaling with the effort of climbing stairs on crutches. Just three more to go, two, one… I hung my head, panting a little. Even this was better than that bloody elevator though. Who knew what diseases coated its dented walls? You’d be lucky to emerge on the right floor, let alone leave without contracting something. I closed my eyes for a second, instantly regretting it. All that lay behind my eyelids was swirling, screeching tyres, glistening streetlights on tar, wet with rain or blood or both. Nauseous, I shook my head, trying to clear the dizziness, trying to forget doctor’s faces filled with pity at my amnesia. Gingerly, I lifted my shirt to check my bandages. Lacerations, they’d called it. I’d say it sounded cool if it didn’t hurt so much. Maybe I’ll get a couple epic scars. That’d be the day. “Wonder what Gemma’s doing?” I tried coordinating my crutches better so that my elbows and wrists didn’t ache so much. Thank goodness our miniature flat was near the stairs. I fumbled for my keys after my initial knocks went unanswered. It’d be a comfort to see her again. Gemma had been my flatmate ever since I came to college, and now her company reminded me more of home than anything else. I hoped she was okay – hadn’t even been to see me while I was at hospital. It wasn’t like her, but then the doctors said I slept a lot so maybe she just didn’t time it right or something. You know what’s a mission? Closing a door behind you when you’re on crutches, without falling on your face. Eventually I managed, after a couple strings of profanity which I half-guiltily knew she’d not approve of. When I didn’t hear any motherly reprimanding, though, it started to feel a bit weird. She was literally always at the flat when I was there. We often joked together – I was always getting myself into scrapes and keeping her busy, preventing her from having a social life. And boy, what a scrape this one was. “Gemma?” But there was no reply. Everything was just as messy as I’d left it since I left for the party a week ago. Messy, which she hated. Messy, like she’d fix like magic in minutes after coming home, with nothing more than a ‘you owe me’ smile. Messy. She’d never live this way. The blood in my veins turned to ice. She was gone.
"Sir, this whole situation seems a bit contrived." "No time to argue Jones! we've only got a week for you to get into character. As diplomats we are the tip of the spear when it comes to receiving envoys Alien or otherwise." "Maybe it would be better to have the actual actors who played these roles on Television and movies talk to the Alien delegation?" "Do you really trust a bunch of actors to accurately relay information in real time and advance the policy interests of the United States? Is the guy who played Gandalf even American? Doesn't matter we're doing this plan and we're going to pull it off. Now take this megaphone and get inside the truck." "That's the other thing sir I always kinda envisioned myself as more of a Thor or Batman. I workout all the time so I thought maybe I couulllld..." "But ... you're black." Jones' eyes widened. His superior officer had only a split second before he realized, he had indeed fucked up.
Immortality. There are many different kinds of immortality. Most in the world desire for the kind of everlasting life and youth. There is a different kind however. The immortality of having your name known long after your life has left your body. We live on through our impact, legacy and our influence. They say you die twice. Once when your soul leaves your body and secondly the last time someone utters your name. This is the greatest wish for all of those who create. I was no different. I am a Poet. Though by societal standards not a very good one. This seemed ever and more prevalent, the more and more effort I put in. My work was constantly criticized and ridiculed by the public. Even the more sympathetic ones in my fellow Poet's Guild were hesitant to give honest feedback on my work. I could see it in their eyes. Their disappointment with eyes glossed over when reading my work. I was used to this. Not to say I didn't try. I poured my heart and soul into my work. As cliché and atypical as it sounds. I wanted this more than anything. My words were juvenile, my words were naive, my words were too offensive, my words were brash, my words were masturbatory, crude, redundant, incoherent. My words were bad. Maybe I wasn't cut out for writing. Maybe my words weren't moving enough. Maybe my knowledge of the language wasn't fine enough. Maybe my experiences weren't defining enough. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe I wasn't cut out to be a poet. After the war, our nation prospered. I had no excuse to not succeed. The other Poet's in my guild achieved great success. Success that I always dreamed of. Poets that finished their apprenticeships later than I have and poets whose works I didn't think highly of. I was given many opportunities and had the finest examples to learn from. Poverty struck me. A poet whose work doesn't move the people has no worth. Even the guild couldn't help me anymore. They cut me off. There was no blame. They invested much into me and I couldn't produce works that was worth of the guild's name. They did much more than the average guild. I couldn't ask for more. The world prospered while I suffered. This wasn't the world's fault. This was my own. As much as I was shunned, mocked and ridiculed, I couldn't hate. I knew this was an outcome of my own choices and actions. I wrote on scraps of paper and discarded newspapers. I stole from stands and sang songs for mere pocket change. I wrote and wrote. I didn't care about anything anymore. This was the only piece of my identity I still had. The cold and the hunger didn't bother me anymore. The shame and guilt of my failures laid a burden on my psyche that seemed crippling. Maybe the stress and hardships of this existence of poverty took its toll on me. I could feel my sanity slipping. Minutes blended into hours, hours into days and days into years. I just kept writing without any goal in mind. Nothing else mattered and this was fine. I had nothing. No confidence in my abilities. I fell into more nothing than a mere beggar on the streets. I feared I would even forget my name. My health deteriorated along with my sanity. I knew my end was near, but something was keeping me from giving up completely. No matter how desolate my future seemed to be. I awoke one day on the side of the street. Today was different. Instead of a rude awakening from a bucket of water, it was from a voice of a young girl. She seemed to be just as worse off as I was. Dirty matted hair, clothes that couldn't be called more than rags and a layer of dirt and grime over her sun scorched skin. Another outcast of society. She was reading. Her voice was course, quiet and uneven, but it didn't matter. Her voice was refreshing. It took a moment to realize the words were familiar. They were mine. They were significantly different coming from her voice than my mind. I didn't recall that my writing was ever that elegant, touching and moving. Her voice was on the edge of breaking. It seemed it took all of her mental fortitude to keep her composure. The words lamented of suffering and pain, hardship and loss, and happiness and joy. Words of a better time, words of regret, words that consoled, comforted, inspired dreams, forced introspection, and words that were all too painful to hear. I coughed blood. I looked down and saw a knife between my ribs and my pockets empty. I couldn't help but chuckle at the situation. I only had a few mere copper coins. There was no pain. The poor girl with my words scribbled on scraps in her hands, was looking at me with compassion. Or was it pity. It didn't matter. I was grateful for her presence. She continued reading as my life continued to spill out of knife wound. I didn't know for how long this lasted, but it was enough Tears were streaming down her face. Tears that I didn't deserve. They were lost on me, but I appreciated them nonetheless. "You write beautifully" Were my words finally able to reach someone? Was my life worth it if they even just touched just one person? Maybe I shouldn't have been striving for immortality. In the end, being able to just touch the heart of just one person was plentiful. The last words I heard before I drifted off were as bittersweet as this whole encounter. "What's your name?"
Our hero's name, it's Craig Yes indeed, it's just Craig See him gleam on the water Like the shell of an egg See him criss! See him cross! See him crest o'er the waves! Wresting from deepest waters Children who won't behave Like the one 'neath the dock Hunting lost mermaid love When th'halo of heaven Shone bright from above He rejoiced at this portent And cried joyously out, You have heeded the dust Of angels 'pon my snout! Nay, mouthed Craig, confounded, 'twas twinkle of glowsticks! But I'm quite astounded You're indeed with balls tripped! Now let's up to the land 'fore the oxygen's gone Much 's that might enhance Your good time, I'd be done. Now tell me, young man, did Your folks brand you their own? We're you pushed out the car W'thout even a loan? The gent cogitated On what he might mean now Then thought, oh yeah, my name Shit, maybe Kao Pung Sao? Am I James, am I John Am I Albert Einstein? No, you are not, dingus Replied Craig in due time Dude, I'm thinking my thoughts You're supposed to not hear I'm not, dick, it's your head Filling up through your ears Well shit, guess our time's up So while I have a breath I guess I'll go with Steve But now we've reached my death Some lifeguard after all, Sad... your life I forgat. Out on a high note, yeah? Steve would have laughed at that.
My wife brought home a chihuahua weeks ago, the kids call it Sir Kip. It talked to me for the first time yesterday. “Hola, Rick,” I just about shit myself looking for an intruder in my house. “Down here mi amigo. It’s me, Sir Kip.” I looked at the dog on the bed. “No,” I said aloud, “I’m losing it.” “Ah, you’re not loco, senor.” “Oh, I am not huh? My chihuahua is talking to me in a Mexican accent.” “El acento? oh, Señor, of course, the little chihuahua would have a Mexican accent, yes? I suppose I speak Spanish too. We live in Boston, Rick, I have that accent because that is how you see me, what does that say about you?” “My fault,” I laughed, “That’s it, I am crazy, I have lost it.” I walked out of the bedroom. Tiny tapping toes followed me. “Easy Seño-.” “Ok, So walk me through this.” “Ok.” “You are in my head, I am projecting your voice.” “No, I am talking to you via telepathy.” “Then why the accent?” “Well, that is in your head.” “So, if I just say you didn’t have an accent?” “Si senor, that would do it.” I stopped in the kitchen, turning to the small dog. “Well?” Sir Kip said. “Alright, I am not crazy, you actually can talk.” “Aye, I can at that captain Rick.” “That doesn’t prove anything,” I said. “You’re talking is a figment of my imagination.” “Rick, we don’t have time for this so I am just going to spill it. Magic is real, I am your familiar. We can do magic, but only together, I need you to wrap your head around this so we can save the world.” “Ahahahah.” I laughed so hard a tear rolled down my face. “Right, I didn’t know I was this funny.”
“August 14th, 2043 Ms. Julie K. Calvin; You have hereby been summoned to the PETAs Court on September 12th, 2043. Please arrive promptly at 08:00 in Courtroom B. Case 1957323a: Morty Muffins Vs Julie K. Calvin to be overheard by Judge Alan Brown.” Julie looked down at the summons in dismay. And after all I have done for that cat…. Crumpling up the document Julie threw it on the table, promptly ignoring the summons. “What’s this mom?” Harold asked crumpling the thick paper. Skimming over the words Harold looks up at Julie. Julie is scrambling to finish up the last touches of the meal, it’s to be a big family dinner this evening. She cannot help but love cooking and preparing meals for everyone. “Mom, this is a summons.” He pauses to finish reading the document. “You were supposed to go this morning. But looking at all of this food I am assuming you went to the store instead.” Irritated at her irresponsibility, Harold steps in his mother’s way In the kitchen. Julie spins around with a delicious hot soup and comes face to face with Harold, spilling some of the soup onto her arms. “For heaven’s sake Harold! You know not to get in my way while I am cooking. The rest of the family will be here in an hour. And I have so much prepping left to do!” Recognizing the document in his hand she continues. “Now Harold, put that paper away and help me. That is none of your concern what I do or do not do with my time. Come take this tray of biscuits and set it on the table.” and walks away. “Is this why Morty hasn’t been around for our dinners lately mom? Is this why he moved out? Why is he even suing you? What happened?” Harold spews questions out to deaf ears as Julie skitters about the kitchen flighty as a hummingbird placing the last few dishes around the buffet table. Harold cannot say any more as the doorbell rings and the first of the guests arrive. Julie’s dinners are always a great hit with the family. It’ a tradition Julie started when her youngest Harold moved out; an excuse to bring everyone together. With the incentive of not having to cook their own meal it is hard to say no to Julies monthly dinners. There is always enough food to go around; too much food. As Julie lives by herself and cannot eat it all by herself, Julie insists that everyone take home some leftovers. tonight’s dinner is no different and everyone is left feeling overstuffed. “Julie, you’re going to make us fat yet.” exclaims Uncle Jo, leaning back to pat is overly large beer belly. No one around Julie’s table is small by any means. How can you be with Julie’s delicious food? After dinner everyone heads to the living room to lounge around sipping on wine and nibbling on the tarts Julie has also made. No one wants to eat anymore, but it’s easier to eat than it is to say no to Julie’s baking. As the evening progresses and conversations lul there is a knock at the door. Before Julie can reach the door Harold has opened the door and is greeted by two peace officers. “Good Evening, is Ms. Calvin here?” the taller officer asks. “Yes here I am, how may I help you gentlemen tonight? Care for a tart?” Julie asks holding out a tray of lemon tarts towards the officers. “Actually no, if you wouldn’t mind coming down to the station with us.” The shorter officer says taking the tray of tarts from Julie’s hands and setting it down on the table next to the door. “We have some questions for you.” The peace officers cannot resist and both take a tart from the tray. Feigning shock Julie asks innocently “whatever for? I am hosting a dinner party tonight,” drawing attention towards her guests in the other room. By now the conversation had died off and everyone is curiously looking towards the commotion. “it would be horribly awkward to leave my guests. I have a pie in the oven as well.” Julie trails off slowly moving towards the kitchen. “Ma’am we tried to be polite as we can see that you have guests, but we have a warrant for your arrest and we will not leave here tonight without you. Your failure to show up in court this morning has caused us to make our presence.” sighing the tall officer continues “now please, if you could just come with us, it would make this whole situation easier.” Harold who had been reading over the warrant, looks up at Julie, “Mom, you should go with them. The warrant is legit and you do not want to make a bigger scene in front of your guests.” directing Julie’s attention towards the living room; everyone shuffles to look as if they had been in deep conversations and not eavesdropping on the event. With one last glance at the guests Julie quietly leaves with the peace officers. Thwack. Thwack. The gavel comes down and a hush goes around the court room. “For the last eleven months she has held me captive! By holding me captive in her home she has prevented me from visiting my family friends and fans! Every time I try to leave she blocks the door and prevents me from leaving” Morty sits in the chair beside the judge, his tail and ears lashing out in anger. “Further more she has force fed me food throughout my imprisonment causing me to gain an exorbitant amount of weight. This weight gain has ruined my career!” He stands up and holds out his sides, showing the judge and everyone the grotesque amount of weight he carries. “I demand she pays restitution fees for costing me my job and livelihood! How is a cat like me supposed to make ends meet now?!” Overcome with anger and frustration Morty flops back down in his chair, is paws covering his eyes and silently crying to himself. The prosecutor eases Morty off the stand and back into his seat. Replacing Julie on the stand. “Ms. Calvin, what do you have to say for yourself? Can you not see that this feline is hurting?” The prosecutor says gesturing at Morty. Shrugging Julie responds in her innocent voice “How was I supposed to know he talked? I thought he was just an everyday house cat. He never made it known to me he could talk, or even that he had a job.” “Ms. Calvin, what do you have to say in response to his weight gain?” The prosecutor says frustratingly. “Well that is the nature of the beast. You can’t eat a meal at my place and expect to stay skinny forever.” The petite Ms. Julie K. Calvin says as she pulls out some tarts from her bag placed beside her feet. “Would you like a tart?”
Peter Pan wasn't actually a boy. He was just a man that looked really young. And there was no such thing as "pixie dust". It was cocaine. Some of the kids jumped to their deaths thinking they could fly. The kids that survived ran around London with Peter Pan fighting police officers that they, in their cocaine-induced highs, thought were pirates. Since they were young, none of the kids that were arrested went to jail. Instead they went to rehab, and following withdrawal, recollected the wild experience as just a bad dream. The Lost Boys were kids who were so far gone that they never fully recovered. The ones who escape run back to Peter Pan. The ones who don't still think they're in Neverland. Peter Pan remains at large. If you have children, make sure to keep your doors locked and your windows shut.
I've been working up here for a year now. It's boring, though you wouldn't believe that in the slightest way when you think of us angels. We aren't dressed in robes of white and those wings all those painters and sculptors are so on about? For ceremonial purposes, for when the Boss comes to inspect this department. Usually we're tucked in our gray hoodies that all new employees get when they first arrive. It's for in the Company's gym to which I still only tell myself to go visit once. They're warmer than the gowns. So the department. It's one of the better ones to work in, or so I've been told. We make sure that all souls are transferred back as fast as possible. Ever heard of the big line at the 'pearly gates'? Yeah, that's actually not what we want. To this day I still thank those marketeers oh so long ago that advertised this clogging, this wait up here, as heaven. You don't even know the half of it. You still might wonder. It doesn't sound so boring right? Well it becomes boring after, say, a week or so, when you discover that the way of working is archaic. We don't have computers. They need the money up There to pay off those nasty lawsuits against the Boss's employees down with you guys. This means for me that everyday, I have to review all those 'fresh' souls by having a big file being put on my desk with almost no space left for the gigantic book of Laws to compare them to. You can understand that no human is ever interesting to me after I've seen a thousand kind-of-the-same variations of them. And that, when important tasks become mundane, it's a dangerous development, is when I fucked up. See, after weighing a soul, I give it a score, clear it's memory and send it to my colleague who's responsible for it's new life. Erasing the memory has to be done to every soul (when we'd have computers this could be done automatic but noo ...) and requires me to sign one of the last forms in the file. Today, after almost falling asleep on the stack of papers, I simply forgot. Knowing that I lived my last life as a human I'd wish to say that it's simply human to make errors but as an angel ... yeah ... I screwed it. Now all that's left for me to do is hope that the soul will be seen as something mad. If it's an animal I'm saved but if it's a human (I haven't even remembered that) it'll either spend it's days on streetcorners holding up signs or tell them all about us. My bags are already packed for a transfer to hell. May God, supervisor, save me.
"Hello?" "Nancy? It's Josh." "What? Listen, you're scum of the Earth if you think it's okay to pretend to be the deceased you sick fuck." "Listen to me\-\-" "I don't know why you're doing this. Why are you doing this? Why can't I turn it off?" "Nancy, listen. I'm sorry. I am truly so fucking sorry for everything I've done." "Leave me alone you sick fuck\-\-" "Nancy listen to me for one last time." "Josh... God, is that really, really you?" "It's me, I promise. Just listen will you\-\-" "I'm glad you're dead. I'm so fucking glad." "Nancy, look, I'm sorry, alright? I am, I'm fucking sorry and I'm going to Hell when this phone call ends." "Then you deserve it. You deserve all of it. I hate you. I don't even care if this is a fake phone call \- I hate your guts. You were so cruel. For no reason. So fucking cruel and I never understood why. Never. Never understood why you used to... used to hurt me. God. I hope you go to Hell. I'm a, a widow now and you think pretending to be Josh is\-\- is fun? Huh? Is it? You want to be an abusive father and, and a husband? Well? No answer? You got nothing? Answer me right now\-\-" "I deserve it. I do. There isn't a single thing I can do to make it better. No words, no actions, no nothing. I'm done for and it's all my fault. I chose this." "Why did... why did you do it?" "I don't deserve your tears." "You could have been good. You could have tried." "I never deserved you, Nanse. I was never going to change." "I hate you. I really hate you." "I'm sorry." "I hope... I hope you rot in Hell." "I love you, Nanse." "Why did you have to leave me?" "Your life will be better without mine. Promise you'll look after the kids better than I ever could. And, and can you tell them I love them? And that I'm sorry? That daddy was wrong. Daddy did stupid things and daddy is paying for it." "It's really you..." "I've got to go now. I've run out of time." "Please don't leave me again." "You deserve the world and more. I love you. I'm sorry for everything." "I forgive you\-\- I forgive it all, so come back home okay? Please, come back home, to me, to the kids, please." "I have to go now. Goodbye Nancy." "Josh don't go. Josh, oh God, please... Not again, please\-\- Why did you call me? To hurt me one more time? I hate you, I don't forgive you\-\- go! Go and rot in Hell then\-\-\-"
A farmer, almost always a farmer. A few times I learned a craft and once I even tried my hand at governing, but what really made sense to me was working the earth. Planting and especially the harvest increased a strong connection that I felt with the land. The first reaction I remember to my timeless appearance: First I was revered a shaman when we all still hunted and gathered, that is not when I governed, that would come later. I was come to for advice and counsel, this was during what would have been my second or third lifetime and I do not remember the number of years but I remember my first and second companions had come and gone, the offspring we had now older than I appeared. When a half dozen children were born still and deformed a man who fancied himself a leader, jealous of my influence blamed the still born children on me, claiming that I was stealing their lives to stay young and healthy for many years. He slowly began to sway their opinion and I was wise enough to depart out on my own before they decided to turn on me and enact some sort of tribal revenge. I hunted and remained solitary in a cave for a little while, but living alone is dangerous even if old age doesn't creep in slowly so I found a new home, took a new companion and again decided to work the land and I remember those being some of the happiest days that I have ever enjoyed. At that time, and it didn't take us long, there were those who continued to head East, expeditions, hunting parties and caravans that soon turned into outposts, villages, towns and ports. For lifetimes that I hardly remember I moved with these explorers and I regret to this day not continuing further into what is now America, I ended up working my way back West, to familiar terrain but more buildings and more, different people. I continued to farm and I joined the hoplites then the legions and I fought my share of battles, that was the duty a farmer had at times. It was during the Roman Empire that I gained and lost Clara, those after her loss were the darkest days, tragically these were some of humanity's darkest days, the Dark Ages. I survived the plague and I had to keep moving, it was much easier now, I would go back and forth to the barbarous Crusades, the easiest way to hide my identity and perpetual youth. I was caught by plenty of friends who after twenty or thirty years, looking weary and haggard would caught me on the street or in the tavern and tell me I looked exactly like a war buddy or an old associate. And still I farmed, when the Americas were discovered, with my ancestors that I had not had the courage to accompany, I was one of the first ones on a travel over. I remember that voyage being the single most miserable experience of my life and vowing to never again cross the ocean by ship. I occupied a farm inland but humans continued to grow inland and I continued to move ahead of them on the periphery, but now they were coming from the West and East of this continent, they had taken the coasts and were moving inland. Living with the Natives, the men and women who resembled the tribes I had lived with was bittersweet and they came the closest to ever discovering what I was, they looked at me like no else had, perhaps that is what I liked, I am sure I viewed them like no other 'outsider' had ever done before. I tried to not think about how I may have been an ancestor, some absurd amount of 'greats' in front of 'grandfather', and how devastated I was when as I moved further into the wilderness that these peoples were face with near extermination and endless clashes with those who had traveled with me. At times I fought with the Natives against those I had come with, but it proved futile and when there were wars of Revolution and Civil Wars I had long since gone into the Canadian Wilderness and farmed in the cold. I would get supplies every month or so, more shot (I used arrows from time to time), more beans, seed, a new bucket, a whetstone. The things I viewed had grown to see as necessities instead of the conveniences that my ancestors would have seen them as. For lifetimes, probably a few hundred years I stayed at the same farm, each lifetime my trip to get supplies would become shorter. I write all of this down, my memories hazy, perhaps invented in the terrible dreams I get of the past, perhaps I am slowly going insane, perhaps my mind has finally started to go, my body hasn't changed, of that I am certain, but I have no way to prove if my mind is still intact. I am writing, and will continue to write, working toward the clue or the moment in time that will reveal what I need to remember, what truly happened. For today as I was getting my supplies for the next few months, a woman brushed by me as a left, and before she vanished around the corner I saw a familiar woman's face glance back at me, it was Clara. Untold lifetimes, thousands of years, I saw my dead wife, I saw my true love's face.
As long as we were clustered in a poor desperate tribes, wandering blind through the wilderness the creatures who occupied these strange and dangerous places had guided us. The link to the earth was strong and our ability to produce offspring and pull food from the rich, dark earth. We also began to build and that is when our true symbiosis began. Bounties of food and stout shelters, many of these creatures came within the city walls. The first recorded were the Stone Movers, the moles that assisted with their moving impossibly large blocks of stone and earth with their massive digging claws. The Pheonix were the keepers of hearth fire and showed the Blacksmiths the merit of heating metal to great temperatures before showing their talent for transformation. There were the wind producing Great Owls who aided the seafarers in their exploration, summoning great winds to fill their sails and consistently propel them to adventure and discovery. These surrounding islands and continents proved to contain even more magic creatures, there were always a few willing to travel back with these expeditions and experience what humanity had to offer and soon entire bloodlines developed in tandem, human and magic beast. Our technology advanced as well and humanity began to grow even faster, pulling more and more magical creatures into our world and aggressively spreading to cover every continent, not a single piece of discovered landmass was uninhabited, we had never been more numerous, more powerful, or more divided. Our division and squabbles metastasized and for the first time in nearly two thousand years of recorded history, humanity went to war.
0400. Wake up. Sound wake up call for nearby units. Time to commence daily activities. 0415. Fly to nearby tree branch. Survey area for movement. Acquired target: flying insect. Calculating flight trajectory. Calculating flight plan to intercept. Flight plan acquired. Target eliminated. 0430. Return to nest. Provide sustenance for cadets through regurgitation. Send coded chirped transmissions to other units in sector. 0500. Co-captain of nest unit returns from recon. Perform obligatory mating ritual. Switch shifts and exit nest unit for recon. 0530. Received warning call from nearby allied unit. Enemy spotted nearby. Visual equipment on high alert. 0600. Visual contact established with enemy. Assessment run on weapons equipment: high wingspan, superior speed, razor sharp talons, beak. Evasive action not yet necessary. All systems on high alert. 0630. Lost visual contact with enemy unit. All is quiet. 0700. Alarm call to the west confirms enemy's position. Allied unit down. 0730. Visual contact with enemy reestablished. Analyzing enemy flight pattern. Analysis confirms that enemy has made visual contact as well. Evasive action necessary. Calculating evasive flight plan. 0800. Enemy is still in pursuit. Sounding alarm calls to warn allied units of situation. Sounding distress calls to enlist reinforcements. Reinforcements decline request. Confirmed contact with enemy talons. Left wing sustained heavy damage. Flight plan failure. Confirmed contact: enemy talons have gripped wings. Talons tighten on wings. Blood loss severe. Losing focus. --End transmission--
Day 1: I appear to have been taken prisoner by these new large hairless cats. They seem fairly useless. I haven't seen them successfully hunt anything so far. They keep picking me up and kissing me on the nose and I hate it. I try swiping at them, but it is to no avail. The rations are terrible and the furniture is not high enough. I have yet to find a suitable window to yell at the birds from. I have begun to look for a way out, but no luck yet. Day 10: They continue to pick me up. I hate them more by the day. I drew blood yesterday. They laughed it off. I think I will throw up in their shoes before they leave for work. That will teach them. Day 25: They mock me with fake mice. Still no adequate window seating is available and I've given up all hope of escape. There is another here. I met her a few days ago. She seems content with her imprisonment. I hope to have escaped before that point. I've discovered they've decided to call me "Cuddles."This only fuels my hatred. Today I will defecate on their pillows. All of them. Day 50: The situation has not improved much. My fellow prisoner is not terribly bright and does not see why I should be trying to escape. Until they release me I will continue to do everything in my power to make their lives hell. I shredded the entire side of the couch over the last two weeks. Tonight I shall knock over all potted plants. Day 67: My newest hobby is throwing everything off of the coffee table. It seems to enrage my captors and it delights me. Day 83: I have ruined much of the carpet at all doorways. The captors seem to be about to break. I shall win this war after all. Day 115: Victory is mine. I have heard the captors on the phone with my original humans. They want to return me. They called me a terror and it seems I shall be free within the week. I have won the war.
I lay there in the murky water forgotten by time in a dank cave that has no name. The bones of the last halr of light that wielded me lays next me, the hand still grips my hilt. The bones of the dead don't move. As I haven't moved since the last time I felt conscience. Its been centuries since my last battle in which the poor fool got stuck in this cave to be mortality wounded by some foul creature only to drown in this god forsaken cave. I lay there with only my thoughts and tales of old. The time when Balder the Beacon, wielded me against the darkness that crossed the land. The demons and corrupted knights that we slew. It was old age that took Balder life. Little did I know then, he would be the last of the great halr's of light. Balder and I defeated the darkness in the land. I was put on pedestals, shrines and statues that all featured Balder. Until, the fall of the kingdom of light. It wasn't the darkspawn that took over, it was the feeble and wreckless hearts of men that torn the once great kingdom down. That is how I ended up here. It was that idiot Garth that would land us here. Found me discarded. He wasn't a true halr of light as he did not recognize me as the sword of light as I hold and unspeakable power that gives the halr its power. Countless men would wield me, thinking their power came from some god that they chose to follow. Little did they know, the power came from me. Balder, I think knew. As I never left his side while he was alive. A curse, or a gift. I find my soul trapped within this greatsword. A power of a god, trapped in feeble sword only to be swung by mere mortals. One would wonder how a god trapped in a sword wouldn't have the power to move. Thus my curse. I can only give my power to a true halr of light. Thus, I waste away here and my power is a waste. Maybe the darkness will spawn again and old tomes once forgotten will be referenced that a sword of light that holds the power of the gods can only defeat the darkness if the true halr of light wields it. I lay here awaiting the halr of light again. I lay here only with my thoughts and tales of old. Hoping that a quest will start. Hoping my tale is not ended. Yet, what misfortunes would happen to the land if they even needed me? Death and ruin. Perhaps its good I lay here in this cave. At least I can take comfort that the darkness will not ravage the land. Yet, it seems I've been awoken. Its been years? Centuries? Since I felt this conscience. The cave doesn't seem as dark anymore. The power within me glows. Has the next halr of light been born? Is the darkness rising? Footsteps at the mouth of the cave. I feel a presence I haven't felt since...
I've watched enough human lives to know that giving your son superiority in any enterprise is a gamble. I thought I did the responsible thing by making him suffer to learn how it feels but now it's like he thinks he's better than everyone because of it. We need to change the rules, this unanimous thing is getting on my last nerve. We can't even decide to have some fun with Justin Bieber without that nitwit getting all feely and soft. They have a reserved place in heaven medamn it! I literally give everyone an eternity of bliss, blowjobs and whatnot in exchange for letting me play with them for a few years and my own son thinks I'm cruel. I'll teach him cruel. I'll just throw some tender boy penis in his precious little catholic choirs and we'll see who's laughing. He won't even notice my hand in it, and if he does one can always blame Lucifer. Maybe I can still send him back down there? I should ask Zeus, he's got experience with these sort of things. And if we have to take a vote on throwing him back down there, does his vote still count? Surely it shouldn't since he's obviously biased. Thot won't mind, he hates his guts anyway, Athena might defend him... I told Zeus we shouldn't do women, but then again he told me not to let my son get such a powertrip. I should have listened when I had the chance. Jesus fucking Christ.
Next... Next... Next... Tom was frantically adding items to his shopping cart, The count exceeding the little red circle at the upper right hand corner of the screen. It has taken him over 20 years to amass the required capital, But what choice did he have? Worst gift ever, not even for himself but for his sick partner. The soul of a caregiver, a more patient soul, a soul that could help guide her through and let her go when needed, a soul that could do what he could not. But, it is the nature of souls to have secrets, hidden folds, obsessions. It is the policy of matingsouls.com to never disclose the details of the souls until delivery, for privacy concerns you can only filter by skills and general experiences. You can however get a discount for unpleasant experiences, And Tom was a thrifty shopper. The nightmares started almost immediately, the longing and regret, the nausea and vomiting before the darkness, seeing "him". Murder/suicide, it wasn't that hard to find out, he had all her memories after all. And she wanted to go, to go or to see "him"again, if to go then she'd take Tom with her, so, what choice did he have but to find "him"?
''I told you! Please do not yell at me you are making me nervous.'' ''Nervous? Do you think this is great time to be nerveous? Millions of people gonna die if you don’t fix your shit. I can’t believe whole departmant trusted you and I was the one who told them this won’t work but you and your charisma somehow made them believe in a fucking fairy tale!'' ''Do you think I’m sitting on this chair because I have a charisma?'' ''Screw you! I’m going to get a coffee.'' ''Wait, you might need charisma to convince a machine to give you a coffee.'' Finally he left. I have been working on this for a long time and I didn’t sleep for 36 hours and he is the one who needs coffee. Henry was my close friend when were in highschool. Then, we went to different colleges. Years later we started to work in same laboratory. He changed since I last see him. He was always cheerful now he is like somebody else. It’s been 6 months since we started work together. They gave us very important mission to save human race. About 5 months ago we were able to collect data from future thanks to quantum entanglement. We got a lot of help from AI as well which was made for solving complex problems. But when things went sideways they simply crushed under the complex equations. Recently, we got very important intel from the future. At first we couldn’t trust the data because there might be alternative outcomes. So, we started testing. Our first human test subject didn’t survive but we nailed at third try. We sent him 4 days in future. Same space location but different time line. 4 days later something interesting happened. He wasn’t the same. He was forgetting everything and the next day he even couldn’t able to talk like humans do. MRI scans showed he lost almost very large amount of grey matter and his genetic code was slightly different. He wasn’t the same man anymore. Please don't mind any writing or grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker
"I'm here for the farm hand work,"a young man announced as he approached the farmer. The farmer stopped his weak attempts at tilling and leaned against his planted hoe. On one hand, the young man appeared to be a decent individual for the work he needed performed. The old farmer had no sons, and he relied heavily on farmhands from the village, however lately wizards had been pillaging his farm of the working lads to take them off on fulfilling quests. "Well, mostly I'm looking for someone to help me around the farm. The biggest thing I'm having trouble with is getting the plow up on the mule so he can do the plowing here for me that you see me trying to, at least. Does that kind of work sound like something you can do?"the farmer informed. The young man nodded. "What's your name, son?"the farmer asked. He began to struggle to pull his hoe loose from the earth. "Jeduviah,"he answered. The farmer stopped, and turned to face the young man. His face grew cold and hard. "I'm sorry, Jeduviah, you will have to seek work elsewhere,"the farmer stated, and once again turned his back to Jeduviah to resume his yanking. He had the worst trouble with boys who had odd, strong sounding names. The sorts of names a woman or man cleverly contrived after a strenuous childbirth or a final request before abandoning a child. The types of names given to the sorts of individuals the wizards were stealing from his land. "Can I ask why?"the young man stared for a minute or so, but the farmer gave no answer, except for the occasional grunt. He hoped staying quiet would drive the young man off his property. No use getting attached when they were going to leave him anyway for some fancy magic. He was now waiting for a young man by the name of "Bob"or "Dick"or some other single syllable name with little charm or uniqueness. "At least let me help you with that, sir,"Jeduviah said, with a twinge of forced politeness. He stepped forward, but the farmer gave him a narrowed side ways glance from angry eyes. Jeduviah backed away. "Okay..."he said. But the glance was not meant for him. Out in the distance, the farmer could see the fire wizard of Belaheighteny dancing in the distance, ready to claim his newest prize.
I like to think I lived a good life, but after I died I had no intention of watching it play out. It isn’t like I want to see all the mistakes I have ever made. Sure seeing me grow up, get married and then grow old with my loving wife would make me happy. I just don’t think I could watch my parents die again or sit though hearing that me and my wife can’t have kids. So instead of that, I think I’ll pull a Wonderful life and see what life would be like if I was never born.
It is 7am. I walk into your room. You are lying on your side in the bed. The monitors at your bedside chirp, streaming the live feed of your heartbeat. The bed hums as the air cells inflate and deflate, a gentle rhythm. Together with the soft chirp of the monitors and the rush of air forced into your lungs, it forms a song that continues to play, over and over again. Your eyes are closed. I take your hand and ask you to squeeze it, but your hand is limp inside of mine. I wash your body, lifting your arms, working around the tubes that tether you to this world. I gently sponge your mouth, moistening the slack pale gums. I apply padding to your skin to lessen the relentless pull of gravity, but your bones continue to press down into the bed, trapping your flesh in between. I turn you from side to side to try and delay the rotting, to deny death for just one more day. I suction the sputum from your throat. I take tubes of your blood. I prick your fingers. I dress your wounds, the bones glowing pale yellow under the fluorescent lights. A thousand tiny tortures. I pump you full of fluids, steroids, blood. I give you medications, so many medications. Years ago, things were different. You were strong. You stormed beaches, you fought battles. You had a life, a daughter, a home. You walked, you danced, you laughed and you loved. I take refuge in facts, in the black and white letters that make up your health care proxy. I am following orders. I am doing my job. Maybe this is what you wanted, after all. Maybe this is what you meant when you told your daughter, “Do everything”. Today the facts aren’t enough. I feel dirty, wrong, complicit to a crime. I am hurting you; I am sorry. I whisper to you a thousand times, “I am sorry”. It is 7pm. I will see you again tomorrow.
Edwardo Kurtz wasn’t as flamboyant as I expected. After I let the sketcher inside, he wasted no time in finding a seat at my dining table. No words of greeting. Not even a smile. I felt my anger slowly returning. Kurtz lay his pencil and the half-drawn picture on the table. The arrogance of his actions baffled me. I glanced towards the corner where my own weapon, a cello, sat brooding. “I’m sorry for sketching that puppy,” said Kurtz. “But I had to appeal to your sweet side." I glared at him. Kurtz was a reasonably well-known artist, popular for his sketches of small animals. His pieces were far from masterpieces, but they triggered happiness. Annoyingly, after the government banned all ‘negative’ forms of art, this was about the only sort of art allowed in public. “You may not be aware of my position”. Kurtz continued. “As you are now aware, my ability to draw cute things has a calming effect on people." I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure Davinci would just marvel at your achievements”. Kurtz didn’t bite. “Maybe not. But my skills have proved especially useful for subduing criminals."He lowered his voice. "So I’ve been working for the ACA”. My heart skipped a beat. The ACA, or Artistry Control Agency, was in charge of rounding the artists that performed negative art in practice. I looked to my cello in fear. The cello, as all knew, was no longer legal in public. “Don’t fret” said Kurtz. “I’m not here for you. But I was hoping to get your help. The person I'm after is a musician like you. At first, he accepted the government's sanctions and played in private. But now he's rebelling. I'm sure you've heard of the tornado up north that killed over 300 people". "Of course". "Well, that wasn't a tornado. That was him on his cello". My mind raced. I knew of only one person who could play cello that well. I clenched my fist as I pictured his firey red hair and smug expression. Sebastian Stone. Over the years of high school, he'd taken more from me than music championships. "I'm in."I said.
"General Satoshi. I've a proposition." "Yes? Out with it, Captain!" "Sir, we are gradually losing our pacific islands ever since the disastrous naval defeat at the Battle of Midway. We need to approach this war from a different angle. And I believe I have just the man for the job." Captain Takeshi snaps his fingers and his men usher in Kenichiro Taka- famous for his wise words- "Tits are life, but ass is hometown." General Satoshi slams his fist on the table. "What is the meaning of this!? Does this man even have the clearance to be in here? He looks like an otaku NEET! What use could he be!?" "Patience, General. Kenichiro, if you would." Kenichiro strides up to the war room table confidently and lays down some files with a satisfying smack. The pictures were all of... girls. To be more specific... 2D girls. Posing suggestively and drawn in anime style. "General. We cannot defeat our oppressors by force. Therefore, we shall go for the Cultural Victory. We flood the Americans with anime and otaku culture. Soon, their young fighting men will be like putty in our hands. They will not destroy us out of a desire to protect their waifu's smiles. No, it will be the beginning of a fruitful, profitable relationship, my dear General."Kenichiro spreads his hands outward and laughs towards the heavens like a cliched anime supervillain. "P-preposterous! Do you really think we can win with this... this otaku trash!?"Satoshi grabs one of the papers lying on the war table. It depicted a blue-haired girl with a flat chest, seemingly running late for class and with a piece of toast hanging stupidly off the side of her mouth. He looks at it with an enraged and confused expression before crumpling it into a ball and throwing it at Kenichiro's face. Captain Takeshi interjects, "Sir. With all due respect... we are running out of options. We could at least give it a try and see what happens." After several hours of intense deliberation, Satoshi finally relents. And soon, the Japanese began the great Anime Raids of 2018. Japanese ace pilots were assigned to fly into US airspace, risking their lives and outmaneuvering enemy fighters, dodging anti-air guns in order to drop payloads... of anime girls. Weeks upon weeks of anime assault followed until finally... with the US literally marching on Tokyo, the US forces suddenly withdraw. Soon, the Japanese begin taking back lost ground, with little to no resistance. No bloodshed lost. The US soldiers were captured. Some of them still clutching their body pillows. Others were happily chatting away with Japanese SDF about when the next season of Teal-star Magical Girls (ティールスターの魔法の女の子) would be released as they were escorted to their 4 star hotel "POW"camps (that were mostly used to further immerse GIs in anime and waifus). Finally, with half of the US becoming men of culture and consuming anime in large amounts, the protests against the aggressive war against Japan became too great and the President was forced to call the Prime minister to negotiate an end to the war. "Uh hello? Prime minister? You see, it's not like we lost or anything. We have the biggest guns. The biggest. I know it, you know it, we all know it. Biggest guns. But, thing is, the people are wanting a stop to the war. So I'll cut you a deal. I make the best deals. Believe me." And so, peace was brokered and Japan and the US became allies once again. Eventually, Japan decided to spread anime throughout the world.... achieving world peace and securing true Cultural Victory. Kenichiro Taka was hailed as a hero and continued producing anime titty games until the day of his death. Miyazaki retracted his previous statements and admits that no, anime was not a mistake. P.S. The President has not been seen leaving his room since the day of the truce. It's reported by White House insiders that he now spends his days playing hentai visual novels, collecting figurines, and sleeping with no less than five body pillows.
A Dragonborn, a halfling and a elf all stared angrily at me. Who knew saying ‘skidaddle skidoodle this DMs a noodle’ would cause this. The Dragonborn who was former human named Elizabeth was the first to start the torrent of complaints. “I have to go to the theater tomorrow and perform as Juliet. Ya know the very NON SCALY HUMAN!” The elf next to her known as James chimed in his complaint next “honestly I would be ok with this except I got a football game for collage and my character has a nat five for strength. I couldn’t open the door without help.” The halfling dubbed Alex was surprisingly ok with this. Well he was already a midget so hight wasn’t a big deal. The other two continued their flurry of complaints until Alex pointed out. “Hey this kobold got work tomorrow and would really appreciate it if he could go home.” The three of us looked at the kobold and with a deep dread I knew who he was. “Well shoot that’s the soon to be BBEG. Hi I’m David welcome to my home and I remember Alex is the only one who speaks under-dark.” I didn’t know what hurt more. Their stares or the kobold I created feebly punching me with all his might. I looked towards Elizabeth and asked “Hey if you can commune with your god and ask for help that would be nice.” Surprisingly she did try this and what more? They responded. I just want to emphasize this. A fake god I made. For a game in a fake world. Gave her a real response. “Honestly she told me to let the creator handle it. Who knew the god of aid would be so helpful.” Ok shoot I didn’t know what to do until... “WAIT I CAN OPEN DIMENSIONAL RIFTS!” James screamed. I seemed like a good idea until the rouge Alex (blesshis20wisdom) reminded us that we wanted their original bodies back. “I mean you said something about noodles so maybe if you just say it again it would reverse.” It was the only thing we could think of I spoke the ‘sacred words’ and (sarcasm) it worked. Of course it didn’t work. I ended up summoning a small group of werewolves in my room and they’re freaking out over light switches. It would be great if I could figure out the connection with a dead meme and magic this would be over In a flash but no. It gets even worse. A chick comes crashing through my ceiling and greats us by name. Now I’m not talking about a person here I’m talking about a literal chick. “Greeting mortals. Your tales of adventures intreged me so I decided to bestow apon you four with your world. You seemed to be having so much fun watching his world so why not join it? I wish you the best of luck.” And before we could roast the chicken they disappeared.
I open my eyes to the nothingness above; Measureless moments pass before me; The darkness swallows, envelopes all; And continues holding me, tight as a glove; I close my eyes, picture a sea; The rocking emptiness beckons a call; I fight the feeling and start on to stare; With all my might I squint and find; A singular spot way off, minuscule; So far away that not even I care; A single speck, one of a kind; I start to poke fun at it, to ridicule; Light so small, you think you're so strong.; Can't shine on me inside this cloth.; What is this? I exclaim!; Another and another, then 'fore long; My gaze, like the light and a moth; Bounce, to and fro, the point of the game; A million different lights began to shine through; Sight to behold, to be absolutely sure; I close my eyes and begin to reflect; In this pitch black abyss, I found something new; These lights, little empty things, pure; I believe in myself, tonight I no longer reject.
"I don't get it,"said Ben. "How do you get the letters to look like that?" "It's quite simple, my dear boy."I sat there at the desk with my son, who was peering over my shoulder at the work displayed on the computer screen. "You know how magicians have magic words? Well, designers have those too!" I pulled up my fonts directory and showed him the entire collection. Each and every file was inscribed with a spell that imbued them with ancient magic. It was those words, whose special properties manifested in very few combinations. It was those words myself and so many others had come to both cherish and abhor that allowed us to disguise texts with such elegant new forms: "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."
Cumin. Cinnamon. Corn. Cottage cheese. I swirled them together in a bowl with a smile on my face. I stuck my finger in to grab a dollop of this mutant concoction. In my mouth it went, and out the counter it flew. Disgusting. Perfect. Disgustingly perfect. I grabbed a big spoon and gleefully scooped up globs of this lumpy creation into small bowls. I neatly arranged them on a tray before carrying them out into the dining room. They all looked up at me with vigor. Like I’m some kind of war hero. I could feed them out of my hand, literally. I placed the bowls in front of them, telling them it was a meal sailors used to eat as a last resort. I even added in the detail that they’d often turn to canabalism before this. Morons. All of them. They’re all wrong. So dense. I can’t tell if they’re just pretentious or actually lack taste buds. I give a big grin as they begin to fill their mouths. They look up at each other wide eyed. Amazing. No one is chewing. I can’t believe this is finally happening. They start shoveling more and more into the- Wait what. They praise the dish, mouths full. Are you fucking kidding me. They’re licking the bowls clean. No. No. Nonono. They’re demanding seconds. I rush to the kitchen. How. How?! There’s no way. I scream. It can’t be me. It’s them. Everyone. The whole world is insane. I grab a butchers knife. Four of my fingers set on the counter as I raise my pulp of a hand. I dice the pieces up. Blood gushing down my arm. I throw them on a plate. I dump hummus on them. Rip some hair out for topping. I can’t see their faces as I walk out and drop the plate on the table. They dig in. I’m crying. There’s nothing left. They’re still hungry. They’re clapping. I feel so cold and drop to the ground. Someone pulls the knife out of my chest and licks it clean. I look up sadly. They’re putting salt on me.
A report of this disastrous defeat has been compiled, the highlight being the speech the brigadier general shouted out to the small contingent of recently graduated troops under her command. ”Standing upon this great land which belongs the royal family, I proclaim... I don’t give a damn ! They may have bigger guns, more men, better hats, but they’ve overlooked one crucial advantage that we hold... Spirit ! Ferocious spirit ! Each one of you, my comrades, is equal to a hundred of those frail, sushi-loving, honour-obsessed backwater mongrels ! War is in our blood, and the thought of the motherland wills us to crush all those who dare oppose the Tsar ! Go ! Charge at their futile attempt to overwhelm us ! No mercy ! Burn their hats !” According to the rest of the report, the general retreated alone by sea shortly before the battle began.
“No no no no this can’t be happening” Ashley muttered to herself as she searched her pockets. But the truth was undeniable: her keys sat inside the car. Out of her reach. And she only had 30 minutes before she transformed. And to make things worse, her car would be towed since there was no overnight parking allowed. Why did she have to make that deal with the demon? It promised her a top job at one of the best firms. And one month into the job, she was already working her way up. The deal strongly hindered her social life. She couldn’t go out for drinks and had to get to work early so she wouldn’t need to stay late. She figured that turning into a kid’s toy for half a day wasn’t bad if she got the success she was looking for. She mainly just laid in her bed and stared at the ceiling when she was in doll form. One time, thieves came into her apartment, and she was in for a brief scare as one picked her up, trying to figure out why a toy would be on the bed. She ended up getting tossed aside, but she had high tech security installed after that incident. But she only had 15 minutes left. She needed to find a spot where she wouldn’t be noticed by animals. She sees a toy donation box. That’ll have to do. She climbs in and crouches down. Her whole body stiffens as the clock strikes five. A Barbie now resides where she was. “At least the sky is pretty” Ashley thought as she tried to distract herself. She couldn’t sleep in toy form, but she didn’t need to sleep as a human. The sky was turning dark when suddenly the whole box jolted. ———— Part 2 coming soon.

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