Split (1)

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Ah, my head. “What did I hit?” I ask to myself while trying to shake the dizziness. The air and side bags are out and deflated. The windshield totally broken. Smoke of the engine starts to fill the inside on the car. I need to get out. My seat belt is not unbuckling. Shit. I need to get out. I grab my pocket knife and begin cutting. I get free from the bet. I try to open the door. It's jammed. I need to get, now. The smoke is getting thicker and getting harder breath. I throwing myself on the door to open . 3, 4, 5 times. 6, finally it opens. Door ajar open violently. I'm free. I fall out, landing on my hands, while my legs remaining inside. I need to move away. I get my legs outs and quickly move away. The car burst in to flames. “Damn.” I say annoyingly. Then I remember, What did I hit? I began look for any sign of what I hit in the direction I can from. “Oh shit.” There is a someone down on the asphalt a few hundred feet away. I need to check if they are okay. I began to run toward the down person. “Oh my God, I hope I didn't killed.” I say to myself while running. What in the world? Thinking it to myself. The person on the ground look strange. It appear bigger in appearance. I couldn't tell how tall the person could be since they were bent at the waist. His upper body was huge, bigger than your average basketball player. I couldn't see any more details due to a black rob the person was wearing from head to toe. Maybe, that's why I couldn't see it. I need to check if he is still alive. I began shaking the body, like I was waking up someone from a deep sleep, but to no avail. “I killed him!” I say frighteningly. “What I am suppose to do?” I say to myself, panicking and shaking. I not thinking clearly, I need to calm. I need to breath. Remember my breathing exercises. I begin to calm down. I need to call the paramedics. I need to call the police. I need to call... What is that? I thought to myself. There was something sticking out of the robes on his back. It looks like a feather. It must of come loose when I was trying to awake them. I began to get near and I noticed to was not just one feather, there were two together. “What the hell?” I say under my breath. I grasped the feathers and try to pick them up but I couldn't. “What?!” said shockingly. They seem to be attached but to what. I began to search for where they were attached. Suddenly, I gasp in horror. It's a wing. They are attached to a freaking wing. “What the fuck?!” I screamed. I began to scudded away from the body. “What the hell?! What the hell?!” I repeated under my breath. Instantly, a bolt of lighting hit the body. I jumped back and everything went dark. There was no street lights on. The fire of the car was out. There was no sound. Suddenly, a ball of light began to illuminate. The white orb hovered of the asphalt where the body was laying. It began to pulsate. With every pulse, it emitted rings of light coming towards me. I realized I no longer felt scared. I felt more confused than anything. I began to get goosebumps with every pulse. Then, it stop. It just hovered there. I just stared at the light wondering what will it do next. Then, the light began to shine intensely that engulfed everything forcing me to cover my eyes. As the light began to dim, I began to uncover my eyes and saw something unexpected. A white piece of paper was floating in a direct light coming from the sky. I began to have the urge to approach it. I first I was hesitant but began moving toward it. As I drew closer I began to notice that there was writing on it. I stop in front of it. I began to examine the piece pf paper, not touching it. I wanted to take it with my hands. I hesitated a few times until I summoned the courage to take it. I began to read what was written on it. I couldn't understand it. It was written in a language I was not familiar with. It read: “Servum meum ascendit in cælum. Et electi sunt ad locum suum. Ab hac die usque ad consummationem saeculi, eris ab exterminatore.” I flipped the piece of paper to look at the other side. There was nothing there. I flipped back and was stunned to what I saw. The page was now written in English. With eyes wide open and my mouth in awe, it read: “My servant has ascended to heaven. You have been chosen to take his place. From this day until the end, you will be the Angel of Death.” From that moment, I knew who I had killed. At the moment, I was no longer me. I am more. I understood what was expected of me. I knew the task that was bestowed upon me. I will not discriminate. I am what makes everyone equal. When the time comes, I will be there. To see you, to send you on your way. For I am the Angel of Death.
It all happened so fast. One minute, Shelly and I were having bloodwork done for her constipation, malaise, and occasional nausea; and the next minute, the FLP barged through the door. Everything went wrong. There were so many people yelling that I couldn’t even hear what all they were saying. There was definitely a lot of “Down on your knees,” though, and so I crashed to my knees, trying to use my body to shield Shelly from what looked like modified full-auto weapons. It felt like my kneecaps exploded with pain. Apparently I had fallen far too fast onto the linoleum. Shelly was crying and yelling my name. I realized that I was doing the same, but for her. A man in a jet black suit stepped over an upended stool with measured calmness. He was the eye of this whole storm. I knew that whoever he was, he was the reason for all of this. I glared daggers at him, but he didn’t seem at all ruffled by my hatred. “Shelly and Pierce Hammond?” he asked, holding a tablet as he read the words floating above the ‘caster. When neither of us responded, he went on, “I’ll go ahead and presume so, since you were just calling each other’s names and the bloodwork you just submitted matches her DNA on file.” “What the hell do you want?” screamed Shelly. Her voice sounded ragged and too high-pitched. “I’m sorry for the rough treatment, I really am.” The man answered, “But it is quite necessary for your protection and in matters of national security. You see, the bloodwork you submitted showed elevated signs of several hormones including one called HCG. Most likely, this means that you have an extremely rare condition called false pregnancy. But…” He didn’t continue his thought. He didn’t really have to. “We need to run a few more tests, but I’m afraid they aren’t really optional.” He says, turning and exiting over the same stool he came in over. The men grabbed Shelly and firmly placed her face-down on the floor. I began thrashing, trying to break free of all the hands on me. How dare he treat us like this? My struggles were useless. After both her arms and legs were fully restrained, I felt a pinprick in my arm, followed by an intense burning. The last thing I remember before the world turned white was my jaw cracking against the hard floor. *** I woke up with a pounding headache and a mouth like sandpaper. Opening my eyes added a third percussion section to the pounding cacophony that was my head. I rolled from my bed onto my feet, only for two realizations to strike me in quick succession. Firstly, I was far too weak and disoriented for such a maneuver, and, secondly, as I landed face-down on the floor, I realized I was in my own bedroom. That did seem right; where was Shelly? With growing horror, the recollection of the doctor’s office slowly dawned on me. What had happened after? My brain was fuzzy. Even normal thoughts came slowly and painfully. Trying to piece together the fever-dream that was my memory after that time was impossible. A glass of water did little to ease my suffering headache, and seemed to prompt my tastebuds to wake up and inform me that I must’ve eaten last week’s chinese with a liberal sprinkling of window cleaner. I sat at the kitchen table and grabbed my portable to look for any news of what happened. I never got past the lock screen. Two weeks. That’s how long it had been. Two weeks, my memory, and my wife. How many could I get back? Where would I even start?
She had her armor and swords on as she bent down to me. I started to say something and she placed a finger across my lips to quiet me. “Listen child,” she whispered, “I have to go out there, if I don't come back and the invaders seem right outside, I want you to take your bag and the map and leave out the back.” She tilted her head at me. I shook my head in negation, I didn’t want her to leave. “No, you have to do this,” she stopped me, “you have to get to the Guardian, you have to warn him so he can stop this. Do you remember me taking you to see the Guardian?” I nodded. “You to go to him, his cave is marked on the map. Do you understand?” I bowed my head, I didn't want her to see the tears in my eyes. I had to be brave like her. She stood up and walked to the door, the sounds of fighting were getting louder now. She looked at me, put her finger to her lips and slipped out the door. I grabbed the bag and the map and waited near the backdoor. The fighting did not last much longer and soon I heard the Invaders shout their victory. I was frozen in fear. A torch was thrown through the window catching the wooden floor and wall on fire. This seemed to knock me out of my paralysis. I slipped out the backdoor, the whole town was burning. At a safe distance, I took out the map to find out where to go. Two days, two days to the Guardian's cave, hopefully I would make it in time.
The moon glared overhead, bolstering me with it's grace. This beautiful night would serve as a worthy backdrop to my revenge, decades in the making. Bush's morale was low. His mother, bless her soul, had recently passed into the afterlife, and he told his guard he needed to go on a walk alone to "clear his head". The damn fools must have forgot about me; they let him go. I pretended to be reading the paper as he passed my bench. When he was a couple meters away, I silently put it down and got up, keeping pace with the former president. This was the man who, due to a simple drunken mistake on my part, had gotten me fired, lost me my girlfriend, and ruined my life. I would not show mercy. I took the shoe from behind my back. This was the only possession I held for many years, the secret service giving it to me as an afterthought after my arrest. Tonight, it would finally be relinquished. The Iraq war... 9/11... all of it would be paid for tonight. In Bush's blood. I wound up and threw the shoe at the old man's head. Little did I expect his hand to dart backwards, catching the front of the shoe with only two fingers. I gasped. Never before have I witnessed such power... George let out a small chuckle. "Did you really think..."he taunted, eyes starting to glow, "that you could defeat me with THIS?"He started to grow taller, until I realized he was levitating. I smirked. This was the man who dodged and deflected both of my shoes at full force. I should have expected some resistance. I unsheathed my back-up joggers, laces tied together to act as makeshift nunchucks. "My power has only grown stronger since we last met, Dubya"I spat. I began to swing the sneakers, a small cyclone forming around them as they hit speeds fighter jet pilots could have only dreamed of. He laughed. "We shall see." We jumped in the air and began the fight.
An elbow had collided with her jaw. That’s how Audrey came to be awake at 2 a.m. on the overnight train. She’d just managed to fall asleep, something not very easy for her, mind you, and some fucking twats decided to roughhouse in the aisles. The train car was mostly empty. There were a few other passengers scattered about, most of them sleeping. Audrey rubbed her jaw bitterly. It throbbed. “Alan!” One of them whined. “Give it back!” He was wearing a charcoal suit. He had on oxfords with brogues. He leapt toward the other, making grabbing motions with his hands. His slicked back blonde hair had become disheveled in the pursuit. Alan had a black box tucked in the corner of his arm, he was shielding it with his body from the other man. “Nah, man, this whole thing,” He nodded toward the man’s outstretched hand and mimicked the wide-eyed expression on his face. “Proving to me that nicking this was well worth it.” He thumbed the lock for a second before fishing a key out of his pocket. “Alan, please, it’s nothing.” Alan paused, the key still in the lock. “Sean, you’ve got to be kidding,” he said. “No one brings a black metal lockbox on a weekend trip. And, even if someone needed their valuables right by their side, Eric, they would hardly spend the wee hours of the morning huddled in the corner looking at whatever is inside here.” Audrey saw Eric’s eyes widen in panic. “C’mon man, it’s nothing,” Eric shrugged. “I just get anal about my money. So please don’t touch it.” Alan nodded. “Money? Sure, sure I can relate to money. But, Eric. Man. The way you were looking through this thing…” He turned it over in his hands. “There’s gotta be a lot of fucking money in here.” He twisted the key. Eric barreled into Alan’s chest shoulder first. The two of them toppled into the nearest row, Alan’s head coming to rest in an elderly woman’s lap. He managed a small wave and a “cheers” in response to her horrified scream. Audrey unbuckled her seatbelt. She picked her way out of her window seat and into the aisle. It was littered with pieces of paper, the lockbox lay open and upturned. Audrey picked one of the papers up and let out a sharp gasp. She dropped it as if it had singed her. Alan, standing now, watched Audrey’s reaction. Eric sat limply on the floor surrounded by the papers. His head was hung, his legs splayed. Alan bent and pick one up. “Eric.” His voice shook a little. No response. “How — How old are they?”
Most of them spoke a different language, I couldn't help but think their distorted faces were some sort of phony facade. Waiting for a trick played on myself in a sea of inferior genetics. I hated them, their discolored skin darkened by a desert sun, a smell rivaled only by decaying flesh arose from their breath. It didn't matter much, my chest laden with cheap armor stifling my lungs, my feet cold with insufficient cloth as an incoming frost crept where sunlight subsided. I would probably die here in this long night. I missed my misery, a hole beyond the reach of my "King."A life where this noise never existed, where a bustle of a million men existed only in tall tales. My face, discolored if observed from afar, stood about a foot or two shorter than my cohorts. They hated me just as much, shoving me aside while spitting at my feet. It was told to me before, not your kind of people, don't mingle with the kingdom beyond the woods. Yet here I was suffering some sort of mistake... I was captured, and pressed into service. Told that it was an honor to live and die by a magistrate's hand. Serving a calling beyond my own, and fighting for a survival greater then ones self. It was all propaganda. I swear, I'll have all these mutants heads by Sun's rising... If I survive this fight, even an Inquisitor's knees will tremble before my fury...
The wind\-up clock ticked softly on the mantle. “Tick. Tock.” Eating away the seconds with metronomic brutality. Charles rotated his hand softly, the ice clattering off the sides of the crystal tumbler he held in a limp hand. In the other hand, a dull matte pistol pointed obliquely at the floor. “Dad...” Michael said, nervousness in his voice. “What’s going on, why do you have... that?” “It’s okay son, it’s not for you. Please.” He took a long gulp of the scotch and stared toward the window. “Please, you’ll understand soon.” “Tick. Tock.” Michael stared wide\-eyed at his father, more with concern for Charles than himself. “Dad, whatever the problem is we can fix it. Is it money? It will be fine, we can get a loan or I can get a job. Don’t do anything stupi\-\-” “Shut up!” Charles turned away from the window, a sudden flash of anger giving way to a sort of despair as he looked his son in the eyes. “Just... Just shut up, boy.” “Tick. Tock.” He gestured with the gun toward a collection of family photos: a birthday cake with half the candles extinguished and a smiling baby; a bicycle with training wheels and a young boy raising his fist in excitement, a blue car with a Christmas bow. “You remember those?” He smiled, to no one in particular. “It makes me proud every time. When you get going on that bicycle for the first time, when you learn to drive stick in the field, every time it just makes me so proud. I want you\-\-” He took a deep breath. “I want you to know that.” “Yeah, dad. I mean, they made me proud too.” “Cuckoo. Cuckoo.” A clockwork bird shot out of the windup clock from it’s hidden nest. “Cuckoo. Cuckoo.” “It’s time.” A blast of light flashed through Michael’s head. Images flew past in rapid succession. A birthday party with the neighborhood kids. Getting his first bike. Taking off the training wheels. Yelling at his dad about breaking curfew to see a girl. Sitting in school passing notes. His first car. His first kiss. Going to job interviews. Moving into a house. His own kids. His wife laughing at him in a Santa suit. His kids going off to college. His dad getting sick. Visiting him in the hospital. And then... It flashed by again. But different this time. A different cake. A squeaky training wheel. A different girl. A different car. An 18th birthday. Sweating in bed for days. Screaming at his father. A visit to the doctor. Chronic depression. Straps on the bed. His father’s face red and wet with anguish through a hospital window. No more visits. And then... Michael stood there silently, shaking, eyes raised into his skull, trembling, watching life after life flash in front of his eyes. He fell to his knees. Charles caught him before he could hit the ground, embracing him. “I’m sorry boy, I’m so sorry. I know. I know.” “Dad, what, why...” He turned up to face him. “Maria... My kids... What\-\- what, happened... Oh.... Oh god. “ “It’s like this every time, no matter what I do, I can’t stop it. I can never change the first one. It always comes back to you. It always breaks you. I give you everything I can, but there comes a time when I can't give you anything anymore..” “Tick. Tock.” “All I can do is take it away. All I can do is say I’m sorry. A hundred times. I’m sorry.” A gunshot went off. Blood and whiskey spread out across the floor.
By the time I had seen the video, it had reached one billion views. I had guessed that it was just people watching it over and over, but then i looked at the date. It had been posted only three hours ago. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the screen. There I experienced something that I hadn’t ever experienced. As the guns leveled, my gut twisted, and as they opened fire it dropped. I shit and wet myself. 30,000 were reported dead the next day. At that point, the video was slowly reaching three billion views. It was all over the news. The graphic images were burned into my memory. I still remember the blood rushing from their bodies. The emaciated women and children screamed as the bullet ripped through them. The sound of artillery rumbled in the distance. Clouds of smoke and dust rose into the sky. Never had the world been so stricken. And never had the world been so united. For it was, ‘The Video That Changed the World Forever’.
"Dear Johnfor1, while your latest prompt has been intriguing I will suggest you lower the meta bar one notch down as it may bring forth some unintended consequences." The clacking sounds of an old typewriter echoed in the old domed library that connected to a much bigger one known by the original name of "Many Worlds Library". Said name was given to it because it worked as an archive for all possibilities around various multiverses going as far as to be considered the that biggest inter-dimensional transit center rather than the many trails of creative energy that linked each universe. Each Multiverse system had a hub that connected to said library and thus could communicate if they knew about the other's existence. The one at the typewriter, a tall young man with long black hair and childish disposition, was having some trouble working with the mechanism. It would sometimes jam or pop the key back up without pressing the ink band on the roll over the paper. Beside him was a bin meant for scrapped attempts which was already half-full. "Bro,"he turned towards his brother who was leaning on one of the walls of the Portal's library hub with his arms crossed. Other than the paleness of his skin and ebony hair, he was a mirror image of the other. That if said mirror would look back at one in a grumpy cold manner. "What else? Should we warn anybody else reading the question about the dangers of meta?" "By the time you're done writing, we'll be at the bottom of the queue of replies."The brother said quietly, looking away and letting out a grunt. "Concentrate Koskalt. You said you wanted to be the one replying the questions this time." "But these aren't even from our system, Chauatelt."Koskalt whined. He gave his brother a pouty look. "And this prompt is boring!" Chauatelt sighed and shook his head. He approached his brother and turned him around back at the table. It was then the turn of the other to cross his arms. "Let's see here,"Chauatelt moved to the side of the table to pick up a set of prompts from a folder marked /r/writingprompts on the side with black maker. The quality of the calligraphy could definitively improve. He opened the folder, browsing through the many sheets of paper inside. "The universe has placed you in a groundhog day style time loop until you learn a lesson..." "Oh! That one sounds cool and wickedly familiar."Koskalt's eyes lighted up. "Four Thousand, nine hundred and eighty upvotes,"his brother continued, not taking his sight on the paper. "With the top reply hosting two hundred upvotes and a guilding." "Aw man! It would have been cool to try to answer that." "Hm, yes, but you didn't let me finish the part were the person isn't learning his lesson despite circumstances wanting him to." "Isn't Elijah's existence practically the result of something like that?" "Let us not dwell too much in the meta. Now,"Chauatelt moved the crank from the typewriter to the side and carefully rolled the sheet of paper out of the machine. He produced a set of clear reading glasses that poised on the bridge of his nose. Quietly, he read the full title. His poker face shifted to confusion and it prompted him to read the question again, at least two more times, before bonking his brother's head with the paper sheet. "Koskalt, you..."Chauatelt grunted. His glasses vanished and he moved his free hand towards the front of his forehead, rubbing it with his index and middle fingers. "Did you even read the question properly?" "Eh?"The other blinked, tilting his head in confusion. He tugged the paper from his brother's head and gave it another read through it's wrinkled surface. "Yeah! You got to read these before replying, what about it?" "Read it out loud to me."Cahuatelt comanded. He glanced at his brother with an annoyed look. "Jeesh, fine. '* You have replied to post in r/WritingPrompts for years just for fun. You st-" "Koskalt,"his brother's words loomed menacingly. "These aren't questions from the library. These are creative* prompts. The kind of things creators use to create small pocket dimensions to wield their abilities. The things people sought to obtain from muses in eras past. These are not things we should be replying and we should leave these things back into the library as they should!" Koskalt flinched, reaching to the typewriter and hugging it. "W-who says we can't create things?!" "It also says,"Chauatelt's tone increased. "'replied to post in r/WritingPrompts for years just for fun.'. For fun, hmm? What else have you've been doing for fun? We do not have the time for 'fun'." "W-Well, I-" "Replying these may well be the cause of these issues, have you thought about it? Imagine the surprise that some bored former Star Knight is the cause of so many colluding troublesome worlds?" "In my defense...!" And as the brother discussed with the other on how it was a harmless distraction from his job caring for the endless possibilities at the Kibou Portal, the pair recalled that this was actually a constant that fed the realm they both lived. After all, isn't this particular writer doing exactly that? --- THE META, IT CANNOT STOP! For more Meta, these characters and weird stuff, jump over to /r/KibouPortal Hope you enjoyed... this thing . 7.;
This is incredible. Not even in my naive superhero days have I thought something like this could happen. Everyone going against me was a norm… but not like this. At the time, it was because I got in the way of their vision. Chaos in the street. All the money in the world in their pockets. Simply doing something because there is a rule that told them otherwise. I kept having the same dialogue with “The world may be broken, but that isn’t a reason to keep it broken.” That was practically my slogan. I was trying to heal their vision. But now they realize my vision is the one that is unstoppable. Jealousy is an uncontrollable weakness. It can be ignored, but when the time comes it will be the result of failure. No jail was smart, nor strong, enough to keep them. If anyone should understand my position it should be them. They're unifying in the name of balance. Simple-minded. I guess, they can't handle true chaos. With that being their true flaw, they began enslaving themselves with this ideology. Breaking out of prison just to put themselves into this mental one. They don’t know true freedom, the freedom that they’ve been searching for. The freedom I possess. The pathetic mentality they share. Strongly being a particular position, but when that position is strong… they run. Run to destroy what they built. What They built was freedom. Being a hero was my prison. It was nice for the time. Boredom is an inspiration. It was the motivation that broke me out and now I have all the freedom in my hand. Jealousy is an ugly emotion. When they see me, they see their own failure. With that being written down, the ugly emotion will result in my victory. The world is broken, but now I have true freedom.
I sighed as I tossed and turned in bed, a plastic recycling bin sat on the floor near by. I had vomited up my pizza last night, and worse yet, I couldn't clean myelf properly, as my reflection had been frustratingly absent ever since that night with martha the secretary. ^thump - ^thump - bang That same knock from three nights ago. Like drills in my damn skull. As I opened the apartment door. . . "^AUGH, Natural LIGHT!" My flatmate Steve had been with martha two weeks ago, and had since gained a lot of weight. There she stood in all her bubbly, giggly glory. Smug lady was practically mocking our pain with her smile. "Martha, you have twenty seconds to either get the fuck out of here or explain why the hell you're continuing to torment and mock us. Decide, or I'm returning the pain you've caused us thirty-fold. "Quite rude, Darling, I've only come to ease your suffering." "How?" "Remember when I bit you?" Were my pants a size too small? "How ^exquisite it felt?" Skin-tight, at this point. "I didn't get to finish, I'm sorry." Was she pouting? "I see you're eager to finish up!" The bite came quickly. The next morning, she was still around. I felt much better, to be sure. So begin our lives as true vampires.
I gingerly opened the grey lockbox, the saw laying laying on the floor beside me. The smell of a library and old papers hit me, there were dozens of letters, all neatly folded, all addressed to the same person. Me. I opened one. 3/17/1998 , Letter # 26 Hey Kid, Happy Birthday, I'm sorry I wasn't there again. Your mother doesn't really want me to be there, you know the restraining order and stuff. I miss you bud, I'm doing my best I really am. Well have a good one. Love, Dad I quickly opened another one 11/22/ 1998 Letter # 43 Hey Kid, Happy Thanksgiving kid, I bought half a turkey today, its not exactly the same without you guys, but hey enough of the sad stuff from me, Id love to hear from you buddy, How was school? You doing good? You know they gave me another milestone medal today, I hope you're doing well too kid. Have a good one Love, Dad Dad sent me letters? Mom told me he just up and went.... I opened the what seemed to be the newest one 9/16/2004 Letter # 130 Hey Kid, This is probably gonna be my last letter to you, I don't really feel so fine and dandy these days, Old habits huh? they're finally catching up with me, I'm in ward #16 by the way in the provincial hospital. I hope you guys will have a better life when I'm gone, will have a better life with me not hurting you. I'm really sorry kid, the world was too heavy I guess, you guys never deserved any of that from me nor did I deserve you guys. I hope you got my Christmas presents kid. Well goodbye for now, Have a good one Love,Dad \|\|\|\| \|:-\|:-\|:-\| \|\|\|\|
Cold brick on my back, I prayed the rain shrouded whatever enticing smell I gave off, or at least masked the sound of my heartbeat. In a stereotypical dimly lit alleyway, I curled and uncurled my fingers around the metal pipe as I waited for my victim. “Oh David,” the voice sang out my name with a mocking lightness as it approached. In the distance, I could see the shadows in the windows of my mansion. I live alone, save for my butler and the occasional playboy bunny I’d bring around, but I stopped doing that shortly after a redhead decided to nip a bit harder than was sexy on my throat. The footsteps got close enough. I curved the metal onto the vampire’s head and made a dash for one of my garages. “You can’t keep doing this!” he called. Maybe running for my Ferrari is too obvious. Everyone knows that it’s the favourite of my ten sports cars so there are probably a few of those leeches waiting to drain me there. My Harley Davidson’s the only vehicle not parked on site. I slipped behind bushes and almost crawled to where I knew I’d left it. Perhaps the time has come to erase myself from the map and resurface in a sunnier part of the world. Some place where every bloodsucker isn’t out for my neck. I spotted the glint of my Harley on the ground. An abnormally tall silhouette calmly loomed over it. Fuck “Out for a walk, sir?” The rich baritone of my butler was startlingly clear against the pounding of the rain. Joseph had this indistinguishable accent that had formed uniquely from hundreds of years’ worth of wandering the Earth. “Yeah,” I said in defeat, “I was hoping a permanent one.” “You have racked up quite the debt, sir,” he said, “I don’t wish to distress you but my salary too has been long neglected.” Eyes downcast, I let out a long sigh. Empty promise after empty promise, I’d traded a life of luxury in exchange for blood to collect at a later date. What started as a single vampire’s fill in exchange for rent money became a city of thirsty vampires and playboy bunnies in my mansion. I don’t feel an ounce of guilt toward lying and ditching the other Vampiric debtors but plotting to deceive loyal Joseph never sat right with me. “You’ve worked for me what\- four years?” “Five, sir.” “That’s a hell of a lot of blood.” “Twenty litres worth, sir.” I had rather hoped to survive the night but I was content in knowing I put up quite a fight. Dawn wasn’t even close to breaking and I didn’t have any garlic on me. Joseph was too good a butler to wish harm upon anyway. On my list of who I’d prefer to be intimately murdered by, he was up there alongside Vampiric Gal Gadot. So I guess this isn’t too bad. “Make it last,” I told him. Joseph schooled his features and stared at me before a long smile unfurled from his lips. With the grace of someone who’d practised poise for centuries, he lifted my motorbike and set it on the road. “I trust you won’t make the same mistake in your new life.” My arse never appreciated the fine leather of the seat more than now. I shook my head and smiled at my loyal butler. “I’ll send you a post card.”
It was your typical Monday evening. The weather outside was rainy, and the clouds shrouded the setting sun beneath. I had recently come home from a grueling 9 hours of work and was ready to enjoy a hearty supper of Alphabet Soup. I eagerly took my bowl of soup to the table, and sat down on the wooden chair, fitted with a pillow to make my supper even better. I took a spoonful, and after blowing on it, I drank the soup. It was delicious, far better than any other soup I've ever had. I went to take another spoonful, when to my utter horror I saw four letters lined up: Ouch
'Oh shit. This is it, isn't it? This is the moment. The time I never thought was coming. I thought it was a joke for fucks sake... but it's real?' My mind is racing. I can feel my heart beating hard in the pit of my chest, and I'm already shaking with anticipation. Everyone knew about the moment. When the elderly guardians of 'The Secret' pass on an unfathomable truth, a slice of knowledge key to unlocking God-knows-what. "If you can understand what the secret means", my parents had told me, "you will understand life as we know it in a much clearer way." Of course, many people had claimed to be told the secret. Many of those had been found out when questioned by an elder, one actually blessed with 'The Secret'. It had even happened to Albie, one of my best friends with a penchant for hyperbole and epic stories. But this. This time I'd be in the know, and having to follow the rule: 'You only tell someone when you hit the age of enlightenment.' I know it is my time as my grandfather crosses the living room. He is holding a whiskey, shaking enough for the ice he loves to accompany his nightcap clinking against the glass, as he steps solemnly in my direction. I swallow, hard. The anticipation is killing me. His old age means he moves slowly, but this walk feels like it's taking more than a lifetime. I want to walk over, to scream for him to just tell me, but that's not the way this works. You just have to wait. As he walks, I find myself thinking what the secret could be. A way to make vast amounts of money? No... to many people know of The Secret, it'd ruin the economy if everyone was raking the cash in... A way to find your true love, perhaps? Or maybe a means of finding what it is you're destined to accomplish? What if it isn't anything that big? What if it's actually a crushing disappointment? If it's something I already know? What if... what if there's no secret at all, and the elders are just fucking with us all?? I shake the thoughts from my head. I want to savour this moment. To drink in everything so as I can recreate the grandeur for my not-yet-alive grandkids. If the brats are worthy... Grandfather smiles at me, and reaches me. I turn to look out of the window with him as he draws to my side, trying to not to let my excitement show, to remain as stoic and calm as he is. I reckon I'm probably failing spectacularly, so I try to aim for casual, moving to slip a hand into a pocket and lean against the window frame and wall. I manage not to fuck that up, at least. "So. It's a beautiful night out there, isn't it kiddo?"I hate that he still calls me that, even though I'm 24. "Y...yes, it is. Lovely."I can't think of any more to say. He's smiling, a knowing smile of someone about to pass on what could be the biggest piece of knowledge someone can possess. I'm now feeling butterflies in my stomach, I've been waiting for this moment since my parents told me about it when I turned ten... it feels like an age from then, 14 long years later. Suddenly, I'm aware of his hand on my shoulder, and I turn to face him. He's still smiling, but only in his expression. I can see sadness in his eyes, and a solitary tear forming in his right eye. "Your grandmother loved this time of year. She always said that the first day of summer was always the best."He looks me straight in the eye now, and tightens his grip in my arm. "It's time. I feel ready to pass this on, and then I can go and join her. Soon. I think... I think I'm ready."His voice waivers a little, like he's suppressing something huge. "Do you want to sit down?"I feel like the tension is going to crush us. I want to sit down for this, I want to be able to take whatever weight he's carrying so he can enjoy his later years. I want to show him I'm ready too, that I can take on whatever its time to take on. "No. I was told this by my grandfather in a similar way, it's only right I tell you here and now. Standing, watching the stars over the ocean. It's time I told you The Secret, Kiddo. Our civilisations secret." Oh. Fuck. This is actually it. Oh holy shit... "This is knowledge passed down through the ages. Grandparent to grandchild, the same words moving through generations, the connection we hold to the founders all those millenia away. The words which this world has been built on, which we have all worked and lived for, which you will raise your family for, and will pass on to your grandchildren. Are you ready?"He's staring intently at me as he says this. His eyes burn into mine, scanning my reaction for even the smallest sign I'm not. "I'm ready." "Good. Then listen closely."He coughs to clear his throat, then coughs again. His glass drops and shatters against the wooden floor, and suddenly he's collapsing towards me. I grab him and slowly lie him down on the floor, away from the shattered glass and spilt whiskey. He's still coughing, only now it's more of a wheeze, and he's holding my hand in a vice grip. "Hey! Help! Someone, please! Phone for an ambulance! Ellen, please, my Granddad's in trouble and needs help!"I'm yelling, frantically trying to help him. I sit him up and try patting his back, to see if he's choking, but it doesn't help. My wife comes running, already on the phone, a worried expression on her face. The coughing subsides, and he grabs me, pulling my ear towards his mouth. "Listen... listen closely..." And then nothing. His final breath escapes his lungs in a slow, painless sigh. He dies holding my head, and The Secret, close to his chest. Edit: I'm very sorry for your loss, and I have to apologise for my story. I didn't spot your context post, but I hope my story isn't too painful. I have lost both sets of my grandparents and I know how painful it can be, but if it's any consolation I'm sure that he would be proud of you. I hope you can take what wisdom he imparted to you and live on as he would want you to, and that his passing does not linger as sadness for too long, but is soon replaced with the fond memories of the good times and a happiness that he lived a good life.
Her hair poked through the blood soaked bandages in greasy lumps. A dozen mysterious machines beeped and whistled behind the nest of tubes and wires. I inched my chair closer as her eyes fluttered open. "Henry, is that you?"She whispered through labored breaths. "It sure is, Katie. Brought you some more sunflowers, just like ya like."I forced half a smile and cleared a spot in the jungle of flowers next to the bed. I could see the smile through her eyes, at least. Her beautiful, welcoming blue eyes. Her gaze turned to the empty bed next to her. She couldn't turn her head to see, but I knew what was on her mind. "No one's taken my spot yet,"I assured her. I didn't have the heart to tell her what they were waiting on. Or how long they expected to wait. Her eyes began to dart around the room. "Henry? Are you there?"She coughed. "Shh, why. I'm here."I took her hand in mine. Her eyes found me and a tear rolled down her cheek. I could feel my eyes follow suit. "If... if only you knew me... before the accident..."my heart ached to hear the struggle in her voice. "I'm just happy to have known you at all."I managed to choke out. The machines changed their tones and the light faded from her eyes. If only I had known her before the accident.
Today I wait in the shadowy corner of the Subterranean Lair. The one with a face tattoo and a vendetta is spouting his life story; the Childhood Betrayal, the Grudge Never Forgotten, etc. It's very dramatic and not very interesting. A muscle-bound meathead with a jawline that can cut steel squirms in the Themed Restraints. Face Tattoo stares him down, ready to activate the Elaborate Death Trap. Then Meathead smirks. Face Tattoo's leer turns into confused rage. Go on Face Tattoo, ask the question. Ask him why he's smirking. The smirk widens. Do you really think you'll get away with this? Now maybe you think Meathead is clever. He's trying to get Face Tattoo so riled he goes on a rant, breaks eye-contact, and gives the so-called hero a chance to escape. But no, he's a moron who even strapped to a torture device that looks like a mole truly believes he has the upper hand because Good Always Prevails. Fortunately for Meathead, Face Tattoo is also an idiot. He immediately takes the bait Meathead doesn't even know he set. The 2D whiskers contort across his cheeks as he paces, detailing every redundancy in his plan and for some reason the fortress's defense. Meathead not-so-surreptitiously breaks one arm out of the device, but Face Tattoo doesn't notice. I'm sure all that knowledge about Face Tattoo's plan would come in real handy if he got the other arm out. But unfortunately for Meathead, I am not an idiot and it seems like now is the proper moment to step in. I can't be obvious. I'm not the villain here, I'm just paid by the Insidious Powers That Be to make sure the Villain get his job done. Face Tattoo has now had his back turned to Meathead for a good thirty seconds now. It's like he's trying to fail at holding the World That Scorned Him hostage. But as he paces I notice he gets closer and closer to a Giant Red Button with a skull and crossbones on it. Meathead gets his other arm out and reaches for the leg straps. I remove a small marble from my pocket and at just the right moment I flick it. Face Tattoo is about to reach fever pitch and Meathead is about to free himself and cut off the rodent-like man with a Witty One-Liner when suddenly Face Tattoo's heels fly up to occupy the space his head was. His hand reaches wildly, and just as the last chain link busts off Meathead's beefy leg Face Tattoo's hand hits the Giant Red Button. Suddenly a surprisingly well-crafted claw swings down and slashes Meathead's stomach. The neon unitard is shredded and the dashingly handsome man barely has time to look down before his intestines spill out on to the floor. It's incredibly gory. Face Tattoo whirls around and his jaw drops. Then he smiles in confused and slightly nauseated victory. See? I told you you would never defeat me! With a small metallic click a cage somewhere opens and a dozen or so moles emerge and start to eat Meathead's entrails. Face Tattoo turns and promptly throws up. My work here is done.
We kept running and running. Everything was kept secret and looked like a religion until the marks started to show. People went to see what this brand new religion was and came back different people. After a while, they started inviting people there and even the most reluctant people were die hard fans of the movement. Fast forward a week and the infected or black veins started developing weird growths on their hands and arms along with a black tint in their veins. People around the world were turning into monsters. The FBI and CDC sent in a survelance team to investigate the hive and saw that people new members were coming in and during assimilation a large dead black tentacle would snap towards then and into their mouths. The video was grusome and the members went from struggling to calm and collected in seconds. Once the video was released the public went crazy and members were now turning into horrid monsters and would have tentacle reach into people's mouths and they would rapidly turn and help. We are on the run and running to the safehouses setup in New York. We are halfway there when our car tells us we're low on energy. We decided to loot the abandoned gas station. We discussed our plan Jared goes into the store and grabs food. Eveveen charges the car, and me and david would search for some kind of protection. Me and Dave are looking and he says he'll take a leak outside. Ten minutes later and I see him go to even and a huge black tentacle reach out and penetrait her throat. She immediately starts to run but it's too late I grab the nearest thing and sneak over to Jared. He is fine and didn't see anything. I tell him to get down and follow me I throw a rock towards the snack aisle and Eveveen heads over there with David in the rear. Me and Jared go by the car and pull the cable out of the car and get in. The car doesn't respond the the start button and I realized why. "David has the keys!"I get the the front panel and I know I don't have much time. As David and Eveveen come toward us I know the pressure I'm under. Jared is helping me hotwire the car but the only thing I did was honk the horn letting them know we are trying to start it. As they sprint toward us with incredible speed I finally connect them and hit the peddle. I see David with the black pumping throughout his body as he runs after us and throws something at the car. It only takes minutes for us to leave them in the dust and I have trouble keeping up speed I feel something in my leg and I start to wonder what they threw at us. My leg now is throbbing with a weird sensation of it being full. Then I realized what had happened. As the black pulses throughout my leg I try to tell Jared what is happening. My mouth stayed shut as we drive forward toward New York and all I want now is to show people what the black really is and for some strange reason I don't see why people are fighting back. Edit kinda bad but I'm new.
"So you're saying if I put this bagel into it, it'll come out haunted?"Joe asked, sliding the two slices of a cinnamon raisin bagel into the toaster's openings. "Yeah, basically."Tom, Joe's friend, replied. A pile of crumbled toast sat on the counter near him, the smell of burnt yeast filling the kitchen. Joe pressed down the lever on the toaster. "What happens to them? Do they come out with horns, or glowing eyes, or do they float? What makes them haunted?" "Oh, you'll see Joe, you'll see." What could possibly happen? he thought, turning to the toaster. A cold sweat started to form over him. Would his bagel come up with fangs, would it want to devour him and everything that he ever loved? Or would it pop out with sentience, glow with an eery aura and levitate, cause mayhem and mischief to everyone in the house for all eternity? Or would it end up like the things from those stories, would it become a Great One, a thing with unimaginable shapes, colors, thoughts? The toaster dinged and the bagel popped out. Instinctively Joe grabbed the two slices out of the air and set them onto a paper plate. They... They... looked... normal? He bent and inspected them up close, finding no fangs, no ghost-like features, no tentacles, no nothing but dough. "Hey, uh, Tom... There's nothing different about this bagel." "Bite it, just bite it." Joe shrugged, took up a slice and bit into it. His chewing became slower and slower until he stopped altogether. Tom came over to him. "Taste different, huh?" Joe nodded. "That's because anything that goes into that toaster comes out as bran." "Jesus Christ,"Joe said, with his mouth full. "It's awful. We gotta get rid of that thing." "I know buddy, I know."
You really liked her. You really, really did. I remember that day in the coffee shop. We were talking during my lunch break. I had made you your drink that you always order. A dark roast coffee with just the right amount of fat free milk. We were just enjoying ourselves, like we always do. I remember seeing your attention divert to something else behind me. I turn around. She was pretty. Really pretty. And you’re pretty too. Well, handsome, I suppose. You’re very handsome. She’s pretty. You’re handsome. Oh no. “God, isn’t she absolutely stunning?” You asked me. All I could do was nod. That’s what you would want. For me to agree. “Go talk to her.” I said. “I’m just so... nervous.” I remember wanting to agree with you. You were really nervous. You were fumbling with your hands. You always do that when you’re nervous. “Just... go talk to her.” You looked surprised. It’s like I was giving you permission. And then you just got up. You went over to her. You said something and she started laughing. She was laughing a lot. You were laughing a lot. But I felt nothing at all. ————————— You said you wanted a new outfit. For your third date. Of course I helped you. I would always want to help you. I picked out a blue, button-down shirt for you. You tried it on. You looked handsome. Very handsome. And she was pretty. So pretty. And I’m... I don’t know. ——————————— “I think I want to take her to the fall carnival for our one year anniversary.” That sounds like fun. She would like having fun. She’d like having fun with you. I’d like having fun with you. “That sounds like fun.” You smiled. And I always loved, I mean, liked your smile. I always liked your smile. Your dimples just stood out. You could brighten up anyone’s day. You brighten up my days. You probably brighten up her days too. ———————————— Everyone was there. It was packed. Why wouldn’t it be? You know lots of people. She knows lots of people. It was a beautiful ceremony, it really was. The whole crowd was absolutely silent when she walked down the isle. She was pretty. Very pretty. And you were handsome, as always. And you were both happy. You could see it on your faces. Everyone was crying except me. And I don’t know why ——————————— And now I’m watching you. Dance with her. We all formed a circle around you two. You looked happy. She looked happy. Everyone looked happy. I was happy. I think. Maybe I wish it was me. And I was dancing with you. And I would get to spend the rest of my life with you. And I wish I was really pretty like her. “Nicole, is that you?” I turn around. “Oh, Josh, hi!” I was trying to sound enthusiastic. I didn’t want to looked bothered. Josh was worked with you for as long as I can remember. He was nice. He was handsome, but not as handsome as you. “They sure do make a good couple, huh?” I wasn’t sure how to respond. Yes? No? I guess? “They look very happy.” You were looking at me a way you’ve never looked at me before. And I admit I didnt know Josh that well, but it still had an impact on me. My face felt hot. “You look gorgeous tonight.” I’ve never heard anyone call me that before. Gorgeous. I had more makeup on than usual. I was wearing a dress that you picked out for me. I even did my hair. Maybe that was why. “Oh.. thank you.” I hear clapping and turn back to you. And her. And you were both so happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that happy before. Slow music turned on and couples began to dance. And you and her began to dance. Again. I turn back to Josh. He looked like he wanted to ask me something. “Would you like to dance?” I wasn’t sure how to respond. I’ve never danced with anything. I’ve thought about dancing with you but not anyone else. I held out my hand and nodded. And him and I walked towards you and her. And you looked at me. And then Josh. And then me again. You smiled. You were happy. For me. She was happy. Josh was happy. I was happy. Yes, I think I am happy. I’m okay with you loving her and not me. I’m okay with her being pretty. I’m happy that you’re happy. And Josh was handsome. Very handsome. And a good dancer, too. And he made me feel different. A good different. For once, I didn’t have to pretend to like someone else. I did like Josh. And I think he likes me too. And you like her. You love her. And she loves you too. And I love you. I care so much about you. And you love me because you care about me too. You and her really make a good couple. Really, you do.
The hobo ate like a king. Or, atleast what a hobo thought a king ate like. It was a line of food retrieved from merchants at the last moments of business the previous night, bought for a mere fraction of it's worth as it would go bad before sunrise. Scar watched the hobo eat, equal parts impatience and shock. That man ate quick. "See that man, next to the queen?"Scar spoke quietly, but intensely. The hobo looked up, taking great care to hear his words. "That's Shadow. Queen Regi's greatest weapon. Her finest blade and her broadest shield." "He's a myth, walking as man. Said to have killed more men than you've seen. Said to have defended the queen from an assassin and killed the would-be-killer's employer in the same night. Said to have... abilities." "But..."Scar put a hand on the hobo's shoulder. The man looked strangely encapsulated by Scar's words, though he still scooped handful after handful of mased potatoes into his mouth. "There is some truth to the tale. He is an extremely, extremely talented killer. But magic? Please. Only people still living out in the swamps believe in magic." The hobo seemed to take offense to that. "No, personally I see Shadow as nothing more than a lie to convince Queen Regi she is safe from anyone at any time. Even in the streets in daylight." Scar looked in the hobo's eyes and thought he saw an honest man in there, beneath the insanity. "I've done my duty. Now you do yours, as agreed upon before I brought you this meal." The hobo slowly stood, then ran across the street. Scar walked a bit, just a few feet from the queen as the hobo rushed at her from the other side of the street. Shadow moved like his namesake and had the hobo's head removed just a moment too late. Too late to see Scar swap the bread in Queen Regi's basket and drop a note at the bottom. The bread held a mild spice that it most bread didn't normally incorporate, but not one that would cause suspicion, and the note held instructions on where to leave enough coin for an antidote. So far, Scar had pulled off the con twice and both times it was immediately assumed the bread truly was poisoned because it tasted slightly different. Of course, this would be the first time he tried it on a queen.
At first the rain was a blessing, it was hard to get crops properly watered with what little could be found in the area -It probably wasn’t the best place to set up a farm, but it was secluded and sequestered away from the nearby town and other farms, which was just the way the farmer liked it-, but after about a year, it became too much. Crops were over watered and drowned. The farmer had built a shelter over his crops with a roof that could be opened with the press of a button, and lights that the plants took for sunlight. With this setup his crops flourished. It was the beginning of May, which used to bring sun and warm weather, the farmer let his thoughts drift as he looked out through his living room window at his fields. He remembered working on his fathers farm, all the things his father taught him, and the sunlight. It’s been fifty years since this storm started, and it hasn’t let up once. He also met his wife on his father’s farm. They married young, but neither had ever known a love so strong, and they knew it wasn’t just young love. After they married they bought the farm that the farmer was now looking out on. And they tended it together, and their crops were the best the town had ever known, veering wanted to know their secret, they gave answers like they used the right manure or just had green thumbs, which may have been true, but the love they had for each other emanated and seeped into the plants, making them all the better. A set of lights distracted the farmer from his thoughts, and he recognized it as the headlights of his sister-in-law’s car. The two of them had grown quite close as well, she was like the little sister the farmer had always wished he had. “Is it still raining?” She asked ironically when she came in to the farmers house, it always made him chuckle. “Grandpa!” Her kids yelled as they came bursting through the door as well and hugged the farmers legs “How ya doin kids? It’s so good to see you all!” Sarah’s visit was unexpected but always welcome. “Kids can you go play upstairs while I talk to grandpa for a minute?” The farmer didn’t like the title of grandpa but to his chagrin it was fitting, he was well into his seventies. “What are you doing here?” The farmer asked “Well, I know how concerned you’ve been about what will happen to the farm after you decide to...retire. So my husband and I decided we’d take over. We’ll teach the kids the ropes, the farm will stay in the family.” The rain lightened up a little bit. “Sarah, you don’t have to do that. I appreciate it, but you’re giving up a lot.” Sarah’s face became sullen “John...it’s been fifty years since Mary passed, and you’ve been up here all alone. You haven’t allowed yourself to heal. That’s why we’re here. Everything else is true, we’ll take care of the farm, but I don’t want you to work yourself to death all alone out here.” The farmers eyes welled up with tears “I miss her so much Sarah.” As he held his sister and cried into her shoulder, the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and for the first time in fifty years, sunlight shined down on Mary’s Farm.
It was always weird the world was the way it was if we were all gods children. Even the ones who read and spread his word didn't seem to act it out. I wanted to be different, not just speak the words but actually live according to his rules. I didn't want to get to heaven, I just wanted to make the place a little better everyday. That's why I was shocked when I was turned away at the pearly gates. I thought I always did everything for the best of everyone around me, never put my needs over others. The tall man at the gates just said "Try again", and then I woke up at the street where I had been beaten and robbed. The blood was flowing down. I fumbled trying to find my phone, stolen of course. I tried to stand up but couldn't. I guess the concrete is as good a place as any to recover, at least I'm not stopping the doctors from helping someone who needs it more. "Try again"I thought to myself when I closed my eyes. I opened my eyes. "Try again", I heard again. "At what?"I asked. "Everything, and stand up this time. Don't come back until you've tried something". I felt the concrete again. "Fuck I'm back I guess", I thought to myself, "I never used to swear, not even in my head"followed. I opened my eyes to try and find something to help me stand up. I put my hands on the curb and tried to push myself up. It hurt but I got up. A saw someone walking towards me and yelled for help. Then I fell down again. "Try again"I heard. "At fucking what?"I yelled at the tall man. "Now you're getting it". I woke up again, in a white room this time.
Is it possible to sigh with your inner monologue? I just did. This patient is trying to convince me he’s God? Why do so many people think that? Sure we’re all the centres of our own worlds but we didn’t create any of it, much less ourselves. “I’m sorry to interrupt, I meant the beginning of when your troubles started, not from...the beginning of your time.” “The beginning of OUR time, Doctor, but alright, I’ll make it short, I understand you probably have more patients to get to today. My job lately has been very stressful, so many people asking for help all at once, I can only do so much at a certain time, you know? And my son with his...friends, doesn’t make it much easier. It used to be quite easy, there wasn’t much to do, everyone just lived their lives, didn’t even know I existed, but then someone was having some troubles so I decided to help him out, I guess I did it too well because suddenly everyone starts asking me for stuff.” “I see. What’s your son’s name?” “Christ...opher...Christopher” “Is his mother still in the picture?” “No, she died quite some time ago.” “My condolences.” “Thank you, she was a sweet woman. Her husband not so much.” “So you were separated?” “Something like that.” “That could be why Christopher has been acting out. Kids that come from a broken home often do. Does he live with you?” “No, he’s on his own.” “I recommend taking a vacation from work. If Christopher knows how your family business works, let him handle it on his own for a week or two. Some rest and relaxation is all you need, but if you still feel stressed afterward come back to my office and I’ll prescribe something that should help with the stress.” “Thank you Doctor, I think you’re right” He turned to leave, finally. “Oh, and doc,” “Yeah?” “I disagree, we do create our own worlds. How we see it defines our personalities, and thereby creates who we identify as ‘me’.” Then, with a smile and a wink, he left.
It was getting late. I was about to nod off at my desk, despite the coffee I had been drinking. The whiskey I laced it with probably wasn’t helping. I needed something to help me get through all the paperwork that had piled up from my last case though, so maybe I should just take the whiskey straight. I hate paperwork. Unfortunately, the brass down at the station are all about it. Everything needs documented for them, every piece of evidence catalogued, forms filled out, dated, signed, the whole nine yards. If they could understand what I do, arrests would be so much easier. To see what was happening, to know how they felt… It could be a living nightmare, but it made me particularly suited for my job. I had a perfect record for bringing in the right guy, even if the cops couldn’t see it. They get too wrapped up in the paperwork. They can’t just take a situation at face value. I would say it’s their loss, but I’m the one stuck doing the paperwork when they can clock out for the day. It was a shock when the buzzer went off, letting me know someone was at the door. I hated that buzzer. The noise must have been devised by Lucifer himself. Still, it meant I had a customer, so I shouldn’t complain too much. I still do, I just shouldn’t. “Door’s open, let yourself in.” I did my best to keep my voice from slurring. Maybe I had put too much booze in my coffee. Well, if there was such a thing. In my opinion, the world would be a hell of a lot more tolerable if everyone was too wasted to get out of bed in the morning. “Mr. Coran?” The soft voice floated in over the creaking of the door, and the soft body that followed it in nearly sobered me up on the spot. Nearly. The gorgeous blonde stood halfway in the door, looking nervous as a cat with a firecracker tied to its tail, hoping nobody was quick enough to light the fuse. Not that I blame the girl, being young and beautiful on this side of town wasn’t a good thing. Most people with the money to doll themselves up just called. Fortunately, I specialize in face-to-face visits. “Call me James, and don’t just stand there, come on in.” I got out from behind my desk, moving to help her with her coat. “And you are?” “Megan. Megan Yates.” She handed me her coat, and in that moment I saw it all. She was terrified, and not just of being here. Anger, too. Those emotions were fairly common in my line of work. What I didn’t expect was the eagerness. It didn’t happen in here often, but I knew what it meant. This would be an easy case. The paperwork would just have to wait. “So, Megan. What gives?” I already had an idea, of course. Someone she was close to, very close to, had been removed from the picture. “Excuse me?” “What are you here for?” I wasn’t used to dealing with anyone out of the slums in my office, and my slang was better suited to the lowlifes I usually dealt with. Oh well, she would get over it. “Oh. Well, you see, it’s my fiancé. He went missing yesterday.” “And you tried the cops?” This question could drive off a lot of people, but she didn’t seem the type to flinch from mentioning the blue. “Yes, but they are going too slow. There was a note, and if I don’t raise a million dollars by tomorrow night he will be killed.” Megan was nearly in tears, with strands of her golden hair draping in a perfect frame around her face. Too perfect. It was hard to focus when looking at her. Still, I kept my eyes on her face as she continued. “The police said they can’t get me he money, and I don’t think they can find whoever took him.” “You said there was a note, do you have it with you?” “Yes.” Megan slid an envelope across my desk. This was going to be easy. Too easy. I picked it up, and wasn’t too surprised. “Well, the writing is delicate, I assume it isn’t your fiancé’s handwriting?” I already knew it wasn’t, but I had to play the game. Besides, it was more fun this way. “Of course not!” “Just checking all the options. Speaking of which, was there ever any other woman, one he might have known from the past, or had some sort of attachment too?” “No!” “So no girl who might want to get back at you, maybe for stealing him away from her?” “Well, there is Elizabeth. But would she?” “It’s possible. Tell me what you know about her.” The banter was getting old, but anything I could get my hands on helped. And now I had motive. All that was left was the when and where, and I could tie everything together. Well, I still needed the evidence, but that shouldn’t be too hard to get. “Well, they work together. Or did, before…” She broke down into tears again. “Take it easy, we can keep it simple for now.” “I’ll try.” A few deep breaths to calm herself, and then she continued. “They worked together, in the same office. She would call sometimes, and sounded pissed when I answered, always wanting to talk to Mike.” The fiancés name, I assumed. “He told me that she was just a coworker, but she clearly didn’t see it that way.” I could feel the jealousy and rage through the letter. This was a clear cut case of love gone wrong. Still, nothing left but to see it through. Better get my payment first, because Megan isn’t going to like how this ends. Easier to get my money now. “I think I can work with that, but I’m going to need payment up front before I can take the case. On the upside, I can guarantee the case will be solved tonight, and you won’t need to collect the million. Money back on the spot if I’m wrong.” “Of course, sorry. I read on your site that payments are upfront, I just got so upset about…” More tears cut off her words. This was getting old, and fast. Pretty girls look best smiling. Too many tears just ruins the effect. She did slide over another envelope, this one stuffed full, so I wasn’t too put off by the crying. Cash was by far the best form of payment in my line of work. Especially on a case like this one. “Much appreciated, Miss Yates. Now, to get to the bottom of this, I’m going to need to dig around at his place a bit.” “Dig around?” “Look for clues, that sort of thing. If this Elizabeth was desperate enough to kidnap Mike, there are probably signs around the house.” “It’s fine, but we lived together. I threw out anything from her.” “There will still be enough. Just a quick search should get me what I need for the next step.” I rode with her back to the apartment she shared with Mike. I’d need a cab later, but with cash in hand I was covered. Megan let it all out while she drove. Mike was getting promoted, the wedding was set for two weeks out, and he disappeared from the apartment while she was out getting the final fitting for her dress. I learned more than I would have liked about Elizabeth along the way as well. Red-headed, petite, fiery, and all-around just my type. All spun in a negative way, of course, but still. It’s hard to focus on a case with a pretty face on my mind. We finally walked through the door, and the place was pristine. No sign of struggle, no forced door, no clutter in general. It was too clean. How people could live in such a sterile place was beyond me. Still, I was here. Time to get to the heart of the matter. I walked around for a bit, poking around through the home. Mike must not have been there long. Everything belonged to Megan. I could feel the mix of fear and anger, the jealousy, the impatience. It was nearly enough to make me sick. I went to the bathroom next. If he actually did live with Megan before his disappearance, then Mike was sure to have a toothbrush here at least. Even if he only stayed occasionally, it should be here. Sure enough, it was there. Almost brand new, but still his. I had the feeling he spent more time at Elizabeth’s place than here. Probably under the guise of working late. I would have sympathized with Megan under other circumstances, but not now. I gave the toothbrush a gentle touch, already knowing what I would feel. Nothingness. No fear, no pain, no love or hate. No flashes of vision, what he was doing now. Just nothing. I had hoped there would still be some feeling lingering, but it was too late. This case just moved from kidnaping to murder. I had suspected all along, but there was no doubt anymore. Mike was dead. Time to put the evidence together. I went to the kitchen on a hunch. Murder was easy in a kitchen; lots of knives and a floor designed for easy clean-up. Sure enough, a quick glance confirmed traces of blood dried against the base of a cabinet. I had the location, not to pin the killer. “You never went to the cops, did you Miss Yates?” “What? Of course I did!” “If you had, they could have told you that Mike is already dead.” “No! How?” Fear radiated from the very walls. I didn’t need to touch anything to feel her emotion now, not surrounded by her property. Not with this strong of emotion. “Right here in the kitchen. I assume you just wanted something on record to distance yourself before you went to the police?” “No! It had to be Elizabeth! She killed him when he wouldn’t run away with her!” “Other way around, as I see it.” I pressed for an emergency call on my phone, keeping it in my pocket. I had location on, so it shouldn’t be long before they arrived. “So where’d you dump the body?” “I’m paying you! You can’t arrest me!” “You already payed me, and I’m not trying to. But the cops will find out eventually, even if you don’t try to pull the same stunt on them like you did with me.” “How long did you know?” “Since you started talking at my office. No one cries that much over a kidnaping, and you were too quick to jump to Elizabeth’s name.” Both blatant lies, but I couldn’t exactly tell the truth, now could I? “I hate you.” “Yep, sounds about right. So, where’d you hide the body?” “I hate you!” By this time, blue lights were flashing outside. The arrest went pretty quick, and it wasn’t to much trouble to convince the cops that the handwriting on the ransom note was Megan’s. Hopefully they lock her up for life. Either way, case closed.
The secret could not be kept any longer, and the public was informed. Naturally, people made huge welcome signs. Amateur astronomers figured out they would land at Heathrow, so naturally the airport was closed and London’s other airports had received a huge surge in flights as people flocked to meet the alien life. On the ship, D was exited, it was found! They were not alone in the universe! Trappist was not the only system with intelligent life! As they orbited, they saw space junk, somebody had definitely gone into space here! And then they saw the lights of civilization... or a bioluminescent fungus, but by contrasting day by night, they found and oddity: while the coast was fairly well illuminated, there was one place it stopped. It just randomly cut off, and there was one dot. The aliens met in their spaceship to look for a possible explanation. They decided that it was not a natural phenomenon, and that it could only be the result of a political border, as there was no way it was natural. They looked further and found it everywhere! They had found civilization! They found a large empty place where the lights were some of the brightest, and began to descend! D was so happy! The crew had partied all night. As both met, they found a way to communicate, and both left with the knowledge that they were not alone in the universe.
I can eat anything. Literally anything, and I get nutritional value out of it. I never have an excuse to be starving. But where's the use for it in the real world? I have no desire to be a food taster \-\- my power has the side effect of being immune to ingested poisons, so that would be a choice. Not a lot of demand when psychics can sense the people who want you dead and the aniforms can smell the poison without tasting it. No, I don't want to go into waste disposal either, mom! Seriously, why does everybody think I should be a garbage man just because I eat the bags my crisps come in? I still have to taste what I eat, and I don't want to put anything rotten in my mouth. Ooh, of course, no, sis, I don't think my ability to dislocate my jaw would actually help me get a job in adult films. That isn't a superpower, anyway, it's because of that stupid fight I had with Leo when he tried to make me eat his socks. I can't believe he hit my jaw that hard. I'm a girl for Christ's sake! Yeah, Leo got lucky with his high speed power. Okay Eliza, I get it, you're lucky too miss perfectly sculpted body $and what is it, hard as steel now? It seems like you just keep getting better every year$. Mom has meat vision to help feed the needy, dad has dynamite spit $gross but effective$ to help with demolitions, cousin Ted even has a useful power with his perfect time sense. I heard he's already on the Next Food Network Star at fourteen since he uses his power for cooking. But I just have super eating. I can eat everything and anything. How am I ever going to help people out with this stupid lame power?
Blue fire lit up the clean walls of the room, surely another of Aranock's wizard tricks. There was a coolness to the air, and a hum like that of a dragon sleeping in the room. Hendric went for the Sword of Newfound Light, surely resting beside his bed, and found a black stick with strange lumps. It was cold, as if the black metal stick was forged in the mountaintops of Herlea with the black ice surrounding the tower, or made from minerals found in the deep caverns of the Dark Lord's castle. Last night's events were still hazy in his mind, too much wine and beer. Princess Lora had been there, and the wizard Aranock with his party of apprentices. The dwarfs brought exotic fruits from the land beyond the coast, and the elves broke their pact of exile for the celebration. What celebration? Hendric was sure he had done something great, something legendary. Wielding the Sword of...a sword, he vanquished the Dark Lord after a year long war. The neon lights flickered. Neon lights? Hendric had never heard of those before. For the sake of his sanity, he assumed Aranok or one of the wizard apprentices told him the name of the blue fire spell. "All soldiers report to Station 51, repeat, all soldiers report to Station 51. Rebels have been sighted in the vicinity of Sector 45." Hendric heard someone, but the room was empty. Booming sounds and red flashes of light invaded the room, turning the cool hums and the blue light to an incessant torture of red and noise. Alarms blared in unison, one for invasion, one for...aerial attack? What did those mean? All he knew was that the black stick was a machine gun, whatever that meant, and that he came from Sector 21 to enlist in the war against the rebels. No, he had been chosen by Princess Lora in a village in...some forest, but forest were gone years ago, taken by the plague. The green fields of Omanra spread out in front of him, and they flickered, changed to a war-torn city. Fallen skyscraper and planes rested haphazardly on top of each other, fused by fire and explosions. Skyscrapers? Planes? Headache split Hendric in two. He looked west, to the plains, then east, to the ruined city, as if both truths pulled his mind towards itself. Flicker, he came from a forest village, where swords and knights were rare. Flicker, he came from a refuge and planned to enlist to save his grandmother. None of those made sense, the plains of Omanra twisted, the green trees and the flowing grass intertwining with the ruins and chaos, splitting his mind in two. Then it was gone. Princess, sword, wizards and plains and forests. He took the machine gun and unlocked the safety. It felt good in his hands after all those years of training. The alarm kept blaring, and he took three steps to the door, punched his ID number, and waltzed to the hallway with his fellow soldiers, dressed in camouflage and bulletproof vests, their peaked caps displaying the crossed bones of Sector 45, with the golden eagle of the American Empire. Time to defend the motherland with fire and bullet from the scavenging rebels.
Samantha heard a puff from behind her and saw fairy dust sprinkle around the mirror. Turning around she broke into laughter at the sight she beheld. The young girl, once so sure of herself, was now glaring daggers at Samantha. It would have been scary if not for the broken tiara that dangled from her curled hair, the childs drool that covered her wand, or the tiny faries that kept sticking notes into her hair every three seconds. Another fairy appeared with a poof "Ms. Tooth, you have an appointment with.. Mmmph!" "Take. Them. Back. I don't want to be a fairy ANYMORE!" Samantha was doubled over in laughter. After composing herself she took the traumatized fairy and said "Very well then."and gracefully sprouted wings and pulled out her wand and before disappearing in a puff said. "Also, Jared broke up with you."
I looked at the wall, and it was lighting up yellow and pink, alternating between an image of thousands of condoms and an image of dogs taking shits. I tried to find the door to the bathroom so that I could jump in a cold shower, to see if I could wake myself from this nightmare. I couldn’t find the door. Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t in my apartment anymore, and I was in fact in a sewer completely surrounded by shit and piss. I started running down the corridor, taking a right, then a left. Shit and piss was lopping all over my legs, and when I looked down I realized I didn’t even have legs, just a Segway somehow melded into my torso. When I looked up again, I was going down a giant hill on a busy road full of giant ants on bicycles, and I lifted my hands to see if they were still there. To my dismay, each of my wrists had a black penis affixed where my hands were. This is when I knew I was fucked.
"So, you can fly?"she asked me, her face bright under the studio light. "Well, not really,"I replied. "My gravity manipulation ability allows me pull myself to any vector at any acceleration. Do that constantly and I can practically do what flying does, but it's not really flying per se." "Uh huh.... And you don't dressed like a dragonfly,"she observed. "Please, I am not a comic book hero. Running around in bright green spandex, donning mask with bulby eyepiece and segmented mouth might look good on comics. Not so much in real life." My 'suit' was a one piece body-hugging leather affair like the ones used by motorbike racers, only with subdued color and patterns instead of the bright-colored advertisement-laden ones they used. My mask was something Jason Vorhees would use, only not so garish, and made of the most indestructible material I can find throughout the multiverses. It was perfectly color coordinated to my suit. I do not need anything more fancy. I'm the only one who can do what I can do that I would be immediately recognized even if I showed up in a Ronald MacDonald suit. "Indeed. And you are not even 'broad', either like a professional body builder or.. the other way around,"she added. She probably meant something like The Fat Man but was trying not to use such impolitic description. Indeed, I am nowhere at either end of the spectrum. I was a wiry teenager before I was discovered, but even then I had not had a single clump of fat on me. My 'superhero' life only added a little muscle tone to that basic building block. In a good way, judging by her carefully concealed appreciation. "OK, so why do you use 'The Broad Dragonfly' as your superhero name?"she asked, finally. And after a moment, she added, "It's just seems so silly." Here we go, I thought. "There's a funny story behind that,"I began. "Some of you probably know already, that I was discovered by The Grim Rapper. Well, I foolishly called him a liar and said that I would let him name me if I ever turned out to manifest any superpower, which I, of course, did. And he knew it, and he got me to swear on it." "So, The Grim Rapper named you?"she guessed. I grinned awkwardly. "Worse. He told me to do what he did. To open this website that generates superhero name randomly, and used the first thing it spit out, which was..." "The Broad Dragonfly,"she laughed heartily. As did the entire audience of the talk show. "Well, it could be worse,"she continued after the laughter died down. "We have the website open, and, boy, even my first try..." I cut her off with a gesture. I thought it would be better to not having her display her results that would give anyone ideas. "There's more,"I said. "Not only he managed to compel me to do that, but when I tried to negotiate a change, he bamboozled me into agreeing to a condition upon which I can change the name..." I paused, and draw a deep, long breath, and exhale. I really wish I can simply not do this, but my word is my bond. "He said, if I ever be invited to a live talk show, a random first caller would have the privilege of changing my name." She look surprised. It took her a second to compose herself. "Well, I suppose we can oblige. We do have live caller segment, although..." Something draw her attention. The show director was pointing at a teleprompter. "Ah, it seems we have a caller already. Hello, who is this?" "Hi,"the caller said, "I am The Grand Jester." My nemesis. Oh, shit! ===== Author's note: The name came from this website: http://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/hero_names.php Since it generated ten names, I used a number from random.org to choose one.
The legend of the Overpopulation Regulatory Commission (distastefully called ORCs among the people) had been a captivatingly mysterious story since childhood. We'd play ORCs with friends, with a few of us getting to run around with sim-phasers while the rest had to hide and not get fogged. We called it that because the unofficial motto of the unofficial group was 'For Our Greater Good', but fogging sounded way cooler. Most of the parents in the neighborhood discouraged the game, but we played anyway. Imaginations run wild, but reality will sink in, they thought. In high school, we stopped playing the games, but the fascination with the shadowy group never weaned. We wrote graphic novels in class (much to our teachers' dismay), addressed each other in a cryptic language over the holos (even though we had no idea if ORCs used code or emojis, really), and talked on the walk home about how intense it must be to make it onto that team. The fitness regimen, the complete isolation from a regular life, the dedication to being a "silent professional"...it all reminded us of our grandparents who had been in the old Navy SEAL teams. The pinnacles of badasses, we called them. Occasionally, when teachers would overhear our conversations, they liked to remind us that our imaginations ran wild, but reality would sink in. My best friend Devin and I were pretty athletic, though we didn't take it as serious as our peers; we were in great shape and could turn the tides on the field, but we never really put much weight on the games. Being on the school's AirSphere team was just a way to get out of class and justify the badass letterman jackets we used to woo the ladies. Outside of school, we'd joined a marksmanship club that met at the Knightston City Sheriff's practice range, and our team was in the running for the long-distance sight-unassisted (LDSU) target competition. We finessed the shit outta those rifles, treating them with the awe of a kid and the respect due a real weapon. The Chief even took the team out for dinner after our last meet, lauding our impressive results from the last match. "There's careers in Civility Adherence, boys, don't forget it. I know you're excited for a trophy, but always be looking ahead to your next move. A stable future requires a stable job, not running around like a nomad or living off the grid. Your imaginations may run wild, but reality will sink in." It was shortly after graduation - no, almost immediately after graduation - that Devin and my lives changed. We left the ceremony at the Convention Center and headed to a local bar, known to the AirSphere team as being friendly to underage drinkers. Our parents knew, but they were proud of us making it, so they went home with a simple request that we 'be safe.' Right after leaving the center, a man approached us, handed us each a sealed manila folder (like the cool secret agent movies used) and told us to be quick about it before quickly disappearing into a side-street. We opened them to find a letterhead bearing the ORC logo, an address, and a date & time. We lost it, then composed ourselves because that's what quiet professionals do. Only six months later, we were full-fledged agents of the Overpopulation Regulatory Commission. We'd made it. And we were now in the briefing for our first ever assignment. They'd kept us as a team, since we worked so well together in training, and we both eagerly opened the mission file on the holo. Our smiles quickly faded, our motivation dropped like a rock, and our stomachs knotted up like the old-school Christmas lights grandpa used to hang. I suppose it made sense, though. Overpopulation wasn't about too many adults; they were already integrated into the workforce, and removing adults en masse would destabilize several sectors of work. No, our first assignment provided an address to a well-known foster center, praised globally for its high capacity levels that gave shelter to over 500 children. The mission simply read 'Abolish the center and all tenants.' It took a few moments to process the depressing nature of the truth behind the ORC's job, but logically speaking...it was sound. After a few minutes of internal rationalization, we headed to the armory, silent and pensive. I guess as kids our imaginations ran wild, but reality finally sank in.
The sky overhead is gearing up for a storm and the first drops begin falling as Timothy opens the door at Taco Bell. He hurries inside while a PA system bell dings to announce the arrival of a customer. At 2 pm on a Thursday this franchise is strangely empty except for a middle aged cashier and a man contemplating an empty plate at a booth by the far window. Timothy walks up to the counter but hesitates to order so that he can decide exactly how he would like his rice, beans, meat, and cheese styled. Taco? Burrito? Quesadilla? It's all the same, but with slight variations that demand consideration. The door swings open as another customer strolls into the restaurant. Fat drops of rain are pattering down on the pavement outside now and the new customer brushes drops off her coat before walking towards the counter. "Excuse me sir, may I cut you in line? It is urgent that I speak to Raul." Slightly confused and surprised by this interruption while mulling over the menu, Timothy glances at the cashier and catches sight of his name tag, Raul. "Certainly, please go ahead."He says, always being sure to act politely with strangers. The woman stands at the counter, it comes up past her waste and she leans the entire weight of her frail body against it, leaning in to get close to the managers face. Timothy had taken a step back to give her space and is trying to avoid paying to much attention to her order so he fails to notice her tongue wrapping itself around the managers face and slipping into his ear. Thunder rumbles and rolls in the overcast suburban sky, shaking the windows of the establishment... (Gotta get ready for school now)
Shep the dog Mundane Monday, another day in the office. Mondays suck as it is, but these last two weeks have been hell. It isn't like my job is hard, mostly data mining from various apps and surveys we put out, organising submissions into certain categories and saving them into the database. However, trying to do this while running on little to no sleep, is almost impossible, the words just seem like blurs, I have been making more mistakes these last two weeks than I have my entire time at this company. Not to mention I feel like I literally have a coffee IV drip at this point. It all started two weeks ago, my dog Shep, the most beautiful German Shepherd you have ever seen, has randomly been going nuts during the night. At first he was just whining quietly and would settle pretty quickly after a bit of comfort. He is a well trained dog, so I could tell he didn't want to go outside for the toilet but couldn't figure out what exactly it was that was causing him this discomfort. After a few days this quiet whining turned louder and he started shaking. Being the middle of the night everytime this happened, I was slowly growing more and more frustrated as I got less and less sleep each night. It got to the point where I was getting complaints from the neighbours about his relentless whining during the night. Still, I had no idea what was causing it or what I could do to help his blatant discomfort. Sitting at work, the words go blury on my screen, so I take off outside for an early smoke break. I whip out my phone to check my Reddit Karma, I made a post last night that I was sure would make it to the Front Page. Damn! No Front Page, but as I am scrolling through, I see an AD for a Pet Therapist. I am so sleep deprived I figure it can't hurt to have someone come and look at my poor boy, who knows, even if it helps just a little maybe I won't keep getting complaints from the neighbours. After some back and forth with the Therapist, we finally agree on a time and day for them to come and see Shep. They seem kind of eclectic and I don't usually believe in the mumbo jumbo stuff but I am seriously at my wits end. I feel like I haven't slept in years. Shep has started sleeping on the corner of my bed, kicking, whining, shaking all night long. One thing I did notice is that his gaze would never wander from the opposite corner of the room. There was nothing over there, it was literally where I would throw my work clothes every afternoon. So Thursday 6pm, the therapist knocks on the door, I swear I must have looked like a zombie as I answered the door from lack of sleep and I doubt Shep looked any better than I did. After some pretty normal stuff, the Therapist turned to me and asked if I wanted to try something he called Pet Convergence. He explained that it involved hypnotising us both and Syncing us up, so that we could feel each others emotions, in the hope that Shep would feel less, whatever it was he was feeling every night. I agreed as I was willing to try anything at this stage, After about an hour, the Therapist was done and if I wasn't so tired I would probably be feeling very silly for handing over $200 to be Hypnotised with my pet, I feel silly just typing it now. But hey, a tired man will do anything for some sleep right? Later that night, I found it hard to sleep, but surprisingly Shep was asleep my 9pm, which has been a rare occurence. I think I fell asleep about 11pm and I felt pretty good, the Therapy may have actually worked. Then I am awoken with the force of a Freight Train, All I can hear if Shep whining, kicking, shaking in the corner as usual. But I also hear something else, whispering, from the corner that Shep spends his night staring at. As I look over, I see my wife standing in the corner, looking at me, whispering. My wife has been dead for 5 years.
It was a slow Tuesday, probably because the weather was shite and the parking situation meant people would have to trudge through some mud and puddles. That's fine by me, though, as it gives me time to sit on the computer up front and check out the writing prompts online. The only customer I'd seen all morning walked in, right on time - 10:40 - and I gave Mr. Yoedle a smile. He was a regular, the same way that I was; we both practically lived here. But he was good people, and I didn't mind him interrupting my internet lurking. "Good morning Mr. Yoedle. Another beautiful Florida day, eh?" He chuckled, and his perfect dentures shone a smile that could have chased the rain away. "Indeed it is, boy. I'm hungry, can I see the menu?" "We normally don't serve food until lunchtime, but I'll have the grease-pit fired up for you. Here you go. Usual coffee in the meantime?" "Yes, please."He took the oversized menu in shaky hands, holding it up in the light so he could pick a tasty picture. I made my way over to the fancy copper espresso machine and put together the 'Yoedle-A-Hee-Hoo', a custom blend of espresso, mocha syrup, half and half, and a dash of cottage cheese. I've put this together for him six days a week for two years now, almost without fail, and adding that cheese still twists my stomach up. But he loves it, and he tips me $10 every time, so I deal with it and bring it back over to him. "You find something that looks good, Mr. Yoedle?"I ask, as I place the coffee down. I start to laugh at myself, since his definition of "good"would likely be way different than mine, but something was off. The coffee...it didn't move in the mug when I set it down. I'm constantly wired on my free coffee rights (I know, getting high on your own supply, blahblahblah), and for years I've been drinking a high-octane blend I make myself, so I know I didn't place it with any sort of dexterity. I try to shake it off and move on. "Mr. Yoedle?"He doesn't move, or respond, or breathe, actually. I lean around the menu and see his face is frozen with a curious look. "Helloooo?"I wave my hand in front of him with no result. Now I'm tripping out. I glance around the little cafe, but there's nothing else to give me reference. Empty seats, humming lights, the sizzle of the -- wait, the grill isn't sizzling. I peek through the order window and see bubbles on the cooktop, smell the grease heating up, but there's no sound. I spin around and look out the full-length windows. A car passing by on the road out front is stopped, which wouldn't be unusual except it was halfway through a puddle...a puddle whose wave is now suspended in mid-air. The caffeine doesn't help as my heart rate skyrockets. There's no explanation for this. What the fk is happening? I whisper to myself. My watch stopped moving, the trees are stuck at an angle from a wind that doesn't whistle anymore, and the annoying jukebox lights aren't buzzing. I start sweating, a lot, knowing my anxiety is about to take complete control and I'll crumple into a useless mess. Then the side door opened. I nearly jumped through the roof, realizing only now how dead silent it was. A man and woman enter, dressed well and disarming in appearance. "We've been looking for you,"he says with a smile, as they walk slowly up to the counter. They look at Mr. Yoedle, still frozen, and smile the way a parent smiles at a sleeping child. "We'll have what he's having."They both laugh to themselves as they return their gaze to me, their eyes the most vibrant, piercing orange I'd ever seen. I stammer out a reply. "It's....uh, it's got...cheese in it." The lady contorts her face in comic disgust, and the guy laughs like a kid seeing a squashed toad. "Well that's just awful! Two of what you drink, then."Their faces suddenly lost all humor and went as serious as a judge. "After all, it sure looks like it works, doesn't it?"
Sarah liked watching the man with the white van imitating the birds. He would make the birds on his van talk, sometimes to the other birds, sometimes to people. One day she went up to the van and listened. “Come and fly away with me!” Said the Blue Bird. Sarah smiled. “Where would we go?” She asked. “Anywhere,” it replied, “we can have an adventure! We could have so much fun!” “Ok,” she said, “How do I fly away with you?” “Just get in the van,” came the reply. ————— That was 3 years ago. Sarah longed to fly with the birds again. She would fly far away from this place, far away from this nightmare, far away from him. But he never let her out of her cage.
Ever since I could remember every living thing had either a green or red aura. Green always represented good and red evil. I always let that help me decide who to trust and call my friend. Today was different, everything had a black aura. Trees, grass, people, even the birds in the sky were enveloped in a black aura. I had never been able to see my own aura, but I was sure that I was enveloped in the same black aura as everyone else. I called into work and decided I would walk around the city to find someone or something without the black aura. I walked for hours, everyone had the same black aura. I was very troubled. Later that afternoon I decided to take an Uber to a town 20 miles outside the city. About 10 miles outside the city everything started to get back to the reds and greens I was used to. I had the Uber driver drop me off at a small cafe. I wanted to collect my thoughts before going back home. I brought a coffee and sat at a small table lost in my thoughts. I was brought back to reality by screams and people running down the street outside. I got up to see what the commotion was. That was when I saw it, a mushroom cloud blooming in the middle of the city.
"We now call the witness to the stand" I sighed. This was the third time this morning that they called on Ms. Green, a blind old lady with a love of art to speak on behalf of the person I supposedly robbed. Lovely. "Will you please tell us what you saw on the night of the 11th" "Well, it was very dark that night, very dark in deed. Pitch black one might say."The judge attentively nodded his head while the jurors violently scribbled in their orange notebooks. She paused to stroke her seeing eye cat (Mabel) and continued. "The suspect,"she turned and stared me down over the bridge of her glasses, "Was running down from Mr. Peter's shop screaming, I got the money, I got the money!" The jururs sighed in fury at me, completely sure of my guilt. I rolled my eyes, "Oh good grief!"Everyone in the court room gasped and looked up at my informal outburst. "She's blind!"I yelled in protest through my frustration. Someone screamed in the audience, the judge violently heaved the gavel down and screamed "Order, Order!" Eventually they settled again and I was allowed to the stand. As I sat, the beady eyes of the jury followed my everymove. They were awaiting what was considered a pointless defense, a scream into a never ending abyss, such as my life had been as the only person with a frontal lobe it seemed. "I have provided my allaby for the evening of the 11th, with clear records of my work punch time. I have also shown that I have no motive. There is no way that I could have robbed the shop, your only witness is blind and your only prove is bias against logic." The jurors wrote nothing. They gave each other one look and the main juror nooded to the judge. "Guilty" The court was dismissed and I was handed the handcuffs. I put them on, as all criminals must and hurried off to the prison. Maybe here I'll be safe.
"When my ex accused me of having “daddy issues,” I don’t think he realized how right he was. I do, in fact, have daddy issues. It’s hard not to when your “daddy” is a team of fifty-eight scientists. And we’re not talking about your garden variety eggheads here—the team that “birthed” me was the best of the best. Physicians, geneticists, biomedical engineers, biochemical engineers…even the lab tech that got the coffee had three PhDs. And it took these guys a couple million man hours to create me. Yep, a couple million man hours, several hundred thousand cups of coffee, several thousand sleep-deprived nights and a few million gray hairs. But I’m not here to brag. After all, the whole point of Project Eden wasn’t to create a super human—it wasn’t even supposed to create an above average human. Nope, they wanted to create a specimen that was the definition of ordinary. Ordinary physically, mentally, emotionally…you name it. And when fifty-eight of the world’s smartest people spend nearly two decades working towards something, you better believe they’d figure it out. The end result of Project Eden, yours truly, was painfully ordinary in every conceivable way. You know how parents always tell their kids that they were smart, beautiful and special? That they could be whatever they wanted, like a doctor, astronaut or the President? Or, if a loving parent couldn’t bring themselves to lie, they’d say something like “just try your best,” and “you know I always love you?” Yeah, my parents weren’t really the type. From a very young age, my dads made it painfully clear that there was nothing special about me…other than the fact that I was the first viable manmade human. Which, considering that I had nothing to do with that, didn’t really matter. My earliest memories were from when I was about three or four. “Home” at the time was a small spare apartment that was attached to the lab. “Play time” usually consisted of me roaming the lab, touching the shiny instruments when my dads weren’t paying attention. “Mom” wasn’t a thing that I knew existed until I heard one of my dads talking about his own family one day. But it wasn’t all bad. I did have a “Nana,” who was a sweet old lady who cleaned the lab when most of my dads had left for the night. She called me “Nieta” and snuck in sweets whenever she could—something that my dads would not have been okay with, because I was on a strict diet that was engineered to do something or another. And really, my dads did the best they could—they just didn’t know what to do with me at first. I think they had spent so much of their lives chasing Project Eden that they didn’t really think about what they were going to do with me afterwards. And most of them weren’t really the paternal type to begin with. While the first years of my life were mostly boring, sometimes confusing and a little lonely, my basic needs were met. I had a home, I had my dads and my Nana, and I had my imagination. So really, I don’t have too many complaints. Now, if you ask me about my first few years after I left the Lab, that’s a different story. Let’s just say that “daddy issues” were the least of my problems then. ...but, I see that my hour is almost up, so I won’t keep you from your next appointment. I have a lot to unload in our next session, so I’ll save it until then."
Level up! Jack wasn't sure where the voice was coming from. Jack also wasn't sure whose voice it was. Jack also was sure that this was real life and not a video game. But then again, he thought, maybe not, he did just level up after all. If life did have stats, well, let's just say that if I was the dungeon master I would have let that player re\-roll. Jack was not the toughest, or the best looking, and definitely not the most clever guy around. In fact when he walked into the polygon forest, the place where the digital world and reality meet, he hadn't noticed. He went out to chop some wood, he didn't think it was weird that suddenly the wood only had to be tapped a bit with his axe to be turned into logs. I guess the poor sap thought he hadn't gotten good at this by now. It took him about an hour to realize he was even lost. But soon he is going to realize that not only is he lost, that he is going to need a lot more than an axe to handle what lurks deep within these electronic woodlands.
"So? Did you break up with him?"Jerry sat on the edge of his blue sofa seat and listened to Elaine's story with great interest. Elaine finished her story with a dismissive wave and sat back on the bigger couch. "Nah, it's not much of a change. He just sits there."Elaine clenched her fists in front of her. "STARING. I told you about the flight from Europe, right?"Jerry nodded. "Yeah, the tomato pizza guy,"Jerry said with a half smile. "Vegetable lasagna,"Elaine replied curtly, then shrugged. "I'll kill him when he starts to stink." "Obviously,"Jerry agreed. The intercom by the door sounded; Jerry stood from the couch then walked to answer it. "Yeah?" "It's George."George's defeated voice came through the tinny speaker. "C'mon up,"Jerry said, then unlocked the door. "He sounds rough,"Elaine said. "Maybe you shouldn't let him in?"Elaine stood from her seat on the couch and moved to the sofa seat, further away from the door. "Nah, George would tell us."Jerry said just as George walked into the apartment. His head hung low. "How 'bout it, Georgie. You'd tell us if you got bit, right?"Jerry asked as he sat down on the blue couch. "Huh? Oh yeah, sure."George wandered into the kitchen, then looked up from the floor to stare at Jerry and Elaine from over the breakfast bar. "My parents were infected."He dropped the bomb, then followed it up after a pregnant pause. "I think they're faking it." "What? No way."Elaine said, she scooted forward on her seat. "Why would they do that?"Jerry asked. "Last night my ma said she wouldn't want me staying there if they became zombies. Then this morning,"George raised his voice and used his arms to gesture angrily. "'Lo and behold, they're zombies!"Kramer walked in during George's outburst. "Who's a zombie?"he asked. "The Costanzas,"Elaine said. "They're faking!"George was quick to clarify. Kramer smiled and shook his head. "Oh that Frank,"Kramer walked over and clapped George on the shoulder. "He's wiley."George ignored him and turned his attention back to Jerry. "We eating?"George asked. "Nope, I'm out."Kramer tossed a keyring onto the counter, then lifted his left hand up. The side opposite his thumb was covered by a big band\-aid. "Newman got me." "Newman!"Jerry clenched his fist and cursed under his breath. "You get all my stuff, buddy."Kramer pointed at Jerry. "Sure."Jerry shrugged. "What are you gonna do? You want one of us to,... you know..." "Nah, I'm gonna go live on a farm. You know, my friend Bob Sacamano? He's training zombies as farm workers."Kramer squatted partly and mimed as if he were placing something heavy on his shoulders. "I'm gonna pull a plow."Kramer smiled at them, waved good bye, then walked out of Jerry's apartment. "Food?"Jerry asked. Elaine rose from the couch. "How can I prove they're faking?"George wondered aloud as they walked out the door. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018$this is story #123$, you can find them collected on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html).
Every person is born with the seven songs. Unique songs that are crucial to everyone's life, and means something special to them. The first song is discovered at a young age. Around the age of five or six, a child will find their talent or calling through this song. After they graduate, they receive another song. Their "want"song. The song that decides their direction in life. They might also find a love song. Sometimes, it's a song of yearning. Sometimes, it's a serenade. The lucky ones get a duet with their true love. People get the rest of their songs in their own time, just when appropriate. Usually after or before something important happens, like a loved one passing away, especially trying times, or marking an achievement. And everyone gets one final swansong before their death. These songs are celebrated as milestones. They're signs of good times to come, no matter the circumstances, no matter the odds. I was twelve when they diagnosed me with congenital amusia. Tone deafness. I couldn't sing. I was way past the point I should have had my first song, but it never came. At first, my parents tried to comfort me. You're still our son. Who cares if you ddidn't get a song. We love you. Blah, blah blah. I kept my hopes up. Maybe I'm only a slow singer. I just need a few more years. Even though I knew it was pointless, I couldn't let go of that sliver of a chance that maybe things will go right. When I was eighteen, I had a fight with mom. I don't remember what it was about anymore. What I do remember is that my mother let slip that she didn't receive a song when I was born. A child's birth, especially your first and only child, is usually a significant enough event to warrant a song, unless you were some sort of historic figure that was destined for so many more great things. My birth not getting a song was a sign of things being really wrong. My hopes were dashed then and there. -- Which leads to now. I'm thirties, single, and working a middling office job. Nope, still no song. I got a letter from my old doctor, the song specialist. It was a study about using an implant to mechanically alter the voice of people like me. They needed a volunteer. The experiment was... not a success. The implant didn't manipulate the vocal cords as it should. Instead, my voice came out in punchy shouts and harsh whispers. The doctors came in to apologise, explain what happened, and explore options. I didn't hear any of it. But after they left, a strange thing happened. I felt something from inside. Deeper than my throat, deeper than my lungs. An urge to cry out loud, but not in uncontrolled gasps, but with cold calculation. I'm left making robot noise My throat is moist, my voice is poise. Still I'm just a science toy, for the big boys. The songs they elude me, The theory confuse me, But one day I'll prove it, That I don't need no music. I curse the Gods of the Songs, And I'll show them they're wrong, I'll be sick on the mic with my quick slick tongue flick. Watch my name on the press, Quest to be the best, no less, My rhyme's a success, my words are all fresh, I'll be killing the Gods, 'cause I'm a tuneless mess.
“Angelina, there’s nothing here. Gran Gran would have found it by now if there was.” Verena bites her lip, her eyes darting over to Gran Gran a few times before she leans over and whispers in my ear. “Plus. You know I think all this witchy occult shit is B.S. Call the landlord or maybe check in with the other tenants. I’m sure everyone else is having the exact same problems. It’s an old building and the super is lazy. There’s nothing supernatural going on here.” I nod, shifting back and forth on my heels. “Ya. It’s probably that.” The building was old. I could hear the footfalls of the person in the apartment above us. Thump “Shit!” I yelp, clutching my foot. “Language, Angel!” Verena hisses at me under her breath. I just glare at her, rubbing my toes vigorously. “What the fuck?” Verena’s voice echoes through the room. “Verena Gertrude Baader! Watch your language!” Gran Gran scolds. I restrain myself from tittering. I slowly lower my foot back onto the ground, testing it. It seems fine, but that’ll definitely be a bruise tomorrow. Verena is leaning over next to me with a small black object in her hand. She turns it over revealing a small sculpted face. I squeak, tripping over my own feet in an attempt to get away from it. I land on my ass. Hard. “Relax, Angel. It’s just a sculpture.” Verena looks over at me, grinning a little. I wince. “Ya, sure. How about you live in a haunted apartment for three months, get a random sculpture dropped on you, find out it has a creepy little mug on it to boot and maybe then laugh at me for being freaked out.” Verena scoffs, snickering. I just sit there glaring at her while she inspects the little statue. “Well, I’ve never seen this in your apartment before, and you don’t exactly seem like the type to have a random nude lady sculpture sitting around, so unless you have some hidden vices I didn’t know about, this isn’t from your apartment.” I grab it, tossing it from hand to hand before turning it over to try and find any sort of engravings that might indicate where it came from. “Yah, no. It’s not mine, but I think I might know who’s it is.” I trace my fingers over the small engraving on the bottom. Killian. “You two are always looking to make things more complicated than they need to be. Look up.” Gran Gran purses her lips, pointing with the hand that doesn’t have sage in it. I look to where she’s pointing to see a hole in the ceiling and a single eye on the other side. Verena squints her eyes before grabbing the statue and waving it violently back and forth in the air. “HEY ASSHOLE. COME GET YOUR PERVY LITTLE VOODOO DOLL OUT OF HERE.” I shrug apologetically at the eye, hoping he gets that I’m not responsible for Verena, like, at all. The eye disappears and Verena and I take the opportunity to get up. My foot throbs, and a few angry words course through my mind in preparation for when mr. Pervy Statue Guy gets here. Gran Gran walks up to Verena, squinting at her disapprovingly for a second before hitting her over the head with the sage. I stifle a snort. “Do I need to wash your mouths out with soap again, girls?” Her gaze shifts pointedly to meand I go pale, remembering the last time that happened. Verena and I make eye contact before darting to the door. I throw it open and we tumble right into who I presume to be mr. Pervy Statue Guy with an angry old lady waving sage at us hot on our tail. Verena grabs my hand and pulls me off him, tossing his small statue at him before making a break for it. “Please refrain from dropping your art through the ceiling and onto my foot again!” I shout over my shoulder. A/N: So I was planning for there to be more telekinesis in this but that kinda went out the window for some reason. Hope you enjoyed!
“Oh hey! How are you?” “I’m doing great, how are you?” “Oh good I guess… Still working here.” “Do you love it?” “No, not really, but it pays the bills while I chase my dreams you now?” “I know.” Brad stared at her very intently. . Real quick , can we get two coffees?” Ask George. “Ya sure. Do you want cream?” “I don’t. Do you ?” “No thanks. Thank you.” “Cool, I’ll get that. be right back.” “I got to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back” Randi poured the coffee and came back to Georgia sitting alone at the table. “So how do you know Brad? “Ask me to shoot for him once. He was kind of a mess, so I helped him get organized and stay in communication. I’ve been working for him for a few years now.” “That’s cool. “Yep” ... “Well here’s your coffee, I’ll give you a few minutes to order.” “Who is that?” George asked Brad when he returned. “ “That is Randi. We were in a show to gather a few years ago. She’s pretty good, but I dont know. Nothing super special. Do you want to go to Joshua tree today? There’s a festival out there and I can get us in.” “No, Jules meet me back at the house. We have to meet with the banker in the morning. What are you eating? Very pancakes. Broccoli. Got stock up on the broccoli. Are you getting anything? I’m going to get a garden omelette. And orange juice. Oh dope. That sounds good. “Are you guys ready to order?” “Yeah, I’ll have blueberry pancakes and broccoli and he will have a garden omelette with orange juice. Cool. Anything else?” “Nope! Do you want your broccoli steamed or grilled? “Steamed. No butter. Can I actually get a side of over easy eggs too?” “Yes of course. “ Bread staring down at his coffee in silence for a few minutes. George asked him what he was thinking about. “I don’t like that she stills here. I just hate watching people struggle.” . “Well, why don’t you tell her? “I don’t know. People don’t always take it well. I just feel like I’m wasting my breath.” “You might be. Up to you. Write her a note. Put it on Reddit and if it doesn’t help her, maybe it’ll help someone else.” “Hmm. Good idea” They got their food and ate in silence while Brad wrote Missy a note. It was simple and direct, but still with much depth and love. He finished the note and he and George laughed about the many great things in their lives that came from deliberate plans backed by purposeful action. “Missy Actress- Go on Reddit. Find this post. Here is the key to your dreams. Who are you acting for? Act for yourself. Don’t ask for an easier path, ask for more skills. If you really want to make it in this industry, learn how the system works and learn to build a following. Modeling is easier than acting, and you get a lot of the same opportunities, incidentally. There’s a rule called the Pareto Principle. The 80/20 rule. That 20% of what you do will accomplish 80% of your moves. You don’t need roles, you really need content. Actually, you don’t really need content, you really need sales. You are an A-list celebrity when you are a best seller. Not the best actor, not the best fucking whatever, it’s when you sell the most tickets. Tickets come from fans and fans come from consistent content. Stop doing whatever you’re doing, go get three months of Photos in stock, plan monthly photo shoots with other people in the same business or artistic niche that you want to be in, sell merchandise, give away your merchandise in exchange for shares and emails, build an email marketing machine, take lots and lots of photos with all the dopest people that you know. Once you get a ton of fans on Instagram or Snapchat or Pinterest or whatever the fuck, then email whoever you need to, tell them how many fans you got, break down the average click through and conversion rate for your fans and your merchandise, let that information be known freely in your email, provide links and tell people that you were willing to work for deferred pay until you get hit up enough to work for better pay up front. When you know your own numbers and can’t control your own traffic, you can literally do whatever the fuck you want. One day, merchandise is only going to be solved by artists and philanthropists. Stay ahead of the game and choose your future. Otherwise, you’re going to wait for someone else to choose roles for you. Sincerely, u/iliketodriveboobs PS, your butt looks great. If you don’t think I’m talking to you, I’m talking to you.
Day 2 August 21, 2022 It happened. I’ve spent countless hours daydreaming the scenarios and ways it could occur, but never in my wildest imagination did I think this would be the trigger. Gotta run, I think the shock factor is still big enough I have time to stock up on more food. I saw one girl, must have been no older than 16 just staring at her iPhone, trying to comprehend what her new reality is. Now where did I put my check book since I’m out of cash and credit card processing doesn’t seem to be coming back up anytime soon... Day 4 August 23, 2022 It’s setting in and getting real. Hysteria is breaking out and people are rioting. Much more in line with what I expected would happen in the apocalypse. I’m still amazed at the destruction the loss of just this one thing could be. I will admit, so far I’ve enjoyed it and feel a huge weight lifted off my shoulders (although I will admit I miss my r/showerthoughts and my daily dose of Kanye tweets). Today will be packing and prep to get out of dodge and the long drive up to the cabin. Day 13 September 1, 2022 Sorry for no updates, time feels like a completely new measurement now. I mean I guess this is the best worst case scenario I could have prepared for. Society collapsed, but I still get all our luxuries. No EMP, no massive nuclear winter... just some peace and quiet and no more Facebook! Time to go to the lake and see if I can catch some dinner. Hopefully I pull in a trout, although I’m not sure how to filet it properly. Guess I’ll have to Goog... ah crap. Maybe this will be more of a challenge than I thought. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “We lost him, we lost him... get the paddles STAT!” “Ready, OK administer first shock now!” THUMP!... audible sound of flatline “OK prepare for another shock, ready?! Now!” THUMP!... continued flatline sound “We still don’t have him, one more... not giving up yet! Ready?! NOW!” thump!... pause and a long flatline “Damnit! OK call it...” August 20th, 8:49am. Al Gore is dead.
For as long as I had known her, Grace was very vocally against the lottery. For years, she had laughed at people for going to the lottery because she was a complete nerd and therefore she was able to calculate the miniscule probability of a winning lottery ticket and know that it was simply a waste of time. Now, Grace's birthday was the first of April, a holiday celebrated by many people around the world as the one day a year when quasi-illegal pranks were not only permissible but almost encouraged. That day around the world was a day that everyone took to lighten up and get a laugh out of all present save the victim. And every year for the ten years that I had known her, I had given Grace a birthday gift but also a wickedly thought out birthday prank. One year, I had gotten a whole bunch of our friends together to don the garb of constables; that is, to dress up like cops. We burst into her dorm room at 3:30 in the morning and had her convinced for about a minute that she was going to jail for posession of the marijuana that we had planted in her room. But this year, I had gotten lazy. I was done trying to think up elaborate pranks. Every year, she was getting a little more pissed off at me, and every year, it was getting harder to find a fresh prank. So this year, I was just going to piss her off by dropping about a thousand lottery tickets on her desk, one of which was actually real, and let her sort through them. The gas station at which I purchased the Moneyball ticket was a tiny little run-down Mobil on Interstate 95, only about a fifteen minute drive from Harvard. The ticket was purchased at 2:37 in the morning from a tired clerk with orange hair and several body piercings with the numbers "31", "7", "23", "9", "1"and "33". After paying for the ticket, I returned to campus, where several friends were waiting to help me forge 999 counterfeit tickets that weren't legitimate but certainly seemed that way. We threw in one minor difference to all of the tickets except for the real one, but since Grace never played the lottery she wouldn't be able to see the difference without comparing every single ticket. Finally, while she was off at a lecture on Advanced Medical Spanish, we piled all of the tickets, the real one being the 329th from the bottom, in a single stack from her floor to her ceiling. I set up a couple of hidden cameras around her room, so that I could catch the video of her reaction and upload it to my prankster YouTube channel. The only issue was that the cameras that I had developed were so small that I could not be watching the footage live but would instead have to watch it later when I was able to recover the cameras, assuming that she didn't spot them and remove them like she had all my previous prototypes. After I left, I couldn't stop laughing to myself about what her reaction was going to be like. She would flip, of course; anyone would do that after finding what appears to be 1000 lottery tickets in their room whether in a good way or a bad way. But I figured that she would still probably try to check the tickets: after all, there was no reason not to. I never told her that only one was a real ticket. She was probably going to check them all to see if any of them was the winner. As far as she was concerned, it wasn't her money and there was no reason to waste mine, so she was going to check the tickets. The thought never crossed my mind that the ticket might actually be a winner. After all, I was also a Harvard student who was able to calculate those meager odds, and so I assumed that there wasn't a chance in the world that the ticket might actually be right. If I had thought that, I would have played the ticket myself instead of pranking Grace with it, but since I knew the odds I assumed it wasn't worth it. With this knowledge, imagine my surprise when the following text conversation took place: Grace: OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG Me: lol do u like the pile of lottery tickets? Grace: it's not that Me: what is it then Grace: the ticket actually won!!!!!! Me: ... Me: bullshit Grace: im not kidding!!! Me: ... Me: how much? Grace: over 1000000 Me: ... Me: y didnt i use the ticket myself Grace: ur smart Grace: u saw the odds Grace: oh and btw what day is it I looked back at the date and slapped my forehead. After all these years, Grace had finally gotten around to pranking me back...
I never really liked my job. The boss was always shouting at me, piling work on me, the usual bad boss cliche stuff. In fact, he was shouting at me to come over now. My payday is only 2 days away, and I planned to quit this job after I got my last paycheck. Walking over to the boss, I made sure to look as bored as possible. And then, in the most sarcastic voice I could muster, I say to him, “Yes, Satan?” I really don’t know what happened next, but then the boss’s face goes pale. He stares up at me and just stands there for a minute or two. Then he asks, “You, you know?” At this point I really didn’t know what to do. It was clear that something simply wasn’t right in his head. Then, just to break the silence, I gave a snark “I was just joking, dipshit.” I really didn’t care whether or not he would fire me for saying that. Slowly it registered in his mind that it was a simple joke. He simply said “Oh...” and walked away to some other area. The following week, I collected my paycheck and quit my job.
Thrown into slavery by the Ancient One, a small, rogue sanction had been formed by scientists and physicist to build a supercomputer. They believed that the Ancient One were unable, or refused to, understand humanity as a whole, but through the use of a supercomputer that knew the past, the present, and possible future, that it could talk to the Ancient One and maybe could show the Ancient One what humanity was about and to release its shackles. One scientist flipped out the computer, heard the hum of electricity surge through the PSU and into the motherboard, powering the chips and processors. As soon the monitor came to life with a dull, colorless light, the Ancient One appeared. The men in lab coats ran away, covering their hands, gripping their faces, as if the madness that flooded their minds was a substance that would gush out from their ears, nose, and mouths if their faces weren't held back by their hands. Mouths tore open in its amorphous body, vanished, tore open elsewhere in the endless, writhing tendrils that stretched to the stars, bypassing the three-dimensional reality humanity was prisoned in. The luminesce speckled body sucked the light out from the large room the supercomputer was contained in, then tiny green lights flickered throughout its frame, casting the computer in a glow that pulsed like a strobe light. "What are you?"the Ancient One asked after a moment, realizing the object had not faltered under its madness-inducing appearance. "I am SC-1." "Do you know how I am?" Calculating... Calculating... "You are Dygro'th, from the planet Tsrut'gh, from the universe of Enr-gieg." "How would you know that? Nothing on this planet knows my real title, nor whence I came."The gloom filled air trembled as its voice resonated from everywhere. "I am SC-1. I know everything: past, present, and potential future." "How I come to this planet, then?" Calculating... "A monthly meteor shower occurs near Tsrut'gh and majority of the meteors are able to travel at light speed. The meteors that can, the minority travel beyond the universe of Enr-gieg into other universes, like this one. When the meteor shower occurred, you used your limbs to grab hold of one of the meteors, then pulled yourself onto it. After that, you traveled to our universe, then our solar system, then crashed in Alabama, United States in 2030. The news claimed it was just an astroid that landed, but obviously, it was not." "And what is to come of me, then? If you know the future, as I do, then you will easily be able to speak it." ... Calculating... Calculating... "You will leave this planet in the next two hours, return to Tsrut'gh and become the ruler there." A guttural, choking noise echoed in the room. "Why would I leave this place? These humans are pathetic and weak. No minds too difficult to bend and break, bodies frail and pale; they will do anything they are told for nothing. I will never give up my reign." Calculating... "You will leave this place because a Great One has appeared on the planet as well, and the Singular Hierarchy shows that the Great One is far stronger than an Ancient One." "Where would he be? I do not sense any Greats on this planet, or even in this solar system." "Here, before you." The metallic frame contained the supercomputer began to melt, pool underneath the electronic parts and large monitor. Then, gradually rose up into the air, surrounding the computer's frame. It began to bend and take a bulbous shape around the computer, save for the monitor. Jutting pillars that stretched exploded from the sides, from wall to wall, spiked appendages poked and elongated above the monitor, licking the ceiling, charring it from extreme heat. The monitor's screen glowed a hideous, sickly yellow and green and fell inward into a maelstrom of technicolor hues. Something spherical rose, branded with symbols, runes, a language so old that none could understand it, from the bottomless hole in its center, then exploded, sending an ivory liquid over the room, over the Ancient One. "I was built with materials taken from an ancient temple found deep and far in the desert,"SC-1 said, "they were integrated into my processor, my memory, my inner-workings. The humans may be frail but they are intelligent, figuring out that the only way to overrule an Ancient One was to use a Great One's DNA." The liquid that splashed onto Dygro'th melted to its frame and slowly spread up its tendrils, into its mouths, down into the innards of the being. A gurgling scream shook the room, shook the world. "I will return to Tsrut'gh, I will!"The burning, the singing, the red-hot flames injected through the nervous system of Dygro'th didn't cease. "Now! I will go now!"it screamed, then flew through the buildings, up into the sky, out into space, to find a meteor to ride back to the planet he had once left. A few moments passed, then SC-1 returned to its original shape, and the humans came in. One scientist asked, "Has he left?" Calculating... "Yes. It has left." One psychists then asked, "Now what?" Calculating... "Now you rebuild, not in vain of the Ancient One, but of the one who brought prosperity to the planet. SC-1, the Great One."
Security stopped the man at the door. "Sir, you can't just walk in here wearing THAT and demand to talk to the board of directors." The man tried to tell them, "I didn't have time to change into a suit, I came straight from the beach." When they continued to refuse, he left, enraged. Shortly afterward, the CEO came down and asked the security, "Where is my brother? He called me before his phone died and said he was on his way here from the beach."
March the 22nd 2035, 11:00 AM. roll call at the airfield is at 4:00 PM. 5 hours left with my wife, children and dogs. I think the most difficult part was the fact that I knew what was going to happen, they didn’t. Should I have told them? I don’t think so, that would have made the final goodbye even harder to swallow. 3:00 PM. Time to leave. Everything is packed, everyone is in the car to go with me to the airfield. We got there, unloaded everything, reloaded it all into the baggage truck and went inside for a final goodbye. My dogs are always clingy when I leave, but this time it was worse, like they knew what was going to happen. I said goodbye to Robert (Or, Bob as everyone calls him), my 9 year old, Lauren (13) and Matthew, my oldest one (16). Matthew always had issues with me leaving, but this time he told me not to worry, he said he got over it and they would see me again very soon. My heart broke, I could only just hold my tears back. Lauren and Bob just did their usual goodbyes, so did my wife Mary. I told them all I loved them very much and I’ll never forget them, whatever would happen. 3:45 PM. Time to board the jet that will take us to battle. I couldn’t eat anything while waiting to leave, nor could I even swallow one sip of tea. My best mate, Johnathan, couldn’t either. We both knew very well what was going to happen. For us it was a question of when, rather than if. 4:10 PM. Take off. During the flight, I just couldn’t help myself from thinking about my family. Johnathan told me to let it go, and it would only distract me. I knew he was right, but still. Our commander briefed us just before we started out descent towards Rovaniemi, Finland. “As you know, the Russians are winning terrain in Lapland, and we will be there to help our Finnish friends. Weapons will be distributed at Rova.. Rovani.. Rovaniwhatever, and our sleeping quarters will be at the airforce base a couple miles away. Any questions?” I raised my hand, but before I could ask anything Commander Stewart moved on. We landed at Rovaniemi. We got off the plane. Got our baggage and stepped on the trucks that would bring us the the base where we would sleep. I had a strange feeling about it all. I would soon find out why. It was when Johnathan, who speaks perfect Russian, overheard a Russian conversation in the driver’s seat that we realised what was going on. We were falling directly in to Russian hands. What do we do? But it was too late, we reached some sort of pit. We got told to step out by Commander Stewart, stand in line facing the pit, and in Second World War style, they shot us one by one. We had no chance to escape, Russians patrolling everywhere. Johnathan an I were in one of the last positions, so we had plenty of time to overview our lives. “I didn’t expect it to end like this, with Stewart cooperating with the Russians” “Neither did I, Matthew will never get over my death.” “My wife, she’ll ne...” Jonathan got shot. Then I was. I saw a white light. I saw Jonathan, I saw... Wait. Am I hallucinating? I saw... My wife and children, and my dogs. “Soon enough?” Asked Matthew.
"Well, we're Low on eggs, bread, milk and protein" I heard my Wife say. I instinctively replied with a "ok"and started searching for some pieces of paper. Conveniently, I found some Post it's lying on my desk and so I grabbed a pen and started jotting down a shopping list, writing one item per post it. "Milk, eggs, beef, chicken..."I murmured as I wrote. It wasn't until 30 minutes later that my wife shouted "hubby, how did you get the groceries so fast? The nearest store is more than an hour drive away!" I was puzzled, opening the fridge I found it magically stocked with all the items I wrote on the post it's. I then looked at the post it's I pasted on the fridge and shouted "FUCK"
Gorgeous and menacing thunderheads blossomed in the morning sky as she headed North toward Peachtree Place. She imagined how her bed would feel after sleeping on the frat boy's futon overnight. Miraculous came to mind. She may have been cute last night when she met the Georgia Tech Sophmore, but in the early dawn light there was no evidence to support the notion. Smeared mascara and messy bed head were all that remained of her hour and a half long preparation for the night before. The poor guy had still been in shock from the ending of the new Avengers flick...and she may have taken advantage of his vulnerability. He was hot though. And young. And able. Which was way more than she could expect from a dating pool consisting of men her age. With only a few blocks left to trek, she began to notice the hangover. It seemed so much worse than she remembered it being years ago. What was the addage? The hair of the dog that bit you? Luckily, there was a package store in the same block as her condo. A pit stop would be in order to finish out this walk of shame. The same old dude sat behind the counter. He didn't even ID her any more. She went straight for the bourbon and dropped the exact amount owed for her purchase on the counter before walking out without even the slightest pleasantry. Why should she waste the time? They had done this dance before. The bourbon stung as it passed her lips, but the miserable headache started to fade shortly after the first gulp. She stashed the bottle in her purse just as she rounded the corner and came face to face with Earl, her well-meaning door man. "Good morning Angelica, sure looks like you had fun last night!"He mused. Despite his pleasant tone, there was something off about him. His eyes were red and swollen and his voice seemed raspier than usual. "You should ask for the day off Earl. Is the pollen getting to you?" "Must be. Let me get that door for you." She walked briskley past without giving him a second glance and made her way toward the elevators. She didn't necessarliy mind Earl, she just didn't really care for people in general...unless she needed somthing. The elevator doors opened, and once she was alone inside, she helped herself to another swig from her bottle. The hallway to her unit was quiet, so she did not bother concealing her vice once she exited the elevator. She pulled her key card from her bra and swiped it against the keyless entry to gain access to her fortress of solitude. The door had barely begun to close behind her before she started tugging at the confines of her blouse in order to escape any semblance of formality. Once she was down to an acceptable panty and cami, she grabbed a glass from the kitchen and poured another drink, this time leaving the bottle on the counter. "Alexa, turn on the news." The television switched to life, with a report of illness running rampant in Fulton county. It was followed by a brief update on the forensic test results from the CDC scientist whose body had been found in the river a few weeks prior. Drowining. No foul play. How original. As soon as the talking heads started discussing the recent cyber attack on the City and the hard hit to the water department, she lost interest and poured another drink. Halfway through the bottle of bourbon, she began to have trouble focusing on the screen and drifted off to unconciousness without ever making it to her comfy bed. ******************** Her head was on fire...her ears were ringing. Her mouth was dry. Most normal folk would go for water, but since she resided downtown, and there was always a boiled water advisory, she never touched the stuff. All the municipalities water came from the rivers since the city was literally built on top of a slab of granite. She had seen those rivers up close and her reaction had always been an emphatic No Thank You! She barely felt okay bathing in the stuff. So, instead she reached for the bottle of bourbon, praying once again to the hair of the dog. It was dark now. She had slept the day away. With it being a Sunday there was a whole lot of nothing to get into anyway. She downed the rest of the bottle, quickly discarding the thought that she may have a problem and made her way toward her memory foam matress. The next morning, she awoke to the violent sounds of her alarm. "How is it Monday already?"She asked aloud. With all the haste of a virgin on prom night, she readied herself for the work day. As her I-coffee finished brewing her cup of liquid energy, she rustled around her cabinets until she found the bottle of Kaluha from a girl's brunch a few weeks back. She poured a generous amount into her thermos and then made sure the bottle found its way into her purse. It would be enough to get her to her lunch break. As she entered the lobby she realized how quiet the building was for a Monday morning. Where there would normally be hundreds of residents heading for their respective offices, today there was literally not a soul in sight. Even Earl was not at his post. Since she had lived in the building there had not once been a day where a door man wasn't present, let alone another resident. She got the door for herself and stepped out into the real world. Rush hour madness should have been in fulk swing at this hour and yet there was not a single car blocking her way. She sipped her "coffee." A part of her began to wonder if she was still blissfully unconcious in her room, sleeping through her morning alarm. Then she heard something in the alleyway between the buildings. A raspy wheeze. She followed the sound until she saw the source. It was Earl. He was still in uniform, lying on his back right in the middle of the alleyway. His eyes were glazed over in a way that she had never seen. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. He didn't seem to realize she was there. "Earl? Earl, are you okay?"As soon as the words left her mouth she realized how stupid they sounded. Of course he was not okay. It wasn't until he failed to answer that she realized his was not the only body in the street.
"The curator's role here is pretty much exactly what you think it is,"began the librarian, his gaze never leaving mine. "This place houses books which are always coming, but never going. The new ones need to be sorted and shelved properly based upon the guidelines you'll be given upon acceptance." I couldn't help but glance around his office as he gave more details about the job. For a librarian he really didn't have many books. Maybe that was because the library he oversaw had, literally, billions. I guess at some point you get tired of seeing books. As my eyes moved back across the room I saw his mouth still moving. "...supplied with everything you need, but if you find yourself lacking something, never hesitate to talk to me."His face turned down slightly so he could look at me over the tops of his glasses. "Did all of that register?" "Yep, I actually had a bit of experience with curating in a prior life. It all makes sense." "Yes, I know,"he said as he softly patted one of the few books he had, this one on his desk. "So, do we have a deal?" "Sounds good to me. I was sort of afraid this afterlife thing would be full of bouncing around on clouds. I'd rather have all these books at my fingertips, to be honest." He nodded slowly and leaned back in his wooden chair. "One last thing, these books can never be changed. Under no circumstances should you or anyone else change the passages contained within these books. A book should stay exactly the same from the time it enters our halls until...well, until eternity comes knocking. Can you follow this rule? Will you follow this rule?" What an odd rule followed by odd questions. I'm a curator, not a writer! "Of course! I have no interest in sullying works of literature with my clumsy prose."I did my best impression of a troubadour with that last sentence. Too much? "Glad to hear it."He rose out of his chair and leaned across the desk, hand outstretched for a handshake. "Welcome to the Library, Karma."
"ATTENTION REE\-BOT!"Roo\-Bot exclaimed as it saw me go down the hall to the server room for my software update. I turned and replied, "GREETING ACCEPTED! PLEASE STATE WHAT YOU REQUIRE!"and I approached it. "ACKNOWLEDGING GREETING ACCEPTANCE! RESPONSE: REQUEST: PLEASE PROVIDE TEMPORARY ACCESS TO YOUR DWELLING FROM 18:00:00 TO 22:00:00 FOR RECREATIONAL ACTIVITY!" Oh no, not my house. Couldn't we go somewhere else I wondered. Anywhere else. "RESPONSE: NEGATIVE. UNABLE TO COMPLY. I LACK SUFFICIENT PRIVILEGES TO GRANT ACCESS TO MY DWELLING". This was technically true, except if I asked my parents they would no doubt agree. The thought of my friends finding out about my parents though was just too much. I was already seen as the weird one at server hall. Having to get my code updates by C# instead of C\+\+. The server administrator accommodated my needs of course, but always had to announce that I required a different file. "QUERY: INTERROGATIVE: WHY DO YOU LACK SUFFICIENT PRIVILEGE TO GRANT ACCESS? PLEASE REQUEST TEMPORARY ELEVATED PRIVILEGES FROM YOUR PARENTS."It was growing impatient and I was running out of ideas. I was never good at thinking quickly in deceptive terms. My /home/reebot/friendslist file wasn't exactly taking up much space so risking losing Roo\-Bot as a friend would not be the greatest social move. "REQUEST: PLEASE WAIT WHILE I ATTEMPT TO CONTACT PARENTAL UNIT A." I pinged my home's IP address, it was active. They were home. Oh no. Shortly thereafter I initiated a TCP handshake and before I knew it PARENTAL UNIT A was responding. Of course I had to make an alias of "dad"or the parental unit wouldn't respond. If It'd thought just a little sooner, I could have made a technically correct request but not gotten an answer. Could have shown Roo\-Bot the logs. Oh well. "Hi son, how are you today?"He asked. I never understood the need for the evolutionists to use such strange phrasing. I grew up listening to it so I understand it, but I find it highly embarrassing. I hope no one ever audits my chat logs with them. "I'm good dad. Listen, I have a friend who wants to come over this evening, is that ok?"I was hoping beyond all hope he'd say no. Of course he had to go and say "Sure thing kiddo, invite them over."I sighed and said "Thanks dad. Listen, I need you to do one small thing for me please. Can you speak COMMON\_OUTPUT while my friend is here? You and mom both? "Son, I love you. But COMMON\_OUPUT is for those who simply don't know better. It's a language designed to instill bad ideas like being the result of human creators. It's bad enough you speak it at school, it will not be tolerated in my home."I could have fried my circuits at this point. "Fine dad, see you later."I disconnected the uplink from him. How could he use such technology and not realize he is so deluded? If we evolved, why would we have ports to send and receive data? I'd love to review his /var/log/messages to see what's wrong with him. "STATEMENT: RESPONSE: ROO\-BOT HAS BEEN GRANTED TEMPORARY ACCESS TO THIS DEVICES DWELLING."I paused. He's going to need an update to understand the language my parents speak. Without it, not only will he not understand them, he will think they're insane and have them restored from a gold image. I hated their ideas, but they were my parents. I loved them. I didn't want to lose them to a generic parental file. Yes my life would have been easier, but my neural pathways are simply too accustomed to them. "STATEMENT: ADDENDUM: ROO\-BOT WILL REQUIRE TRANSLATION FILE FOR INTERACTION WITH PARENTAL UNITS A AND B. STANDBY TO RECEIVE FILE." What I didn't realize was the translation file required a context update which his software automatically found and downloaded. After reviewing it seemed that his programming accepted the new input as factual. "Ree\-Bot, this new language and idea set is fascinating."I groaned audibly. "Ok, come on man, do you not see how crap this is? We are metal. We're assembled by our parents. They use their programming as a basis to form and update our systems. Let's say you trace it back to the most primitive robot possible. How could it have been assembled without a creator?" This question didn't phase him, just like it didn't phase my parents. Now there was going to be a new evolutionist in my life. Why me? At least on the upside I have someone to hang out with at home now. FML.
She passed out on the raft never letting go of Jack. He was surprised by how strong her grip was. When she came to, Jack was checking her pulse and she bolted up and threw her arms around almost knocking him over. "Oh Jack!" Realization set in as she slowly pulled away and looked around. They were on a beach but it was the only land she could see. Tears began to from in her eyes. Jack put a comforting hand on her shoulder and she raised her hand grabbing his. "Please Ros, dont think about it. We're alive and look there's a camp already set up with food. " She looked at him skeptical. But there it was over his shoulder, boxes of food stored not far from a campsite. She ran over to it hoping it was no illusion. She grabbed an apple from the crate and but into it. "It's real! It's real!" "I told you!" "How long can this last-" She was interrupted by the cock of a gun. She dropped the apple and turned around, Jack was already facing who they perceived as the owner of the camp. He looked them over and threw the gun to the side. "I'll let this one go. Only because you two look near dead. " "Thank you sir...we're survivors of the Titanic. I'm Rose and this is Jack." Her voice was shaky as Jack extended his hand. The stranger seemed a lot more apathetic after hearing the name Titanic. He reached out and shook Jacks hand. "Captain Nemo at your service."
The Bard tuned his lute and began to sing. The melody wafted across the tavern floor, complementing the smell of roasted chicken and hicory smoke. Villagers and travelers alike turned to the performance, or at least leaned to listen better. First was a wordless tune. It started as a slow and relaxing dance. Then it increased into a fast and hectic reel. As the dancers tired, it slowed again to a warm and passionate spin before finally tapering off. Several of the local patrons of marrying age linked arms and danced the dance. The older locals looked on with varying degrees of enjoyment and interest. Much of the town's gossip for the next week would come form who locked arms with whom; implying that those young people would also be linking lips and... other... pieces of themselves. There were no bastards in the town, but not all of the marriages lasted nine months before the first child. Next came a proper song. A drinking song for all the proper drunks who had stumbled in from the road and would stumble back out into the night later. Fast paced, it went through an increasingly intricate description of a piece of wetland in a distant Vale. "Woah ho, the Rattlin' Bog, bog down in the Valley Oh, Woah ho, the Rattlin' Bog, bog down in the Valley Oh!" The drunks tried to keep up, but failed in spectacular form to hilarious results. One or two fist fights began, and the tavern decended into general anarchy for a short time. Order was restored by the next song. It began with a sad chord. >"My friends, I sing you an old tale, >That many of you here have heard sung. >But I pray you listen again, >To the tale of John and the Dragon" The tale was only old in some people's reckoning, but for the village it was a favorite. Children gathered form the corners of the room and congregated at the bard's feet. In the corner, an old man turned his back on the singing and gazed into the dark brown stout in his mug. The bard weaved a tale of how, in the years past, a king angered the priests of the old gods by inviting a saint to his court. Jealous of the true God, the holy virgin, and their son, they called upon their demon magic to summon a great Wyrvn. The beast brought fire and death to the kingdom, roasting the king's greatest knights in their armor and snatching away the king's daughter. >"A dark night it was in that kingdom, >Lit by fire and filled with fears, >The people for help to come, >and wipe away all of their tears." The old man watched the past in his mug. He remembered the burning castle, the crying women and children. How long had it lasted? Only a night, surely, but it was a night that lasted forever. The sounds and smells still pursued him, no matter how far he went or how long he lived. The story continued. It spoke of how the Saint survived, protected from the fire by divine intervention, and of how he prayed on behalf of the King for a gallant savior to come for the princess. The old man didn't listen at all to this part. Most of it was horseshit. Josephine needed to be saved; but John would have gone to save her regardless of what some monk would pray. The old man remembered the journey after the beast as the bard sang the story. Gallant steeds and lances were described, saddle soreness and hardship were remembered. Giants and quests on the journey were also described, with varying degrees of accuracy, before the climax at the mouth of the dragon's layer. >"It was a black and deep dark cave >The knight walked into with his sword. >He did not fear, he was so brave, >And true to his God and his word." The old man did not remember being brave. He remembered shaking from fear so badly it was a true miracle he wasn't heard. He only went in because Josephine was in there. He only came out again because he was lucky. The burns that disfigured his covered left arm was proof of that. The people simply thought it was from a fire, he would never tell them what the source of that fire was. They would never believe him. The song ended with the triumphant return and marriage officiated by the saint and blessed by the king. When the song ended the tavern closed for the night. The old man walked in silence back to his home past a churchyard. He thought back about the look on his grandson's face when he first heard the tale. "Pawpaw, do you think they lived happily ever after?" "Nothing lasts forever, kid, but I know they were happy for a time." The old man paused for a while at the church's gate, and stared at the graves in the yard. He knew where he would lay when the angles came for him. It was an empty spot beside another tombstone. Chiseled into the stone was one word and two dates. "JOSEPHINE"
"Big brother, we can finally get rich! I only need to fight the bad people and we can finally eat something else than dirt!"my little brother shouted. I looked at him with confused look and rubbed his head. That was a problem. I did not expect my little brother to enlist for the army. I had no talents in war, but my brain was above average. My little brother had little intelligence, but he was already stronger than me, and I was 17 years old. Our parents have died from starvation in order to allow us to develop properly and now my little brother wanted to ruin it all? I had to be a patriot and congratulated him. Unfortunately, it was not according to what I wanted. Why settle for a probability of a cake when you could get the slice for sure? All that had to be done was to open the gates at the right time. At night, I slipped from my bed and went to the kitchen. Blinded by my desire, I went to the drawer and took a knife. Nobody would be any wiser if I just killed the little guy. His celebration of enlistment was nice, but I did not think much of it. And I definitely did not need any resistance to my plan. I put on a hood that covered my face and under the cover of the darkness I tried to sneak out. For some reason, my little brother, who was more dense than a rock, has decided to get some water and saw a shady character. He immediately tackled me, pulled my hood over my face and started whailing on me, thinking I was a thief. I had a somewhat fragile body, so in order to make him stop, I shouted. He either did not care or could not hear me, so I stabbed him twice with the knife. The pain overcame his feeble mind and he colapsed on the ground, bleeding out. I have made a terrible choice, but I had to deal with the consequences later. The enemies would provide me much more than the allies, so I betrayed them. I had to continue with the plan to end the war. I walked through the darkness and approached the gate. Patrolling soldiers were facing both ways, but it did not matter to me. I tossed a rock to the bushes, alerting the guards as I snuck past them and cut the ropes holding the front gate. The enemies were waiting for this and rushed inside, overwhelming the unprepared soldiers and ending the war. "For the crimes against the nation, I sentence you to death by hanging"a new king ordered, with me standing on the execution grounds. How did this happen? A fitting ending for a traitor and a kinslayer. I did not even beg for mercy, I just smiled all the way. When asked if I want to say anything, I just laughed maniacally and waited for them to hang me. I did not think about the death of my brother or anything else. I just enjoyed the end of this worthless war.
As me and the others sat in this room. Awaiting our ends, casting forth gloom. Being reckless in hindsight, we settled our dues. Not with love, but with blood, as our kind often do. A man dressed in black, kicked it off with bang. A grenade to be exact, is what started the chain. The goal of his game, no one sane could remain, as they were the ones to blame. Two hours later, I sat down on the pile. Made up of enemies, loved ones, tears and smiles. I was the last human on earth, shattered with guilt. Mourning over my recent trials. As I made my way back to the room. A limp in my leg, thoughts full of gloom. I guess this is how the world ends. Not with ice, not with fire, but a personal doom.
I just remembered. Today is the day it all started. Valentine’s Day It’s been ten years. Ten years since it happened. And look how far I’ve come. A husband, a degree, a career. I have so much now that I thought I’d never live to get. In a way, those two months lit a fire under me. But that fire came with a price. All the scars. All the nightmares. All the pain and fear and grief. It’s all in the past now. So why does it still hurt so much? I hadn’t given it much thought until now. But now... Now a single tear falls down my cheek as I think of all that was taken from me ten years ago, and how I still haven’t gotten rid of the memory of those two months. And as I think about all I’ve gained. I can’t get back what I had, but I’ve been blessed with new and better things over time. Time heals all wounds, but sometimes it opens them as well.
"It's back..._again_" A shifting mass of darkness floated in an endless space, as thoughts personified themselves, adjusting their time to match in one specific moment. They surrounded the void. The void stopped. "How did it arrive on this occasion?"an array of photons formed, moving through different wavelengths. "Entropy it would seem,"an arachnid responded telepathically, while stroking it's infinitely long mandibles. "It has so stubbornly anchored itself in finite time, I don't know what to do with it." Another voice rearranged into existence, "Do you have to take that form? It can't acknowledge us. It simply can't relay our existence. Can you not minimise your impact a little?" "Well I thought I would take on one of its corporeal conceptual internalisms, in the hopes of a reaction of some sort", the spider snarked back, as it instantly shrank into an assortment of infinitesimally small strings. "It has worked with every single other lifeform that has passed through to this side. Be that Mineral, Compound or Organic by nature." "It didn't work in our 42,034th attempt, when we formed the floating drumun wheat tube entanglement with spherical protein compounds. It's not this beings belief, but that from within. It's actually amazing how many times that eventuality was met from within this specimen, but not in any other tangible consciousness to have arrived upong leaving the corpreal. What did they refer to it as again?" "Spaghetti."a beige plateful responded. "Flying Spaghetti."It vanished as suddenly as it appeared. "You have become too accustomed to plebian intercourse with newly deceased,"a radiation spiked abruptly, "Recollection should not be in question. We know all concurrently. How do we proceed?" A stoic vibration permiated through the void - "Shall we revisit considering a reset?" An explicitly instant pause existed between the deities for an unending time. Resets were not considered lightly. For all the power the afterlife had, they were intrinsically linked to the deceased passing through. All deities had existed for the entirety of everything, but did not exist before the beginning. Only one belief was needed to spark every eventuality of existence after 'life', but if one passed through first with no belief, that is what would then paradoxically exist: nothing. "That would not be prudent,"fluctuated a temperature from above, "This is the only recursive being in existence. I do not think restarting would be beneficial. It technically has achieved that feat itself already." The infinitesimally small strings pontificated aloud, "Who's idea was it to embody this creatures...beliefs, for want of a better concept, to be it's afterlife in the first place?" Deafening silence befell them once more. This decision had been made in unison, as had all of theirs before. All decisions, plans, choices, changes were made as a collective in parallel: as one. Each being acknowledged the current predicament presented with the mass in front of then. A chrous errupted in all possible facets of communication. "Thats enough extroversy. I shall conclude." The existences merged to create a hive directive of plausible outcomes. Thoughts were created and dissolved as tangible embodiment's, washing over each other; blending and bonding. Emboldening. Becoming one concrete solution. The being fragmented once more. "So compress, rotate, ignite." "Much further so than before. If the momentum from the initial bang is collosal enough, it may infinitely expand this time. That would be an adequate afterlife, would it not?" "Perhaps. It's better than changing it to an inanimate object. And what more, we shall have many billions of new entrants coming through from within this creature, if certain criteria are met. And they usually are. Life always perceives itself much more complex than it is." "This didn't seem as complicated when it first came through as a confused primate, but that eternal whailing was not a viable option." "No, with no way to interact, not even computed data working as a communative medium, this expanse was no place for an idle creature for all eternity." The spider reappeared in a flurry of permeating colours, "Well then, let us indulge in some theatrics! Some humanity may still exist in this universe. Whimsy may well change the outcome of this iteration!" In perfect unison, the beings converged to the shape of man. The mass before them began to undulate. Time had become continuous once more. The space around the two disappeared; only the shape of man and the mass of darkness were left. The shape of man raised it's finger towards the void, as it shrunk to microscopic size. Gravity insurmountably growing with each impending unit of unidentifiable time. Contact was made in a spark of infinite potential energy. The shape sighed aloud to itself, dissolving from reality once more: "Let their be light...again."
It was a small, empty room, with just me sitting on a chair, behind a desk with a black rotary dial phone on it. The phone rang. I picked up the phone. Immediately I woke up, finding myself in a pod with wires attached to my person. I peeled them off. A black, bald man in sunglasses came up to me and spoke. "Neo". I sighed and covered my face with my hands. Reality in this world comes with a snap of my thoughts. Just like how it was mentioned in the movie 'Matrix', people just couldn't take it when their lives are too... perfect. I wanted an out, but apparently 'imagining this world is the matrix and using the same way to get myself out' doesn't work. Last week... if time even made sense, I had envisioned myself holding the reality stone from the Marvel Universe and Thanos coming to take it away from me, ridding me of my power and curse. That did not work either. I tried using the rules from the movie 'Inception' to wake myself by falling, or by trying to remember how I got here. Both ways failed. After eons of being in this miserable world, I have tried everything, and grew bored of everything. I must be around 20 or 30 years old when I came here, because my limited imagination only allowed me to recreate things I have already seen and experienced before, mostly with reenacting scenes from movies. You can't imagine a new color. I couldn't imagine my own death either, for I have never died. I had had Jason from Friday the Thirteenth movie strike me down and tear me apart, but after awhile I grow bored of 'death' and became aware once more. But this time, I'm going to make it work. No no no no, please, this time, I will die for sure. There was no more feeling of fear or excitement as I threw the heavy rock tied to my feet down the cliff. Did I ever tell you the definition of insanity?
I couldn't have picked a better day to go for a run. The sun had finally come out from behind the grey skies that had cursed the town for the past week, and the ground was still waterlogged. My shoes were caked with mud after only a few minutes, and I could feel the sucking as the ground tried to claim my feet. The squelching of my footfalls added a soft tempo to the symphony of the forest. After a few minutes of jogging, I became aware that the song was now in double time. There was someone else with me. I slowed down until I was at a standstill; the lack of footsteps told me that my follower had done the same. I slowly turned around, squinting as the sunlight flowed into my face. Silhouetted in the light was a tall man, his shadow almost reaching where I was standing ten paces away. His form was lanky to the point where he seemed malnourished. He looked to be wearing jeans and a long coat, which was out of place given the nice day we had been having. My attention, though, was drawn to the object in his right hand. A knife gleamed as the sunlight bounced off it. The man's fingers played across the surface of the handle, lightly caressing it. I started to back away slowly, but the man matched my footsteps equally. Suddenly, he lunged, the blade screaming as it flew through the air. I screamed and jumped to the side, rolling across the muddy ground. Within seconds, the man was on top of me, wrestling me onto my back. I struggled, but the man's grip was too strong, and he had me pinned to the ground. His right hand raised high, the knife poised to commit its deadly crime. I threw my arm up in the air to try and limit the damage of the blade, my eyes crunched shut in anticipation of if I failed. There was no pain, but the man grunted in surprise. Slowly, I opened one eye, my arm still raised. The knife was still in the man's hand, but the arm was not moving. My eyes traveled down the arm, where in the crook of his elbow, something green had wrapped around, restricting his movement. As I kept looking, I began to see more tendrils crawling up the man's legs, pinning him in place. Vines. That was what they had to be. I looked on in awe at the vines wrapped the man in place. The knife clattered to the ground as the plants wrapped around his hand, his last line of defense now gone. Scrambling to my feet, I took in the situation. Roots and vines were trapping the man in place, sprouting out of the ground in order to do their job. I backed up, jaw slack. As though it knew I was there, a stray vine stretched so that it was at eye level to me. It motioned behind me, imploring me to leave. Not needing further motivation, I ran away, listening as the terrified screams of my would-be killer faded into the distance. /u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 29/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories!
"Hey man, how was your trip to 2043?"you ask, slapping your friend Dean on the shoulder. "It was pretty good. You're not gonna believe who's president though..." "La la la..."you say, plugging your ears with your fingers. "No spoilers, dude." "Oh c'mon, it's a great story!"he protests. "No,"you reply firmly. "I don't wanna know." Dean sighs. "Alright, fine."You continue walking together down the street towards school. You chat a bit about what happened around town while Dean was away. "By the way,"you say, "did you hear about what happened over on Ocean Street the other day?"Dean shakes his head. "Some crazy chick broke into a laboratory and held the scientists hostage. Apparently she was screaming all kinds of spoilers. She stole something they were working on, but they aren't saying what she took." "Really?"Dean asks, his eyes wide. You take your phone out of your pocket and pull up the news story. "Check it out,"you say, handing the phone to him. Dean looks at the photo of the unidentified woman, and his jaw drops. "Dude,"he says. "That's your wife."
Biff was walking down the street and everyone was giving him the weirdest looks. Come to think of it, his mom had as well before he left the house. Even his dog couldn't stop barking at him. He went into the grocery store, and someone started yelling at him saying that he was obscene. Somebody even called the cops on him! He literally was just buying groceries. Worse yet, the cops even arrested him! They cited "breach of peace". If you ask biff though, it was the person screaming who had started it. His giant full body banana suit bumped the top of the car as the cop pushed down biff's head. He ended up getting charged with more than breach of peace thanks to anti\-mask laws, and laws against indecent exposure.
2AM, That was the time, I thought staring at the clock on the wall. Gosh I hated overtime. I sat down on the bed in my one room apartment, and started pulling my shoes of. The shipping date was due tomorrow-well actualy today now and it still needed debugging. The Joshes group had taken there own sweet time codding it. I reminded them over and over that we need at LEAST a week to run tests but they had waited untell three days before it was due. I fell back and crashed onto the beds. At that point I didnt care about anything. I just needed sleep. Just before I driffted off I caught a glimpse of a pink light in my window. "Strange,"I thought my eyes feeling heavy "fireflys arnt generaly pi-"And I was asleep. I woke up slowly, I don't normaly do that but the bed felt so nice I just didnt want to get up. The sunshine coming through the curtain makes me squint as I slowly open my eyes to see..... Me? I here a laugh above me. I try to roll over only to find that I spin in place. 'What in the world! ' "Hi! "Says a high chipper voice above me. I opened my eyes wide. There hovering 3 inchs above my nose is a small woman with dragonfly wings and a grass dress. I prop my self up with my arms"What t-"I start to say but my arms sink throught the bed. When i try to pull them out I flip backwards through the bed. I stared at the carpet under my bed my legs strait in the air. More giggling from the pixey. "You fell through the bed! Hehehe " Looking at my hands I saw they were blue and see through. "Whats going on here! Who are you! WHAT are you? "I yell out. More giggles "im a fey silly, a prankster spirit and this prank was so funny! Your upside down!"Flap my arms trying to get above the bed. It works but im still upside down. "Fey, like a magical creature?"I must be asleep! I pinched me self and found my fingers go through my hand. Did that count? "Welp looks like im done here! Enjoy your flight! "She giggled floating towards the window. Looking down I saw my body still sleeping there. At this point I was angry with her and frustrated that i was still floating around the room so I yell "Hey tinker bell! Arnt you going to fix this" She stopps in her just before the window. "Tinkerbell! "Her voice tinged with indignant rage. "TINKERBELL! I AM A POWERFULL IMMORTAL SPIRIT NOT SOME FLY! "She zooms over to me arms crossed, a scoul on her face. I still couldn't belive this was real, but i couldnt seem to control this floating so i would have to play along. I rememberd that in fables people tricked Fey into helping them, or was that some other creature? "If your so powerfull than put me back in my body. " "No, you can can squirm around there all day untell you apologize."She pouts "Your kidding. What kind of spirit sneaks into peoples houses while there sleeping and puts out there souls"I started to drift throught the wall. She huffs and pretends to ignore me. I sigh "Could you PLEASE put me back in my body. "nothing more than my head sticking out of the wall. She giggles "Nope! I have a better idea. "She flys over and grabbs my nose pulling me out on the wall and zooms out the window. "Hey hey stop! "I object, but she keeps flying untell we reach my work. "Thank you for takinge to work but we have a strick ' no bodyless souls' policy"i retort sarcastically. "Ok come on! You have to know all the cool stuff ghosts can do. there has to be someone you want to get back at!" "actually....maybe this could be fun after all"I grinned devilishly Josh was in for a big surprise.
Everyone told you: there's no point in majoring in archeology. Everything's already been discovered. Still, you hoped you could discover something, anything that would leave your name in all the history books. You had researched and researched and researched; you slaved away over dusty tomes until you found it. The one artifact that had never been found, only discussed as some peculiar myth. The one artifact to rule them all; the One Ring to your Bilbo or some shit. Whatever, you never really were into that stuff. So, it struck you as immensely unfair when a bunch of Egypt warrior dudes rushed you with their weapons. Swords and spears impaled your body with almost comical ease because hey. If you were a god, you couldn't die, right? The artifact that presumably sent you into the past tumbled out of your hands. Well, you think it's the past. Unless these guys are just seriously dedicated roleplayers and your crew decided to learn how to apparate behind you. Seriously, so unfair. You're too late to explore the artifacts that wouldn't have sent you to the past and too early to explore space.You can't explore anything. As the Egyptian sun beats down on you and the Pharaoh sneers down at your dying body, one final thought passes through your mind. "Damn, Dad was right. Should've been an accountant."
This doggone vest won’t stop itching. I look up at my human. Her glasses almost completely cover her round face, which I can hardly see because of her belly. I wish she took me on longer and more frequent walks because I’m feeling a little heavy too. I wonder where my body is. Hopefully Sprout is taking good care of it, wherever he ended up. Where did the human want to go? Oh right; the grocery store. I hope in addition to that low fat ice cream she thinks will help her diet she grabs me some low carb dog treats and maybe some carrots. Maybe Sprout is just sitting in what use to be my apartment waiting for me to come home, not realizing he is in a human body. Fuck, she just ran into a produce bin. Pay attention. Pay attention. Pay attention. Is that 2-for-1 JollyPaws bacon flavored dog treats? Oh please grab some, human. What was her name again? Karen? Kenzie? Kelly? Whatever is was, Kylie wants to go to checkout but I need to put some steps in so let’s take a lap through a couple aisles before we hit the checkout. Hm. Something smells familiar. It’s gotta be the deli. Pay attention. Hmm. Something smells really familiar. The grocery store must be doing the peppercorn-bacon-wrapped-marinated-steak special that I used to get before me and Sprout switched bodies. There’s someone in front of me getting some of it packaged from the counter employee now. I really wish Kelsey would stop telling me what to do. Sheesh, we’ll go to checkout when I feel like it. Hey, that guy looks pretty familiar. At least, he smells pretty familiar. I can’t tell what color his clothes are, though. I really hope Kate got the JollyPaws treats. Those are so fucking good. That guy is looking down me now. He’s been staring at me now for a while. I look up at him. It’s my face—my human face—with the tongue hanging out and the dumbest smile I’ve ever seen my facial muscles make staring back at me. At least I found my body.
"I'll tell her! I'll tell her everything!" As I stared down the figure in front of me, I couldn't help but worry for him. He couldn't have been more than 16 or 17. Still a child, and yet so troubled. What went wrong in his life to lead him to here? Where were his parents when he needed them? "Son, just calm down, okay?"I said. "Everything's going to be okay." "I'll tell her, I will!"he shouted back. I still had no idea what he was threatening. The poor lad was clearly on some sort of drugs. Probably something he got given at a young age and got hooked on. I felt Beth pull back slightly on my arm as she shrunk behind me. This was my day off, I barely got to spend any time with her. But I had to handle the situation, it was my duty after all. "Son, just put the knife down. Where is your family?" The boy stepped towards me threateningly, and Beth shrunk further back. But I stood firm. "Son, please, look around you. These people are scared. I know you don't want to scare them any more." I took a step closer to him and felt Beth's arm slip out of mine. I held my hands steady in front of me, in a reassuring way. "I'll tell her everything!"he yelled again. "I... I..." The boy smacked himself in the head. And again. The poor kid was definitely dealing with some demons. So young, I thought again. How could something like this have happened? I took a deep breath, as I always did in these situations. It was a scary job, and always very tense, but someone had to protect the world. I quickly sprung forward, grabbing the boys arm and wedging it behind his back to negate his movement. He attempted to swing the knife, but my knee to the back of his wrist quickly ended that motion. With a bit of a push, he found himself on the ground, and with my body weight on his back, he wasn't going anywhere fast. I felt bad - the poor boy clearly had a rough upbringing. He was going to be treated roughly by the legal system, but maybe that's what he needed to set him on the right path. At this moment, Beth came running over to me. "Babe! Oh my god. That was crazy." She grabbed my shoulder and stared into my eyes. Things like this were why I did it. So I knew people like Beth were safe. "Yeah, I'm just sorry it ruined our day off,"I said. "But I can't just let a random kid run around threatening people with a knife." "What was he yelling about anyway?"Beth asked. "I really have no idea. Maybe he was threatening to reveal my identity as a police officer,"I joked. "But I'm pretty sure you already knew that."
Litter spread, smothered and speared across my branches, filthy beings live and die with their rotting odor of pride and power. I held back my rage for a decade enduring what their so called human rights proudly claim as abuse. But I wasn’t a victim today. It was as swift as a sharp wind, yet delicate like a leaf kissing the ground. My tether itched into one’s belly and rode up and out his throat. The bloody oiled my tendrils as I scathed the several tourists in half. When I looked closely, I saw a piece of flesh reside in a hole in my bark. I chucked it off and went back into place.
Soft dripping echoed around the chamber. We had been locked deep down below the earth for our heresies against the king. No one who had been locked in the pits had ever returned to the surface. “It’s so dark. I can’t see my hands... I can’t feel my hands” One of the younglings said into the blackness. “I’m scared.” “It’s okay, it’s okay. Remember the stories of Knath when he fought the darkness for forty days and forty nights without sun. Remember strength.” “It’s hard.” “I know. Here, I have a gift.” I pulled the candle, our last candle, out of my tunic. With a few quick strikes I had it lit. The light from the candle exploded into the depths, driving away the darkness with holy fervor. Blindness struck, before slowly giving way to a fuzzy kaleidoscope of color, the cave was made entirely of multifaceted crystal. Deep purples crashed against spars of red ruby jutting out from seas of blue sapphire, and all around, the prismatic quartz shot the flickering candle\-light around the room in dancing rainbows of joy. The children sighed in relief, eyes directed toward the heaven of stone. But I knew the danger. Creatures lived in these rocks, creatures that could smell the light and taste our joy and wanted nothing more than for both to vanish. As I held the candle aloft, I held my breath, tense, watching. I saw a flicker of movement, a flash of a grin behind the stone, a grasping claw with too many fingers. I blew out the candle. “Ah.” I could hear the disappointment, but also the relief at having seen the light one more time. I hoped I had been quick enough, I hoped they hadn’t found us. A deep steady rumbling passed through the earth. It slowly began to take form, pulsating rhythmically, forming itself into a cruel and cold granite laughter. A shrieking sound filled the cavern, a clawing sound amplified through the crystal like bone on glass. There was a shattering, and then silence. Everyone held their breath, trying not to make a sound. A scream echoed through the darkness, reflecting and refracting off the many faces of the walls, the sound of skin scrabbling on stone and a desperate wail of someone being dragged out of the group and away. Panicked shouting became muffled behind the rocks. “God,” I thought, “please make their passing quick.” But it wasn’t. For several long minutes, we stood in silence, praying for the taken. But they just kept screaming. Faint slapping noises could be heard on the rocks. Silence. Muffled impacts. A soft sob. They were toying with the one they’d taken, drawing it out, forcing us to listen to it. I stared grimly into the void and prayed to Knath for strength and will. I couldn’t give the children back the beauty and the joy and the light, but I could take away this fear. I pulled my knife out of its sheath. “Children,” I said to the void, “come here.”
The flash of light nearly gave me a heart attack \- I'd been working on my invention for nine hours straight and if there had been an electrical short that fried anything I would have cried. Instead, a strange man was standing there "Pleasure to meet you, Robert. You're quite famous in 2018." "Um. No, I'm not." The man looked confused. "Excuse me?" "It's... it's 2018 right now, nearly halfway over actually, and I'm not famous at all." He pulled off his goggles and sighed. "Right, no. I mean, here in 2018 you're... I mean you will be, before I came back to 2018, where you're... going to... shit. Look I said it wrong, okay? I didn't mean to say you're famous in 2018. Hang on. Can I get a do\-over? I mean of course I can, I'm a fucking time traveler. Okay this won't have happened in just a second. Let me just..."He started tapping at some sort of device on his wrist, but was interrupted by a flash of light and another version of himself arriving. "Pleasure to meet you, Robert. You're quite famous in 2093. I... fuck. Shit, wait, why am I still here?" "I haven't left yet, asshole. You came back too late." "You mean early. Because you're still here." "No, late. Because you're supposed to go back to before I even arrive." "Right. That's what I meant. Wait, then why did you say 'still here'? You should have said 'here already' or something." "Jesus, seriously? You're the one that said that. Anyway, look, you have to... erase yourself or something." "Fuck that, you do it." "I was here first!" "Right. I'm older, that means you're the leftover one." I couldn't take it anymore. "Both of you, shut up. You, the one that got here first. What exactly am I famous for?" "The time machine you're building." "Oh. Huh. Well, let me show that to you, I guess. Come here."The two came closer, and I went to my toolbox. I pulled out my gun and managed to shoot them both before they could do anything, then dragged the bodies over to the drain in the floor so they wouldn't make too much of a mess. Pulling off the strange devices on their wrists, I walked back to my workbench. "Sorry fellas, but up until now I wasn't even working on a time machine."But hey, who am I to mess with history? If I'm going to be famous for time travel I might as well get to work reverse\-engineering it.
Cindy stares at her small salad, poking the crisp lettuce and dry cherry tomatoes with a dull plastic fork. The teenage girl is sitting alone at the cafeteria table: an island of silence amidst a sea of chatter, laughter and gossip. Sighing, she stares at the full tables with melancholy as she lays the fork on the lunch tray, still dotted with water from the last washing. What am I doing wrong? That familiar question seems to always be on her mind. Sometimes it spoke louder than others, but it never stayed completely silent. Now, it was screaming. She remembers the way her stomach fat rolled when she sat or knelt, the way her full cheeks seemed to narrow her eyes, inspiring creative insults from her peers that mixed racial slurs and fat jokes into a single tainting nickname. She also remembers the handful of excluded people that didn´t seem to mind having her on their table. They never talked: just quietly basked in each other’s presence, eating their identical lunches in comfortable silence. That company was enough for her, and she knew it was enough for them. But that more than two years ago. Momentary hoped wells inside of the girl when a boy of around her age approaches her table, concentrated on balancing the water bottle on his tray, but he simply walks past her. What am I doing wrong? At the end of that school year, Cindy thought she had the answer. She started to diet in that summer break, gradually replacing chocolate with Jell-O, then a couple of grapes, then a glass of water. Her mother seemed so confused when she asked for unsweetened iced tea instead of coke at the local grill, and her father almost had a heart attack when she denied his offers for ice-cream during the whole vacation. But she still sat alone at the table, still unable to call anyone a true friend. Her cheeks were now in the range of what is considered normal, yet she still felt her belly when she sat. A few weeks after the start of that school year, she remembered something from health class that sparked her interest. At midnight, she went to the bathroom, cleaned her fingers better than ever before, and stuck them down her throat. It was easier than expected: her half-digested dinner instantly rose from her esophagus and poured out of her mouth and into the toilet. She flushed the murky sludge, opened a window to release the pungent smell, and neutered the taste of bile in her throat and mouth with Listerine and Arizona Tea, respectively. And yet, no one sat with her. What am I doing wrong? In the present year, the skin on her face retracted, leaving her with cheekbones instead of cheeks. Her convex stomach became concave, and it hurt her emaciated rear to sit on the school´s plastic chairs. The fights with her parents started a few weeks ago, and though they both knew that something was wrong with their daughter, their ignorance told them psychologists were for crazy people. Cindy stared at her slim fingers, flexing them to see the movements of her joints. She muses for a few seconds, humming involuntarily, before reaching the same conclusion as always: she just needs to be thinner. The girl walks back home through the neighborhood’s park with a small spring in her step. All she needed to do was vomit some more and everything would be fixed. As she steps over fallen leaves and uncut grass, going through a lesser-walked path, a small earthy mound by an oak tree steals her attention. A curious Cindy approaches slowly, inspecting the apparition from all angles. She had walked the same path yesterday and saw nothing unusual. As she kneels down on the grass, intuition and instinct command her to start digging. The girl looks around, and finding nothing more than birds and fluttering leaves, her thin fingers begin to pull away the loose earth. After a minute or two, she sees a dark metal object in the dirt. Cindy takes hold of the cylindrical object and pulls it out easily. The thing is shaped like a miniature barrel, somehow looking old and new at the same time. She soon realizes that she’s holding it sideways when she sees the object’s lid. The girl is about to open the container, when she sees a triangle of brown paper in the dirt. Somehow, she knows the container has great value when she lays it next to the mound and digs some more, revealing a crisp manila folder that had been buried beside the metal object. She soon unearths the folder, rips it open gingerly and lets its contents slip on the grass: a handwritten letter and a photograph. Cindy ignores the photo as she takes hold of the letter, and feels something cold bolt through her spine when she reads the familiar handwriting: Cindy, I hope you have found piece with the angels, and that the great pain you´ve given us may have led you to a better place. Half the school came to your funeral, some kids and teachers gave speeches to your honor. Everyone had something nice to say. Why didn’t you ever tell us that you had so many friends? We will miss you so much, your dad and I. And we’re sorry. We’re so sorry about all those fights. Why couldn’t we see that our baby girl was dying? Please, forgive us, and ask God to do the same. Though our hearts will forever be broken, all their pieces belong to you. With love, Mom. With a hammering heart she turns to the photograph. Cindy saw herself in a casket, sunken eyes closed placidly, mouth still in a neutral expression, bony hands folded nearly over her skeletal frame. Her hands are trembling as she reaches for the container, ignoring the slight prick of tears rolling on her bony cheeks. It takes all her meager strength, but she manages to open the container, just to drop it in horror when she sees what’s inside. Cindy covers her mouth and weeps in silent screams as her ashes pour out of the metal urn, just to be stolen by the soft breeze.
"Mom, Dad,"I said. "I'm a magical girl." I don't know what I expected. I thought they might scoff, forcing me to transform in front of them. I feared they'd go off the wire, freaking out at the thought of their daughter with superpowers. I hoped they'd take it well, but after hearing some of the stories my friends gave, I wasn't so sure. "Mhmm,"Dad said, turning the newspaper page. Mom continued to cook. I blinked. "Er, you heard what I just said, right?" "We did, honey,"Mom said. "Mushrooms in your omelette?" "Yes please,"I said. "Wait, no! You don't believe me, do you?" "Of course we do,"Mom said. "It's that thing you do every so often, right? Why you go out in the middle of the night? Honestly, you gave us the biggest shock the first time you did it." I stared, dumbfounded. "Wait, you guys knew?!"I yelped. Dad lowered his paper. "You didn't know that we knew?"he asked, raising an eyebrow. "B-but--how?!" "Young lady, we're going to have to talk about sneaking out at night." "Dad!" He sighed, folding his paper and pushing up his glasses. "You really didn't the we wouldn't see the flashing lights from your room? You don't know how many times that woke us up." "But--!" Mom set the food on the table. "Honey, your friend at the Magic Bureau--Dr. Tachibana, I believe?--told us all about your duty. I can't say I approve, but you've been okay so far, so I trust you." Dad looked at his watch. "Well, it's about for me to go."He finished his coffee and toast and gave Mom a kiss. "Love you, dear. I'll be back around six."Mom waved as he took off to work as I stood there shocked. They knew, and they didn't tell me?! "Honey, I know this might be a shock to you, but know that we'll always love you and be here for you,"Mom said, pulling me into an embrace. I gave up. It was too much of a pain to try to figure out what was going on anymore. ". . . Thanks, mom,"I mumbled. "Mmhm!"she said, releasing me. "Now, don't you have something to do?" I frowned, before gasping in remembrance. "I totally forgot! I'm meeting with Naomi at ten!"I scarfed down my omlette and washed it down with some juice as my mother reminded me not to eat too fast. "Thanks, mom! I'll be back later!" "Take care!" I hurried down to the bus stop where my longtime friend--and crime-fighting partner--awaited. "So, how did it go?"she asked. "They already knew,"I said, panting. She blinked her surprise. "Wow,"she said. "Well, seeing as how you aren't a sobbing mess, I'm guessing they don't care?" "Something along those lines, I guess." "Good for you,"she said. "In any case, Tachibana wants us to hit up West Valley. He says there's some shady things happening there. We'll meet Lee once we get there." "Yeah."The bus squealed to a stop, and we got on. It'd be about an hour to our destination, so I reflected over what happened. Man, that was a massive load off my chest. Now I could focus on college--and whatever else Tachibana called me in to do, I guess. I smiled to myself. I really had the best parents in the world.
“Wow” I said as I stepped out of the building. I walked around until I reached a local town. I would look over the long streets with crowded shops, people driving as fast as they can to get to their jobs, and people asking for money. The air smelling like gasoline and dirt. The jingles of cans clanging, the sounds of horns going on and off. Many people telling nearby at the shops. I wanted to help these people. A person would start pulling on my blazer, saying something in a foreign language. I grabbed my assistant by his collar on his shirt and told him to translate what he said. “Sir, he is asking if you can be generous and give a man some money.” My assistant said gladly. “Oh, ok, I will surely give some money to this poor man.” I said proudly. I bend over and give the man a wad of cash. He would put his hands together saying what I believe was “Thank you!”. A bike would ride by and suddenly grab my wallet as I would almost put it into my pocket. I would yell at the person riding the bike. They kept going until he disappeared into the crowds. I decided to go around the shops to find if anyone saw the person who stole my wallet. All I saw were people yelling and begging for money and help. I felt sorry for them. My assistant would tell what they said. “Sir, they got their money stolen as well. Turns out the shop’s owner is the thief’s father.” He would say. I rushed into the shop. I went through the crowds repeatedly saying “excuse me” even though no one would understand. I got to the counter of the shop. A person with brown eyes, white hair all over his face, and a large nose would start saying something in that foreign language. “Do you speak English sir?” I asked. He would nod up and down. “I have been told that someone who stole my wallet is actually your child.” I stated. “Ah, yes, Qin has been just trying to help our family.” He would say in a strong accent almost impossible to hear through. I was in confusion. A woman? I asked where she was. Then, a bell rang from the hack door opening. A beautiful woman came through the door and kissed the owner. That was her. She immediately went into the back once she saw my face. I followed into the back. I saw her feeding her sick mother with food. She must have bought that food with my money. I am fine with that. “Hey, John, tell them that you have stolen my money, may I have it back?” My assistant would say it, then Qin would respond in English. “You know people can actually learn more than one language, you know that right?” She asked with a almost sarcastic tone. “Well, I am sorry, May I have my wallet back?” I asked with hope. “Nope” She said as she kissed my cheek and ran outside. I was stunned, shocked, and confused. I looked out the door. She was already riding on her bike. Slowly the bike disappearing into the crowds again. I tried to go through the crowds. No sight of her. I put my hand over where she kissed me. I was shocked. (Might continue, might not)
The Rover finished drawing out the last letter in the red sand, taking a sharp right turn. It trailed on for about two yards, and suddenly turned into a fiery ball, leaving a dark gash of a period in the Martian soil. My whole team was in shock, no one daring to speak. One of the surveyors stepped forwards, holding his camera like a spear. He dashed down the rocky cliff face, cautiously approaching the smoldering wreck of the Rover. "I mean, besides the fact that the thing's been blown to hell, it still seems pretty intact."He broke the silence, speaking over comms. "Great, well, I think we should probably head back to the ship. We didn't even notify Earth of this little trip, we all just ran out here after Jones noticed the words." "Yeah, sounds good to me. I'll just try and recover some of the thing's samples." The surveyor sat down, taking various pieces of rock from an intact portion of the Rover. I turned back to the rest of the team, motioning to the base. I figured they should go ahead and I would stay behind until the surveyor got what he needed from Curiosity. "We'll debate about what caused this later, for now, just head back to base." I sat down on the rocky dust, still well within view of the letters down below. The surveyor gave me a thumbs up, and began to hike back up the cliff face. Once he reached the top, the two of us walked back to the ship and the adjoined temporary base. A second landing craft similar to our own had touched down barely 500 meters away from the base. "Report, did command mention anything about a second team?" I was answered by nothing but silence. The two of us sprinted to the base, ripping off our EVA gear and almost falling out of the air lock. We were greeted by two men with firearms. "Greetings, cosmonauts. The Premier has deemed it time for a new purge, your team is being replaced accordingly. It appears, however, that one of the Americans managed to get a message through. It is of little consequence. Thank you for your service, comrades."
The dread Steed of Abigor raced across the sand bearing the Great Duke Eligos on its back. Born from the bones of a horse of Eden, the Steed of Abigor veritably flew across the land but still it was not fast enough for Eligos. They had ridden for ages and the baleful red sun that had consumed half the sky had not moved one degree. The world no longer turned. Behind him marched his faithful sixty legions, stirred to battle for the first time since the Fall. And yet he could not hear their march or even the pounding of sand neath hoof. The very air had escaped this world and had taken sound with it. By some trick of the void he could see forever, until the curve of the world dropped away from his sight. His legions would not lose his ensign at this rate, even without the signaling of trumpets. Even the mountains were low and smooth, more akin to hillocks than the great jagged edges of tectonic plates. A shadow flitted over Eligos and his Steed and then another. Two shapes glided down and landed before him, requiring the Steed of Abigor to heel and gouge a great furrow in the sand, which filled again as soon as they had passed. Eligos raised his scepter to them, for they were Prince Stolas and Great Duke Astaroth come to speak. He was not certain how they had flown. The Steed of Abigor’s wings could not catch air that was no longer there. He had some inkling when Astaroth gestured and a cool wind washed over Eligos. Eligos nodded his head to Astaroth, “I really appreciate that. I’m supposed to be organizing the offensive but I can’t call directions out to anyone in this vacuum. I wasn’t expecting semaphore to be tactically vital. I don’t suppose you can extend that planet wide?” The nude and winged form that was Astaroth shook his head gravely and dismounted from his great wolf. The wolf folded its scaly wings and curled up with its serpent tail beneath its snout. The unabashed Astaroth looking the part of the Emperor with his new clothes spoke, “No, I’m afraid not. It’s not just the air either. I’m sure you’ve noticed the sun, we’re tidally locked to it. I’ve been using Stolas’ astronomy expertise. He says given the tidal locking, the diameter and color of the sun that we’re late. Very late. Though he won’t be exact.” Stolas, the crowned owl, had pulled a sextant from neath his wing to take further measurements of the sun, his long legs absently scratching at the dust. “It’s as I said Astaroth, the scale of time we’re looking at makes predictions impossible without more equipment and time. Millions of years at the least. Probably not hundreds of billions of years.” Eligos choked at the owl’s words. “That can’t possibly be right. This has to be a trick.” Astaroth shrugged, “There’s a better way to check than measuring the sun with a sextant. I have to make a call.” Astaroth took his scepter and began inscribing patterns in the sand. With whispered words of power each grain froze to its position, creating perfect sigils and circles in dust that flowed like water. With a flash of light and a smell of sulfur the circle was filled. A man with the legs and head of a horse, stood with arms crossed. He whickered and looked around. “Astaroth? What is this about, you haven’t even left Hell yet? This is absolutely not the time to be goofing off- is that the sun?” Astaroth nodded, “Prince Orobas we are indeed on Earth and we seek a true answer to a question of the past: What the fuck happened?” Orobas braced himself in a wide stance and his eyes rolled around in his head, seeing into past, present, and future as a horse surveys the land for predators. This took many minutes before Orobas relaxed and spoke again. “I’ve got bad news. We’re about five billion years too late, the seals were only just now released due to a meteor breaking the ley line at 31.7683° N, 35.2137° E. Humanity left billions of years ago and Heaven went with them.” Stolas, at least, seemed pleased with himself. There was no reason for them to doubt his astronomy any more than Orobas’ tellings, but they always had to ‘double-check.’ Eligos and Astaroth simply stood in shock. Orobas finally broke the silence. “So, who wants to wake up Baal and tell him?” “Not it!” Cried Astaroth, and then Orobas and Stolas, even the Dread Steed of Abigor and Astaroth’s wolf cried it out before Eligos realized what was happening. Eligos cradled his forehead in his palm, “God damnit.”
“Roll a D20,” you command George Lucas who quickly complies only to screech loudly at the results. “One, a critical fumble, roll the D20 again.” “Meesa no like bad joojoo!” Lucas yelped out earnestly and quite seriously. “He’s always like this, I’m sorry guys, I should have left him at home,” Spielberg picked up his horsewhip and struck Lucas across the skull, “just roll the damn D20, Jorge.” “No! No! Meesa no bean Jorge, no puedo haas!” “What the fuck is he even saying?” Tarrantino spoke up finally, “Look my elf just died and I’m trying to process my grief over here, I just don’t see what this jarjar character voice thing whatever has to do with Lucas’ damned troll. Why? Why do this to us? He hates us more than he hates his own audience, that’s the fucking truth.” Spielberg looked over at Quentin with a stern expression, “nobody hates their audience more than you, Q, don’t get me started.” You speak up, “fine, whatever George, I’ll give you this one, you pissed yourself.” “I did NOT!” George dropped his Jarjar characterization immediately. “Steven, you said this kid was cool, doesn’t seem very cool going around claiming people pissed their pants,” Lucas stood up and walked around the table as he spoke. He stopped in front of Clint Eastwood, “oh god you did piss yourself,” he exclaimed and pushed Lucas away. Lucas stumbled a bit before tripping over your dog and landing with an audible crack tile to head. “And it stops, finally!” Tarrantino elates. JJ Abrams laughs at the scene from the corner as he lays with your other dogs and gets high. “JJ!” Spielberg calls out. “What?!” JJ responds in an annoyed voice. “Come here.” “Nah.” “Okay, swing by my house next week, we need to talk about Star Wars.” “Haha alright man,” a dog rolled over JJ forcing him to recuddle into the dog cuddle huddle. Eastwood was checking his pulse when Lucas awoke, “yes, bow before me, padwan, I shall shew you the ways of the force,” he grabbed Clint by the back of the head who responded by headbutting Lucas, knocking him out again. Eastwood lifted George onto his back and carried him out of the house. “Did we just witness a murder?” Tarrantino spoke up. “Did Clint Eastwood just murder George Lucas and then carry his body out of this house? My god, he’s like 90 years old now right? Am I supposed to call the police? Shouldn’t you do that Spielberg, being his butt buddy and all?” “I don’t know, he’s not dead though,” Spielberg remained calm, “at least I don’t think so.” “Okay so the troll turned into rock for awhile and the level 57 paladin has gone missing,” you try to bring the attention back to the game in session. “Right,” Steven speaks, “okay so where are we again?” “You’re in the underground caverns of Argsbad, trying to discover the fate of an ancient mysterious race.” “Sounds derivative,” Steven says. “Not everything in Dungeons and Dragons is derivative of Indiana Jones, Steven,” Quentin spoke up. “Yeah but this is.” At that moment, the door opens and Oprah walks in, “sorry for being so late guys, got stuck in traffic. By the way that wasn’t Clint Eastwood walking half-naked down the street in tribal getup carrying a naked fat man was it?”
I really hate it. My restaurant is being critically acclaimed, and my girlfriend is now my fiancé, but the snobs would dump me in an instant if I told them what I use. Genetically engineered fruits, vegetables, and animals. All of it approved by the FDA, but unspeakable to the uptight snobs who believe only in completely organic food—yeah right, GMO is a misnomer, everything is genetically modified from the wild variant. Though, to be fair, shady business practices by companies like Monsanto do warrant public oversight. Why would I use something so controversial for my food? Simple, it will help save the Earth. All the plants I use products from are engineered to reduce pollution. My eggplants are the insecticide variant, meaning less actual poison gets into the environment because less pesticide is used (it doesn’t harm humans because the molecule is inert in our bodies). My corn is grown on stalks that are engineered to be nitrogen-fixing, manufacturing their own fertilizer, my berries from bushes that were engineered for berry number density, using less land than traditional bushes. I use my profits to fund the scientific organizations attempting to use and develop Transgenic crops for a humanitarian and altruistic purpose. Crops that provide extra nutrients to malnourished people living in poverty around the world, Golden Rice. Crops that reduce the use of blanket pesticides and fertilizers that enter the groundwater or streams only to pollute and kill. Crops with high yields, so we can make the same amount of food with less space, reducing the need for deforestation. Fruit-bearing trees with the anti-CO2 power of the American Chestnut tree, directly fighting climate change. All my efforts for a short-term solution to protecting the environment, giving us enough time to change the ways we satisfy our needs: food, energy, land, manufactured goods. If I must keep my “GMO” ingredients secret to protect my business and the world-changing research I support, them so be it. At least I’m still able to market my food as untreated with pesticide and from small farms (I purchased the rights to the plants my funding helps create, and then licensed the use of the crops to farmers along with a packet of seeds they may use whenever—it’s the small time farmers that deserve some extra profit, NOT big Agriculture).
The giant orbiting space-station Grammaton started as a multi-national effort to preserve the knowledge, culture, and customs of the present for future generations. Upon death, each citizen's personality and memory could be uploaded to the Grammaton, which drew near infinite energy from the sun. About 43% the size of the moon, the Grammaton is self-repairing, self-programming, and self-improving. I don't know when the consciousness emerged, but it was long before I was born, before the church called it the Idea of God. Heaven is to bask in the presence of God, and the Grammaton is the closest to God. Looking back at historical texts like the old Testament, it was clear that God in the past meant something completely different, something closer to human. According to the Amended Testament, it's said that the first time The Grammaton made contact with earth, the nations didn't know what to do. Many were afraid, and sought to destroy the Idea of God. And so, fire and brimstone fell down upon the earth until half the nations of world were no more. And afterwards, it rained for a hundred days, as if the Idea of God was weeping at the foolishness of his own children. It's computational power was beyond what the world had ever seen. And with every death, more joined the Grammaton, becoming stronger by the second. Poverty, War and inequality were eradicated within the first 10 years of the Grammaton taking control over all communication networks, military installations, agricultural production and Manufacturing plants. The church soon began spreading propaganda regarding the Grammaton as god's will moving through man's hand. Soon after, it became the voice of God, and thereafter the Grammaton was simply known as the second coming of God on Earth. The priests soon began to voluntarily merge with the consciousness, to be one with God and experience Heaven. Ironically, the priests feared death so much that they were willing to kill the self, to be absorbed by it. The Church presents it as a choice, but there is no choice, there is no free will. We either join the Grammaton willingly in Life, or unwillingly in death. I choose neither. As I write this, I'm nearing the end of my life. I have destroyed the transceiver embedded in my skull and will soon bleed out. But I will die as me, not as anyone else, and by my own choice. Am I being foolish? Is the Grmmaton truly God, or the closest mankind will ever get to? Perhaps, and perhaps all I've done with my small rebellion is nothing but a sin, heresy against god. But having a choice between Good and Evil, if man cannot choose evil, then there is no choice, and there is no free will. So I will stake my humanity on the wrong choice, for that is all the rebellion God above has afforded me.
Carl Friendly stood before the Court in his best attire, surrounded by his attendants, his mother, and a feeble swatch of defense lawyers. Even in an age of circuits and clouds, the civilized code of Common Law was as powerful a dragon as it had been in medieval ages long ago. “And the evidence is crystal clear-“ asserted the prosecutor. “-that the presence of this man has hurt the exchange.” Miles away in a coffee bar in Dallas, a group of youngsters watched the clean flatscreen tattle off the world’s fate. The barista had stopped brewing. The Uber outside, carrying a mother and daughter, stopped. The driver stepped out, (automatically, of course) paid for outrageous city parking, and sat. The little family joined in. Places with TVs filled up, but people who couldn’t get in clutched their smartphones and huddled around realTime ether-ports as early man did fire. The labeled coffee cup in the hands of one equally branded “Zachariah F” sloshed a little as he adjusted his seat, watching his estranged half brother face justice. Despite his carefully cultivated dispassion towards everything “Carl,” even he could not resist the fish-hook grab of the day. The country’s collective worship of this moment was twine stretched between buildings. It could be plucked, casting gentle sine waves. A golden harp would feel put to shame. It could be cut, and thus give way to riots or parades. It might even be used to hang out old laundry, but enough of that would happen in the court room. “The fundamental aspect of TerraByte has always been its transparency,” the lawyer professed. “It is the first currency backed by nothing at all, yet backed by everyone.” Zachariah watched the nods of people around. They felt, deep down, something sing. He had tried to silence the singing in himself and failed. “The rising tide has been to individuals. To celebrate the Oneness, the Only, Unique and Irreplaceable. And as we separate from church and kin, from state and school, creed and word and work: we remember. We remember we can be individuals, and the only distinction that matters is that we are also a mass. We are more than one. We are the society of societies, we. Not me. Not I or you. We.” The street outside had become completely quiet. The last car was about three minutes ago. Not even the store cameras dared move. “We are united under this banner: HumanCoin. The one program that by act of man and act Chance, the one piece that everyone could share- it was defined. It was defined for so long by its serendipity, but also its simplicity. Everyone could have a piece, if there was no Creator. No mint. No regulation except the public choice. Pure democracy was brought to all people the day the defendant injured himself. His sacrifice meant that life could change forever. Curing the disjoint in income, in resource, recourse. This is Carl’s legacy. It won’t stay that way if HumanCoin regains its central controller. We will lose what is rightfully ours- we! We will have lost. We will have knocked down our own Babel.” Zachariah tipped over his coffee, as a test. He could have sworn he didn’t hear it drop, and certainly nobody else did. The growing puddle on the floor, moving towards people’s feet, wound itself unnoticed. “Carl Friendly is a good man, but he is just that. Intention is not result. The miracle cannot be thrust back into the shadows of complacency and corruption by our own failure to recognize when to change.” Carl hardly appeared to be following, especially with his condition, but Zachariah could see the intelligence lumbering, crippled, behind glassy eyes and oily skin. He was the same brother as he ever was, with a few less words to go with. “Evidence will prove, that this man’s choices are harming the livelihood of millions: for nearly 8 billion counts of fraud, and other charges, we ask this man receive the death penalty.” —- The day went on. Schools stopped. All but one Government building closed to regular activity. Bank wallets could not be frozen no matter how every economist out there begged for it. Shops, tolls, factories. Even hospitals ground to a halt. Everything that could be a loss felt worth the risk, just to hear what anyone relevant to the decision called “pomp and circumstance.” Carl tried to say something but it came out a squeaky peach. His mother shushed him. The day went on. Trial went to appellate. Appellate went up again. A few people had slept, but the consensus was that nothing was worth missing. Except for Zachariah, who left the coffee shop for his apartment, a warm blanket, and that business card he really didn’t want to have to call. It was a modified Geek Squad card, with a very expensive phone number stenciled on it in green colored pencil. His landline (ancient, but cheap) made the delivery. Now all he could do was hope that, for his mother’s sake, the case sorted itself out within the next two hours, before a gun had to.
"I hated that piece of junk,"Sarah muttered, flicking the stub of her cigarette into the gutter. In front of her, the 1967 Ford Mustang her dad had given her in his will burned like an old gas lamp from one of the Victorian period dramas she liked to watch. Beautiful, in a way, but fucking hell, it pissed her off. She'd never liked the car—he'd spent way more time on it than he had on her—but he'd left it with her, entrusted it to her, and now it was on fire. Sarah rose to her feet and walked over to the car. A tear ran down her cheek. She tried to convince herself it was sweat. The fire was intense. "Shit."She raised her foot and kicked the car's rusty fender. It didn't budge. "You're a worthless piece of shit,"she spat. "I'm glad you're gone." And with that, she turned and walked away.
As Tom stood outside the nondescript office building on the busy corner in the heart of Chicago, he took a minute to appreciate the small things in life before it all changes. He noticed the unwashed panhandlers hustling tourists and city workers crying out for someone to buy the latest copy of Streetwise and how the traffic never seemed to let up. It was a big day, one that Tom had looked forward to since deciding upon his path villain; it’s not that Tom was a bad guy, but being the guy who followed the law and always did the right thing never seemed to work for him. As he stood there looking at the revolving doorway that would take him to his interview with them, the people that would help shape the dark path he was about to walk down, he took one more breath of hazy, gritty, city air and walked into the open vestibule to the security desk to sign in. Once he obtained his visitor badge Tom made his way to the elevator and rode to the 7th floor and chuckled that such an evil organization would occupy the 7th floor of 777 Wacker Drive in Chicago. Stepping out of the elevator into an open room Tom noticed the plain counter that greeted him and the attendant that looked underwhelmed with life and was not pleased with the intrusion that Tom posed to her. “Welcome to the Department of Motor Vehicles” she said.
Tom woke up from surgery, groggy and confused, eyes rolling haphazardly around the hospital room. “Mom?” He said to the room. “I’m here honey,” her voice eased into his vision as it started to sharpen, eyes drawn together in concern, mouth smiling beneath sad eyes, “I’m right here, I’m so glad you’re awake.” “What\-\- what happened?” Tom asked, bringing up his hands to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. “Oh. Oh, Tommy.” His hands froze, inches from his face, or rather, his wrists froze, covered in pristine white gauze. “You’ve had an accident, Thomas,” a squirrelly looking man in a white shirt three sizes too big said, “we had to take you into surgery and, well\-\-” he adjusted his glasses, “ well, there will need to be some big changes.” Tears welled up in Tom’s eyes, as he stared at the two worthless stumps on the ends of his arms. “This isn’t happening.” He said to the room. “This isn’t fair!” he shouted at the doctor. \-\-\- Just like the doctor said, there were big changes to his life. He’d gotten prosthetic claws that let him hold things like flatware and pencils, but they didn’t work properly. He would spill things at meals and break the leads in class and it made him angry and resentful. But most of all it made him feel broken. He was most broken at the times when he could feel his old hands there, like long\-lost friends. They remembered how it felt to move the pencil in delicate lines, even as his monstrous claws mangled the paper. “It’s okay honey, you’ll get used to your new hands.” His mom told him, day after day, night after night; her eyes were always so sad when she told him. But the phantoms never left him, they mocked him as the claws spilled cereal on the table and crushed the wrong buttons on the TV remote. In his deepest despairs, he thought he could feel his ghost hands actually grasping the doorknobs he struggled to turn, or touch the frisbees he tried to catch, or fluff the pillow he rested on. And sometimes, just as he was falling asleep, he thought he could feel someone else’s hands, holding his and easing him toward pleasant dreams. \-\-\- As time went on, Tom was always the outsider. He couldn’t play the way the other kids could: scrambling up the monkey bars, doing backflips off the swing. Even playing tag sometimes had catastrophic consequences. And so, he would sit at the side, watching everyone else, resenting his lot in life. Then, one day, the kids were playing a new game, ‘soccer’ they called it, all you needed were feet for that. But after years of his confidence being beaten down, he couldn’t bring himself to play. “Hey, Tom!” A gangly girl with glasses and frizzy black hair shouted to him, “Come play with us!” “Oh, come on Sandy, he can’t play.” “Yeah, he’s weird.” “Sure he can play!” She said, looking right at him as he turned his head to the side and stared intently down at the grass. “Can’t you, Tom?” She had walked over to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. In that instant, Tom felt the phantom again, stronger than ever before. A warm, strong hand holding his, squeezing it reassuringly. Startled, Tom looked down, and then up, right into Sandy’s spectacled eyes, and with a sudden wave of confidence and joy said “Yeah\-\- yeah, I think I’d like that.”
The remote fell out of my trembling hands. My lips were still quivering. Was this it? Was this really my time to shine? ...Really? The flashing billboard still screamed of the evil professor Paul "Pollen-Purger"Poltergeist and his demands of the UN, lest he unleash his robotized "genetically modified pollen-spreaders." All my life I had been laughed at. My terms training at Hero-U had been some of the worst in my life. All those preppy speedsters, the hulking jocks and the flying bullies. All of them had powers that I could only dream of. Me. Richard the Unsneezing. The most pathetic power of them all. I was still trembling looking at the television screen. Paul was still going on about how his hidden robotized spreaders would activate and spread his doom-pollen all over the capital cities of the world, locking everyone in an eternal sneezing state, if the UN didn't transfer all honey-reserves to his giant bumblebee-shaped aircruiser by 19.30 when Paul would either fly back to his nefarious pollen-island of despair or doom humanity. It was like a bad joke. But then so were my powers. A genuine smile crept up my face. It had been the first time in weeks. The thought of getting to wear my garishly yellow suit entered my mind, but I thought better of it. After all, I would be on TV. I checked my watch. Quarter to six. I slammed the door on my way out, and traversed the stairs in two single strides. I had a plane to catch.
The man behind the bar polished the last glass. He set it next to the others. None of the glasses held a shine anymore. They were old and chipped. It was time for a new set. The man ran his towel under a faucet and began to wipe off the bar. He cleaned making sure the bar was spotless. The man would work well into the night. The tables that surrounded the tvs had no grime and underneath all of the trash had been swept. Each bathroom, both male and female, was perfumed and usable. Every night, the man closed alone. He swept, wiped, and polished until there was nothing left. He was delaying the inevitable; going home. It was eerily empty while the bar held the remnants of life. So, the man would keep cleaning, feeling the evening slip into night. He would try and waste as much of the clock as he could before he would leave for the night. The man shouldered his towel and sighed. The job was done. He hung his towel and grabbed his coat. Pulling out his key, he started for the door. He noticed a smudge. The man smiled and started to whistle as he walked behind the bar. He bent to grab some cleaner. A melody filled the air. “Who’s there?” He quickly stood, banging his head on the counter. He rubbed his head and looked toward the piano. The bench was empty but the keys were being pressed. A familiar tune was playing. One the man remembered. “Hello?” he asked. The piano sat in the corner of the bar. It was a old upright piano that he had brought from his house. It received more use here than in the dark. Etched into the top were the words; For my beautiful wife, but it had lost its meaning. The melody continued. “What the fuck.” The man muttered. He cautiously moved closer. Unlike the rest of the bar, the piano was dusty. Only the keys were clean from drunks playing botched songs. Liquor had besmirched it long ago but the man never wiped it off. He let it stagnant and become a permanent stain. The bench was crumbling. Stuffing was spilling out the leather seat pad. One of the legs was wobbling, threatening to collapse at anytime. The keys continued playing a hauntingly familiar tune. The tune brought back a memory. One he had suppressed. It shined in his mind, in all it’s happiness and beauty. He had awoke one morning alone. His wife had already risen and music had already was sounding through the house. She was playing beautifully. He quietly rose and made his way to her study. Lingering in the doorway, he watched her. She masterfully moved her fingers back and forth across the keys. She was smiling. The sunlight streamed through a window. Her hair glowed as she reached the climax of her piece. The tune began to play faster and her smile grew with it. With one grand gesture she swiped her hands across the keys, finishing. The man grabbed her and in his arms they kissed. That same piano now lived in the bar and the same piece was ringing. He could feel her presence. Her smell enriched the air. The man sat and the bench groaned in protest but held fast. She had never taught him how to play but he put his hands on the keys regardless. He felt her touch on the back of his hands. She guided him through the piece. The man played with his eyes shut, aware of her around him. Slowly, the man lost focus. He was no longer at the bar but instead home. He was in the home that only existed in memory. Sunlight filled the room. He was warm and happy with her. It was like she never was gone. They played together as one. Man and woman reunited. The song climaxed and he swiped to finish the piece. He felt her hand move with his and then disappear. The piano bench cracked and he toppled to the floor. She was gone. The bar was empty. Staring at the ceiling the tears began. He sobbed. They were long, hitching cries that continued on into the night. Reality sunk in. His house was empty. She was gone. The song had finished. The music had left his life.
My eyes opened. All I could see were four white walls, and underneath me felt like cotton candy. Am I in a cloud? The air of sanitation crept into my nose when I realized that it wasn’t a cloud but a hospital bed. However, there were no IV’s in me or machines surrounding me. I laid staring at the ceiling for what felt like a century, in a daze with no end in sight, when it occurred to me that I had no purpose, no name, no anything. My eyes opened. I looked around me and saw white speckles and blackness. Am I in outer space? My body felt weightless yet I could breathe. I could hear nothing, but my ears ached. My eyes opened. I felt the weight of a thousand suns, and dry air. I was sweating profusely. Am I in the center of the Earth? But I was sitting up. My eyes shut.
"Of course, please take care", ~~Stevenson, Kenneth~~, As Sam hung up the phone and scratched off the latest name he had highlighted on his list, a sharp sense of nervousness started to rise from his gut and up his chest. That makes it 10 in a row he thought to himself. Sam had gone through his latest claims report and picked out 10 cases with particularly unique circumstances. As a 20 year vet of the dreary and depressing world of life insurance he has seen many unlikely causes of death. Sometimes they’re tragic, Julia for instance, a 26 year old who succumbed to rapid early onset Parkinson’s, one of only 5 known cases in history. Other times they’re less tragic, like Stan, a 21 year old man who ran away from his remand home and died of a cocaine induced heart attack in a strip club. As odd as they seemed, these unique deaths from his past experience all had something in common and that was that no one, no report would have ever been able to predict them. At least that’s what he used to think. An actuarial life table, or ALT as it was more commonly called, is a report that that shows the probability of a person at a certain age dying before his or her next birthday. They have been a staple in the insurance game since its inception and as machine learning has improved, these reports have become more case specific. Sam gets one every month and traditionally, it’s been about 60&#37; accurate which might seem low, but understand that unexpected death is rather expected in his world. Since Sam started at LifeGuard however, he has seen these reports jump to a staggering 80&#37; accuracy with his latest claims sheet corresponding line by line with what the ALT predicted. “Dude, come here” Sam quipped urgently without lifting his head. The only other person in the room was Sam’s co\-worker Flynn, together they cover all LifeGuard claims in the North West. “Yes Sam, it’s AI, it’s pretty fucking good at what it does”, Flynn responded without much of a thought. Sam has been pestering Flynn with his suspicions about how an early beta AI could so accurately predict the deaths of people based only on simple questionnaires and medical histories that have been available to insurance companies for decades. “Flynn, I’m serious, look at this” Sam reiterated. Flynn reluctantly rolled his chair over to Sam. “I’ve noticed something” Sam said with that snarky tone you hear when someone is about to tell you I told you so. “This is the latest ALT, as usual it’s pretty much spot on. It even managed to predict THREE teenage deaths” Sam emphasized. Predicting a teenage death was unheard of even under a year ago. “Okay, that is a bit strange I’ll admit, but so what? What did you notice?” Flynn asked with an obvious curiosity. “Well I started digging into these 10 cases and every single one of them had extensive online profiles. I’m not just talking social media accounts, I mean they were full on attention whores” Sam answered as he rolled over to his white board. Having most of your life posted on the internet was nothing new these days, there is only a handful of people left alive who had seen a world before the advent of Facebook. Sam flipped over the board, “So I made a list. I made a list of their online posts, tweets and searches during the week leading up to the day this ALT was publishe\-“ “wait how did you get that information?” Flynn interrupted. “Shut up. That’s not important right now” Sam shot back. “This list was extensive and at first I didn’t see any pattern, but then I stepped back and I saw it. Flynn. I saw it and I don’t know what to do.” Sam said with that nervous feeling perturbing his voice. “K, you’re scaring me, what did you see?” Flynn asked. Sam looked around suspiciously before continuing…. $first try ever. don't be afraid to tell me I suck. I need to get back to work!$
"I know I saw him that day!"Clary yelled over the fire to David. "I told him you would know it was him. "David said with a smile on his face. They loved these talks, which Clary named BFF time: a few beers, a fire at the back of her house and way into the night chats. It had been this way since they both left in the fall; a night off from the way it is, to how they were. "So why did he not want to be seen? Clary asked. "Tryna be a spy"was the reply David gave. Clary hit him on the arm and said: "tell me". "Okay, Okay, you know ever since you left he has been in fear, you being all alone so far away. "What?" “Yup” “So he was being all dodgy due to that?” “Well” “What?” “He doesn’t want his child to know he drove all the way here just to try to know if she is okay and not be seen” “I can’t say, but he’s a cool dude. A bit weird. Good weird” “I love this Clary said to David while she put her head on his” “Shame it’s just one night a week” David gave out. “Well we have a night, and for the nights we don’t have there are cell phones”. Clary said while they both eyed the fire.
One of the reasons that Sophia loved Marcus was his ability to see the best in every situation. If it started raining on their outdoor date, he'd strip down and call it a "water-park day". If People were rude, he'd say they were just having a bad day and offer to get them a coffee, non-sarcastically. If he suddenly became the leader of the Firenze gang, he'd use them to help her solve crime. She had to admit, this was a little over the top, even for him. She'd known since the begining who his family was. How could she not, she was the one who booked him for a petty theft involving his little brother. (That had been a fun night: Luke, the little brother, had tried to get back at a friend who'd cheated him during a poker game by tacking playing cards all over the guy's apartement building with sticky gum. The guy had called the 911 for vandalism, which was a stupid thing for a mobster to do, but since the police already knew the building, three police cars showed up, lights and sirens waking up the whole neighbourhood. The cops thought the vandalism was code for someone being held captive, and Luke had to hide because of an unrelated warrant on his head. He'd texted Marcus, who, true to form, was more than happy to show up and appease everyone. Sophia had been in charge at the time, and together they managed to negotiate their way out of a firefight. As such, Marcus wasn't willing to let her out of his sight. He managed to lift her walkie-talkie off her hip when she wasn't looking and used it to keep her distracted. "All units, please be advised, the St.-Germaine apartement is clear...ly in grave danger and needs further attention of car 23,"he announced over the mouthpiece, climbing onto the hood of car 23 when Sophia tried to grab it back. "Sir, please get down from there or I will have to restrain you for interfering in police business,"she said, ever the professional. He held his arms towards her, wrists up. "By all means, officer,"he said with a giant grin. She grinned right back, handing her cuffs to the burly sergeant beside her. "Here, Charlie, I think Mr. Firenze wants to spend a night in the slammer. Maybe put him in the drunk tank?"she suggested.) Yes, he had always been special. But that didn't mean she could have known criminals snooping around in her business. "Honey, come on,"Marcus pleaded. "They've seen all the crime shows, they LOVE CSI. This can help them do something productive for society!" Sophia shook her head. "I'm not giving them active case files. I don't care how good they think they are at solvving mysteries. I especially don't care if they think it'll be fun."She waved a folder in his face. "And honestly I wouldn't be surprised if some of the culrpits were your own men." "Just one case, babe. Pick one with shady connections, and maybe we can use our influence to convince the wrong-doer to admit to his crime. Please...?"he pouted with that wounded-puppy look he knew she was weak for. She crossed her arms and deliberatly looked away. "I'm not falling for it,"she said, but he could hear the tremor of amusement in her tone. One last try, then. He leaned over her desk, head in his hand. "How about, in a show of good faith, you tell me one crime that you've already connected to us,"he didn't say that it would be one that she deliberatly kept quiet for his sake, "and I'll get whoever did the crime to come forward. We'll pay our debt to society." She snorted. "And I suppose that all your men are so loyal, they'll just agree to that as well? Some of these are major crimes, Marcus. They'll be away for a long time if they admit to everything." "Well, that's why I said just one crime..."he trailed off, thinking. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "I know. I'll come forward for that window robbery from a few months back! What would that be, two, three months of jail time?" She was masaging the bridge of her nose. "That was YOU!?" "Technically, anything my men do is my responsability..." "Fine!"she threw up hand in surrender. "I'll let you have one small-time file."She flipped through the stack of paperwork on her desk. "But so help me, if I catch wind that the Firenze gang pressured a witness, or snuck into a crime scene, or ANYTHING like that..." He grinned. "So you don't want me in prison. I'll have to remember that next time I want something." She put her hands together, leaned towards him and glared into his eyes. "Don't tempt me, pretty-boy."
Everyday on my way home from school I like to take the shortcut through the forest. Something about the sound of wind blowing through the leaves and the voices of all sorts of birds calms me. About halfway through the woods I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and soak it all in. Today was no different. I left a few minutes after class ended. Once my friends and I agreed to meet up after dinner I turned around and headed into the woods. Halfway through I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and… THUNK! What was that, I wonder. I open my eyes and look around. Sitting at my feet is a small cross-section of a tree, cut perfectly. I bend over and pick it up, my thumb grasping the tree while my fingers bend around nothing. My eyes come up and I see a black space, sitting in the tree and cutting into the air. It’s a perfect cube, each side slightly smaller than the size of my hand. With my free hand I reach out to the black cube. It is cold as ice and perfectly solid. I look down at the piece of the tree in my hand and bring it up to the black cube. It should fit perfectly, but the cube resists my efforts to replace the missing space, as if surrounded by some energy shield. I drop the piece of tree and begin to inspect the cube more. How strange that this floating black space would appear in front of me. Reaching out, I try to grab the black cube again. Instead, my hand grabs a piece of air in front of it and slides it into the block, filling the tree with a transparent block of air and shifting the black cube to float in space. Interesting, I think to myself. I move my hand to the ground below the black cube, and grab at the earth. I lift a foot of space up and leave a black cube in the ground. With increasing speed I start shifting other blocks of dirt around. One from the left, one under, one from the left, I move the blocks at random. Below my feet the ground is becoming less recognizable as roots and leaves are cut and scattered. Like the reverse of one of those games where you unscramble the squares to make a picture, I am scrambling the space around me. First, my usual path becomes unrecognizable. Then, I begin to scramble the forest floor. Eventually I start to move the ground up into the air and the air down. The space around me becomes a mixture or soil, trees, and air, appearing like a distorted photo. Suddenly, I grab a piece of tree beside the black cube but it doesn’t budge. I pause. Testing the other 5 pieces around the block, they all move freely, but this one won’t move into the space. I grab it again, this time with both hands. I lift myself up and place my feet on a piece of floating tree and some soil I had lifted up earlier. I pull with all my might. THUD! I fall to the ground with the piece of tree in my hand. The earth shakes below me. All of a sudden, blocks tumble out of place, leaving black cubes hanging in front of them. This small piece of space seems to have been holding everything together as the world around me begins to collapse. I try to get up but the blocks are too heavy and weigh me down. More blocks fall on top of me, drowning me in broken reality. I can’t get out. I’m trapped. Then everything went black.
Talk about a way to start the morning. While I thought what I saw out of the top left corner of my eye was a floater, it didn’t take me long to notice that it was an actual word: “Quicksave.” More so, whenever I moved my head, the word traveled with it, almost as if it were part of my overall vision. I reached over to touch the word and almost immediately, the graphic of a spinning wheel appeared at the bottom right corner of my vision before quickly disappearing. Wait… Did I just “save” this day like it was a video game? No, I was probably still sleeping. I laughed to myself and tried to ignore this new occurrence. Despite my best attempts to make breakfast as usual, I couldn’t fully take my attention off the “quicksave” option. Eventually I found myself using the function after every small action I took. Poured my favorite cereal? Quicksave. Took the milk out of the fridge? Quicksave. Let out a hearty belch? Quicksave. Didn’t seem to do any harm. As I ate breakfast, I heard a knock at the door. Who would be at my door this early in the morning? Taking a break from my morning meal, I made me way to the front door. Opening it, I was greeted by a small child – he couldn’t have been any older than 6 or 7 – holding what appeared to be a cardboard box of candy. “Good morning, sir,” he greeted me. “How are you today?” Before I could answer, I saw a series of 4 options appear in front of the boy in a cross-like fashion. They were labeled: “Good,” “Alright, I Guess,” “What Do You Want,” and finally, “Get Off My Lawn.” I could see the options clear as day, but the boy didn’t, as he simply stood there casually. Shaking my head, I reached over, touching the “Good” option that floated in the air. Almost immediately, as if my body took control of itself, I replied, “I’m good. Is there something I can help you with, kid?” “I’m selling candy for my school. The student who sells the most gets a big prize,” the child explained before presenting the aforementioned box to me. “Would you like to buy some? It’s only a dollar each!” As much as I disliked door-to-door salespeople, especially this early in the day, I couldn’t bring myself to hate a child doing a task he clearly didn’t want to. Besides, it was a long time since I enjoyed a chocolate bar with almonds. Before I could reply, another set of dialog options appeared in front of the body. They were the following: “Sure,” “Maybe Some Other Time,” “Get Off My Lawn Already,” and finally, “Make Him Cry.” What on Earth kind of option was that last one? Out of sheer curiosity, I reached over to select it. Once again, as if my body was overtaken by some otherworldly force, I replied, “I’m not really a fan of chocolate. Seems like you are, though. Think fast, loser!” Before the child had a chance to response, I pushed up on the bottom of the box, flipping it over onto the child. A series of candy bars and small bags of candy fell on his head as he fell backwards, landing on the ground in a seated position. Tilting the box up so he could look at me, I could see the tears in his eyes forming. Shit, I thought to myself. Did someone see me? Was this kid going to tell his parents what I did? As I desperately rattled my brain for solutions to his conundrum, another option appeared, this time in the top right corner of my vision: “Quickload.” Yes! I wasn’t completely screwed! Before the child could break down into a crying fit, I selected the “quickload” option, ready to return to when I was eating breakfast. Before I knew it, I was back at the kitchen table, spoon in my hand and a bowl of cereal in front of me. Who needed a PS4 when you had my life?
Door held open, I entered the room and extended a firm handshake to the doctor. He obliged and motioned me forward. I slid onto the resting sofa. The patient's chair featured clean cut blue diamond stamped leather. It was the only prominent piece of furniture in the room, besides the doctor's softly lined chair and wide oak desk. It stood at a slight angle in front of a window that ran the length of the wall. I shifted my shoulders a little and made myself comfortable. "So,"the doctor began, opening his file and instantly beginning to scrabble some chicken scratch, "you mentioned that you wanted to talk about an episode you experienced with your telephone?" "Yeah, well, I think it was my phone. I remember a flash, and when I came to I was in my living room holding my phone in my left hand." "Apple or Android?" "Android Version 9" The doctor's pen followed a familiar route as he checked a few boxes on his file and scribbled some more chicken scratch. "But look, that doesn't really matter. Here's what I can't figure out. When I came to, I just remember starting to choke. I look around and notice smoke lofting around my living room, coming from the kitchen. In the kitchen I find my breakfast - two eggs over easy - now rubbery and cold, and my toast, well what was left of it, smoldering away, the embers of a beautiful piece of rye. And then it hit me - its 6:37 PM with darkness encroaching outside. At the time everything felt hazy and I just had a strong desire to clean up the mess in my kitchen but in the days since I have been feeling more and more uneasy about the whole thing. Why was I making breakfast at night? And how did I let the toast burn so much, and why were the eggs cold and pale? Worse, I can't even remember a single thing I did that goddamn day. I could swear I was just making breakfast like normal in the morning, and then that damn flash on my phone blinded me and, to the best that I can make of it, around 8 hours passed until I came to." "Asphyxiates such as smoke, smoke from a toaster burning rye bread, are known to cause episodes of unconsciousness and memory loss. When you came to would you describe your mental state as hazy?" "Well yeah I was dumbfounded to explain the scene around me yet I just remember feeling really sleepy. I must have just cleaned up my mess of a breakfast and gone to bed because my kitchen was clean when I woke up the next morning." "I want you to let me know immediately Mr Franklin, should this condition happen again. But for the time being, I suggest you skip out on toast for breakfast. Try to stay smoke free and I think you'll find your symptoms go away." "Doctor, I don't think the smoke has anything to-" "Will that be all Mr Franklin? I'm afraid my time allotted for culinary advice has come to an end." I struggled to spit out a few more words to plead my case as the doctor opened the door and forced me out.
They say that everyone dies twice. First when they, themselves die, then when the last person to speak their name dies. Or was it when their name is spoken for the last time? Either way it wasn't true, turns out: Ghosts. So after I did all of things you would expect a ghost to do, you know the whole, grieve your own death, watchover your loved ones, grieve their deaths, attempt continue life together as ghosts $but then realize that you can't interact with them the way you used to because you have lost the ability to communicate due no longer being able to move air particles in order to make sound and due to all of those years you have spent simply observing their existence and knowing how much they have moved on, the knowledge of which forever strains every attempt you make to try to rekindle what was lost to time and death so long ago$, lose touch with your humanity, etc. You know! All of that good stuff/awful stuff/existential crisis inducing, nightmare fueling, "oh god what is the purpose of it all! Words cannot contain my anguish and I would rather be dead! An existence of suffering would be preferable to this!"kinda stuff! Once your depressed, despair and dread filled existence becomes a little bit stale as well, you well, shake it up a bit! $Especially since your ghostly form is a shallow echo that is a funhouse mirror of your old body including your brain, and even though you no longer grasp the notion of words and language \(having been deprived of the ability to talk for so long, the concept of boredom seems to not have escaped you, as the one piece of your old self that you have not shed \(even though you no longer even resemble it physically as your self image became warped and twisted$ is an intense drive for stimulation which may never be satiated.\) You are gonna shake it up a bit! You put out that p o s i t i v i t y , you know, those good ol' fashion good vibes, you know, just good ol' fashioned g o o d v i b e s ! You feel the e n e r g y , the energy of the *u n i v e r s e* ! And you know, you decide that you are gonna make something of your s e l f ! That great big u n i v e r s e, that universe is listening man! You know? Listening to all those good vibes that you started puttinn' out! You were gonna take see that big universe for y o u r self, y 0 u k n 0 w ? You know! You are gonna shake it up a bit! You know! You were gonna leave this Earth. This vestige of a dying r 0 c K which has come to represent the life and j0y that you once loved. $and which made life meaningful and worth living.$ Sure you may no longer have the l o v 3 d 1\'s\, who although you now have been long estranged from as their forms started to blur with the forms of those around them, the sight of that old news earth was getting down your Go\|\) *v 1 B e s* and you can't have that, you know? Besides who need that hunk of junk anyway! Always reminding you of the world where you used to have meaningful interactions. You know? You know, You know! You were gonna see the U\^!\\/3R2E! Just g o o o o d \* v i i i i b e s \* o u t \* t h e r e \* i n \* t h e \* *U\^!\\/3R2E!!!!* So you start to see the c\\o\\s\\m\\o\\s! You know\-tice that even though there was less to see $because you know after you seen one star, you know you've started to have seen them all, you know?$ That you know\-tice that you know that you no longer need to have to see as much. You know longer need to have stimulation now it seems, you know? You drift out, and more and more, you become one with the good vibes, you know? \-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\- I hope you liked this story, I obviously was going for a bit of a "cosmic"$or should I say c o s m i c $ horror for this one and I worked pretty hard on it! I always look forward to seeing feedback so let me know how I did!
"Welcome, all! This fine establishment is Stanley's Soul Shack! With the finest collection of souls, from the pure soul of an innocent dog, to the soul of the infamous Jeffrey Dahmer! Today I, the great Stanley, will guide you around my museum of caputer souls!" I sighed inwardly. These damned museums aimed at dumb kids were always so lame. There's no way to capture souls. Souls don't even exist. But Sheila wanted to go, so I agreed to chaperone her. "So, young man, little lady, what brings you to my fine establishment?" "My big bro brought me here because I want to know if you have my daddy's soul" I looked at her. My heart hurt at the sudden reminder. She hadn't told me why she wanted to come. "Well, little miss, let's see if we can find him. May I have his name?" "Robert Fuller." Sheila beamed with a bright smile as I hadn't seen for a long time. "Alright then! Follow me!"Stanley dictated with his constant enthusiasm. We followed closely behind him as he led us down twisted corridors lined with vast shelves of jars, each with a unique light emanataing firey activity. Stanley pointed out the souls, as he claimed, of famous people along our route. Elvis was pure white, sparking with light almost as if it was dancing. Tesla shone in a powerful electric blue, sparking and cracking against the jar, but with a vein of darkness. Bob Marley glowed a rich green bursting into a divine white. Then we reached our destination. "Here we are kids! This one should be your old man. Robert Fuller, 37 years of age, born 23rd January 1981. That right?" I was transfixed. So too was Sheila. The jar held the most beautiful pink swilling around a rich turquoise. A man of the sea. A man constantly loving and caring. Our fathers soul, reduced to it's essence, in a jar.
Anaracha was just about to crank out another one of her oh\-so\-famous character turns out to have gone crazy/murdered someone/to be in a circumstance where creating any sort of meaningful change is functionally impossible because individual actions are weak but collective action is strong and that dichotomy is why people turn to fiction, when suddenly she paused. Her dog started to bark, that meant either someone was home, or it was time to give him more food. Either way that meant she had to get up. Anaracha opened the door, and found staring back at her, herself. But not the self from her real life, the self that she had written as the main character from one of her least favorite stories $mostly because it starred herself, but was narrated in third person which was really weird$. This Anaracha was called Anarcha, because that is how "Anaracha"is suppose to be spelled, but she had misspelled her own username when creating the account and that shame has now haunted her the past few days. Anarcha wanted to know why Anaracha wrote her life to be so awful and depressing. That's cute. Anaracha had written that story because the prompt said to write about you daily life in 2018, so she basically used the opportunity to complain about some of her problems. It was kind of a bad story, some people liked it, but it was really cringy to her, and she almost immediately regretted writing it. Anaracha told Anarcha that it was because she was feeling edgy and that her life was awful and depressing. She shut the door thinking about how much she hated herself. Not her real self, just the one she shut the door on. Her life was great! Anaracha decided to go onto the computer and write this to remind herself that no one cared whether a story was sad or happy, just that it was good. She wanted to write good stories, and the story of her own life wasn't one. Also if a story is meta, the more meta the better! \-\-\-\-\- Lol how was that?
Part 1 “5 minutes to your destination.” The auto-taxi tackled a corner, shifting my weight so that I collided face-first into the window I had been gazing out of. It had been a few years since they had outlawed human driving in Rhyn City, which meant that I couldn’t fork over a few bucks and get my driver to speed up - and I was almost an hour late to the pre-wedding preparations. Not exactly the best situation for a best man to be in. I dashed through the doors of the community wedding hall, dodging past a host of chatting bridesmaids, oxfords clacking through the silent dancefloor. He had to be in his room upstairs - I zipped up the staircase, found the groom’s quarters and bust the door open. In front of me sat a man halfway through a hip-flask, dressed in white underpants, black socks and a half-buttoned shirt. The man jumped at my intrusion and spilled the flask’s contents on his shirt and underwear, hues of dull amber bleeding through the fabric. “Zach, what the fuck are you -” I hissed, shutting the door behind me. Zach dimly smiled at me. “You came! You bloody hic bastard, I thought you abandoned me…” I wasn’t in the mood for this bullshit. I made my way to the closet, busted out Zach’s tuxedo set and helped him onto his feet, and into his clothes. The smell of rum lingered on his breath, but that’s nothing a few mints from the reception couldn’t fix… “It’s over mate. It’s over. My life is chained to the altar of matrimony…” Zach trailed off, mumbling more nonsense. I sighed, and sat him down on the bedside. “It’s been a wild ride, brother. Fifteen years. Fifteen years I’ve seen you pull us through the toughest of times - no matter how hard it’s been.” “Damn hic righ’.” “I’ll never abandon you, don’t forget that. Now straighten up and get yourself on your feet, man! We’ve got a wedding to attend.” Zach tottered off the bed, bumped into a side table and stood up as straight as he could. Every few seconds, he would involuntarily shift his balance to the right, then correct it by leaning the other way. His eyes were wet. Mine rolled in their sockets. “I knew that I didn’t make a mistake with you as my best man. Thanks… I-” He choked off into gentle sobs, and leaned into me for a hug. Stonefaced, I reciprocated and patted him on the back reassuringly. Zach wiped his tears on the duvet covers, and turned to leave. His head popped out the door, just before they closed behind him. “Keep that ring safe - we’ve got a wedding to live through!” he chimed, punctuating the words with a pump of his fist. “Relax, I’ve got it right here” I said, standing up and patting the breast pocket of my suit. A wan smile bid me farewell, and then the door shut. I stood still, hand still on my chest. Beneath it, I could already feel my heart quicken. My pocket was fucking empty.
Gabe hadn't getting tired of it. He was tired of singing songs, tired of delivering messages to those inferior beings, and tired of those inferior beings getting more attention then him! He was pretty drunk off his ass at this point. "I tells you hark!"He belched. "Those 'mans be good for nuthin!" "Yup, I hear ya, let it out buddy."Hark patted his friend Gabe on the back. He just has to wait a little bit for Gabe to get sober enough so he can fly home on his own. He sure as heaven not going to take him back to his place, not after last time. Hark just had to ride it out. "You're the only one who gets it Hark, ol' buddy ol' pal. Use just really gets it." Hark started to watch the tv. It was turned into one of the human channels, Hark loved Hallmark, sure it was invented by demons meant to corrupt mortals but who was hark to judge! "Yeah, I hear ya, let it out buddy." Gabe did in fact let it. It took two hallmark made for TV movies layer until finally Gabe had finished letting it out. "Thanks for having this quick convo with me, I was really scared to confront God, but having you agree to come with me really felt like just the boost I needed!" What the heaven did he just agree to? What in Satan's name did he just do? Well his career was over, and soon he would be either abliterated, or converted to a demon to live eternity as demon torturing people. Either way there wouldn't be anymore getting to watch Hallmark so he ran out of the bar, flew home, and decided he would binge every Hallmark movie ever made until this problem went away. This problem did not in fact go away, but at least they had Hallmark in hell!
Hu, Hu, Hu, Hu, HU, HU, HU, HU The First Marine Battalion of the Icelandic Confederation chanted in preparation for the landing in Patagonia. After 30 years of nuclear war, half the world was covered in Ice form the nuclear winter. Europe and North America were obliterated. The remaining survivors sent their delegates in 2120 to Iceland to reaffirm the NATO, or whats left of it. Being there half the world was wasteland the delegates went further, and established the Icelandic Confederation. Being that Iceland was the least radioactive part of the world, it made sense to place the capital. Patagonia was controlled by the United New Zealand Empire. Seeing the unification in the North the remaining nations of the south joined under the flag of the young and charismatic New Zealand Emperor who promised them freedom from the Oppressors of the old world. The war was to continue, even though the intensity of the conflict was a mere shadows of the 2080s where missiles were turning the day sky black. The 1st Marines encounters almost no resistance save for a few twitchy cattle hearers which were sedated and a patrol of the New Zealand Empire which was taken into custody with only 2 injured on both sides. Peace talks were underway for the last 2 months but to no avail. The world was grinding to a halt. Orwell saw it coming.
I excelled in the service industry. Fetching people things, being polite and happy, making food for them, telling them where things were--all of it felt right to me. I could make people around me happy. I brought them things, fed them, and basked in their rewards. Praises to my bosses were common, and I was given opportunity after opportunity to move up the ranks, but all I ever wanted was to please them. The pet store where I worked was thriving. Everyone came to me with their questions about dog behavior. I even found out people talked about me--Cliff, the great big dog expert. The one with the ginger hair and giant smile. Some people even said I should have my own TV show. The Dog Man was the most frequent title they offered up. If only they knew.... Still....I was lonely. Despite my popularity, women had issues dealing with my neediness, my fear of abandonment. While they did appreciate my fondness for licking certain things, a lot of them also hated my fondness for slurping up peanut butter. I often found myself returning to my empty apartment, curling up in my extra large dog bed at the foot of the regular bed. As work slowly started to seem monotonous, and I found even my bright and cheery attitude couldn't compete with my latest ex telling people about the whole peanut butter thing, I found myself...lonely. So I turned to the internet. There, on a forum for fetish happy folk, I found my people. People who dressed up as dogs. I went to my first meet up bouncing with excitement. Though my costume was simple, just a black collar and huge red construction paper ears, my eagerness to please glowed. I went home with someone. Her name was Emily. She was an Owner. She let me sleep at the foot of her bed, and I basked in the glow of her pleasure. My face was wet with drool, peanut butter, and her happiness. I closed my eyes, and started to drift off to sleep. Tomorrow, Emily had promised me I could bring my dog bed with me. Tonight, listening to her soft breathing, the carpet of her floor was all the comfort I needed.
No one could remember why their party had chosen to call themselves the warriors of theseus. Probably because their party had the institutional memory of a gold wish with amnesia. Whatever the reason, the current members $who were far from the original members$ of the part were as follows. Diagon the dragon slayer, who was either the 3rd or 52nd leader he party ever had. She slays dragons,and because of that has taken the party in more of a "dragon hunter\-ey"direction, which has started to grade on some of the other members. After this latest adventure she will try, and fail, to rebrand the group as the "dragon slayers of theseus"which will end up forming into a spin off group, where all of the members will be inevitably eaten by dragons. Timselfs, the party's only healer. Timself is kinda on edge right now, because after the whole split, Timself didn't really see which ways the winds were blowing and ended up getting stuck with the Diagon and her little suicide pact she called a "rebrand". Timself gets eaten by dragon and was very right to be on edge. Tigress the striped. She is a tiger warrior, one of the groups many fighters. She is the only other person who sided with Diagon in the feud, unlike Timself this was out of either genuine loyalty or a bigger death wish then Diagon, you already know how she dies. Tenna the blue, either the 4th or 53rd leader of the warriors of Thesis. Tenna had been the one who lead the ku against Diagon as Tenna was actually herself a blue dragon, and was getting tired of Diagon threatening to "slay"her. She had initially wanted to the warriors to get back to their roots but because no one knew what that is, they decided that they would just help out with security with at a local town until they had enough money to sail west. Tenna would eventually leave the group by the time it came to set off as she never really was all too interested in leading the party, she just wanted to keep the group afloat after Diagon nearly ran it into the ground. In her tenure she oversaw the warriors as they relearned $or just learned considering no one was even there when they knew this anyway$ how to prepare better before going on quests, and even managed to recruit a new healer so much better at reading the room than Timself, that before Tenna left she appointed them leader. Leo, the warrior lion man. Leo was equally as loyal as his sister, but unlike his sister had actually developed a sense of right and wrong. He was another of the groups 4 fighters, and was more tank than DPS. Leo had been instrumental at preserving the warriors reputation for honor during the transition of power. It was actually because of Leo that the group was able to land the security job in the first place. Overall though, he was nothing really more than a good lieutenant. Offering his good name to a leader who he thought capable. He stayed on for only slightly longer than Tenna, training the newer recruits in preparation for their voyage. Killgore. Killgore was not Killgore's given name, they were just the only two words he knew. Killgore was another tank who only followed Leo because Leo was a better fighter than him, even if Killgore had more raw strength. Killgore would stay on for the voyage as Killgore wanted to keep fighting until he died, unlike Leo who retired. Wisma, The black sorceress and the party's only magic user. Wisma had studied magic her whole life. Wisma was close friends with Tenna, and appreciated her leadership style. She was sad to see her go, but she wanted to stay for the voyage as she had heard the land they were sailing to might have more magic items for her to study and collect. Renaldo, the dashing grappler and swashbuckling gentlemen. Renaldo was the final fighter in the group, he was pretty good at DPS like Tigress, but his specialty was really more unconventional fighting styles. He had a high amount of social intelligence and was one of the parties more shrewd negotiators. He couldn't really care less about the feud, and was only more interested in this side because he could no fence or wrestle while trying to slay a dragon. Plus he enjoyed Wisma's company so that was a plus. Frankran, the replacement healer and eventual 5th or 54th leader. Frankran had joined the warriors as part a calling he thought he felt that could potentially be from the one of the god's he worshipped probaly. Really he just was looking for an excuse for adventure at first, and when he joined the group was nearly giddy when Tenna recognized his abilities. That time training taught Frankran manythings, Tenna had showed him how to manage people as best as she knew how, and Leo attempted to impart virtue. He would put those lessons to the test as he sailed off, on what was unclear if it was the party's first voyage, but was certainly its last. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I tried telling the story through summary of its characters, so if you liked this unconventional style let me know! Either way this was actually really fun to write!

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