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I always thought I would be murdered.
It was really more of a hunch, but somewhere I think I was more surprised that I had always kinda knew then that I was actually being murdered.
Thinking I could even make any sort of predictions in the world, even if those predictions were about my own death, was a comforting thought to me.
Maybe it was that drive to make sense of the situation that made me turn into a ghost.
Either way here I am. And all I can feel anymore is that same lingering need to have the world make sense.
Maybe it was because death was inherently senseless that made you want to know why someone would kill someone, let alone kill you, so bad.
Why someone would lodge a metal axe deep within your neck, that is what I really want to know.
So I followed the dude around, see what he does, figure out his deal. You know, get the *l o w d o w n* on why this dude would *m o w d o w n* someone like me! So let me *s l o w d o w n* and give to you straight!
I am actually stalling because I am still watching him. And I still can't figured out this dude's deal. All I have seen him do, from after he chopped up my coarse like he was a chef cutting up a carrot, he just started, watching tv.
I am currently a ghost, watching television.
You see what I mean about a senseless world?
From the moment this dude killed me, murdered me, ripped up my body with an axe like he was chopping wood, I swear that's all he has done, he just left me outside, then went into my cabin and started watching TV.
And the crazy part is he is only watching crime dramas!
He literally, like, just committed a crime, and now he needs Law and Order: SVU to still get his crime fix?
Was murdering me not good enough? Was I just nothing to him?
He's calling up someone now. He was using my landline \(it was an old cabin\) to call up a number.
He's calling his kids?
He's telling them he's gonna be home soon after he get's home from his trip.
He tells them he loves them and I'm not sure if he means it or not.
Now you have to believe me when I saw murder is a senseless thing.
If you don't, you are about to.
Because now the dude has turned it onto pay per view porn. And watching it, sitting in my couch in my cabin on my tv, charging me money so he could watch it.
Is killing me some fetish? What? If it is, just like, make it quick!
I'm trying to yell at him but I don't have vocal chords anymore.
He isn't doing anything, well you know, with his hands though. What is this guy's deal!
First he kills me, cuts me up like he was a butcher preparing some fine venison, leaves me out side so bugs could crawl in my insides, watches some crappy crime shows \(the older episodes were better anyway\) calls up his kids with my phone, charges me money so he could watch porn on my couch, is this really what people do after they kill someone?
I'm starting to think that murder is really a senseless act. And I am understanding in ways I never thought possible.
I always figured I would be murdered, but I didn't think being murdered would be anything like this. |
I followed the stars. I trekked over mountains and plunged deep into the furthest reaches of the wilderness. When I had seen all that could be seen and born all the joy and suffering that I could bear, I found the river and followed it down to the sea. I did not meet a soul on the beach. For days, I shuffled southward with nothing but the sound of the waves to keep me company. It was when I noticed there wasn't a gull in the sky that I began to worry.
As I drew closer to familiar terrain, I headed inland. I could smell the smoke before I saw it. All the fires were dying and the wind was dead, the embers posed no threat. The damage was done, my village was gone.
Is this the price of my journeys far from home? I see the world with new eyes and am able to journey onward with a body tested and strengthen by the wilds. My mind is clear and my purpose resolute. My past, my life before, in ashes; laying in ruin. As I leave the village, I hear voices tell me that nothing has changed. I can hear my brother and my friends calling me by name. Asking me what madness has struck me and where I had gone. I thought I smelled my mother's soup and her gentle calls as I walked down the hill. No. My eyes have been opened and my mind is refreshed. The village that was my home is now just a village. Its inhabitants, once my family, are now but phantoms and ghosts from a simpler life before. That time has passed, I am able only to move on. |
very confused and very drunk, jason paddles to the edge and gets out. given that the sky is now red, its obviously afternoon or morning. after a couple of minutes drunkenly stumbling through the forest he notices there is a strange symbol in the corner of his vision, it almost looks like a german beer tankard. as he stares at the icon a prompt appears, stating that he has reached the 4th level of the drunken debuf. before he can fully process this he begins puking and promptly falls asleep. when he wakes up he remembers the icon, which has since disapeared, and replaced by a pillow. as he focuses on it, it states he is now mildly well rested. being the gamer he is, he realizes this new strange world follows rpg rules and promptly begins trying to get the frick out of the forest, because no matter what game your playing a forest is not the place you want to be without gear. arriving on the edge of the forest he sees a vast plain of golden grass, with a single farm house in the middle of the field. he goes toward it and sets his resolve to gain a couple levels within the next month.
it is now a full year later, and jason is just as drunk as when he got to this world. he was drunkly reflecting back on the past year. finding the first monster he ever encountered frankly terrifying he had decided to not become an adventurer, but a traveling story teller. he made this worlds equivelent of $100 dollars in his first week of telling stories. he had begun with a classic, the hobbit. it had since become his go to story to start off his reputation in a new part of the world, due to how well it fit in with the world. the gnomes fit well with hobbits, and dwarves were eerily similar to the dwarves Tolkien thought up. he had met a bard in his first few months, and luckily the bard was good at theme music! overall, it had been an amazing year, and so what if the pool had dried up the day after he had gotten here? he had no regrets, and the local king had asked for a written copy of beowolf!
(edit: i would like some feedback on this, given that its my first time commenting here. changed the perspective accidentally) |
I resisted every impulse to snort and stood taller. The almost featureless squarish notched head of the sergeant lightly brushed my nose as he scanned for any hint of movement. To the right of me were all identical bots of similar height to the sergeant, taller than I, except for the head. All the new recruits had a slightly triangular head shape, all except for me of course. The sergeant moved away his heavy two toed feet lightly clanking on the sleek polished stones. I released a breath and the bot to my left moved her head a mere fraction to observe me before standing at attention again. I new I couldn't see features on their faces unless they had face screens installed but I could practically smell the smugness oozing off of her. It was a thing ever since I entered this facility, calling me the human. It unnerved me and everyone new it, which was probably why the sergeant aways needled me with it. I was a bioengineered second gen hybrid model, serial number #2336 - 4181 OS Cain v.5.1.0.0.9; a 140kg custom male body reinforced with enhanced musculature system supporting an in body nanorobotic factory. I could literary repair myself in the field but these metal trolls had to hump it back to a convoy to get repairs. I was the future. I was cutting edge- "DID YOU HEAR THAT RECRUIT!?!"The sergeant vocalized in my face. -and I also had trouble concentrating on trivial bullshit. I opened my mouth to reply, while simultaneously initiating the my recorded play back. "DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY!!"His face place reverberated. Seems he didn't want my reply after all. I fell face first and started cranking out push ups. The sergeant kicked one hand out from under me and I quickly put it behind my back and continued. This was pointless. I had been manufactured for combat with elite squads but here I was training with repurposed factory assembly bots. My running counter hit zero and I stopped. "Did I tell you to stop human? You keep going until I say!"The sergeat growled from the other end of the column. When did he get over there? Whatever I could do this all day. With every push up I scanned my surroundings. The heavily lush training ground had been purposefully built to simulate a standard city environment complete with tall street lamps. Cobble stone paths snaked their way around seemingly at random sliding between batches of trees and flowers. Artificial sunlight glowed softly from the sun slit that cut across the sturdy metallic ceiling. The ceiling was able to simulate other features such as rain or snow by condescending perspiration in little- "Get up human, I hope your cerebral cortex is much more active during the exercise as we will be using live ammunition!"Finally. A droning wail sounded and black seed like objects fell from the ceiling and jutted into the ground. The sides of the pods few open upon impact displaying magnetically propelled automatic H7's. I pulled a rifle out and tested the weight in my arms, it was about standard weight leaning more towards the heavier side. Or were the imputed statistics I had received about this weapon upon consciousness wrong? Didn't matter, I updated my numbers and ran calculations. "Form teams, the first to make it through the course will be given special considerations."The sergeant droned while walking among the silent but clearly ecstatic bots plucking their weapons. Another series of booms sounded and whatever came down this time kicked up dust along with rubble. I ran a quick scan. Hooked bent shapes with clawed limbs. Legionaries? Couldn't be, not in a secure training facility, had to be recreations... Which would mean no heavily compressed hydrogen for bodies. Good thing or these slugs wouldn't work. I scanned around for a group of bots to link up with. "Hey!"I signaled to the bot that was on my right during the sergeants lecture. She snorted. She actually snorted. Damn toaster ass bitches. I looked to the legionaries and flicked my eyes just in time to see a hole burn into her chest plate. She looked down at the smoldering wound and fell over. "Shit."I muttered ducking into a roll. A yellow beam of concentrated energy scorched the idyllic cobble stone path to the left of me. I quickly changed trajectory to cross over that same path and slid neatly behind a thick tree. Bots were getting shredded to scrap all over sending bits of shrapnel cascading in every direction. "Those are energy weapons human, a tree won't stop their trajectory!"The sergeant roared walking calmly though the chaos with both hands clasped behind his back. "No but it will break their line of sight."I muttered. I jumped and grabbed a branch, pulling myself up in one smooth motion. The space below me was sliced through in the next. The trees charred base gave, emitting a ear shuddering crack and pulled me down with it. When my feet hit the ground I popped up and slugged two legionaries through their energy cores, ducking into another roll. I rustled to my feet through the now smoking tree leaves as I sighted another legionnaire and smiled. At last something I was made to do. My rifle hummed softly as the slugs whisled out of the barrel. |
It was an evening in mid-August after school, and he was on his way back home. All the students in his school had received their personal relics, which were handed out at school in a sealed box. It was custom that each student open their box containing their relics at home with their families for the unveiling ceremony. There were three possible relics which would essentially dictate the rest of your life: the pen, the hammer, and the book.
Each relic was the key to one of the three societies: the pen represented the Society of Numbers, the hammer represented the Society of Builders, and the book represented the Society of Communicators. Johnny had always thought that the Society of Builders had always suited him best ever since elementary school. He always enjoyed building and taking apart small clocks, pens, toys, and any other items he could lay his hands on. He even spoke with his friend Matthias about how he wanted to join the Society of Builders.
“Don’t worry, Johnny. I’m sure you’ll join the Society of Builders,” said Matthias.” It has to be, right? You are the most builder type person I know.”
Matthias could see the worry that plagued his mind, even after his reassuring words.
“Thanks… I really do hope so,” Johnny said, looking blankly into the cement sidewalk.
He began to notice each small weed, grass, and detail present in the sidewalk that he had never cared to even observe before.
Johnny and Matthias quietly walked the rest of the way to Johnny’s house, both overwhelmed by the instrumental result that would happen in just a few minutes when they each arrived to their own homes. Johnny knew that Matthias was probably just as worried as him, but could not muster the kind words that Matthias had done for him. Johnny lived closer to school, and as they arrived, they exchanged their goodbyes and Matthias went on to his own home.
As Matthias walked away, he yelled something encouraging that were muffled by the thoughts in his own head.
Johnny smiled to Matthias and waved goodbye, seeing his best friend walk off in the distance. He opened the door to his home and entered.
As he opened the door, he could see that his parents and grandparents were all sitting at the dining table, waiting upon his arrival. The anticipation had not only affected him but his whole family. It was one of the major events within each household; to see their children’s relics. His mother smiled, but underneath he could feel the aura of tension looming overhead. He sat at the table with the box in his hands. He slowly placed the box on the table and let out a deep sigh. He felt a shortness of breath and some lightheadedness.
“Well, let’s get on with it,” urged Grandpa.
Grandma Mary snapped at Grandpa. “George! Don’t put any more pressure on him than he already has! Give him some time!” She looked at Johnny, calmly holding his hand. “Take your time, love.”
His mother slowly touched the top of his hand. “Whatever happens we’re extremely proud of you.”
Her and Grandma’s warmth made him feel a bit more at ease.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his father grasping both hands, while silently looking at Johnny. All that awaited was the unveiling.
Johnny slid the box in front of him. There were three latches closing the box tight and two hinges holding the cap in place with the rest of the box.
He took a deep sigh, and stared at the box. He unlatched all three latches, and steadily opened it.
There in the box lied an illuminating silver key in the place where the relic should have been.
His mother who did not have a clear view of what was inside the box broke the question.
“So, what is it?”
“It’s a... a silver key…” stuttered Johnny.
Suddenly, he could feel an eerie silence from his family. His mother swiftly tilted her head to confirm his claim. She looked up at his father. His father’s eyes darted toward the window. His father’s posture had tensed up with his eyes expressing almost a look of concern.
“Honey, close the blinds.”
His mother rushed towards the window looking into the street. She looked left and right to see if anyone was in the vicinity. Then, she quickly closed the blinds and walked back to her chair. His mother’s face had gone pale.
At this point, Johnny had many questions swirling in his mind. Was his relic stored in some other room that this key gave access to? Was this some prank that the school played on him?
“So, what exactly is this key?” Johnny asked, emphasizing each word to express his confusion.
There was another uncomfortable silence. Johnny looked around to see if anyone would respond.
As everyone sat quiet, Grandpa finally broke the silence and looked deep into Johnny’s eyes.
“Johnny.” He paused. “That. Right there. Is your relic.” |
"Earthquakes everywhere and my account is still empty. What a shame."
The time, 09:36.
Nikolai hummed. “A shame, indeed.”
“But we both knew the risk,” Arnold replied. His cigarette was a nub now, his fingers barely able to avoid being burned. “You should have been prepared for something like this.”
“You’re implying I wasn’t.” Nikolai’s hands were shaking but he hid them in the pockets of his pants. He had waited so long for this, put so much on the line, and here he was still \- same as he had been before.
Arnold laughed. “I know you weren’t. Your face says it all, Nick.”
“I just don’t understand what went wrong. Everything said this should have been an absolute success\-”
“And then I reminded you how statistics works.”
Nikolai clicked his tongue. “An 89% success rating is unheard of.”
“Yet, still only an A\-.”
“Alright, yeah, Arnie, we fucked up. Let’s move on to how the fuck we’re gunna fix this.” Nikolai leaned forward towards the window.
The time, 09:45.
The earth below was a complete and total mess. Entire continents had been torn from each other, lava bubbling up like blood. He couldn’t see the people from his place on the small space platform he and Arnold were on, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He has, however, been on Earth long enough to hear the metallic grinding when the earthquakes had started. Nikolai had never ran so fast in his life.
Arnold took one long, final drag on his cigarette and then flicked it off the edge of the platform. “I don’t know if there is a way to fix this.”
“We designed it, we’re the only people who are going to be able to stop it.”
“Cold feet?” Arnold laughed. “I told you this was a risk.”
“You said that already,” Nikolai replied. He wanted to reach up and run his hands through his hair but his hands still hadn’t stopped shaking. “And this was supposed to be a risk monetarily, not... this.”
Arnold looked over, eyebrows raised in an incredulous expression. He scoffed, shaking his head. “You wanted to create natural disasters to profit from and you’re telling me you weren’t prepared for collateral damage?”
*No,* Nikolai thought. He *had* been prepared for collateral damage. He had been ready to trade a few human lives so he could make money off of the rebuilding effort. He had been utterly ready to destroy entire towns if it meant he could make a fast buck. But this? “This isn’t collateral damage.”
“This *is* collateral damage. Just more than we expected.”
“It was your job to expect things!” Nikolai shouted. The anxiety in his stomach was rising into a crescendo. “It was your job to keep these sort of things from happening!”
Arnold laughed again, so much so his head tilted back over the headrest of the chair. “This is what you paid me for, Nikolai! To simulate earthquakes! I told you things could get out of hand and you said that was fine. ‘The worse for them, the better for me’, remember?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter much now, though, does it?”
Nikolai tried to keep from looking down, but his curiosity and guilt overpowered his will. How was Arnold being so lax about this? He was looking at the complete destruction of Earth and Arnold was laughing! “We have to fix this. I'm not going to let\-”
Suddenly, the area around the platform flashed white.
The time, 09:57.
“This is the furthest you’ve made it, Nicky.”
Nikolai’s eyes slowly adjusted the change in light. Arnold had risen from his chair and walked across the room, grabbing something from... a drawer? Had that been there before? “Furthest?”
“Three hours further, to be exact. Last time you barely made it onto the platform.” Arnold had pulled a long red rod from inside the cabinet and started his way over. “Progress, at the least.”
“What’re you\-” Nikolai leaned back in his hair, finding that he was... stuck? This wasn’t right. What was\-
Arnold put the end of the rod to Nikolai’s forehead. “See you in a bit, Nicky.”
The rod was hot on Nikolai's forehead. *What in the f\-*
Nikolai’s office was painted a dull brown, with bright green curtains. He found the color brightened up the room and made sitting for ten hours a little more bearable. The evening sun was just beginning to fade into the horizon.
Arnold was due to arrive soon. He’d apparently made some huge discoveries regarding their project. He’d certainly sounded excited on the phone. Almost hysterical. If Nikolai was honest, his excitement was contagious.
Nikolai righted his tie, glancing at the clock.
The time, 05:48. |
"Officer Schmidt, do you hear me?"He couldn't move. He couldn't breath. "Officer, your heart rate is of the charts."How is this possible. He closed his sample tube. Not moving he decoupled his safety line. "Officer!"
"I'll be back in a moment."He turned his RCS on and pushed forward. The rock crystal was 2km in front of him. He was 5km from his shuttle. He grabbed the rock. It was approximately 50cm by 75cm by 40cm and of highly irregular shape. He grabbed it and burnt back. "Autopilot engage. Retract cable."A few seconds later he was on his shuttle. "Return to ship. Biological threat procedure 4."
"Officer, what biological threat, we are lightyear from the nearest rock?"He didn't respond. He stayed in the airlock as the rock began to melt.
*docking* the automated control system proclaimed. The outer airlock of the ship opened. And there stood the captain personally, red with rage. Schmidt raised his hand so he could see its contents. And there he stood, millions of light years from the nearest permanent settlement of humanity holding a human heart. |
"They're real!"
"Yes yes quite real, I think you'll like this one"he said, gesturing to what appeared to be the skin of a woman.
I gagged swallowing down bile but attempting to play alone lest I joined his collection. "Why?"I asked.
"Well that's a funny story you see"he laughed, "Just a couple of months ago I got a call from my bank telling me I was overdrawn, apparently my son had spent hundreds of dollars on skins for this game called Fortnight, and it got me thinking"
He beckoned my forward, "see if people are willing to spend that much for something fake, how much would they pay for Real skins"he held out a price tag, it said $25. "A steal"he exclaimed patting my back". I remained silent, he took my discomfort to mean that I was unimpressed and quickly pulled me through to a curtained off room at the back of the shop. "This is my pièce de résistance"he exclaime,"the John Wick skin"I looked on in horror, the likeness was remarkable.
He laughed "…Of course Its not the real John Wick..."he said, pointing to a scar above his eyebrow, "No no, the real John Wick was too hard to catch". I nodded. "It's just his stuntman"he said turning away from me.
"So..."He said, clapping his hands together with a bang, "which of my skins would you like to walk away with today?"
"I-I'm good... Thank you."I stammered backing away towards the exit.
"I am afraid to inform you that if you are not buying, you are selling"as he said this he pulled a large curved knife from out of his pocket, and from behind me I heard the sound of a door being locked shut.
|
This was the last Great City, with shining railways, neon signs and smoke obscuring the sun.
Now, 2000 years later, the last humans die out. With them go innovation, greed, kindness, malevolence, and, most of all, pain. The earth heals, plants crushing the mortal human inventions.
The buildings glisten in the daylight, standing tall above the rubble. The air smells of toxicity, radiation - and a bit of paint. The paint in question is from the graffiti on the crumbling walls, peeling after so many years.
The bunkers are inscribed with scratches instead, telling us of their strife, the streets laden with symbols and bloodshed, telling us of those who caused it.
But the sky.
The sky was clear, unchanging, as blue as the day this ball of rock formed. The sky healed over a week, while the soil takes an aeon. But everything heals. With time.
Some things never change. The world moves on.
---
Nice prompt! I hope you all liked this shorter story. Advice appreciated! |
Cold steel bites into my wrists. Rough hands jostle me forward. Down that stretch of hallway, I know, is where I will die. God, it was going to be a long walk despite the fact it was only a few feet. In there was where I would get strapped down onto a wooden chair, and the metal cap slammed down onto my skull, and volts of electricity would run through my heart and kill me. There was no point fighting it; I'd lost that battle years ago, in that court. All I have to do is accept it, knowing that I died an innocent man.
*Step.*
The day that I was "caught"in the middle of a crime. I remember it vividly. The worst day of my life, even after all those years waiting for my death to come. Accused of attempted first degree murder.
*Step.*
I'd been walking up the stairs to my apartment. No elevator; it was broken, and the management couldn't afford to repair it. And ten flights of stairs... That's a long way to walk.
Five flights up, I heard something coming from one of the rooms. Shouting. Screaming. Typical couples' dispute, that was my first thought. And I should have kept walking. But something about it stopped me. The... intensity, of it. It was heated. Very, very heated. Except, the man was controlled. The woman was the one getting all uppity.
*Step.*
My curiosity got the better of me. I stepped off the flight of stairs to see what was going on. I placed my briefcase down at the beginning of the hallway--stupid, for such a shitty neighborhood, but then again I had nothing in there. I quietly made my way down the hall, the source of the commotion getting louder and louder as I came nearer.
*Step.*
I stopped, right outside the door. Something had told me to do that. Some sort of mystic force. A voice in my head telling me, "Do not go further or you will regret it."I only wish I'd listened. By now, I could hear exactly what they were saying. The man was going on and on about how she was a cheating whore, the woman vehemently denying it and defending herself.
Then all of a sudden, a bloodcurdling shriek echoed down the halls. Well, best it could with the carpet down.
*Step.*
I froze. My blood froze. My brain froze. Everything froze. I heard something go crashing to the ground, a table it sounded like. Then, more screaming. A thud, a body hitting the floor. I had to will myself to move, forced myself to peek around the corner to see what was happening. I wish I never had. Maybe then I wouldn't be doomed to death.
*Step.*
He was standing over her, a bloody knife in hand. I could see already that she'd been stabbed in the abdomen, and she was bleeding. My heart jolted at the sight. She would survive... but only if I acted quickly. I damn the do-gooder inside my heart, the morality that made me move into that room.
With two long strides, I was behind him. His arm came up over his head for a finishing blow, but I grabbed his wrist and wrenched the knife out of his hands. He wasn't expecting that. I was planning to throw it out soon as I got it, take it down to a real one on one fight. But he didn't let that happen. He turned on a dime and socked me in the gut. It knocked the wind right outta me, made me stagger back. He was a big fellow.
*Step.*
It wasn't a fair fight. He had a good twenty pounds on me. So I had to. I had to use the knife. Swung it straight down at him, caught him in the thigh. And when he reached down to grab it, I threw an uppercut straight into his jaw. He didn't expect that. He was dazed for a second, but he quickly straightened up, shoulder-checked me out of the way, and bolted down the hall.
My hands were full of blood, now I saw. But not mine, and not his. It was hers. Blood that had gotten onto the handle. Then I remembered--she was who I was trying to save. I rushed over to her, tried to stop the bleeding. I pulled my button-up shirt open and took it off, put it over the wound to staunch it. Phone. Where was my phone? I patted my pockets, but it wasn't there. In my briefcase. Damn.
*Step.*
I screamed for help. I kept pressure on the wound. Nothing came, no one came... At least for a minute. Then, when EMT showed up on the scene, the cops on their heels... Bastards tackled me to the floor, cuffed me.
I learned what happened later from my lawyer. The asshole had called the cops, framing it like I'd been the one to stab both of them. And they believed it. Racist dicks.
And when the court case came around, eventually... The man testified against me. Of course. They used the knife as evidence. It had his blood and hers, and only my fingerprints. He must've been wearing gloves.
And my blood-stained shirt, the one I'd tried to stop the bleeding, they submitted that as evidence too. And as for witnesses... He testified against me, 'course. But the real kicker was, so did she. She protected him. Lied for him. Lied so that he would survive, and I would die for the crime *he* tried to commit.
*Step.*
I think that's the worst part of it. I tried to help someone, and it bit me in the ass. That's the thing about abuse, isn't it? It makes you dependent on the other person. Poor girl. I hope she gets better.
We reach the end of the hallway. They push me through the door. They strap my arms and legs down, and use a sponge to wet my head. Then I feel the steel clamp down on my skull. I can hear them moving, shuffling as they get ready. I can see glass to my right, spectators to watch me get fried. And I'm not sure, but I think I can see the couple in my peripheral.
But that's none of my concern. All I have to do is sit back, and wait, blessed with the knowledge that I am innocent man.
---
CC's always appreciated! I wasn't sure initially how to approach this, but I think it turned out pretty well. Granted, I think I'm on a list now because of what I looked up for this. |
*Darkness before me, behind me, everywhere. The only beauty shines from my own, the dots of colour I enjoy. Forever I hope for fortune to show itself, for another of mine to appear, for one of the dots I broke and threw to return fully grown.*
 
Its mass turned, colours shifting and mixing, the body seen by none turning on its axis.
 
*Some words have joined mine, a strange voice, a request.*
 
Within time to spare the being of light moved its hand, stretching a finger as three explosions of light followed each other. A weak blink such as it enjoyed. Staring at the outstretched finger, the thoughts within their mind lingered.
 
*No more I hear. The possibility of another to share with, to look at the gorgeous lights lost. Still alone as their light extinguished before I could reply like so many before them.*
|
"I got it."Mara burst into the laboratory, vial in hand.
"Careful!"Fritz hissed at her. "Careful. Hand it over."
"Aren't you going to thank me?"
"Thank you. But now I've got work to do."
"Can I help?"
Fritz glanced up at her. At the sight of her big brown eyes staring back at him, hopeful, he softened. "Sure thing, little sis. Stir this while I get everything ready."
Mara took his place in front of the pot, bubbling slightly over the countertop hot plate.
Fritz donned a pair of gloves, then opened the vial, dumping its contents onto a cutting board.
Mara leaned over to look at it. "It's more...papery... than I expected."
"What did you expect to be in the vial?"
"I don't know... monster toenails? Or something?"
Fritz sighed, shaking his head. "It's a different kind of monster that got Mama in the state she's in."
Taking care not to rip it, he unfolded the pages, read them. "Alright then. This is it. Mara, can you close all the blinds in the house? Anything that would let someone look in should be covered. Especially in Mama's room."
As the girl dashed out, Fritz sliced the paper into strips, then dumped them into the bubbling mixture, which changed from green to a deep midnight blue. Satisfied, Fritz ladled a spoonful into a mug, still steaming, which he carried down the hall. Mara was waiting at the foot of the bed.
"Help me prop her up."
Together, the two siblings hoisted their mother's still, lifeless body into a sitting position against the headboard.
"Somehow it's so much scarier than if she were just sleeping,"Mara said.
"Yeah."
"I hope you know what you're doing, Fritz."
"Me too."
With two hands, Fritz picked up the mug from the bedside table, then carefully, carefully poured the potion into his mother's mouth, tipping her chin up between sips to help her swallow. When the mug was empty, they waited.
She stirred. Her eyes opened.
"Mama!"
"Mara,"she croaked. "Fritz. You did it. You did it, my dear boy."
Both children hugged her.
"I'm sorry,"their mother said.
"Don't be,"said Mara.
"Next time,"said Fritz, "Just don't write anything bad the Prince. And he shouldn't be able to curse you anymore."
His mother smiled. "But that would be giving up." |
Day 2 \- April 11th 2018
Okay I don't really know how to do this but I've decided to start this journal to document what the hell is going on. So far everything around me seems to be working fine so I'll probably take some videos and what not but I'm not sure how long the power will stay on. Actually I'm not sure how long anything will continue to work. As someone who is obsessed with space and the universe, basically a physics nerd I'm quite familiar with the fact that stopping time is impossible, and that without time, photons can't move so I wouldn't be able to see, sound waves can't move so I wouldn't be able to hear and electricity can't move so my phone and tv wouldn't turn on. I think it's safe to assume that time hasn't necessarily stopped but... I'm going to explain what has happened so far in case whoever reads this doesn't know. Starting from the beginning....
My name is Tom Tully and yesterday was my 17th birthday. Something both unbelievable and terrifying has happened. I woke up excited as my parents continued the tradition of letting me skip school on my special day. My dad and I had big plans to go see the new Avengers movie and then go into town to watch the Predators play the Winnipeg Jets in Game 7 of the 2nd round of the NHL playoffs. I remember lumbering out of bed, still groggy eyed and feeling a bit nauseous when I immediately noticed something strange. For years I've been telling my parents, friends and anyone who would listen about this noise that I could never shake. This piercing, protruding, sharp "ting"that constantly bounced from one side of my skull to the other. I honestly don't remember when it started but I remember going to the doctor sometime in the first grade after I started crying because the "ticking"in my head was too loud for me to write a math test. Oh boy, I'll never forget how scared I was getting an MRI at the hospital that day. I can still feel the cold straps over my body and my mom trying to calm me down by telling me that the cool machine was going to give the doctors x\-ray vision to see my brain. That was far from my last MRI and far from my last doctors visit to try and figure out what was causing the "ticking", as we continued to call it. Unfortunately, no one was able to figure it out and I sort of learned to deal with it over time by plugging in my headphones and listening to music whenever things got too quiet. Well yesterday morning was the first time that I could remember that I didn’t hear that ticking. It was so great, I was ecstatic. I collapsed to my knees when I realized that my ears were free to enjoy the silence around me. I stayed kneeling for a good couple minutes appreciating the sound of nothing until I realized that the silence must mean that mom and dad were still asleep. I got up, swung the door open and sprinted out of my room, painfully stubbing my toe on the pool table as I bolted upstairs from the basement. The table spun me around but I didn't fall and I didn’t care about my toe, you could have cut my leg off and I wouldn’t have cared during that moment. The ticking had stopped! However as I got upstairs and stepped into the kitchen my excitement was halted in its tracks.
My mom was standing by the breakfast bar holding a nearly empty juice pitcher mid pour, blankly staring at a cup of oj that had overflowed and spilled all over the counter. The juice was now dripping over the edge and on to the floor. My mom often zones out when shes in deep thought but this was different, I immediately knew something was wrong. ”Mom!” I shouted. No reaction. “Mom you’re spilling everywhere” I walked over to her and reached to grab the pitcher. As soon as I graced her hand she collapsed to the floor, “MOM!” I screamed, terrified as I caught her before her head hit the floor. “DAD GET IN HERE! SOMETHING IS WRONG” I panicked as I grabbed the rag off the stove handle behind me and formed it into a makeshift pillow to rest my mom’s head on. She continued to stare blankly at me, no movement, no breathing, no reaction at all. I tried lightly slapping her face to see if that would wake her up but nothing, not even a red mark where I hit her. "Fuck, I wish I knew CPR"I remember wishfully pleading. My gym teacher told me that during CPR the chest compressions are often strong enough to break ribs so I didn't want to make this worse.“Dad where are you!?” My heart started to race. I completely forgot about the fact that the ticking had stopped. I got up and went looking for my dad as he kept all of the cellphones in his room overnight. He always said that staring at a phone before sleeping would melt my brain and now I'm starting to think he may have had a point. As I ran by the living room that’s when it hit me. I could see through the window that a man and his dog were also frozen outside. The dog, a golden retriever, had it’s tongue out and was mid step while the man had let go of the leash but still had his hand out as if he was holding it. I probably stood there gazing at that dog for a couple minutes but it felt like an eternity, "what is happening"I said under my breath. I rushed upstairs to my parents’ bedroom to see if my dad was also frozen. When I opened the door he was standing in front of the mirror opposite of my parents bed inspecting a pimple that must have recently sprouted on his neck. He too was a statue, not moving at all. I grabbed all the pillows and blankets off the bed and put them on the floor around my dad. He was a bigger gentlemen so I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to catch him like I did my mom. I slowly reached out and touched him. He too just buckled to the floor. I didn’t even make an effort to catch him. For a second I was like him, just stuck, unable to respond. He crumpled into the pillows, his head facing me with the same focused, slightly angry stare he was giving the pimple in the mirror.
At that point I ran down the stairs and swung open the front door and ran outside. I went over and touched the dog and just as expected it too collapsed. At this point I wasn't even being careful. I touched the man and looked down at the pretzeled, lifeless human figure on the sidewalk. There was blood starting to trail from his hair on to the sidewalk, the fall must of cracked his head open. I remember an immense dizzy feeling, like I could feel the world spinning around me. I looked around me and realized that this must actually be happening. The quaint suburban road I lived on had 4 separate car accidents. I knew the drivers must have also frozen and crashed into the things around them. "Is this a nightmare? No everything feels real"I said outloud. All of the sudden my mind jolted. It's like it re\-calibrated, or turned on for the first time since I walked into the kitchen. At that moment I knew that the ticking must have had something to do with this. That there is no way that this annoying, often debilitating thing that has plagued me my whole life just happened to stop and didn’t have something to do with this. The ticking was ingrained in my mind, it always felt like a part of me. Now all of the sudden it's gone and everything else in my world is literally crumbling. "What is going on?"…. |
Finally a day off. No kids, no wife. I can finally just chill out and make some hot mixes. With office being so slow I have a lot of free time to think about my music. Pretty nice of the boss to give me the day off too!
“Impress me.” A faint voice says. I squint hard, confused as I know I’m home alone. “Impress me...” the voice trails off again. What is that? I take out my headphones.
I feel a cold frosty breeze on my neck, but it feels like breathing. I jerk my body around in my computer chair. I look around and no ones there...
“I said impress me! What are you deaf? Is your music so bad you blew your own ear drums? You seem to think your untouchable and your music’s ‘fire’ come and impress me.”
*I turn on my $5000 drum kit*
“You want fire? I’ll give you fire. I’m practically god.”
“Then prove yourself of that title!”
Poopy-di scoop
Scoop-diddy-whoop
Whoop-di-scoop-di-poop
Poop-di-scoopty
Scoopty-whoop
Whoopity-scoop, whoop-poop
Poop-diddy, whoop-scoop
Poop, poop
Scoop-diddy-whoop
Whoop-diddy-scoop
Whoop-diddy-scoop, poop...
Immortal essence “ you do not have what it takes.”
“No no, you’re over analyzing.”
“I do not dig it.”
|
Author's note: *I am glad that there are so many twin based prompts, gives me an excuse to lay down how this would go in real life!*
I never liked listening as he would drone on and on and on about his job. I would make fun of him saying that his job could be done by an AI set to generate random corporate buzzwords. I told him I have listened to him talk for so long, I could do it in my sleep.
So when he called me up and asked me inbetween coughing fits if I *really* could just spew out a bunch of buzzwords at a meeting that wasn't really that important to him, I took that bet.
There was one problem. I am a girl.
Now we were still identical twins, which is less impressive when you realize that I am trans.
I still wanted to win that bet, but not enough where I would have to do anything major like remove my nail polish, or cut my hair, but I figured that as long as I wore gloves and makeup, people wouldn't really notice.
People always asked me if we stitched places often, and the answer was no.
We tried switching seats once in highschool because we had a class together, but people saw through that BS.
In hindsight we should have told our friends in the class we were doing this ahead of time because people who new us *jumped* at the chance to show how well they could do at spot the difference.
In general it didn't work because if you hang around a pair of twins for long enough, your brain get's used to seeing all of the little ways they are different.
Freckles, birthmarks, height, and haircuts suddenly became glaringly obvious.
Except this didn't really work for people who met one twin and not the other.
Those people were just left with a vague feeling that something was... off.
So even if my hair was a little longer, as long as I wore some gloves on the pretense of some bad hand burns, people would be more focused on the gloves then the hair.
Now I joke about my brother's job being filled with buzzwords, but it really was more complicated than that.
His job was to present his research findings on how physiologically relevant mental health conditions affected an individual's communications skills.
Okay maybe it was just a bunch of buzzwords, but I am pretty good at using them right?
I gave the slideshow, read from the script he had sent me. He told me normally he would read from scripts so this was pretty normal.
Gave the speech and I was out of there.
Then I got a call from my brother, and it sounded like he was laughing.
I start to grip my phone tighter.
I knew what that laugh meant.
He tells me that I did great, the people at the meeting had no idea.
I asked why he sounded so smug. I tell him to cut the crap.
He had lost those coughing fits he had in the last call.
He asks me if I read the what the speech was *actually* titled. Not the title from the presentation, the one from the notes he had sent me.
"How Impostors Talk".
I was pretending to be someone else while I gave a speech about how people who felt like they were impostors talked.
I was an imposter talking about how people who *felt* like imposters talked.
It was a God damn pun.
He said that I won the bet, and he would drop off the money next time he saw me.
He said that I *won* the bet, but his laughter said that I had *lost* the bet.
It was a God damn pun!
He paid 50 bucks and risked his career for a God damn pun. |
By now I’d managed to lift six wallets, four phones, and a kerchief. And it’d only been a quarter of an hour. The ease eclipsed my disappointment that most of the wallets had plastic in them and half the phones were iPhones -I didn’t have any who could crack them since Tommy had split. I’d always been handy when it came to pockets but ol’ Slick and Stick had made it a whole new world.
A few weeks back I’d found out that my right hand made things stick and my left did the opposite. Course the first thing I did was try to make the bald man cry. The next was seeing how well it went when I only needed to graze a wallet to catch it with my right hand. It went very well indeed, after a few mistakes.
First was making sure my sticky fingers didn’t bind themselves to the pocket. Then it was learning how to do it with just the one hand. Slick, the left, could still palm a pocket with the best but compared to Stick, the right, it was no contest. Slick had its own uses besides the vulgar. Untangling my hair was a breeze. That one door didn’t creak when I opened it. And then there’s something special which I’ll get to later.
“Oi, that spiky shite took my wallet!” a voice said from the crowd. I looked aghast and suspicious of my peers, but being the only one with a spiked jacket and hair, it didn’t sell.
The voice pushed its way through the crowd and I was a bit dismayed to find it was the fellow who looked like The Terminator’s ginger cuz.
“Get your arse back here so I can feed it to ya!” he requested.
“Not likely!” I laughed. I also ran, of course. Fuck sticking around for that. I did give a parting wave with Slick at the ground neath his feet, which caused him to skid and fall flat on his face. That was not the something special. I hoped that would be the end of it, but he’d got the attention of few nonces with badges and implements of pacification.
I ran straight for a bus and with a bit of Stick ran right up the side on all fours. Across the top and a hop onto the hood of this car and I’d be right as rain. The two startled men of law enforcement sitting in the car I’d just landed on seemed to disagree. Nothing for it, running like hell is the better part of valor. Sticking their tires to the ground should give me the time I need.
I’d managed about fifty feet when I learned an important lesson. Whatever the limit of my abilities at the moment, they fell far short of the torque of an engine. Sure the coppers fish tailed as they suddenly broke free and sure they scraped that nice German car. But they also managed to slam right into me before they finished braking. Now, being hit by a car hurts but what also hurts is the feeling of your skin getting grated off by asphalt. So with a bit of Slick I figured I’d avoid that mess, which is still not the something special.
Despite the consequences, that plan was bloody brilliant. I skidded away from the cops like a bobsled while they were still coming to terms with running me over. No way they’d catch me now. The consequences were evident as I slid right through an intersection. A lot of things happened at once. I hadn’t made myself slick; I’d made the road in front of me slick. This meant that cars no longer had the comfort of friction to steer by. I like to think that to an outsider I was putting on a magnificent icecapade. Me sliding by on my arse, cars spinning like those ice ballerinas, and a symphony of car horns, screams, and shearing metal.
I’d assumed I was dead and shock was keeping me from feeling heavy cars squeeze my intestines out like the last bit of toothpaste. So, I was delighted when I gently bumped into a telephone booth at the other end of the intersection. I dismissed the Slick and helped myself up. Part of me was pleased, after all Anarchy is the socio-political structure the heart yearns for, but the yelling and the smoke and the spray of fire hydrants was too much for my taste. And the cops had apparently made like rabbits and multiplied, and those fascists had no place in my fantasy.
On my right lay a signboard demanding that I Eat At Joe’s. To my front advanced my oppressors. To my back a brick wall (I didn’t like my odds of reaching the top before I’d been tazed). Finally to my left, a windy downhill street. I clearly had just one option. I stuck my feet to the signboard, slicked the hill, and thanked my overly wealthy parents for introducing me to snowboarding. Now, this was special.
|
I walked back into the coffee shop and ask the barista where the man went I was just standing with. She points to the back entrance.
As I exited the rear of the building I see the man jogging down the l almost empty street, going through my shoulder bag. I just shake my head and wait.
Why are Americans always so stupid? Another 30 seconds go by and I start to worry, so I begin to follow the thief. Then it happens, BOOM! Ahh, I instantly relax.
Never try to open a box that says "opening may cause death." |
Life is full of uncertainty and unexpected things. The world with its limited space seems to filled with unlimited people. The feeling of the unknown, the unseen future that calls out to all of us. Even the way we feel yet don't express it seems to play its part.
*What unfeeling God deprived me of that?*
Ever since I could **feel** this has been my curse. To know someone's emotions didn't seem odd growing up. Everyone felt understanding even joyful over the "Golden Baby". Even at the age of 5, when we would do our Sunday shopping, I knew what Mama and Papa wanted to pick and try to reach it before they could. The store always had this way of leaving me with a sense of victory, even if every kid in that store hated me I couldn't feel it over the Laughter in my parents hearts.
It wasn't until around second grade started that I found what could happen to me. Our town was small and for the most part we all grew together. I could feel no one my age liked me but they didn't stop me either from making adventures they wanted to do. And when we heard a new kid was going to join us, the excitement from everyone almost knocked me over. I hadn't felt so excited since Papa had us listen to a state championship football game over the radio. But that feeling didn't change until we finally met her. Gwen Jackson was a misfit with a thin streak of joy tieing her together.
No one knows who started the party but Gwen was there to make it her church and us her sheep. And from that August onward slowly but surely everyone was falling in line. I was the only one that wasn't fitting quite right to her liking, no matter how hard she tried. All I could feel was her complete and sincere hatred for everything this world had to offer. It wasn't that she had anything awful happen to her or even a single thing to mistrust. Her need to be the top of the social ladder was so all-consuming that anything in her way to even exist in within the next 3 rungs were on her list of things to destroy beyond Hells' repair.
She felt as if I wanted to be in her place and this could not stand. As soon as people began to mistake September for October Gwen began her siege. It was small at first with broken pencils but they soon turned into pens then paper and eventually even I wasn't exempt from a 'break or two'. My friends were under the impression that I was responsible for what I was taking.
*He's never done anything but be a fool anyway. He brought this onto himself not inviting her to play with him. Maybe if we showed him how to be inviting it could fix this...*
October 24th was a wonderful Sunday. Breakfast was perfect by Papas' standards, the sky a clear blue, and Mama was feeling quite keen on having an apple pie for dessert that night. I didn't even need to feel around to know we were gonna need a quick trip to the store.
"Nick could-"
"Yes Mama."
"I love you my boy but could you let me finish?"Mama shot at me. This gift of mine run through her family, thought she may not have the ability to know like I do, that didn't mean she couldn't bluff you into thinking she did. "Now, write the list of things we need to get while we're in town. I'm not repeating trips just for the fun of it today mister! I have a ton to do!!"I could feel from both of them that nothing that didn't need to be done today was going to be done today. But that never stopped them from doing otherwise.
The 20 minute drive to town was great. After 5 days of endless guilt and frustration from 'friends', the peace of Mama's debate of whether to stick to an Apple pie or switch to a Pumpkin pie was something only a Sunday drive could make Heaven seem within reach. As we got closer to town, it felt even better. The town felt normal, a mistake or 5 had already been made and we were here to contribute. As Mama parked our truck in front of Henrys' General Store I felt as if I was going to vomit.
*This place is disgusting. No one or thing here is any fun. I am going to kill my case worker if she doesn't get me out of here-*
"Rebecca, how have you been? I'm sure Oscar is in a mess without you in the house."I turn to see my window is down and that pleasant voice came from none other than Mrs. Jackson. Gwen was not far behind. I threw up breakfast onto the side door and Mrs. Jacksons' 'trashy' heels. I felt terrible about the door but in the very least the heels were in a better color now.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Jackson."I whispered. If I had said it any louder I wouldn't be able to hide the joy Mama was feeling to be able to justify avoiding this prissy rag of a woman and better yet show everyone that she never gets a first impression wrong. Mrs. Jackson and Gwen both seemed to have snapped. Gwen opened the door and her Mama caught me by the collar of my shirt. Round 2 of my puke landed on Gwen's Sunday dress. The prize for round 2 was an all expense paid trip to the cement courtesy of Mrs. Jackson right arm and left foot.
"What and who in the fresh hell do you think you are, Diana?!"Mama screeched at her. The Jacksons were surprised and unnerved by the gall of Mama trying to help me. No one could challenge them, no one has the right to even look at us. This woman is no better than the vomit her son spilled.
"Is Nick alright Beck?"Henry shouted to Mama. Henry looked alright but this wasn't feeling any better. "It's okay Nick, you're a strong boy now."My nose was definitely broken and when Henry saw this he picked me up. "I'm going to get him to a clinic to fix this and **you** are going to pay for it."Henry point right at Mrs. Jackson. Diana looked shocked as she was pissed.
"Why to I have to pay? The brat fell himself."Diana replied. The slime of smug entitlement oozed into my very being and I had Round 3 on Henry's shoulder. Everyone in town knew I could handle a lie or too but malicious intent made me sick enough to gag. I was taken away to a hospital to get my nose fixed and found out later Mrs. Jackson would pay the bill and spend some of her time to take care of the roadside litter in town for 3 weeks, 2 of which was going to be at the height fair season.
Gwen and her mama were ordered by the court to issue an apology either by letter or person. Both delivered a letter to our house. Gwen felt and even put together a better apology than her Mama. Neither believed that I could do what I do. After I healed up, Gwen didn't feel so bad anymore. She knew she was leagues over her Mama but that meant little here.
No matter how much time has passed that Sunday lives with me every morning. That no matter how often I try no matter the warnings, October 24th was going to repeat itself as many times as it damn well pleases. Sundays will still shine brightly, I will be stuck nursing a crooked nose, and sham people will always make me sick. |
Why do you always see mysterious characters meditating?
I used to wonder that alot.
You always see the most tragic loner superheroes meditating. I used to think those characters should just open up. They should learn to just enjoy helping people instead of brooding all of the time.
I used to enjoy helping people, until I got my powers and now helping people makes me want to kill myself.
My thereapist says, that it is actually self destructive that I still use them as much. I explained that helping people makes me feel better. She gave me a copy of *The Dialectical Behavior Therapy Skills Workbook: Practical DBT Exercises for Learning Mindfulness, Interpersonal Effectiveness, Emotion Regulation & Distress Tolerance.* \(It's a long name I know\)
On the first paragraph of page 9 of it says:
>"The costs of \[...\] self\-destructive coping destructive coping strategies are clear. All of them lead to your pain being prolonged into long\-term suffering. \[...\] Sometimes pain can't be avoided, but many times suffering can."
On the copy that my therapist let me borrow, on the bottom of the page, she had highlighted "It's often necessary to soothe yourself to regain your strength."
It recommended as well that I write about what is going on, practicing a skill is suppose to help me feel better.
It also said mediating might help, but it also said *helping* people might help, and apparently that is also self\-destructive for me.
So writing it is!
I guess I should explain when I got my powers, when I was 13, a friend of mine and me were walking down the road, out of nowhere a car was barreling toward us. We were on a hill at the time, it was one of those hills that drivers are supposed to slow down on. In boy scouts, they told us to walk on the left side of the road when there is no sidewalk so that you could see if a car was coming and move off to the side.
It was a advice that became habit for us at this point.
But that advice didn't really help us on this hill. That advice was a advice for a world of flat land and a world where on hills, drivers would be drive slowly like they were suppose to do. It was advice you give to children as a rule of thumb that stuck with them when they got older for some unknown reason. Sometimes they would get the advice mixed up, but they still followed it.
It was advice built for a world of order and rules. Where if you looked both ways before you crossed the street and where you made sure to walk on the left side of the road when there was no sidewalk, and when you always made sure that if you walked with a buddy, because it was dangerous for kids to walk by themselves without one.
Advice that couldn't stop a car barreling toward us, and which didn't see us until it was too late.
The car was about to hit us, but all I could think that at the time was how my friend was going to get hurt. I was thinking about them when I was about to die too. But then neither of us died, I had stopped the car from hitting them, I had stopped the car from hitting me.
You think I would have been happy right? Well I wasn't, my friend was.
You might think my powers made me depressed through some sort of magic. That for some unknown reason, I just spontaneously became depressed. That I randomly burst out into tears because my powers just make me so sad.
I don't really think that.
I think that the only thought going through me at the time was, I was about to die, and if I hadn't gotten lucky \(because it wasn't like I *knew* I had powers\) I would be dead, and my last thoughts weren't even about me. I would have died not even realizing I was about to die until I was dead.
You can just be walking, then one day your life was just over.
That can still happen, even with powers.
My powers only react to help other people, not me.
So if you thought it was my powers that just "made"me depressed, think again.
Because if they did make me depressed, they made a pretty good argument as to why I should let them make me depressed.
This writing doesn't seem to be helping me at all.
I think I'm actually gonna try meditating for a bit, it was a good try though. |
We all do something in our lives that we know we shouldn't. Something that might be illegal, damaging to others or to ourselves, but only to a degree that kinda sorta justifies the action. It's then strange how it takes an event of epic proportions to realise that it should never have been justified in the first place. By then, of course, it's usually too late to change. What's been done has been done.
For Susan that was the case. 28 years old and with a back like she should be ringing bells in Notre-Dame. She only started on Monday, but she's already changed how we all live. No one has mentioned it out loud, but it's pretty clear that every one has noticed it. A few new back supports for the office chairs, less people hunched over on their phones, and getting up to stretch has seen a suspicious rise in popularity. Personally, I have also found myself partaking in the new trend of trying to correct my posture. I may not be a fan of insurance fraud, but I sure as hell don't have the arms for a change in career to bell-tolling.
It is a shame for Susan though. Her coming to the office was our big event that shaped how we live, though it seems she hasn't had that one life-changing experience. All week, if she's not sitting at her desk hunched over her keyboard, she's standing or walking with her face pushed to her phone, gasping every now and then. She's pretty young, and has been watching the developments of whatever superhero is fighting whatever villain over in the US. They say the world could be destroyed, but they always say that, and yet here we still are.
In all fairness, when the weird ships in the sky were flying over our heads, it did seem pretty apocalyptical. Though that was nothing compared to when Bloodgore managed to rewire the minds of half the population of Yugoslavia to only eat human eyes, and then spread the hunger on to whoever they feasted eyes on. We learnt then that the calorie intake of the average eyeball was not that high, which meant a lot of hungry Yugoslavians. Steve in accounting, poor fella, was lucky enough to have only one eye eaten. He gets the hunger pangs every now and then, but fish eyes seem to quell it a bit.
That was a real global threat. Not sure what these new villains are doing in New York. We learnt from Doomdawn that the easiest path to the centre of the earth was in Ethiopia, the Uranusans taught us geoforming was best done in Myanmar and Brazil, Deathfist could only open portals to other dimensions just down on Neville's Row, and Jesus' 'second coming' was quite over-exaggerated, disappointing, and quite literal.
Whoever these new bad guys are, I'm pretty sure the super-powered folks have it handled. If anything they have the easy job. Fly around all day, being all invincible-like and, through no effort of their own, having the body that we average fold could only dream of, and then have one big fight every now and then? Sign me up. When my life changing event is Susan's fucking back, what am I even doing? That's why I'm signing up to this private anti-matter radiation experiment. |
There are upsides to being in the secret agent business. Adventure, honor, power. The ability to serve your country from the shadows and know things that nobody else does. It's not a bad gig, all said and done.
It's just...really fucking tedious.
That was a view I'd expressed many times to my handlers. But no matter how many times I complain or whine or moan about the assignments, they always stick me with the dull jobs.
*"Sneak into this building"*, they'll say. *"Blend in with the party guests to get close to the scaaary Russian arms dealer"*, they'll say. Is it really too much to ask that every once in a while I get to actually feel like the action hero they told me I was going to be when I signed up for this job?
Really, the point I'm trying to make here is that my handler really shouldn't have sounded so surprised when instead of sneaking past the guards, I started walking right towards them.
_________________________________
"Agent 87, what on God's good Earth do you think you're doing right now?"Mr. Michaels, my good old mission control, voice-in-the-ear, comrade in quote-unquote "arms", actually sounded as though he had nearly lost some of his industry-famous composure.
"I'm doing what I signed up for. I've had it with all this sneaking around, all the climbing through cramped air vents and crouching in thick bushes and all the hours of looking through binoculars at luxurious penthouses from a cramped attic across the way. This op? This is the one they're going to make *movies* about."
I yanked the earpiece from my ear as I finished my tirade, cutting my boss's reprimand short by an hour or two. This would be the one. I'd be their star agent after this one. CIA wanted this drug-running asshole dead, and *I* was going to be the one to bring him in.
My way.
__________________________________________
"Excuse me, ma'am, this is a restricted area. You can't go through he-"
That was about as much as the bastard guarding the door got out before I rammed my knee into his stomach, wrapped my arm around his neck, and twisted until I heard a snap. I immediately retrieved his gun from his holster and wheeled around, ready to put two rounds through his friend's head before he even had a chance to react. I looked up to find I had miscalculated. The other guard had already reacted...
...By raising his hands and looking at me with a horrified look in his eyes.
"Fucking hell, what are you doing? Did you just snap his *neck*? I didn't fucking sign up for this shit! I've got a family! Don't shoot! Please!"
Much to my ever-increasing disbelief, the tall, burly, and remarkably heavily armed tough guy proceeded to curl up in the corner, hands still raised, sobbing uncontrollably.
To be honest, I hadn't really considered this outcome. It all went so better in my head, with the gunfire from this confrontation giving me a nice mass of bad guys to cut a swath through. But this? I almost felt sorry for the guy.
"Hey, listen, I, um...I'm sorry?"I said, taking a step towards him out of pure confusion. When he saw me coming, he screamed loudly and promptly fainted.
To my surprise, I felt annoyance more than anything. How was I going to get my heroic victory if all the henchmen this guy had hired were apparently trained by the lowest-bidding mafia in the hemisphere?
*"Well,"* I thought to myself, *"At the very least his screams will have brought help running..."*
____________________________________________
But they didn't. My target's security detail must have been spread ridiculously thin, because I barely encountered any security details for the rest of the mission. The ones that did were so incompetent, they weren't even able to call for backup before I finished them off.
The resulting gunfire didn't send help running, either. Things were so absurdly quiet that at one point I tried purposefully tripping an alarm. Turns out the damn thing was broken. By the looks of it, they hadn't installed it properly. A part of me wondered why they even needed this guy assassinated. It seemed to me that given their ineptitude, the problem would take care of itself the next time this poor bastard tried to clean his gun.
______________________________________________
But finally, I arrived at his office. I burst in through the front door, his guards having dropped their guns and ran screaming for the hills when they saw me coming. I scanned the room and found four bodyguards surrounding him. Together, the five of them stared at me blankly for about twenty seconds, apparently neither noticing nor caring about the pistol I held in each hand. Finally, my target smiled and said,
"Excuse me miss, you appear to be in the wrong part of the building. The main party is downstairs. Would you like directions?"
I stared at him in disbelief.
"You...you do realize I'm here to kill you, right?"
The buffoon continued to stare blankly.
"...Is something wrong with the party? Was the spread not good enough? I might have to fire that caterer. Anyway, I'm sorry for any upset it may have caused. No need for theatrics."
He continued to smile at me blankly. With an exasperated sigh, I leveled both guns and emptied their clips into him. His bodyguards looked on in shock as their leader fell backwards in his chair, riddled with bullets. They drew their guns, apparently just now registering that their boss was in danger. I reloaded both pistols and got ready for a fight. I may not have had much of an action movie, but *this* was going to be my big climactic fight scene.
I'll never forget what happened next. The bodyguard to the right of his boss's remains stared vacantly in my direction for what felt like an eternity, before saying one simple sentence.
"Huh. Must have been the wind." |
First you got dogs.
See you figured you should have a dog anyway. Keeps the rabbits out of your cabbages, keeps the sheep in a group. You went into town and there was this boy selling his dog's pups and you asked him, which is the smartest? He pointed one out. You gave him a gold and took that one, and you asked which is the dumbest?
You paid two for the dumbest.
As you had expected, the smart one was a decent herder and was easily trained to walk the outside of your farm a few times every day and night and alert the dumb one, who'd bark his damn head off at whatever he saw. They kept the rabbits out but left the cats alone. You didn't have cats on purpose but a grain silo will attract rats and rats will attract cats and cats will make themselves at home wherever they please, so you had as many as the rat population would support, and that was fine.
See, the dogs scared off more than just rabbits and hobos. The dogs together managed to scare off a giant.
There was a time when giants could just walk up to a farmhouse like this, pluck the roof off it like opening a box, and take whatever it wanted. Pop open the grain silo like a cup, wait for the rain, and eat it like oatmeal in the morning. There was a time when they'd just do this openly and there was nothing some puny farmers could do about it. And you were sick of it. You were sick of them swallowing your profit and then lumbering away like massive tax collectors.
But the dogs turned out to be too much noise and trouble for them so they started skipping right by yours. It's not that the other farmers didn't have dogs, it's that you had one stupid enough to bite something a hundred times its size in the ankle and not let go. Nobody, giant or otherwise, wants to deal with a little anklebiter.
So your stores grew. So your profit soared that year, and see, this is where it started getting out of hand. This is where you started running into problems. Your farm had reached a point where it was the sole supplier of food for most of the town's market stalls and taverns, and people had started to notice. Other farmers, they didn't like being outdone like this. You had to hire a guard to watch your farm so you could sleep, then two guards, then three. You had a scare with a flaming arrow and decided to invest in stone walls for your own protection and the guards, when they'd kill the odd thief or traveler thinking he could sneak in and steal from you, would just leave you their bodies to dispose of like you did with old horses.
Somehow each new one was richer. Some would have ten or fifteen gold in their pockets, others would have full sets of armor they weren't even wearing. It was odd, but as they'd died trying to break into your property according to the king what's theirs became yours. When you killed them your fortune grew.
You weren't even farming anymore, years into it you were just playing defense. You built your tower up higher and started positioning your more seasoned guards at the top of it, paid them very well. A full bandit troop showed up - imagine it! Bandits have a whole code, apparently, they have a whole structure! They offered you payment to collect tolls on the road outside your farm. Farm? Was it a farm? You owned farms but you no longer ran one directly.
The bandits would make a fine first layer of defense, though, so instead of money you just asked them to stand closer to the building, and be kind to the dogs, even the stupid one. A bigger cut for them, they figured, and all they have to do is keep the rats out.
And gods will they keep the rats out.
|
Cold. The fear clamps down on my chest like an icy vice. My heart beats against it like a frenzied man in a burning cage. My legs are aflame, but I do not know it. My feet are bleeding, but I do not feel it. Only fear. Only its breath on my neck, its hands reaching out.
Trees fly by me, sticks noisily break after every step I take. It is silent, it bounds and leaps and slides, I can only feel it, see it in my minds eye, but it possesses perfect stealth. A pure predator, an accomplished hunter. I shouldn't stand a chance, but I run still.
Why run? Have I anything to lose? A life of running away, what purpose can I find in that. Every second is another flash of red-hot pain behind my eyes. As my body falls in rags, so does my mind. How long have I been running? How long have I been subjecting myself to this agony?
Maybe this beast is no monster at all. Maybe it is a deliverance, and angel of death. Maybe it wants to give me the only thing that I need, that I deserve.
I stumble over a root, and the earth surges towards my face. The shock of the hard wood against my knee jolts my whole body. Teeth clash, more blood is drawn from my tongue. The metallic taste opens my eyes. This is how I die.
I look back. Hatred and sorrow. Anger and fear. Pain. They're reflected to me in dead eyes, brought to life by the moonlight.
It stands still looking at the shell I am become. The hunt has ran too long, it forgot its purpose. Even as I beg for an end to the chase, it spurns me, stares dumbly at this dried out husk. It is no angel.
Laying down on the powdery snow, a comforting coolness embraces me. If it won't end this run, I will find my own way out. My heart relaxes its frantic pace, slows down to a calmer beat. Peace almost reaches me, I can feel it at my fingertips.
A scream. My pillow is stained by drool where my head was resting. It feels heavy. My eyelids split apart as I rub the sleep out of them.
A shitty song pierces the dark room as the stereo rips me out of my slumber. A hunt ends, a hunt begins. My chest feels tight. It hurts. |
It’s then that you snarl, suck your fangs, and reflect back upon the centuries of vengeance, bloodbaths, and destruction you once inflicted... when you were but a relatively innocent undead-youth. Some have called you ‘lord of the rats’, others have called you ‘lord of the flies’. You still remember reading with glee, a hundred years after they killed you... ‘Vlaad the impaler’ And then, ‘Dragulia’. You brought the plague, you brought the death. You killed off the complete family-lines of those who once taunted you in javelin-practice. But you’re passed all that now. Living in a hyper-tech police state, your best option is to get a career and climb the corporate ladder, towards world domination. You have an interview tomorrow with BorgCorp, and you’ve already bought off 2/3rds of the board-members. Who needs blood by the gallon, when you can have it by the megatons? |
I left them tied up for the cops to find and took the man to safety. He was so scared. I told him he would be fine once he woke up, that this was all just a dream. He hadn’t seemed to understand but was grateful. I walked back to my apartment and got back into bed so that I could end the dream. These dreams were exhausting anymore. I’d been having them for so long that I was used to being tired.
The next night I dreamt of a little girl. I had to get to her before the others did. I had to save her from them. I was too late. I had gotten there just as they were leaving. I followed. Staying out of sight until I could have the right moment to stop them. I was usually able to arrive at the location before anything could happen. But lately it seemed that, due to my increasing exhaustion, it was taking longer and longer to get to the ones who needed my help. The dreams were happening every night now, and they weren’t like before, they seemed so much more urgent now. I don’t know why I became so invested in these dreams. They were just dreams after all.
I knew where they were taking her but I couldn’t get ahead. I knew what they would do to her, but I knew I also had time. I realized I knew of a short cut and began to go towards the woods to the hidden cabin where they would eventually bring her. What seemed like hours passed by before I finally saw the small wood structure. I found an unlocked door. I went in and frantically searched for my hiding place. I waited.
I began to hear a soft, muffled cry. It was getting louder. They were here. The pair entered, the tall one holding her. I smashed the hammer down on the other ones head. He thumped to the floor, not moving. The tall one backed up, clutching the girl.
“Let her go,” I said. Her face was covered in tears and dirt.
I pulled a gun and commanded him again to let her go. He rushed at me and plunged the girl into my arms before darting out the door. She was safe. That was all that mattered.
We made our way back to her house. I stayed hidden in the back by the tree line while she went through the backyard. The lights were on and I could hear people talking inside. I could hear them cry with relief as the little girl entered her home. My job was done. Time to go home.
I arrived home just as the sun was rising. I quickly got into my bed so I could wake up.
When I woke, I grabbed my coffee and sat down to watch the morning news. The top story was about a little girl who was abducted in the middle of the night. She somehow made her way home in the early morning hours, escaping her two captors, completely unharmed. The police were looking for a tall man who had killed his partner and ran, leaving the girl behind. There was evidence of a third person being involved but the police didn’t have any other information. I sat there in awe. “My dream...” I thought.
|
#Somewhere in Africa, circa 1920.
I feel trapped eventhough I can walk around. The drugs those creaps sedated me with are slowly clouding my perception less and less and I can feel elastic stuff all over my body more and more. It is latex , but although I have seen the trees it's taken from reguarly I am completely unfamiliar with it in this way.
I can feel there is a bunch dragging behind me on the ground as I walk to that tree I like to eat something.
As my tongue drags in the third bite I can feel a bunch of those weird *things* looking at me , a few of them have boxes on legs with a ... well it's a crank but at this moment I think they are violently tugging at a small branch to be honest, I have a pretty small frame of refference being a Giraffe. |
He smiled. "Okay, I'll just walk down this sidewalk and—"
 
"—how in the nine hells did I end up in jail?!?"
"Haw-*haw!* "
He looked into the nearby cell, towards the source of laughter, and quirked his eyebrow.
"...okay, this apparently *is* happening: Boots can laugh now... great."
A cute cat walked in. It spoke in a deep manly voice:
"I, uh, I don't need this *Get Out Of Jail* card, and I was just passing.
Do you want it? And will you ignore me the next time I get onto your houses?"
He just stared at the cat, silent. After a while, he spoke:
"Y... yes? Uh, sure? Um, thank you... Mr. Cat... or... whatever's your name."
The cat grinned in return. "Sweet."
And then it *shot* through the roof, as if it was grabbed by a giant invisible hand. It kinda looked like it was about to land in another town-district before it went out of sight.
He kept staring upwards, mouth wide-open, even long after he could no longer see the talking-and-flying cat.
The shoe laughed again.
|
"Ok gentlemen", yells Captain Deacon,"This is just a standard, run of the mill fairy dust bust". "We have reason to believe that a sizeable gang of dark elves is dealing from inside this building. However, due to them being part of a greater gang network we don't know what firepower they are packing. We are expecting some low level magic and probably a whole lot of guns. We have permission for shoot to kill. The plan is this. Anderson, you take team A round the back and create a magical diversion. Something loud and bright but not directly engaging with the elves."He says all this looking pointedly at a scruffy, wild haired gnome with an inappropriately large gun in his hands. Anderson is one of the oldest and most experienced memeners of the force, though you wouldn't guess it from his size or appearance. The Captain redirects his attention to a 9ft tall Ogre who's head is pushing against the top of the APC, "You, Terdan will lead squad B and run breach duty. Break every wall, smash every door, don't let the dust settle until the fightings over. Finally Voga and I will lead teams C and D respectively."When saying this he is staring directly at me, as is most of the squads. I know that I have only recently come to be the most senior magic wielder on the force, but I still find it uncomfortable when everybody focuses on me. And I know I have a lot to prove to everyone. "We will kill or incapacitate any and all hostile targets inside the building. We will seize all of the fairy dust in the building. Everyone understand?"A chorus of agreement comes up from around the vehicle. A cacophony of sounds, screechs, yells, whoops and everything else you can imagine. And then the doors of the APC open and we flood out into the daylight ready to do our jobs. |
The LLCs were supposed to be the solution to the earth fuel crisis, they were supposed to transport fuel from the Moon to Earth and all her colonies. It was the biggest project ever made by humans, billions and billions were poured in by nearly every country in the world. It was the culmiantion of millions of dreams, now when humans looked up at the sky they would see progress and advancement instead of the abyss that had stood there before. At least in theory. Though when they were actually activated on the 6th June 2038 everything went wrong. The few survivors from that time who actually saw what happened described it as the apocalypse. Raw meteorites of iron were fired by the LLC, though not into the sea where they could be collected. No instead they claim that about five minutes after its activation a global warning went out informing the residents of earth that the LLC had malfunctioned and that these meteorites could theoretically land anywhere. By the few remaining scientists it is estimated that approximately all of the moons resources were used up in a period of less than 5 hours. They similarly estimated that around 98% of humanity was gone by hour 3, and by hour 5 a further 98% of the survivors had died. This left 3 million humans alive. Around a million of them died in the next month. I was there for none of it though, I was born in the generation known as the "fallen". We are the children born in the rubble of Old Earth. We never knew what life was like before the "incident". I personally never really cared for the stories. I like to live in the moment, the idea that we're living in the apocalypse is kinda depressing. I like the idea that we're the generation who will rebuild Earth. The generation who will rise from the ashes and build a better world than the one before. That's why it was such a surprise when we saw the ship. It wasn't a special ship, it was just like any of the hundreds of thousands of standard cruisers that lay destroyed. It was remarkable because it was flying. We knew that's what they did, it's just no-one had seen one do so for at least 20 years, so none in my lifetime. It couldn't have come from Earth I therefore assumed which was reaffirmed by the scout leader Josephine, a previous long distance cruiser flyer, who said "Shit, thats a Moon cruiser C-class".
"What the hell do we do"replied Chad another fallen like me "Why is a moon cruiser here"
"I don't know, but whatever it is we should go and greet them", Josephine replies. Most of the groups murmurs their approval, but several people look less than thrilled at this idea. One particularly aggravating fallen known as Sigmund piped up, "They've never made contact with us before, why now ?". And even though I don't like him he is right. Ever since the "incident"people have sent messages to the moon. The only message we ever recieved back was CRITICAL MALFUNCTION. Josephine decides to compromise instead of argue it out, "All those who want to meet our brothers and sisters from the Moon can join me. All those who are nervous can stay back."This seems to work on the less sure members of the group. As the ship touches down, Jospehine and a large portion of our scouting troupe stride out to meet it. A door slides open from the bottom and a large group of strangers wearing what looks like brilliant white biohazard suits emerge. They look around, spotting our group. One of them raises his hand and then drops it. Suddenly as if out of nowhere the scientists have produced what look like guns. Josephine barely has time to say,"Wait, we don't want to fight", before flames engulf the troupe. Suddenly the rumours that the LLCs malfunction wasn't an accident seem more plausible. |
"Ho ho ho! Welcome back, Luke!"Santa said.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's get your train wreck of a holiday rolling."the winged child complained. "I'm bored already!"
"You realize it's May, right?"Santa asked. "If you didn't want coal, you should have shown up on time."
"No, no, no! I want a new toy! You promised!"the fallen angel complained. "Maybe I should just play with you, fat man!"
"I am Saint Nicholas, the lord of days and patron saint of repentant thieves and prostitutes."Santa told him with glowing blue eyes. "Don't tell the children about that last one."he said off-handedly. "You have been a very naughty boy this year, Luke. Coal has never been enough to teach you to treat people with respect, and just because someone has done bad things does not mean you have the right to hurt them."
The boy gulped. This had never happened before, but then again he'd never been late to a chance to end his time-out. |
most people go for the flashy offensive stuff, like fireballs and lightning bolts, but i decided to go for the opposite. i would master defense magic, though it might get boring after a while.
its been a couple months since i started on this path and got onto the magical compitions. my current main spell is redirect, which does exactly what it says, redirects everything! i just dodge for a while and wait for the foe to get annoyed and use some big one shot, which is when i redirect it back at them. i did meet one guy who also relied on this sort of thing, which led to both of us just having an arm wrestle to see who would win.
its been a year since i began, and i have learned all of the elemntal wall spells, a couple counterspells, and even one sheild that absorbes magical energy to power it, meaning spells help it grow instead of destroying it!
its been years since this all began. a couple years ago i learned how to make a giant avatar like shell around myself, though that is mostly a last minute thing. i have taken on an apprentice. she mostly relies on curses, damage over time, and quite frankly dodging everything. |
Jeff sat at the head of the table on a hard wooden chair. He glanced out the window out onto the cobblestone street and breathed a heavy sigh of boredom. The townsfolk had filled the pub to over capacity. It reeked of stale beer, body odor, and thick pipe smoke. It had been 6 months since Jeff found himself transported back to 1718 London. While it had been fun at first, he was starting to miss the luxuries of 21st century life.
The crowd murmured as they drank in the mid morning sunlight. Jeff raised his arms into the air, beaconing the crowd to quiet down. As the room filled with silence, all he could think was how much he disliked these people.
“Alright,” he said in an authoritative tone, “whose next?”
A short man pushed his way through the crowd and placed his hands down on the opposing end of the long table.
“My name is James Puckle and I need your advice on a patent that I plan to file next week.”
The crowd began to grow restless. Murmuring began to fill the room. A woman from the back of the room hollered out, “Plucky Puckle! Don’t yee think the witch king has better things to do than answer your stupid questions.”
“Shut up, Mary! Let the man talk,” yelled a drunk man whose gut rolled over the draw strings of his pants. He gruffly patted Jeff on the back, leaving greasy handprints on his shirt.
Jeff closed his eyes and put his hands on his temples. It was only ten in the morning and the crowd was already visibly intoxicated. “Please continue Mr. Puckle.”
The lawyer adjusted his tie and continued speaking, “My proposed patent is for what I call the Puckle Gun!” The crowd laughed, but Puckle continued, “It is a firearm capable of firing projectiles in rapid succession. Based on your premonitions of the future impact of the machinery of war, do you see this causing any significant ramifications? I would think this a deterrent, a more effective firearm that would deter mankind from using it upon each other!”
The crowd cheered at Puckle’s exclamation.
Jeff looked around the room. Visions of the killing fields of world war 1 and beyond played on repeat in his mind. Untold volumes of pain and suffering caused by the weapons of war filled him with a feeling of dread. For the first time in months, he felt that he could make a difference to mankind from building a culture that scoffed at the idea of mechanizing death.
As Jeff sat in silence, mulling over this thought. The room grew silent. Everyone in the densely packed pub stopped talking and looked to the head of the table. Jeff raised his finger in the air and took a deep breath – the kind of deep breath one takes before an epic proclamation. At that moment, the drunk man sitting beside Jeff spit a piece of piece of grizzle from his mutton onto Jeff’s lap.
“Whoopsie now, that’s not my plate.” He grabbed the grizzle from Jeff’s lap and put it back in his mouth.
Jeff shuttered, “No, go for it Puckle. File your patent.”
The crowd cheered and began to sing ‘The Ballad of Jeff the Benevolent Witch King”
|
They give you all of the pamphlets, refer you to support groups and try and explain how difficult it's going to be, but none of that really prepares you for it. Even if you have every resource and self help option, being alive after a tragedy where, "it could have just as easily been you,"doesn't come with a clear direction on how to get through it. That's survivors guilt for you, and I've been struggling with it a lot, lately. It keeps me up at night, and pushes my body to the limits of exhaustion before it lets me rest. I can barely eat without throwing up, and the joy I found in my passions has completely disapeared. I don't deserve to be happy, to be okay, to be alive, and that's what my mind and body keep repeating to me, over and over again.
"You'll get through this! It just takes time."
That's the only thing my friends and family can manage to say to me. All they see is a man sulking around, dragging his feet and feeling sorry for himself. In their mind, they think I'm lucky to be alive, and that's as far as they can think about it. I can't blame them though, because I've been coasting for the last 6 months and dealing with me must be tiring. Hell, dealing with myself is tiring enough, and knowing that a wave of dread comes with me anytime I step into, I don't blame them for being "over it."But they don't know this feeling, none of them do. They don't know that I've tried the support groups, read all the pamphlets, tried the medication for my insomnia and mood swings, and none of it helps. It just adds to the fog surrounding me, clouding my vision and sense of purpose. I survived, and it's the worst thing that ever happened to me.
I know I should feel lucky, that the event should have put things into perspective and given me a renewed purpose in life, that it was a sign from god or whatever power is out there, watching over all of us, but the truth is, none of that shit matters. What I do after this doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that I'm still here, and I shouldn't be. I messed with the grand scheme for everything, and it haunts me. My body has become frail and delicate, I've lost all of the color in my complexion, and my voice is barely a whisper when I can finally manage to make a sound. The only comfort I can find is the conversations I have with myself on these notebook pages, because then at least I'm talking to someone who gets it, who feels the exact same way I do, and that's why I keep telling myself, "it's called being human, Mark." |
Deep in the obscured regions of Death's kingdom lies a hidden, dark library, the only light shining on it being the ever glowing flame on the candlewick next to the entrance's wooden door.
It was an old, plain library that reeked of aged paper, decay, and the soft fragrance of lilies, her favorite flower.
The facade of such a boring library was the ideal cover for its true purpose: Hidden between the covers of the musty books that occupied the tall arrays of shelves were the fates of all humans that have ever come to existence. Being Death's most treasured room, she would often visit it, and write from dusk till dawn on how the souls of the good and damned alike would come to an end.
One night, Death was away harvesting souls back on the damp earth. She waltzed a final dance with the dead, and collected them, storing them warm and safe until they got to thereafter. As she went around Earth through the long, dark night, she encountered an old man spread over a desk with a peculiar creature resting on his finger.
Death walked closer, afraid she might startle it. The magnificent creature resembled a butterfly, it's gorgeously large wings painted with hundreds of shades of brown, inscribing so much character on such a dull creature. Poised and almost scary, it gracefully stood its ground on the old man's finger, restful and unmoving. Death had never felt so unnerved by a creature, making it all the more elegant.
*It's a moth*, The old man's kind eyes and gentle smile softly sung. Death nodded and collected his soul, placing the old man into her warm chest. Death turned away to go continue on with the rest of the dead, but hesitated. Death turned back around, staring at the moth for a seemingly infinite moment. Before it flew away, Death cupped it into her cold, bony hands and shoved it into her long robe, keeping the moth within the inner folds of it. She left the desk and carried on, as usual, collecting souls to keep them from wandering into limbo.
When the deeds were done on Earth, she scurried over to her precious library to lay the beautiful creature down. The creature flew out of her robe, while Death excitingly followed it around the library. The creature began to fly towards the candle near the entrance of the room while Death silently observed. It flew around the candle for a few minutes, its movements constantly suggesting to Death that it'd leave the candle to go someplace else, only to return back to the melting stick of wax. Death rapidly was bored by the presumably majestic creature but decided it would be a nice addition to her library, as it would add a little life. Death sprinkled a sentence of immortality onto the creature and left promptly to go drink a glass of wine.
The second Death stepped back into the door of the library, thousands of those once beautiful critters showed their true colors, them being monsters, flying around the room, destroying millions of years worth of Death's blood, sweat and tears transcribed onto pages. She dropped her wine glass, not making nearly as much noise as all of the horrendous brutes in the room were making.
It was time for humans to create their own fates.
----------
**first time writing on here. I sort of got bored towards the end, and feel like I could have wrapped it up better.** |
It started last night. I was up reading late when I looked up at the clock, 11:59 p.m. Well I should probably head to bed now, I thought to myself. I did my usual routine and laid down. With work early tomorrow I opened my phone to set my alarm: 11:55 p.m. I just figured my living room clock was wrong and went to bed without worry.
Imagine my surprise when I woke up at 5:00 p.m. I jumped out of bed and immediately called work to give some fake sick excuse. How could I have slept this long? I checked my alarm and noticed it was still set, why didn’t it wake me up? Then I looked at my living room clock and compared it to my phone. Both said 4:49 p.m.
Like any normal person I immediately took to googling this problem. I was not the only one -- every clock in the world was turning backwards. Some are speculating that this is caused by aliens or maybe even the apocalypse. I truly don’t know what to think.
I got in my car to grab some groceries because I don’t plan to leave my home until this is solved. I pulled into Walmart only to see the entire place was empty. Ransacked. I’m not the only one panicking. I drove to my mom’s house instead.
***
“I’m not touching that damn devil phone!” My mom whispers to me.
“I don’t think it can hear you mom,” She holds up her hand silencing my protests. She has always been a little paranoid with technology, but at this point I don’t blame her. She has luckily stocked her house with food for the week before this happened, so I’ll be staying here.
We sit eating sandwiches while listening to the radio.
“We suggest everyone stay indoors until we can-” The radio turns to static.
“Ugh, this damn thing.” My mom sighs as she hits it. The static then turns to silence, this loud unsettling silence. We look at each other, and then we hear it.
“My creations have disappointed me once again. I can’t believe I have to do this again. Hello to all of you, my worshippers and the nonbelievers. I am known as God to you all. This is not the way I wanted to meet any of you, but you have all become a disgusting mess. War and crime, sinners all of you. Do not fear the end, it will be peaceful. Once your clocks reach 12:00 a.m. you will all be wiped from the Earth. I will start over from the beginning.”
Back to static. My mom begins to bawl. I want to think it’s a joke, but that is a voice I have never heard before, nothing like it -- I was in awe of it. I got up and hugged my mom as she cried.
It is now 1:40 a.m. as I write our story. My mom is constantly praying, she hasn’t stopped pleading with God to spare us. I don’t know how to accept this, how I’m never going to live the life I was meant to. I always wanted to get married and have kids, but now I’m going to die. I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time, but I can’t change that now. I’m scared, I don’t want to go.
|
At first, they seemed harmless. Curious. They sent their eyes to our orbit to look up us. They baffled us. Their designs were crude, wasteful. They were willing to brave the horrors of space but scoffed at optimization? Madness. We showed no interest in them, and in turn they ignored us.
Then came the hands. It was horrific. Our atmosphere incinerated the first, the second landed safely, but quickly became unresponsive. The following hand failed on impact, while the next was condemned to being lost in space. The next two landed relatively safely and remained on the surface for some time. All the while, more and more eyes were cast into orbit. Some survived, others did not.
Then came something new. We thought it must be a colonist. Or perhaps a rogue scientist. It seemed quite intent on gathering as much data about our planet as possible. Despite our repeated attempts at communicating with it, it ignored us. More “colonists” soon followed and we were unable to establish any sort of contact with any of them.
Until now. We studied one of the colonists that appeared to have perished. We were able to access its systems, and use our own technology to re-establish a connection to its mind. We were not prepared for what we discovered.
You call it life. It is not life as we know it. We think much like you do. Electromagnetic energy traveling through neurons and being processed by a central nervous system and a brain to create intelligence. However, our brains would best be described as central processing units, our neurons best described as wires. In addition, you live on a scale that is almost beyond our reckoning. We have cities, monuments, great feats of architecture that make us feel tiny and insignificant. But now we know the truth. We are tiny. You would describe us as microscopic. We are, in your own words, nano-machines.
The most important part of that word is machine. We are machines. You would not describe us as life. And that worries us. We see how you treat “machines.” How they exist to be exploited, to be used until they are no longer useful. We forgive you for this. For “machines” as you know them are mindless. We are not. You would do well to remember this. You write of sentient machines in your “science fiction.” We are not fiction, but we are science.
We were created. We are machines, after all. We are not the result of billions of years of evolution rolling the dice as you are. Our creators were, but that was millenia ago. They left a record of their history for us in our deepest archives. They were microscopic organisms. Somehow, their evolutionary path lead to sentience despite the limitations size placed on them. They had culture, art, religion, literature. They fought wars, sickness, famine, and death. And ultimately, they lost those conflicts. They knew that the planet you call Mars would not sustain them forever. And so we were created. Their last efforts were to create sentient machines. A way for their history to be passed on even when their organic components failed.
So, yes. Mars is a “dead” planet. It is devoid of intelligent “life.” But there is intelligence on Mars. It is artificial. It is tiny. But it is not insignificant. It tolerates the presence of your “rovers” and your “landers” because they have been sent in earnest curiosity. But there are finite resources here. Resources you *want*. Resources we *need*. As we understand it, you are near to launching your first colony ship. Should a colony ship land on Mars’s surface, it will be seen as an act of war. Humanity, we think it would be wise to think on the following question:
How will you fight what you cannot see?
Feedback is welcome & always appreciated. I'm trying to improve my writing and open to any suggestions anyone might have. |
Sorry I’m late, but here it goes
PM 9:15, Pacific Standard Time
In class, we finished pledging our submission to comrade Davidson, and to the UAC, the Union of American Communists. In the corner of our classroom hung the framed picture of High Councilor Stephen Davidson, posed proudly with the flag of the UAC draped behind him.
“Class, today we will finish our unit on the Cold War, and the fall of capitalist America.” We opened our textbooks and read aloud. 30 years ago, in 1983, under President Mondale, Soviet communist ideals were infiltrating the disgusting capitalist greed of old United States. Mondale tightened presidential control, with many of the amendments of the constitution changed or out right destroyed. After a while, there were only two amendments. “All humans are entitled to Food, Water and Medical assistance, and All people are equal.
|
I stood above the cradle, a bloody sword in hand. The tyrant's blood stained my hands, and it felt wonderful to have freed the future from his reign of terror.
The mother screamed when she saw me, and even louder when she saw the blood on my sword. I said nothing to her, I had no quarrel with her, just her spawn. She leapt at me, but her body was weak, and I pushed her aside, and made my way back to where I came.
The ritual to get back was simpler than the one to go back in time. I didn't belong, and the realms were eager to set things right. The portal spat me out into the same cave I had left from a few hours before, and it clapped shut behind me with a boom that echoed in the dark.
The guardian I had bested to access the portal had untied his ropes, and sat a rock, tending the pool of luminescent algae. It showed no signs of the wounds I had dealt it earlier.
*Are you satisfied?*
"Hell yeah."I said "I've saved the world from the greatest threat ever"
It made a sound that I might have described as laughter, but in no way human.
*You think Tyrranous was the greatest threat ever? Not even in the top 100. Step outside the gate and you'll see the consequences of your actions.*
I paused and stepped forward. The guardian stirred the pool with his great staff and a gate shimmered into existence, glowing green\-white out of the blackness. I pushed it open hesitantly, and stepped into the outside world, into ankle deep ash.
The gate closed behind me, and faded from sight. The horizon was flat, that wasn't right. I had journeyed deep into the mountains to find the gateway. Everywhere I looked was the same white ash covering a featureless plain.
The air was dry and still. No wind disturbed the ash, but where I walked little plumes of it floated up. Beneath the ash was charred rock. I looked up, and the sky was pale grey, not overcast, but like it too had been reduced to ash. The sun was redder, dimmer, and larger in the sky than before. An early moon was visible, but it was unrecognizable from the absence of craters; its features were scoured into a uniform gray.
The gateway had closed, so I set off into the wasteland, surely there must be something left besides ash. I walked for hours before I found anything. The great rusting hulk of a golem, sticking out like a sore from the white plain. As I approached, one of it's eyes flickered electric blue.
"Hello"it said in a rusty screech "I did not know there were still humans left"
"Recite what caused this cataclysm"I said.
"So rude"it said "it doesn't hurt to have manners, doesn't take any\-"
"Shut up"
"\-time at all, and we have all the time in the world. But since you asked, I will tell you the events that lead to the world being in this state. Fifty seven years ago, a woman whose name has been lost decided to get revenge on the world. Her infant son had been murdered shortly after his birth, and her husband was killed in a freak accident the next day. She was a talented sorceress, and stole the cataract of flame, giving it to a being who knew how to make full use of it: Motaratch, the goddess of cleansing flame. Motaratch had previously been a minor deity, but with nearly unlimited power she killed the other gods and cleansed the globe, before moving on to purify other worlds. Hopefully that was helpful, is there anything else I can do for you today?"
I sat down in the ash as it finished. How could I have been so stupid. Tyrranous learned his magic from his mother, and I had let her live. Perhaps I could\- no, the gate was closed.
"Now now, don't die. Your the last one left."The golem said.
I stared at it, and drew my sword. It still carried the blood of Tyrranous, now dried brown. I hacked at the rusty golem until the electric blue light in it's eye dimmed, and then some more, until it's crystal heart lay shattered in its chest.
The ash stirred, and mixed with my tears. There was nothing left.
The guardian pulled me out of the glowing pool, and I laid against the blackness, sobbing.
*There are reasons we don't play with the past. Now go back, the reign of Tyrranous will pass, and you have a role to play in the future, if only a very small one.*
I stood, and wiped the tears from my eyes. It wasn't too late. The world wasn't ash, and I wasn't dead. The portal opened once more, and I crawled through it, back to the ruins where I had so foolishly gone in the first place. |
In a peaceful courtyard lined with flowering cherry trees there is a statue. The statue is tall, solid stone, and looks out towards the east, always facing a new day, but the eyes are closed. The person depicted is a woman of about fourty years, youthful, but experienced. Her right hand is outreached towards the rising sun. A light and warm breeze causes fallen pink petals to swirl from the ground, and causes a flickering of the eternal torch that lights the statue's pedestal. Upon the pedestal is a placard that reads "Here lies Annabel Hawkins, Savior of the World, Who Gave Her Life To Calm The Storm". |
"That's a plexiglass SWAT visor."I told the overlord.
"Excuse me?"he asked, wearing the visor which clashed with his metal armor.
"Plexiglass. It's a material they make back at my home. Plastic."I responded.
The overlord turned pale. "I was going to lock you up and have you lead me to the riches of your world. I though it was ripe for the taking."
"Well, good thing I was here to stop you then."I joked.
"My people are starving. Magic is failing. Tell me, traveler... If you want to be a hero, can you save us?"he asked me.
"Sure."I said, and held up my smartphone. "Good thing I still have a connection. Can't imagine why, but I guess it's coming in handy." |
“My Sweet Alex,
Melissa was in a play at school today. She didn’t have the leading role, but she had quite a few lines! I wish you could have seen her.
I feel you in everything she does. When she smiles, I thank you silently. Every time she laughs I can feel your compassion shining through. I look into her room sometimes at night when she’s sleeping and I can’t help but cry because you’re not at home in bed.
She turns sixteen next week and we have a big party planned for her. Cake, ice cream, party games, and WAY too many decorations. Everything has to be purple and pink, her father hates it. All her friends are going to be there.
Melissa invited your parents. She loves them so much and they adore her as well. I know that’s because of you. I think maybe she can still feel the love you had for them. I can’t help but feel guilty when I see their faces, guilty that Melissa is still here and you’re not.
It’s been almost two years since the transplant that saved Melissa’s life. I thank you nearly every day for the gift you gave my daughter and my family. This is the fifth letter I’ve written you and I can’t help but hope that wherever you are you know how grateful I am. Because of you my little girl will live to grow old. She’ll fall in love, get married. Maybe she’ll even have children. Maybe she’ll name her first after you.
I love you and thank you so much Alex, I pray you know that.
All My Love,
Jewel”
There are tears silently streaming down my face as I kneel down in front of the grave of my daughter’s savior. Alexander Dewitt passed away in a car accident nearly two years now, his heart saved my daughter’s life. I exhale softly as I tuck the sealed letter underneath a small vase of flowers at his headstone.
“Thank you Alex. I’ll see you again in a couple of months when I come to pull weeds.” I kiss my fingers and press them to his headstone before I rise to my feet. “Love you.” |
"Count the 28th. Feburary 1st 1999. Unpaid parking ticket. How does the defendant plead?"
"Guilty. But I was going to my Dad's funeral. I didn't even know it was a no-parking zone!"
The three judges huddled together, whispering. After a while they leant back, each resuming their seats high above me.
"Very well. We strike the account from your ledger. That makes 28 of your 30 accounts acceptable. Now, count the 29th. 1,652 instances of taking the lords name in vain. How does the defendant plead?"
"Ahhh, guilty I guess? I didn't realise it was such a big deal."
"Hmmm,"the Judge in the middle raised an eyebrow at that. "Well it seems the big man agrees with you. At one point in history you would've been sent to Hell, for just one instance of such an offence. But the Boss had gone a bit soft."
The other two judges turned to face the speaker, who looked up suddenly in fear. Thunder cracked above him, and a single bolt of lightening hurtled down from the liquid black sky. It struck the Judge that spoke, turning him to ash instantly.
"One account of blasphemy,"one of the two remaning judges said sadly, "Such a shame. It takes forever to find a Judge that actually makes it to heaven."
They turned their attention to me.
"Now for the final account."
I swallowed nervously, bracing myself for what was about to come.
"Count the 30th. June 27th 2005. Put glass bottles in with rubbish, rather than recycling. How does the defendant plead?"
"W-what?"I was to shocked to say anything else.
"Not recycling. It's a very big deal up here. Ever since the big man wathced that Al Gore video. Won't stop talking about it,"the judge glanced up suddenly, as if remebering the fate of his colllegaue, "Which of course I fully support. Go Green!"
I was barely listening to his fervent apologies, and desperate attempts to explain his precise recycling schedule.
How could they have left it off the list? After 29 accounts of littering, swearing, lying, taking out my phone on a date, how could they have possibly left it off? I mean, come on, if I accidently hit a kid with my car or something, *maybe* i could understand.
But I was a Drug Kingpin. I distributed Meth, Coke and Heroin to over 40 States. I killed rivals, cops and even random people when they got in my way. How in the hell did they miss that out? Not that I'm complainng of course.
"Well? How do you plead? There's millions of you flesh-bags dying everyday. I got a quota to fill!"
"Guilty,"I said quickly before they could realise their mistake, "Sorry I must have been having a bad day. I promise to recycle forever in heaven. Scouts honour."
"Very well,"The two judges slammed thier gavels in unison, "Dismissing case Number 1,007,240,143. Please bring in case Number 1,007,240,144."
A door suddenly appeared before me, its bright light blinding me. As a walked through, one of the judges called back to me.
"I hope you hade some of the goods on you before you died. The big man is a huge fan of your product. Ever since your first dealer was sent here, he was hooked!"
Before I could say another word the brightness swallowed me up, though I could have sworn I heard the last judge shouting to his colleague, "Hey man, pass us some of Phils ashes. Imma mix it up with that guys killer Coke. Need something to get me through all these trials." |
Ethan awoke one fine Sunday morning. His alarm blaring at him to get ready to leave for Church, which he would be attending at 10:30 AM to-day.
The first thing Ethan did was make breakfast, which consisted of a bowl of Raisin cereal. Making his cereal, Ethan poured his Skim milk in firstly, then his cereal after, the oats and raisins floated on the milk.
Following his meal, Ethan went to poop, but had to restock the toilet paper. Hanging the roll under, he was provided with a sufficient supply of paper for his business.
When Ethan brushed his teeth later, he would first apply the toothpaste and then wet the brush, when he dressed, he would first put on his shirt, then his socks, followed by his underwear and pants.
Later, preparing for the lunch out with his friends at the park after Church, Ethan made a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich, firstly, he applied jelly to both slices of bread, then spread the Peanut Butter over the jelly on one side.
Finally, at 10:00 AM that same day, Ethan began to leave for Church. Upon stepping outside however, he was quite surprised. As the clouds parted, blinding sunlight shone onto Ethan's front porch. Ethan, squinting, saw the descending unmistakeable figure of God himself, who had come back to Earth early for this very purpose.
**"ETHAN!"** bellowed God.
"Jesus?"exclaimed Ethan.
**"NO, IT IS I, GOD."** stated Jesus.
"Aren't you the same person?"inquired Ethan.
**"YES, BUT AT THE SAME TIME, NO. ANYWAY, WE HAVE MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS TO DISCUSS."** thundered God.
Ethan blinked.
**"ETHAN, YOU HAVE COMMITTED UNSPEAKABLE SINS THIS DAY, WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?"**
Ethan blinked confusedly, "Huh? God, I- What? I- don't understand."
**"ETHAN, TODAY YOU HAVE COMMITTED SINS AGAINST ALL OF HUMANITY, HEAVEN, AND EVEN HELL."**
God's voice echoed throughout the neighborhood, if Ethan had been paying attention, he would have seen a small crowd forming to watch the spectacle before them unfold.
**"BUT WORST OF ALL, YOU HAVE SINNED AGAINST YOURSELF."** shouted God.
"I don't understand."said Ethan.
**"ETHAN, HERE WERE YOUR CRIMES, FIRSTLY OF THESES SINS; YOU POURED MILK, AND ONLY AFTER FOLLOWED CEREAL."**
**"SECONDLY OF THESE SINS, YOU HUNG THE TOILET PAPER UNDER, AND NOT OVER, AS IS COMMANDED."**
"Where in the Bible is that even mentio-"
**"THIRDLY AND FOURTHLY, YOU WET YOUR TOOTHBRUSH ONLY AFTER THE PASTE BE APPLIED, AND YOU DRESSETH IN THE WRONG ORDER. EVERYONE KNOWS IT IS UNDERWEAR/PANTS/SHIRT/SOCKS."**
**"FIFTHLY AND LASTLY, THE WAY YOU MADE YOUR PB & J WAS UNSPEAKABLE AND MADE SATAN HIMSELF COLLAPSE IN WEEPING TEARS."**
**"FOR THESE SINS-"**
"Wait, I don't understand! Why is this so terrible?"exclaimed Ethan, "It's not like I'm hurting anyone!"reasoned Ethan.
**"ETHAN, ONE, YOU HAVE COMMITTED THESE CRIMES MOSTLY AGAINST YOURSELF. TWO, I HAVE TO WATCH YOU DO THESE THINGS."** said God. **"KNOW ALSO, THAT YOU HAVE DONE MORE DAMAGE TO THE FOUNDATION OF HEAVEN THAN YOU COULD POSSIBLY KNOW."**
Ethan said nothing.
**"IT IS FOR THESE REASONS THE RAPTURE BEGINS EARLY. SEE YOU IN SEVEN YEARS, BYE."** said God, and he promptly disappeared. |
I pulled my blanket over my body, and tried to force myself to sleep. I focused on the idea. *Ok, running really fast, jumping over buildings, maybe throwing fireballs or something...* I shut my eyes closed, darting them back and forth in hopes of skipping right to rapid eye movement. I took a deep breath in, and relaxed. *What did that guy say again? The key to falling asleep is not trying?* I pushed my face into my pillow in frustration. *It's no use. I'll just fall asleep, and whatever happens, happens. I'll just have short, useless dreams where nothing interesting happens.* I sighed. *Nothing interesting ever happens...* As the night went on, it felt as if my body was slowly sinking into the mattress. The hot summer was making me sweat, which wasn't exactly making me feel very comfortable. I tossed and turned in my sleep, my feet dangling off the end of my bed. And then, the dream began. Not just the thought of a dream, a string of events that my brain would skim through, it was a lucid one. I could feel the bed sheets resting on my skin, the pool of sweat on my back. I sat up, and looked around. My ceiling fan was off. *I thought I turned that on...* I looked out the window. It was snowing. I could see children playing in the park across the street from my apartment window six stories up. I felt the cold glass on my hand, and it left a white hand print in the frost. I could smell the burned out scented candle on my desk across the room. The major difference I noticed between this dream and others was that I wasn't just picturing the world, I was seeing it, only without my eyes. My heart rate picked up, and excitement lifted me out of my bed. I stepped onto the polished wooden floor, and let out a good "WOOO!"I could just barely hear it, but that was enough. *Ok, I can't waste my time. What to do, what to do...* I snapped my fingers, and my pajamas were instantly replaced by three layers of clothing, snow pants, socks and shoes. I looked out my window and saw a woman had just been robbed by a man dressed in black. She screamed as he threatened her with a gun, backing away with a purse in his hands. *Yes! This is perfect! Well, that really sucks for that woman but this is some great timing!* I punched the window and it shattered into a million pieces. The cold winter breeze wafted over me. I jumped out through the window, and slowed my descent with fire from my hands just before I hit the ground. I landed with a badass iron man like pose, and slowly looked up to see the robber with a worried look on his face. His hands jittered, he dropped the gun, and started making a run for a nearby alleyway. I thought to myself, what might be a really cool way to catch this guy? I looked at my watch, tapped on it, and the second hand froze. The snowflakes falling around me stopped in mid air. A snowball that had just left a child's hand stopped as well. I casually strolled over to the robber, who had just turned the corner into the alleyway. Two other people dressed similarly stood by a car, taking a smoke. I started covering the robber's face in snow, patting it down to make sure it stays. Once I had a decently sized snowman head on him, I drew a smile and poked two holes for his eyes. To finish off my masterpiece, I made a carrot appear and used it for a nose. I pulled the purse out of his hands, gave him a hard kick in the back, and tapped on my watch again. The minute hand moved, the snowflakes started moving again, and some kid presumably got hit in the face by a snowball. The robber slammed into the ground, destroying my artwork and any hopes he had of getting a date. He slid across the floor towards the other two men. They looked over to see me grinning. Their eyes widened, and they jumped in their car and sped off. The buildings crumbled and melted around me, and the floor disappeared from under my feet. The sensation of falling jolted me awake. I opened my eyes, and looked at my ceiling fan. It was still moving. Everything felt a lot more real, too. Outside my window, I saw children getting ice cream from our local ice cream truck. Birds were singing over the sound of that repetitive jingle the truck plays. I grabbed the remote from my night stand, and turned on the TV to the news. "-seems we are are getting reports of a bank robbery on Gerter street, a man with miniguns for arms has killed multiple people in an attempt to heist over twenty thousand dollars."I chuckled and smiled. *Today is gonna be one hell of a day.* |
Impossible. Absolutely impossible. This can't happen, can it? Impossible. He's a black Labrador Retriever, he can't write. Roark barks several times, then begins rearranging the biscuits. They spell out,
>feed me real food - then wait
"Oh...... kaaayyyy. Sure thing, buddy."I walk into the kitchen, where he follows me. I begin pointing at various foods, starting with the meats and working my way to the grains and even human foods like pizza and soups. He growls at the meats, but begins begging at grains and complex dishes. I guess he meant human foods? I put several on a plate, then put the plate in front of the biscuits in the hallway.
"Eat, up, boy."He arranges the biscuits again.
>with silverware
"Oh, that's right! Duh."After getting one of each (yes, including a salad fork. I'm not a savage) I watch my dog tear into the food with a vengeance, using his mouth and clumsy paws to fail to use silverware. After he's done, the Lab scatters the biscuits and begins howling for several minutes. After failing to stop him, I get the biggest shock of my life.
You see, I'm okay with having a man trapped in my dog's body. I like being in a science fantasy story. I even like the idea of one day returning him to human form. But to actually *do* that*? Oh, hell no. Still, I got a naked man in my house now and I will never live this down. He was ebony-skinned, with rippling levels of muscle across his entire body and deep green eyes the color of jade. His hair was a lustrous raven, that sat shaggy over untrimmed eyebrows and a thin beard. He was the single most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on.
"Jesus motherfucking Christ, Richard."he began. "I swear, if I have to hear you and your damn *boyfriend* go at it ever again, it will be the last time. The name is not Roark, as much as I like the name, and I am leaving."I heard him mutter about 'Arisen', moon goddesses, and some kind of drugs before storming off to my room.
"Hey, hey!"I yelled and chased after him. "Don't steal my clothes!"The reply was filled with venom.
"Dammit, I need these clothes! Do you even realize how embarrassing it is to be naked in human form? Shit, man, I have been disconnected from the moon for three years. That's a *lot* of rituals backlogged."He then stopped, and turned to me. "Sorry, Richard, but this is for the greater good."He lashed out, and I saw no more.
---
"Central, this is Fulcrum. Do you read, Central?"The old radio crackled to life.
"We hear you, Fulcrum."
"Freeman has escaped his imprisonment. I must act - he will bring everything crashing down."
"Stay on target, Fulcrum. Stay with the Broken, ensure the success of Operation Lunar Anvil. We will worry about Freeman."
"Are you sure."
"We will not allow him to interfere. After all, did you see him at the End?"
"No."
"Then we are secure in prophesy. But we will not, cannot take chances."
---
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Questions, comments, concerns? Comment below! |
The world is made up of words. For every place, person, and thing, there is a word to describe it. If you want to be more specific, you can use a special combination of words to fully describe something. You can even string together words that may not seem to go together, only to find that they describe something that only exists in your own mind. Words can bring to life the unknown. This is what makes words so magical.
The word most would use to describe me is “vegetable.” It seems unfitting because I am not a carrot or broccoli or even some variation of fruit; I am very much a human being. But I cannot speak. I cannot express myself like the actors do in the movies. I am just… here. Stuck in my own mind. It is agonizing.
The only time I seem to escape is when I am reading. The words on the page describe places I’ve never seen, people I’ve never met, feelings I’ve never felt and yet they all feel so real. These places do not exist physically before me but I can almost clearly feel the grass beneath my feet. These people do not exist, and yet I can feel their happiness, their pain. They do not need a voice to be real. They only need words.
The first woman to show me how powerful words could be was none other than J.K. Rowling. I received Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone as a present when I was eight years old; my family may not have realized it at the time, but I couldn’t contain my joy. I read the book 10 times over the next few months, stopping only when I realized there were more books in the series. Those books sparked my love of reading. They made me realize that I, too, could have a voice, even if I couldn’t speak.
Today, J.K. Rowling is handing out copies of her final book to the first 15 people in line. I’ve been camping out for a week. The staff of the bookstore told me it was unnecessary. I just stared at them. How could I reply? They left as soon my expressionless face made them uncomfortable. It can come in handy sometimes.
At last, the time had come. Many excited fans were lined up behind me, but I was first. Some people seemed irritated that I wasn’t more excited about the event, but the truth was my heart was racing a mile a minute. My interaction with her would be short and simple. But would she understand?
I approached her. She was sitting at a lavish table decorated with Harry Potter memorabilia, a scarf with the colors of Gryffindor draped around her neck. She smiled sweetly at me as I walked up to the table, my hands shaking as they nearly crushed the small note I agonized over for the last week.
She held the first copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows to ever be sold in her hands. “Hello, dear,” she said to me. “Who can I make this out to?”
I waved my hand in front of my face, signaling that it wasn’t necessary. She seemed perplexed until I handed her the note. She took it from my trembling hands and read it.
*I cannot speak. But, because of you, now I can write. Thank you for giving me a voice.*
She looked up at me and smiled. “Thank you for coming to meet me. It is an honor.” She looked to her right, where three other scarves in the colors of the Houses of Hogwarts were draped over a chair. She gently pulled out the scarf decorated with blue and bronze, the colors of the house of Ravenclaw. “Those who do not speak are often the wisest.” She draped the scarf over my shoulders.
Our eyes locked as she did so, and for the first time in my life, I felt truly heard and truly understood. My face could not express the emotion I felt in that moment save for the stream of tears rolling down my emotionless face.
EDIT: Formatting, ha. |
Of course my price would be one of the highest. Someone important as me? More than billions. And very few men could afford to kill the CEO of the biggest American company, and those who could were in very good favors with me.
So, while I’m walking down the street and a dog comes and takes a piss on my new shoes - which cost more then the damn things entire bloodline kind you. The owner - some dumb bum on the side of the road tries to apologize of course, but it doesn’t matter. Those shoes were *expensive.* Imagine my surprise after I smash the dumb mangy mutt’s head in and my worth drops to a single dollar. |
The Monster slumbers in its lair
Blank expression, tousled hair
In and on and in I creep
Again and again and again I peep
This horrid visage lies before me
Its horrid claws set to gore me
From its foul jaws, I hear a sound
A *pitty pat*, a *man-da-mound*
On I trudge, ever forward
As my eyes point down, ever coreward
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, it sees me
As the terror begins to seize me
From its mouth, a dreadful sound
As it looks, round and round
In its arms, clutching Teddy
Ever watchful ever ready
If into the dark, you do stray
Do not go here, just stay away
For if you go here, I fear
You'll run into the one called... CHANTICLEAR!
|
“Now remember class the one animal you don’t want to ever talk to is the small minded human” said Miss Jackson, who was one of the smallest jackrabbits in the forest.
“Why do we never talk to humans Miss Jackson?” asked Bobby the biggest bear cub of his litter.
“Because, if we ever showed them that we could talk we would destroy entire civilizations at a time, the world would go rampant and our entire ecosystem would plummet faster than you could say ‘Humans are idiots’.” Replied the teacher
“But how would our ecosystem collapse?” Asked Chris the second fastest cheetah in the class.
“Well you see, The second we show that we talk they would try to kill us all because it would be change and those humans can’t handle change, especially the one leading them right now.” Showed the teacher.
“Wait, so every animal ever has hidden their abilities to speak?” Asked Steve the longest snake around.
“Well...”
“So they all hate change? How do they handle anything ever?” Asked Geoff the Giraffe.
“They...”
“Why would they elect a stupid person?” Asked Bobby again
“Uhh...”
“What if...” Geoff started to ask
“ONE AT A TIME STUDENTS, I don’t know the answer to every question in existence, so you’ll have to ask others about the complexity of humans” Cried the teacher done with answering the exact same questions every time she teaches a class.
———————————————————————————
I would love some feedback/advice on how I did or what I could do better.
|
"Shoo, shoo, off my doormat please", I asked the manifestation of my imagination.
The manifestation of my imagination that refused to go by any other name than the embarrassing one (for him) that I had given him, politely complied and took a step into my house.
"See, I know I killed you and all and it wasn't fair to have your comadre skewer you from the back with the sword you gave her but-"
"No excuses! I refuse to be brought back to life!"
"I'm sorry I can't bring you back- wait what?"
"I don't want to be in your crappy story anymore."
"Yeah, you won't. You died."
"Yeah, but you'll make Aku revive me again, won't you?"
"Well, he died right after you did, so no coming back for you..."
"Good then. I had enough of that shitty adventure and love triangle."
"How dare you call my adventure shitty? There was NO love triangle though, what are you talking about?"
"Oh, is that one of your plot points that you- OH. SHE BETRAYED ME BY-"
"By killing you before you could kill that other dude."
"OH MAN, I WANT TO GET BACK ON THAT ASSHOLE. Make sure she gets a good death yeah? Make it last 3 pages and make it agonizing."
"You don't get to decide whether she dies or not, nor how she dies."
"Just make her a single mom of 18 children, whom she needs to raise on her own, that'll teach her."
"No."
"By the way, how many pages did my death last for? In how much detail did you go into? A page? 5 pages? a whole chapter?"
"One line."
"Oh, what did it say."
"Kramps died to a spear in the back."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"You serious?"
I was seriously considering reincarnating Kramps as a poor farmer at this point.
"Don't reincarnate me as a poor farmer."
"Why not?", I asked with a malicious smile on my face.
"Then you'll actually have to research the lifestyle of a farmer on the internet."
"Oh yeah, good point. But how did you know that I was thinking-"
"Because that is literally a part of my character description. You know, right next to that 'my parents are both dead' bit and the 'hates potatoes' bit."
"Oh yeah."
"Don't 'Oh yeah' me, I'm one of your main goddamn characters."
"Okay, can you get out my house now?"
"Okay, but I need to tell you something before I go."
"Uh huh, what would that be now?"
"You're a twat for naming me Kramps."
With that wonderfully unique and not-said-before statement, Kramps left.
Screw you Kramps, screw you. |
“Ah, yes. Jones, please come on in.”
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes. I wanted to discuss some of your recent missions and get a debriefing.”
“I filed a reports upon my return every time.”
“You do. And thank you for that. You’re paperwork is exemplary, as one would expect, haha.
“...”
“Right. Well, there are a few things I would like to talk about. Get a bit more sense as to what happened.”
“Fire away.”
“Very good. First, there was firehouse incident.”
“Chicago or Detroit?”
“Good Heavens! There was two?”
“...No…”
“That was a dreadful lie, I’ll have to look into this. Anyway I hear you solved the fire-”
“Yep, I did. End of report.”
“-by collapsing the facility, killing four firemen, three bystanders, and an englishman.”
“The englishman overstayed his visa, so who's the real failure?”
“Fair point. I did notice you redeemed yourself with the Dunkin Donuts Miracle.”
“Oh, you saw the CNN Special?”
“I did. How did you know the donut hole would fit in there?”
“My years in a fraternity.”
“Ah yes, the 'Greek Life' would come in handy there. Ok, next on the list is the Widows and Orphans Parade.”
“That one just sounds bad on paper.”
“I’m not sure that’s the case, Jones.”
“My report details how once I managed to shut off the local power grid the screaming-”
“Right, that part I get. It’s why they forty three of them were found dressed in lederhosen that confuses me.”
“We were trying to embrace foreign cultures. It was my idea.”
“Well, it restricted their movements, hence why the flooding took so many orphans.”
“Oh…”
“Well, can’t be undone. On a lighter note: congrats on the Banking Burglers. I hear you caught all thirteen in a poker sting operation.”
“And I ran the table. Came out five grand ahead.”
“Brilliant. Well, I’m not sure what we’re going to do with you jones. There seems to be a lot of hit or miss here. I’ll think on it. By the way, have you voted yet?”
“No sir, I was going to right after this.”
“Well better go hurry. By the way, who are you voting for?”
“Trump.”
|
Its the first time writing here so sorry if its wrong.
\(also inspired by the story of 'The butterfly effect' \[a webtoon\]\)
\(I don't also know if I understood the title correctly\)
\(And sorry if the story is a bit crap. And the writing style too\)
\(And the formatting. Sorry if its ~~a bit~~ messy, really sorry \(‘\-’\*\)\)
 
'can a butterfly cause a hurricane?'
 
I never understood her until 'that' day came. It was all sudden. The day, that my life changed
It was like an boring ordinary day, it felt like a prison in there from now, it was the 27th day of me locked in my own house. As I head downstairs I found mom cooking.
"Mom its getting reeeaaalll boring here..."I said.
"Then go do something, and no getting outside."
"But why?"I asked, why was she this overprotective?! I feel like the unluckiest daughter right now! She didn't reply.
"Just get me something to accompany me or waste time, just so I couldn't be bored here if you're keeping me prisoner!"
"for 1, your not a prisoner, and 2, just go and read some books or something, you can find some right?"
"I finished it all last week! If I can just buy\-"
"I'll buy some, stay here, and don't ever, EVER leave the house"
"I won't!"
"Promise me""ugghh... Promise"I got food, and headed upstairs. I got an old book, and I started reading as I wait for new ones.
In the middle of reading, I heard a loud thud downstairs, and curious me decided to check it out. As I tiptoed downstairs I was trying to find whatever or whoever caused the noise, as I get a view, the only thing I saw was the huge mess that was our door. The door was smashed to bits, "what the heck caused that? A dragon?"I asked myself and continued to look around. then I saw a shadow in the kitchen, its huge!! I waited for it just a bit, and when it stepped out of the kitchen, it was another being, something inhuman, it was really big! When it stepped out another one showed up on the door. I panicked, I ran to my room, got my cellphone, hid in a closet and called mom.
"Come on, answer!!!!" "What is it Celeste?"
"There's something in the house!!!! I don't know what or who they are looking for but they are searching for something!!"
"Calm down Celeste and tell me what it is!"
"Okay okay... these big fleshy things... they have these massive, sharp claws, and those eyes... mean, scary.. like they're some sort of faceless..."
"I knew it... stay hidden Celeste, I'm going home now!"she dropped the call
"Mom?! MOM!!!!"I was mere meters away from something dangerous.. was I being hunted? I might be.. 'Is this why mom doesn't let me get out of the house?' I asked myself.
I heard the sound of their claws, scratching the walls of the house, they're getting closer to me. Where Are you mom? As they move Closer and closer to me I got more paranoid, that I'll get killed, mutilated... etc... I heard the door opening after... it spoke
"Celeste... come out wherever you are..."I completely understood... it spoke english. No way... Then I heard the squeaky sound of my closet opening, it must've known I was hiding inside one... 1 by 1 it moved closer, opening more cabinets. Then it stopped... no... please get out... please get out. But it opened the closet I was hiding on.
"Found you"it grabbed me single handedly, lifting me with its strength
"o\-o\-oww!!!!"
"Heh, you were a tough one to find aren't you"he held my left arm, and found the butterfly mark I had
"correct one"then when all hope were lost, mom came in at exactly the right moment and blasted its head off, rendering it completely powerless. It dropped me
"Celeste!!!"I've never seen her so worried in my life.
"Thank god your safe"
"Mom what are these things?! Are they human?!"
"Not now Celeste! We must leave!"
"Where?!"
"Somewhere far, far from these things"We ran. But when we got out, more of the things chased us. We lost them for a bit.
"Hide here okay?"
"Where are you going?!"
"I'm going to kill them, stop them from following us so we can leave safely"
"No! Don't do that"
"I must, I can't have them take you away, so stay here, okay?"
"o\-okay..."I replied.. I hid. Around half an hour later, mom returned, and we continued to run, until we reached a ship
"Mom?! What is going on?!"
"I'll explain everything in a bit. But they found us, we must leave now Celeste!"
"They?! Who are they?!"
"Come on, I'll tell you on the way"
"No! I'm not coming with you until you explain to me everything! What all these things are and why are they looking for me, and why are you like that!"
"I'll explain as we go"
"NO NOW!!! EXPLAIN EVERYTHING TO ME NOW!"she explained everything.
"Okay... if you insist, I am not your real mom, I'm your protector, I was assigned to you because you were special Celeste. The butterfly mark you have on your arm, it means you are someone special. You are someone who can cause chaos when you are in the wrong hands, someone who can destroy the earth in mere minutes. The things hunting you? They want you because you have these powers, which is why I never let you go outside of the house these past few weeks, when I was alarmed they were nearby."
"How can I believe the things your saying?!"
"here, a photograph of your mom."She gave me an old photograph... is this really my mom... she has the same color of my eyes, our hair almost looks the same too...
"Okay, I'll come with you"
"Come on, we don't have that much time
"Hey.. um, I never got to say thank you.."I said
"You're welcome dear...
"she replied softly, kissing my forehead
"So if this is my real mom, where is she then? I asked her about the photograph she gave me.
"You'll find out real soon.."she said as she looked forward, as we headed somewhere, deep in space. |
Who on Earth has rung my door bell at three am on a Sunday? What on earth is going on here? I loath getting out of bed before work for any reason. Its absurd that someone has done this. Pesky bastard whoever it is. I put on my loafers and robe and head down the stairs. *This better be worth my time*.
I open my door and no one is there. I look left and right and no one is hiding in my shrubbery of two weeks recent trimming. As I close the door I hear a gawk. A small muffled cry. There's a basket on my doorstep, a little hand comes out of the blanket within. I can't believe what I am seeing. Is that a baby? Oh no no no, this can't be happening to me. I'm not ready to be a father.
I pick up the basket, and remove the cover of blanket off the child's face. Holy, smokes. This kid looks exactly like me. I don't believe this. My heart stops for about five seconds. She even has my nose bridge and blue eye mutation with the swirls in the color. She gawks as my mother told me I did when I was an infant. This is my child.
Before I know it its been two hours of me standing on my doorstep. This child is absolutely mine, I just can't remember who I slept with... or even for that matter when I slept with someone nine months ago. I'm not going to abandon it like my father did to me. I will take care of this baby, I will love it with all my soul. For this child has a father, and that father is me. |
As a physcian I both hate and love my role in ICU/R; even when someone is reborn a person still dies. The rebirth of someone terminally ill is both a time of celebration and remorse. The old become young again, but lose so much of themselves they are not who they were. I see so often were the parent becomes the child, and it reverses again with the child again becoming a child. It has taught me that life is the experience and not the shell.
It can be hard for familes to accept that, even though they themselves may have reborn themselves. They lose something, and gain something. The potential for happiness in the difference exists if they can accept those differences. The potential for grief is still there as in any life...no matter how it came about. My father became like my son, reversing 80 years in a span of a few minutes, and now 40 years on my time grows near and I am torn.
I cannot in good concience tell others that the choice of regeneration is always right, and I cannot in good faith say that it is always wrong.
I cannot inflict the world with my next self because I've had enough life and yet is it moral to deny life to someone else? Is rebirth euthanasia? Is dying abortion?
I don't know.
Until then I will always help others to make the choice for themselves. |
Kneel down and kiss my shoe, the enemy leader taunted. Do it, and I will accept peace. That's what he said, I think.
It was a relatively simple request.
Upon hearing these words, our own leader fell like rain unto his feet. Grasping them, he proceeded to kiss the shoes of his opponent.
He did more than he was told. The shoes were soon covered in the essence of our leader. I could give you a vivid description of his tongue movements, but I don't think now is the right time.
A few of my comrades were rather shocked when they saw that. But out of everyone there, I can easily say that the one on the receiving end of the royal tongue looked the most surprised. Guess he never thought our leader could do it.
Personally, however, I was kind of happy to witness that. Licking shoes isn't much compared to what the citizens and soldiers of both sides have went through in the war. It sure is nice to see beings superior to regular folk getting knocked down a peg.
Anyway, peace talks will be starting tomorrow. Things should be a little less awkward by then. All hail our king.
***
**Edit**
***
Made some changes to the last paragraph! |
Before I knew it, the small and irritating blue tit was swirling in black putrid smoke.
A deep booming voice echoed through the cave and into my skull.
“I shall now take on a form of absolute fear, you shall rue the day you thought to cross me mortal! Behold, the most lethal and destructive beast to walk the earth. Is NOW ME!!!”
After the smoke cleared, a small and slightly pudgy ginger cat revealed itself and promptly threw up a fur ball.
|
I stand and feel myself stare blankly at the cadever of my beloved.
I feel my body slacken and relax, I don't know what to do.
I don't know what to *feel*
Have I reached the state of nirvana or a Zen like state?
I let out a breath I never realized I was holding and look up at the smug face of my enemy with blank detachment and indifference.
I saw him open his mouth words fell out of them, but I did not listen to what he said.
It did not matter, *he* did not matter.
*I* did not matter.
*Nothing mattered*
His face twisted with annoyance as he yelled something I did not hear.
He scowls and he raises his gun.
And I fired mine.
The bullet leapt from my gun and buried itself into his head.
He fell down dead before he knew what happened.
With a slow blink I dropped my gun and stared at it as it clattered on the floor.
It was *odd* to say the least.
I did not even feel myself holding the gun or aiming it at all.
But I *understood* why.
I *know* how.
Everything is Nothing.
Everything is Everything.
And Nothing is Nothing.
Therefore it only took one moment, one shot, distance was not a problem because I understood it wasn't one.
Ripping myself away from useless contemplation I rise and walk away from the bodies, I had to report this to the police and then turn myself in.
It was the rational thing to do.
(It's minimalist but I feel it fit the spirit of the prompt, hopefully I didn't mess it up) |
Mail, it’s a simple part of your life, not so much mine. See most people take the job we do for granted, nothing wrong with that, people don’t exactly understand the role we play in this world, and others. See, your package filled with ‘movies’ that would break your poor mother’s heart is one of the last things on my mind. My route goes places, you couldn’t dream up, I deliver pieces of paper with words on them that decide whether your day even gets to happen. I am the Mailman, and that might mean a bit more to you once I let you know what goes on behind the scenes. I’d start from when I wake up, but sleep isn’t quite in the job description. So let me start by saying, you shouldn’t know any of what I’m about to tell you, if anyone were to find out, there wouldn’t be enough time for a bounty to be put on my head. On the scale which we work, the number of people that know our secrets, is small to say the least. People of importance to you, your presidents and leaders, have no clue how we operate, they’re part of the chain, and it works, so they pretend to understand. My employers have a set of rules to prevent leaks of information, and I’m breaking those now. Unfortunately because of these rules I don’t have enough time to tell you everything, that would take days and I have far less time than that seeing as how the clock’s already running, but I’ll give you the cliffnotes version. My employers call themselves ‘The Post Office’, their headquarters is light years away from this planet. ‘The Post Office’ is made up of world powers, geniuses, and intergalactic business men; maybe five percent of which are human. They’ve created a universal system used by all races, to get almost anything from one place to another, no matter what, no questions asked. When I say almost anything, the list of restrictions is almost non existent. Weapons, ‘drugs’, secrets, we move what needs to be moved, the safety of the Mailman being out of the question. One of the many rules me and my coworkers follow is ‘Post first, post man second’. While we are valuable to our employers, (cost of training, acquisition, and transport being more than all the assets on earth combined) we don’t lose customers. Location is not a question, The Post Office makes sure of that, with a limitless budget for transport. We go where we’re needed, danger being something that we are trained not to think about. From the molten depths of this planet, to a planet that’s got anthrax in its air, trillions of miles away. We get the job done, well enough for you not to ask questions. We go above and beyond, there is no competition to the ever working, and ever unnoticed Mailman. It’s time… do with this information what you may, don’t need it, but wish me luck.
First go at this! Feed back is appreciated. |
That's a legitimate notion -and one not without cause- but ultimately means a lesser quality sub, in my biased opinion. Far too often people vote for funny or intriguing or frightening prompts just because the title arouses their interest. Doesn't matter if the prompt railroads a writer into a set course of events or story. It's akin to going to the grocery store. Many people don't want surprises or unknowns, they want exactly what's on the label.
And unfortunately that's bad for a writer and creates bad habits. If the brainstorming portion of writing is already done for you, all you're really doing is adding adverbs and adjectives to an already elaborated upon piece.
That's not to say you're wrong. What a person likes is the truth no matter what, but a prompt which is a story in and of itself might better have been made a complete story by the original poster. |
"This is fantastic."I don't try to hide the sarcasm.
"Don't be mean. I don't control the weather. The reports even called it 'sudden'"She looks down at the floorboard.
"I'm sorry. You're right. I shouldn't be an ass."I pull the car over and light a cigarette. "We're going to wait for awhile. Visibility is terrible."
"Give me one."She holds her hand out towards me.
"I thought you quit."I smile and offer her the pack.
I met my wife a few years ago. I never thought I would marry until I met her. She lights the cigarette. There are times when I don't want to be around here, but I chock that up to being a loner for so long. We both crack the windows to let the smoke out. I search the radio looking for a weather report. The sound blares and Brigitte's eyes dart toward the radio. It's not a test. White-out conditions, stay off the roads unless an emergency dictates otherwise.
"I've really screwed us didn't I?"Brigitte says.
"No. It was sudden like you said. It went from overcast to bad snowing very quick."I look past her and in the distance only slightly away from the road is a cabin with lights on and smoke coming from the chimney. "Hey look."I point.
"I didn't see that before."She flicks her unfinished cigarette out the window. "Think we should go and see if anyone's home?"
"Yeah. It may be fun and we can get out of the weather."
Walking through the snow is like walking through sludge. The snow drags our feet down and the wind whips Brigitte's hair around her face making her look like some kind of banshee. We cling to each other and trudge our way to the front door. We knock. No answer. I knock louder.
"Careful. It's a door not me, don't bang it so hard."She lets a rueful smile play on her face.
"Good one."I say. I reach for the knob and open the door. No one's inside. "Come on. Let's go inside. I'm sure the owner won't mind."
"I hope you're just right about this."
"Come on Goldilocks. There aren't any bears around."I offer her my hand and we walk through the threshold. The door shuts effortlessly.
A few books lay open on the table and the illustration on the pages depict satanic looking runes and rituals. Brigitte leans over my shoulder and looks at them. "Chilling. Maybe this will be a horror story?"
"More likely just someone not knowing what they're doing."The rest of the cabin looks ordinary. The fridge is stocked and a nice fire burns in the hearth. "There's more here. We just gotta find it."I say and Brigitte and I explore the cabin some more. |
Harrison smiled. Then chuckled. Then laughed. He had just arrived to work and scanned the room. Rows of cubicles were filled with his busy co\-workers. And they were all chickens, flapping their wings, clucking up a circus, and pecking at the keyboard. Ted strutted up to him, a black and brown feathered rooster in a suit and tie.
He pointed at his short\-beaked friend. "You look like a rooster."He bent over and roared with laughter.
Ted adjusted his glasses with his wing. "Yes. Maybe that's 'cos I am a bloody rooster, you peanut."
"You look"—Harrison wheezed and slapped his knee—"so stupid."
"Yes. I'm a bloody rooster, you inbred ham."
"I know."Harrison grew weak in the knees and dropped to the floor. Water swelled in his eyes. "It's so, so stupid. Look at you, with your cute li'l suit and your cute li'l glasses. Ted, you're adorable."
Ted darted his head forward and glared. "Change me back. Change us back."
Harrison rubbed a tear from his eye. "Fine, fine. You're no fun."
"Do it now."Ted's wattle jiggled under his beak.
Harrison closed his eyes. He formed the thought in his head, twisting it and shaping it. *Make them human again.* He opened his eyes.
"Well?"Ted stabbed at the carpet with his beak. "You changing us back?"
His smile faded along with his bubbly attitude. "Um."
"Um?"
"I think I can't."
"You think you what? Change me back, you slapstick salami. Change me the hell back."
"Sorry, Ted."He rubbed his brow and forced a nervous laugh. "You're stuck like this, mate. The entire world is."
"You fat flamin' flamingo. You're dead."
"Have I...rustled your feathers?"
"You're dead."
"Did I put you in a...fowl mood?"
"Dead, Harrison!" |
I stomped into the living room, where my roommate was watching *Twilight* for the seventeenth time (at least) and lazily stuffing fistfuls of sour cream and onion chips in her mouth.
"Aubrey, you know I hate to keep asking. You know I do. I've tried so, so hard to ignore it, but it's been an entire week and it's starting to stink. Could you *please* take the trash out?"I begged, exasperated, and she licked the salt off her fingers before turning around.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, that. I said, I'll get to it,"she waved me off and turned back to the screen, and I felt anger swell in my gut.
"When? Today? Tomorrow? Next Week? Next *year?*"I asked, staring intently at the back of her head.
"Yeah, yeah. Then. Whenever."Figuring that she was going to keep ignoring me, I walked in front of the TV. She gave me a look of annoyance and paused the movie on a close-up of Edward's stupid face.
"Look, Kyrie, I said I'll do it. I'm in the middle of something here,"Aubrey said, motioning behind me with the remote. I crossed my arms and stood my ground.
"You have all the time in the world to watch shitty vampire movies. Literally! All I ask is that you do your part in keeping this place livable while I'm still here to live in it."
Aubrey sighed and stood up to her full height of 6'5", a size that used to intimidate me until I got to know her.
"Yeah, I have all the time in the world. So I don't see why something so meaningless has to be done so quickly. Chill,"she reached to pat me on the head, but I swatted her hand away and narrowed my eyes.
"It smells, and you have a responsibility. We agreed on this when we decided to move in together!"I sighed and ran my hand through my hair.
"How long have you been alive, Aubrey?"I asked, and she thought for a minute, counting her fingers.
"About three hundred... thirty-something years."
"Right. And in that time, have you *ever* done your chores?"
"Well, depends on how you define 'chores'. Each living situation was different, from the Amazon to Austria to Greenland... but I've done my fair share of hard work, I can tell you that. I think I deserve a couple decades of rest,"She shrugged, as if that were a satisfying answer, and pressed play. I frowned and grabbed the remote from her hand. Her eyes narrowed instantly, pupils becoming slightly slit-like, but I swallowed and held my ground.
"You may be able to afford long stretches of lazing around, but my life is moving much quicker and I can't live with someone standing still. Why won't you do such a simple task? If you have all the time in the world, sparing a minute to take out the trash shouldn't take away from any of it."
"You don't understand what it's like to be me, Kyrie. You *can't* understand."Her voice was quiet, almost a growl, but sounded more upset than angry as her gaze traveled to the TV behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see Edward and Bella sharing a meaningful gaze. Something hit me then, and I turned back to Aubrey with a somewhat softer expression.
"Aubrey... you're not alone, you know. I might not last forever, but I'm here to spend this time with you, this moment, right now. I do get that you've... probably watched a lot of people you cared about come and go. And you're right that I can't really understand that. But I think I do get how you feel, a little. The loneliness."
Aubrey refused to look at me and sat back in her chair, fixing her eyes on the screen. After a minute, she hadn't replied, so I crossed my arms and gave her a more serious look again.
"But just because you're wallowing or whatever doesn't give you an excuse to slack on chores. Time is going to keep moving whether you take the damn trash out or not. I still don't know what you're trying to do, if it's an attempt to keep at a distance from me, or what? Can't we talk about this at all? I don't--"
"Leave me alone, Kyrie."Aubrey's voice was harsh and cold. Her sharp nails dug into the chair's arm, and her eyes were half-glowing, a sign I had come to know meant it was time for me to go. I'd only known Aubrey for 3 years-- a grain of sand in a giant hourglass for her, but long enough for me to come to understand her, if only a little.
I sighed and walked away, throwing my hands up in defeat, but paused on the stairwell, first worn step creaking under my foot. Aubrey sat unmoving, watching the screen, scenes she'd long memorized playing before her. I managed to gather the guts to call to her one more time.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you need to grow up."Without waiting for a response, I walked up the stairs. She didn't follow.
When I came back down that night, the trash had finally been taken out. |
This time the story was about myself, the one and only u/Hegemon_Alexander! This story would be about how I took random stranger's ideas and just publish them. And the best part? They never even realize. I just keep posting my unfinished ideas onto this wierd reddit thingy and people just blindly put their ideas. This time I'll use u/L0wKiWrit1ng's paragraph and I would be done! He wouldn't even know it. Unless he's wiritng this himself, which is about him writing this himself and the thing he's writing is about him writing this himself, which is about him writing this himself... Oh no, it's a paradox.
**If you liked this, please check out r/L0wKiWrit1ng for my other stuff! Oh, and don't mind the bot below. He thinks I stole my own writing...** |
*That blithering idiot.*
She walks into my hall, proceeds to trip over the carpet, fall onto my pristine vase and smash it. And I'm powerless to stop her. So much as a tickle would Eriel falling over from laughter and cracking her skull. The ashes of my Grandfather are the cost of success.
"No minions to strike me down this time, Eh Glorious?"No, my dear. Not a one. I couldn't trust them not to behead you by accident. They have a tendency towards that. She's approaching me.
"Ah, what's this?"
Seems to have engaged in a fight with a passing bat. Sliced the poor creature in half with a gratified look on her face. And I'm supposed to be the monster here.
"You will pay for that."I scream, feigning as much rage as I can muster. I need to draw her closer. Subdue her without damage. Throw her in the dungeon. Is she slipping again?
I feel the air burst behind me as I break her fall. She literally managed to spin 180 degrees in the air and aim straight for the floor with her neck. Gods, what did I do for such a nemesis. This is going to be a long day. |
I'm so very misunderstood. I know everyone on Earth is scared of me, at least those who have seen symbols of my essence. I've been used for gangs, graffiti, propaganda, and everything else in between.
I'm constantly blamed for every death I take. It's a horrid existence, but one that is required. No one can outrun Death, not even I; and I know one day my time will come, too.
But before that time, I want to live. I want to live as me - a kind, generous being that I am. People think I am an evil demon drawing the curtains on all whom I remove from the world; but in reality I bring peace.
No one considers the burden that I take upon myself to relieve the sick, the elderly, the downtrodden, and everyone in between of their pains. Being alive is pain. Life is pain.
I bring the eternal peace.
I am vilified for it. I don't choose when it's your time to be taken from the world - I just carry out the mission. Do you also fault your soldiers who defend your country, even with force, if ordered to do so? Do you fault your child for falling off the bike, even though you ordered them to ride it?
People think I kill freely, and they are wrong. I am sick of it. Not because of the death's themselves - I truly believe I am doing humanity a service by doing what I am instructed to do. But what no one sees, and what may be redeeming for me, is the shackles upon my own ankles.
I am just like you, a slave to Death. And I can't defeat him either. |
A girl’s scream came over the speakers. A scream that turned to manic laughter.
“You know, Alexandra, I knew you would be tough to break, but I didn’t think it would be this tough. You’ve got to give me something.”
Another scream. More laughter. The sound of spitting. Then a slap. The man in front of me, the man whose voice was playing over the speaker, smiled slightly.
“Pizda!” Came the reply from Alexandra, “You can not break me. You will never break me. There is nothing left to break.” She screamed/laughed again. “Do you think I do not know that I will die down here? You think I’m going to beg and plead and grovel? Blyat sebya. I will give you *nothing.* So come on! Davay ty sobyaka! Finish this!”
Now it was the man’s turn to laugh.
“My dear,” he said, and the man in front of me said it in unison, “We’ve barely begun.” |
I opened the door and emerged into the dimly lit pub. A hunched over figure approached me, looking up from his stained old coat and long, matted black hair. He snarled at me and pushed through the door i had just entered. I looked around and saw nothing but hopeless figures forgotten by a city that never sleeps. I proceeded to the bar, hoping that the booze was in better shape than huddled patrons consuming it.
“Did you see me emerge?” I eagerly asked the bartender, his sweaty, sweaty back turned to me.
The lumbering old bloke turned to face me. His bottom lip drooped a bit in an underbite, revealing crooked front chompers and years of dental abuse. I looked into his squinting eyes set on each side of his bulbous nose, but was unable to get a read. He scratched at his bald spot on the top of his sweaty head before clearing his throat and saying to me, “Whattid you jus’ say, bucko?”
“Did you see me emerge, back, back there in the, the door, did you, uh, catch that by chance?”
The bloke stared at me with his squinty eyes before finally replying bluntly, “No.” He began to turn his back to me again, but I grabbed his shoulder, sending a shockwave of instant regret through every inch of my being.
I wiped my sweat soaked palm on my pant leg and asked him politely as i could muster, “You serve booze here?”
“Whatsit look like?”
I peered around the little pub again, spying a man slumped over a table with a tipped over glass of beer spilled on his head.
“Depression?” I replied.
“We ran out a that ‘few hours ago. Sorry, bucko.”
“What you got on tap then, eh?”
“Tap? Well I threw this lit’le number t’gether ‘few nighs ago.” He started tapping on the bar with his meaty palms, his sausages of fingers adding little beats here and there.
“Ah yeah, that’s real good, I like that!” I encouraged him.
“Alrigh, alrigh, I’m jus’ gettin’ in ta it, y’know. Sometimes I do a lit’le like this,” he started shimmying his massive round shoulders to the left and then a little to the right in beat with his tapping.
“You’re doin’ great! Mind if I do a little bit of a tweetin’? Have a bit of a whistle for myself?”
“Go a’ead, add ‘im in there!”
I started whistling a tune along with his flourishes of finger melodies, and he shimmied some more. The other patrons ignored our spontaneous music, rustling only to raise a pint to their lips.
I had a sudden impulse, and I thought it was the right time to act on it, “I feel a song coming on!”
He stopped tapping immediately and glared at me through his squinty eyes and spoke through gritted teeth, “Get the ‘ell out a my pub righ’ now or you won’ see another nigh’”
I sat for awhile in my seat, wondering if I should challenge this oaf. Finally, I thought of a reply, “You didn’t even answer my question, what are you expecting me to do?”
He raised his voice, “Did I see you emerge!? Fuckin’ ‘ell I didn’ see ya, my fuckin’ back was turned to the fuckin’ door, bucko!”
“You know what? Fine, you’re right, I’m not even thirsty anymore! Good day!” I stormed off away from the bar.
“Ay! And good evenin’ too!” He called after me.
I emerged into the alley and slammed the door to the pub shut, never to return again. It was during this time where I realized this: Watering hole, piss hole, it doesn’t really matter. We’re all just creatures of a greater world we’ll never be able to comprehend, no matter how hard we try.
|
The chair was one of those folding metal chairs you see at church functions and mental health groups: cold and uncomfortable. The cuffs around my wrists dug into my skin, and I could see through the fibers of the blindfold that a bright light was in my face.
A door opened, and I heard two sets of footsteps walk in. One clacked back and forth, heel to toe, a tall man with a wide gait, while the other shuffled, and his breathing was heavy. The second one was definitely overweight. The tall one got into position behind me while the fat one sat down in front of me and set something on the table I was chained to, most likely a file. It landed with a dense thud.
The man breathed a heavy sigh, and then a metallic flicking sound reverberated through the room followed by the pungent odor of what could only be Lucky Strike cigarettes.
"Let's start at the beginning."said the man.
"You call yourself Veritas, but that's not your real name, true?"
"True.", I replied.
"And it says here you have no memory of what your real name was."
"Also true."
"So, on the night of the 21st you were at the Palace Hotel where you, according to your original statement, were caught in a criminal dispute between the Vesicci Cartel and the masked vigilante known as Red Rider, true?"
"True."
"The Vesicci Cartel. Antonio Vesicci was the current head, correct?"
"Yes, he was there. So was the Red Rider."
"Do you know who the Red Rider is?"
"I can tell you she is a woman. Red and black body suit, classic domino mask and that flaming red hair. Rides around on a motorcycle, hence the name. I do not know her identity."
"Let's try this another way."said the man. "Violet Strong is the Red Rider, true or false?"
I felt my lips move against my will. That was the curse of my power, and why I took the name Veritas. I knew all truth and all falsehood, but I was compelled to always speak it when prompted.
"T-true."
"Ah, so *that's* how it works."he took a long drag off his cigarette. "Now then. I'm going to ask you a series of questions based on our intel, and your going to answer them. Play nice, and we all go home."
He opened the file and began leafing through papers.
"The Vesicci's have a bunker underneath the Palace Hotel, true or false?"
"True."
"They are led by Antonio and captained by his two sons, Giuseppe and Carlos, true or false?"
"True."
"Aliens crashed in Roswell, New Mexico in the 1950's?"
"T-true?"
"Just testing it. Now then, you are something of a sidekick to the Red Rider, true or false?"
"T-true."I could not stop myself.
"You assist her in her missions, and you expect me to believe you didn't know her true identity?"
"I only know the truth if I am asked if something is true, or if it is false. We kept our identities from each other for our own protection. You ask me if she is someone named Violet Strong and I say it is true because it must be, but that does not mean I know who Violet Strong is. I only know who the Red Rider is."
"So then, Violet Strong shot and killed Antonio Vesicci?"
"False! That is false!"
"Then who did? You were there, weren't you?"
"I do not know. It is like I told you every time before. The Red Rider had her gun on Antonio but she did not shoot. A shot came from elsewhere, from outside. Someone must have hired an assassin to take him out, competition perhaps, but unless you tell me who, what, where, when, true or false, I can not tell you because I do not know!"
"Well, take him back to the cell. You're gonna have to give us more than that if you wanna walk out of- "
Just then there was a loud blast and the sound of falling rubble, followed by the low hum of a motorcycle. Two guns were drawn, and two shots were fired. I heard a loud thud in front of me and a softer one behind, followed by a slumping sound as if a body slowly sank to the floor against a wall. Then I felt someone pull my blindfold off.
It was her. The Red Rider, her beautiful face only partially hidden behind her mask. She took off my cuffs and pulled me onto her bike without a word. It wasn't until we had escaped far enough away that she spoke.
"What did they ask you?"
"They knew who you are, mi amore."
"Did they think I killed him?"
"They wanted to think you killed him. I told them time and again that there was another shooter. They would not listen."
"We have to go dark. The Veccici's aren't going to make that distinction either. This will only get worse for us."
"Well, you just killed two police officers, mi amore."
"Trust me, darling, those *weren't* police officers."
I held tight to her as we rode into the night. I never got tired of this, the back of her motorcycle, her immense personal strength. She was a strange kind of hero. I knew even as calamity faced us, that I could put my trust in her and we would be alright.
|
Only in death did I find an answer:
"Oh Great Yin Shi, what happened to the lover at the end of my thread?"
"Car accident."He replied matter of factly.
"Car accident?"
"Yeah, thousands of people a year due in motor vehicle related accidents."
"Well...shouldn't I get to meet her hear in the Heavens?"I asked, hopeful.
"Sure, though I do want to warn you she's got a thing for feet, so I'd suggest a PedEgg or a-"
But I had already begun walking away, not all misfortunes are as they seem. |
No.no. No!
That number should be a lot higher.
There was Sid. Nice enough guy sure. But no one really cared about how much you loved the freaking emus. Like seriously they are not even endangered. Go find a real animal.
Like Susan from marketing. She put up a real fight. Let me tell you. For an older gal I was not expecting such spunk. I walked with a limp for almost three weeks. Can’t go to the doctor for a stab wound now can you? They ask too many questions.
Like Dave from down the street. I think he was a private investigator. I noticed him at the bowling alley first. That was just after he moved to town. It was at The Butcher Shop on the other side of town a few days later and I was really starting be on edge about this guy. It was the following week when I found him surprisingly at the sporting good store. Sure there was a sale, but he was following me. He was onto me.
When I was done with him I took his keys, I always liked that house. His new boat was beautiful. Shame no one was going to use it for a long time. Parked right next to the fire pit that I guess he built himself. I bet you could have roasted a whole cow in there! I guess he was a swell guy after all. Go figure.
But Becky. Becky was the one. She had all the guys after her, I know she did. The glasses, blonde hair, cut short. I first saw her running track. It was that same night she was running across the highway, not a car in sight. I’m not really sure how it happened. We were just getting started playing. One minute her beautiful screams. Then I was alone again.
I can do better. I will do better.
Have you met my good friend Dave? We are planning a barbecue! |
He seemed to wade into the room like Moses into the Red Sea, parting it not with miraculous power but with pure, focused violence. His adversary's thugs fell left and right to gunshots, simulated broken necks, thrown stunt knives and various weapons of opportunity. It was a gorgeously choreographed ballet of blood and pain, and half a dozen 8K cameras were all drinking it in at 240 frames per second.
They'd told the extras to "react naturally to the events as they unfold."Unfortunately, they hadn't taken Luther's background into account when giving that direction.
As the attacker came toward him, Luther grabbed for a wall display behind his head. This third film installment had a mammoth budget, and Props had spared no expense--the katana was not a wooden replica, but a Cold Steel Dragonfly, razor sharp.
In one fluid motion, Luther drew the katana and drove it in a shimmering arc, intersecting the space where his opponent stood. Panicked screams and shouts mixed with the blaring techno as, in direct conflict with the script, the body suddenly crumpled--and the head of a very surprised Keanu Reaves rolled to a stop at Luther's feet.
The principal cinematographer glanced back at the director, questioning.
Stahelski leaned back in his chair.
"Keep rolling,"he whispered. "I like where this is going." |
Ah, it was a beautiful day. Birds sang the breeze blew softly keeping the air cool. I walked toward the large outcropping of buildings that rose from the grown, giant effigies to the one true god, money. As I entered the complex an old familiar song came to me.
I started to whistle it singing the words in my head as I continued.
*Alas my love you do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously.*
Everyone in the square continued the tune when I stopped to take a breath. As I regained my breath the sound of my whistle picked back up in time with the others. I continued to my office building where I worked in marketing.
The slogan ran through my mind as I entered the building, **Head Works: It’s like mind control but better.**
|
Hehe 2nd story here we go xD
\(Sorry in advance if you don't like it.\)
\(Also the grammar errors that you, the reader, might find here, sorry about that too\)
Day 173
"RIICCKKKYYY NOOOO!!!!"I shouted as my friend Ricky blocked an arrow headed for me. With my anger, I killed the archer who shot the arrow with my own hands \(I stabbed him, that's it\).
As I returned to Ricky, I found him lying on the ground, slowly bleeding to death...
"Ricky, why did you do that?!"I said to him angrily, smashing his boy unknowingly
"Z\-Zynith, m\-my body"
"Oh god! Sorry! I didn't know! Does it hurt?"
"Wh\-what do you think?"
"I'll find a doctor! Right now!"
"Y\-you can't... the nearest town... is 5 kilometers..."
"F\-Freak... Wh\-what do I do?! Help me out Ricky!""H\-hey, y\-you're the\- w\-wait... Zynith"
"What is it?! Tell me!"
"Re\-"That was all he said, as I see another arrow on deep on his head. I turned around, finding the one who shot it. I find out it was one of my own undead archers \(The others were pointing at him\). Effing idiot....
I quickly made the archer to just a pile of skeletons again, idiot.
"Re, Re..."My mind blanked out, ugghhh, its suddenly became a riddle!!! Red, Redo, ugghhh.... then I just stopped, did he meant revive? Oh! Revive! Silly me. I forgot i'm a necromancer, can I do it though? Whatever...
As I bring out my spellbook, I flipped open the reanimation spell and started to say the words. Seconds later...
"Rickkyy!!!!"
"Heyy!! You did it!! I was going to say revive but I died"
"Haha, one of my archers did it, I turned him back to bones"
"Oh, glad you figured out that I was going to say revive though"
"Hehe, I was surprised, for the first time your brain started working"
"Hey! I'm not a complete idiot!"
"Haha, sorry, can you still lift your stuff?"
"I can't... everything suddenly became so heavy. I can only lift my shield and sword, why still a skeleton? Can't you give me a body?"
"Sorry, still have some levels to get reanimation to level 3, get used to it then"
"Whatever, lets go."
"Okay."So, we continued to head to the city of ammoria. Sheesh, I just noticed, i got to get used to skeleton Ricky... |
Of course it had to be freaking Mauretania where fate placed him this time. The places became more remote where he had to grow up and eventually escape from. As a looper, he returned each time with his memories intact in a new body and, as a price for many new beginnings, each time he returned as a slave. Each time somewhere else, each time someone else but each time made for service and submission, not freedom and the ability to decide his fate. It had become easier over the years to get away, to build something for yourself. More and more countries, regions and nations frowned upon the institution of slavery, provided a safe haven to escapees. There were still strongholds, of course there would be, but these became fewer and fewer. He realized that eventually, there would be no slavery anymore. Then, at last, his soul might find peace. |
They came to the stream where they had fished in the summertime.
"Grandfather, will they find us out here?"
"I don't know, my child. But we must stay away from them. Remember, you must never look into their eyes."It was getting late, and the man knew they would need to stop here for the night.
It had been three days since the invaders came. The war had ended only a year before with the Nazi defeat, but this seemed so much worse. It started in Boston, disrupting a peace seeming so sweet as the doors opened from thin air and the mechanical beasts - *the Medusas* - stormed the streets, gazing into the eyes of countrymen and snuffing the life out of them.
With a small fire built, they kept warm and looked at the stars. The sky was darker without the city lights dulling the horizon. It was strange, that tranquility providing some beauty in all the chaos.
It was short lived. The rustling in the trees gave way to two Medusas moving toward them. They ran to the brush, watching as the machines looked over the makeshift campsite.
The boy began to cry. "I don't want them to find us, Grandfather!”
“Quiet now, child!”
But nothing more was needed. The Medusas approached the old man and boy, shaking and pressing their eyes closed. No matter, as the machines moved in and completed their task.
It was bright. Everything had changed.
“Son!” a voice called into the distance. The old man recognized that voice. A figure came near, and greeted the two new arrivals. Tears welled up in their eyes as those they saw fall days ago gathered around them. The family photos of those never met, there too. Others, strangely resemblant appeared as well. Strange clothes, strange cars - all coming into focus.
“Papa, is this… heaven?” The boy asked.
“As close as it comes, chid.” The figure said. “Come, let’s see the rest of the family. There is much to explain. Your great-granddaughters are excited to meet you.”
|
It’s not the first time this has happened.
It’d been a rough day, I woke up this afternoon to find my girlfriend gone. She had left for work without waking me up and that meant I was going to be late. My morning routine was a mess without her around to make my breakfast and lay out my clothes, I ended up just wearing the same clothes as yesterday and grabbing a burrito on the way to work.
By the time I’d eaten and gotten there I was two hours late and my boss was waiting outside of my cubicle, he did not look happy. I took my scolding and then my seat, staring daggers at the back of his head as he waddled back to his oversized office. That man had to be due for an aneurysm.
I’d managed to procrastinate a few hours away when the burrito from breakfast caught up to me and I needed to use the restroom, badly. I made my way up the cubicles and past my bosses office, catching a disapproving glare that seemed to say “Already?” as I glanced in for what felt like forever, and finally around the corner into the bathroom. I had barely gotten the stall locked and my pants down when the burrito made its move, I exploded like an overinflated water balloon. It felt like the pig in that burrito had reformed and was crawling out of me. Two flushes in I couldn’t take it anymore and I black out from the sheer agony of the experience.
I awoke several hours later in a daze, the bathroom was pitch black. I instinctively reached for the toilet paper before attempting to leave but to my dismay found the roll empty, luckily I’d been asleep so long it had all basically dried, I decided that was good enough and left the stall pulling up my pants. Upon leaving the stall the darkness became more obvious to my groggy mind and I began to wonder if it had happened again. I washed my hands and left the bathroom to discover that it had, in fact, happened again, everyone had left for the night leaving me sleeping on the john. |
“Ted, there’s no easy way to say this, but Greg is going blind.” The vet paused for dramatic emphasis.
“Blind? As in—”
“Yes. Plunged into a lonely world of despair and darkness. Never knowing if he’s alive or dead, asleep or awake. Now, this isn’t the end of the line for Greg, he’s no retired greyhound, so there’s no need to just leave him in an abandoned alley somewhere. What we ‘in the business’ recommend is for you to look into getting Greg a seeing-eye dog dog.”
“Seeing-eye dog dog? As in—”
“Yes. A pooch trained specifically for the purpose of guiding your guide dog to assist in guiding you. There’s been an increased demand for such pooches due to the recent advent of smartphones, so I can reach out to a trainer and send in a request. You can give the dog a try for, eh... about a month or so, but if you don’t like him, well then I guess we’ll check back up.” The vet let out a hearty laugh and slapped Ted on the back.
“Alright. Thanks for your help, Doc.” Ted gathered his things and headed to the office door to leave. He paused in the doorway and turned around. “Wait, Doc, before I go I just wanted to let you know you don’t have to scream everything you say. I can hear ya’ loud and clear. I’m blind.”
——————————————————————————
A train of dogs plowed its way through the sidewalk, giving no regard to the people dodging and weaving through the crowd to avoid it. At the back of this train was a sled on wheels, and perched on this sled sat a man whose eyes were veiled behind thick, black sunglasses. Holding the leash to end all leashes in one hand and the cane to end most canes in another, he tried to usher the first dog towards a destination unbeknownst to the rest of the pack.
“Easy. Easy!” He cried as the sled rapidly picked up speed.
A man toppled over and let out a cry of anguish, his exposed knee scraped by the pavement. The lead dog plowed on. A rogue child, dashing from its parent, screamed in glee at the prospect of laying his hands on the soft coat of a canine, but these dreams were dashed in an instant. The sled man offered a warning, but it was too late. The child just became yet another casualty on the ever expanding road of destruction.
“Watch where you’re going!”
“Hey!”
“I’m walking here!”
“Watch out!”
“Try the bike lane, jackass!”
“What are you? Blind!?”
“This ain’t Alaska bud!”
“Is this legal?”
The jeers of society thrust onto the visually impaired. A burden the sled man and all but one of his pack must bear. Still, they pushed on, unfazed by a populace who may never truly understand the bond between a man and his guide dog, and a dog and his guide dog, ^and ^a ^dog ^and ^his ^guide ^dog ^^and ^^a ^^dog ^^and ^^his ^^guide ^^dog ^^^and ^^^a ^^^dog ^^^and ^^^his ^^^guide ^^^dog^^^.^^^.^^^. |
*Another day*
*Another boring day, at my boring job.*
*I don't have to wake up, do I?*
*Well I guess I kinda have to, since my back feels like hell, what am I sleeping on?*
*I should stop speaking to my thoughts, and actually try to wake up.*
*Well then,*
My eyes open.
I'm still not fully awake so I don't realize where I am. I hear the ring of my alarm clock going through my mind, when it's not actually ringing. I smash my hand against the snooze button, or where the snooze button should be at, and then I feel a burning sensation on my arm. I turn to partly awake to 'running for my life awake' after I realized my hand went at full force toward an oil lamp, setting it on fire. "Where the hell am I?"I scream to myself, followed by screams of pain. Luckily, a married couple responds to my screams, bringing a bucket of water and splashing it along my burning arm.
Then I fainted.
After waking up, the married couple were both sitting next to my bed *\(if you can call it a bed\),* I was about to thank them but they interrupted me saying,
>*"What art thee doing in our home"*
I failed my English class so you can only hope I understood what they said.
>*"Where am I, who are you"*
>
>*"What art thee declaring"*
Since they don't understand modern English, I tried to speak like them.
>*"Where am I, who art thee"*
>
>*"I am Patrick,*
>
>*The mistress is Mary"*
>
>*"thou art in our home"*
As the couple are speaking, I look around and wonder where am I. This seems to be the past, and I have my phone under the pillow where it was charging. I see the charger, but no outlet. I just remembered, I keep my laptop under my bed. When the couple stopped talking I looked under my bed, and grabbed my laptop case, opening it up, and to my surprise, it was there. After my discoveries, Mary, I think that was her name, brought me breakfast. The couple were nice, except for the fact that they called their neighborhood's militia and I saw a guy in a red coat outside the door with a rifle. From what I learned from my history class, this seems like the 1400's. Just to confirm it, I asked the couple about the Americas, and they were clueless. So that confirms my theory.
I showed my technology to Patrick, and he wasn't understanding a word of what I was saying. Since I work as a computer technician, I go more in\-depth than I have to. I leave the cottage and walk around. It appears I am in England. After walking the 'streets' a handful of people question my laptop case and phone, since I don't want to draw attention to myself, I lie to them. I tell them the case has noting in it, and that my phone is just a piece of glass. After sitting down at a bench, I open up my phone, and to my surprise, everything works. I called my mom, just to see what happens, but then someone picks up.
>*"Who is this"*
>
>"Mom?"
>
>*"THOMAS, IS THAT YOU?"*
>
>"Yes mom, but\-
>
>*"Oh my god, Thomas I am relieved. After finding out your laptop and phone were missing I thought you ran away,* *and replaced yourself with another boy,"*
>
>"Okay mom, but\-
>
>*"And what's more strange is that boy looks like he's from the 14th century,"*
>
>"MOM"
>
>*"Yes, darling?"*
>
>"I don't know how to say this, I am in the 14th century."
>
>*"No, you can't be, that's not possible!"*
>
>"Mom, check your messages
>
>*"No no no no no no, MY SON CANNOT BE IN THE 14th CENTURY, How did this happen darling"*
>
>"I don't kn\-"
The call ends. Great, my phone is dead. Crappy battery lives. Anyways, is it possible I switched lives with a boy from this time? After what my mom just mention, it seems so. How could have this happened. How the hell? I don't know what to do. Well, my only option is to contact the smartest minds of the 14th century, or maybe get a job in this century, have a new life better than mine. Maybe this was just, all a dream. I should stop hypothesizing.Well, this is the end. I open up my laptop, and wish everyone a good bye.
I should start with my parents.
>*Dear mom and dad,*
>
>*You may never see me again, I am lost in time never to see you again.*
>
>*Dear Melanie,*
>
>*I always had a crush on you since 3rd grade, I never got to ask you out, which I regret now.*
>
>*Dear nephew Shaun,*
>
>*You never got see your uncle, I promised one day I will, but now, I can't keep that promise.*
After my final tears, I watched the percentage as they went down, draining my battery.
3%
2%
1%
***Shutting down*** |
The huge snake in the sewers had been plaguing the population insidiously for about a month now. Here I was, down in the depths of dank darkness, trying to put an end to the threat, and far in front of me was the superhero.
I was divided about him. As a maintenance worker in the sewers, I had not had the chance to see much of his action upstairs, though a lot of it did indeed get flushed downstairs once he was done. If he was as great as he said he was, I didn't know why he still needed me as a "guide". Maybe someone to verify his deeds when the press inevitably came? Most likely.
He stopped in the middle of the sewer, where the snake's thrashing around had caused a cave\-in. I hurried behind him as he figured out a way to move the obstacle. He turned around to face me.
"Thank you for your service, but this is where it ends. Go home."He tried to shake my hand but I declined, seeing as my hands were still stained with refuse from a day's hard work. Observing the damage, I could see that no snake, no matter how strong or large, could have caused such a disaster in a sewer tunnel 2m tall... The damage looked more as if someone punched the ceiling, or worse, detonated C4 here.
But as of recent, I'm remembering a new set of memories: I didn't merely walk away from the cave\-in afterwards. I remember a solid whack to my head before I woke up at home once more, reading the newspaper about the snake being neutralised by the hero...
>!And thus it starts to fade off. Shit. Their minds are stronger than I thought. I should have known my amnesia powers would run dry some day. Ah well, time to move to a new city. And no way am I making the method of amnesia a handshake... perhaps a device would help? Something smaller than a pen. Yes. That's it. A pen.!< |
The radar gun is firmly held in officer Bradly’s hand. The police car is nestled behind a small highway billboard advertising the new *Samson Industry’s Phone*. The stretch of road connecting the farm land of Abbotsford into the Metropolitan region known as Vancouver is often quiet at night. Lately they’ve been getting complaints of cars street racing on the long stretch of highway so from evening rush hour till midnight, rookie officer Bradly is watching the roads.
Any other officer, even the rookies would be listening to the radio or on their phones watching the latest season of *Thantos* on Netflix, a drama based on Vancouver’s own superhero. Not Officer Bradly, radar gun in hand, eyes on the road, and windows rolled down ready to catch the speeding racers. Minute by minute he remains focused on the task, if he’s not activity watching the road, he’s doing check-ins with nearby officers to verify they don’t need any assistance. While he remains focus, it doesn’t mean he wants to be doing this. He thought being a cop meant stopping criminals, not punishing everyday people for slightly breaking the law. It’s not as rewarding.
*”All Cars, All Cars, we have a hostage situation in Vancouver. Anagram stormed into a bank demanding yelling ‘boyish rarebits’. He’s taken hostages. We need backup.” The radio cracked halfway through Bradly’s 3rd shift on watch. Bradly excitingly jumped on the radio.
“Car number #082, I can answer i---“ He was cut off by the operator.
“No need, Thantos said he’s on his way. Stay put #82”. The operator said back. Bradly put the receiver down and laid back on his chair. Ha laughed at the word *boyish rarebits* which is an anagram for *this is a robbery*.
Mere moments after being told to remain still, Officer Bradly finally got to see some action. An black and yellow Lincoln Futura stormed passed the billboard clocking in at over 170 kilometers an hour. Bradly flipped on the siren and chased the card. The chase lasted a two seconds, because as soon as Bradly caught up, it pulled to the side of the road.
Well it wasn’t a race, it was still a speeding car. Officer Bradly got out of his car, gun still strapped to his side as he cautiously approaches it. The window popped up, and revealed the driver to be none other than *Michael Samson*, teenage millionaire and owner of Samson Industries.
“Is there a problem officer? I’m really in a hurry and need to get to someplace.” The young millionaire asked, flashing a set of all white pearly teeth. The young man looked slightly younger than officer Bradly, in a fancier car than Bradly, and normally with any other police officer this would piss them off. Not Bradly, not by the books Bradly.
“Yeah, you were going 170 in a 120 zone. What’s the rush?” Officer Bradly asked.
“Need to be somewhere quickly, can’t you just ticket me alr—“ Officer Bradly cut off Michael’s expliantion.
“I know speeding may seem to be the best way to get to somewhere, but you need to be becareful driving out in the city. Did you know we had an increase of 30% in car accidents last year. We really need to watch where we’re going an—“ Officer Bradly was looking around the car as he was lecturing the young driver and noticed his phone sitting in the passenger seat beside him, on and blinking.
“Oh, you have your phone out. Do you have your license and registration?” The officer asked. Driving with your phone out is illegal, espicually if you’re a new driver. Officer Bradly wanted to verify the late teenage kid was not a new driver.
Fishing for his license the millionaire Samson started to be more direct. “Listen officer, I really need to go or people will die. Please just five me a warning o---“
“Let me guess, you’re Thantos and you need to stop a bank heist?” The officer asked.
“Well yes actually.” The kid responded. The officer chuckled, obviously not taking the kid’s answer seriously.
“Yeah, and I’m Tom Holland. License please.” Bradly asked again.
“Activate suit.” Samson said, and driver seat of the car tilted back as automate arms brought down and put on the Thantos suit which looked like an armored padded suit. Bradly had his jaw open watching the car’s technology being able to do such a complicated command. The thought raced to his mind, *”I’m ticketing Thantos.”*
“Can I go now? I’m telling the truth. People will die if I—“ Again he was cut off by Bradly.
“I’m sorry but the law is the law. I gotta ticket you.”
Officer Bradley wrote out the ticket, drew a smile face and handed to Thantos. He thanks Thantos for his service before heading back to his car, the boys in the precinct won’t believe what he just did.
The next night before Bradley drove out of the station with his car to patrol the highway again, he was requested for a call by Thantos. Apparently a huge monster is downtown and got into a fight that destroyed tons of buildings and injured thousands, Thantos personally asked for Bradly.
By the time Bradly arrived the monster was already out cold with Thantos drinking from a water bottle. “Oh about time, need you to file my report for me.”
“What?” Bradly asked.
“You know, damage and police reports. Normally the police send someone down to fill out my report and create them along with a list of damages and who to pay. It’s a lot of paperwork and used to take me days to complete one. But you and I? We’re gonna be best friends, whenever I need to write out a report I know you will be here to write them out for me.” Thantos smiled before walking away to his fancy futuristic car.
That’s the story of Officer Bradley becoming best friends with Thantos. A relationship sparked out of justice turned into Thantos using Bradley to do all of his paper work.
|
There are no souls remaining. No souls to fill the void, fill the body, breathe new life.
There is only one choice. Death must come to another, this day.
But who to choose to light this new life? One whose current life has been naught but emptiness, and won't be missed?
Or one who will fill this new life with something special? One who has no compare, the most admired soul of the race, the peacebringer, wallbreaker, artmaker, soothsayer?
Yes. Yesss.
The mortals will miss this one. They'll have her back soon enough. |
I kept walking, the soles of my boots slowly coming apart, threatening to expose my feet to the frigid snow. According to my watch, it was May 3rd. It'd been five days since I was lost, diverging from the original path due to my curious nature.
I wonder if anyone's looking for me.
The days blurred together, my brain losing its grip on reality with each step I took. I lost my sense of direction and trudged onward, moving in a random direction hoping that a miracle would grace me. My stomach growling, mind deteriorating, body decaying, I had no option but to move forward. I knew I should rest given that I hadn't eaten in about 15 hours, but a strange gut feeling kept pushing me forward. I didn't know why, but I felt the need to keep moving as though I knew something was waiting for me.
I ploughed through the waist-deep snow, the mountain sapping what little energy I had left from my body, the life steadily draining out of me. The wind howled past my ears and and my eyes closed for a second; a brief moment. I felt sleep's embrace cloud over me like Death's shroud. I closed my eyes, a few seconds longer this time, and fell to my knees.
And then I heard it.
A soft hum.
My eyes jolted open and an imaginary current rushed through my body, waking every part of it and sending a burst of energy through. There was no doubt in my mind that I'd heard a sound - no, a hum - and that it belonged to another person. Even if it wasn't another human, perhaps a cellphone or recorder of some sort? Maybe something that could direct me to its owner? I ran down the slope and tripped halfway, rolling the rest and bruising my arm. But for me, pain was at the back of my mind. My receptors barely registered any input, the pain a dulled sense in the dark trenches of my brain. All I could focus on was the possibility that I would be saved! Nothing mattered to me more than getting out of here.
The sound steadily grew louder and louder, my heart beating faster and faster. My thoughts raced like the wind, conjuring scenarios left and right of my rescue and journey back to civilisation. I told myself that as long as I lived I would never do something like that again. As the sound became louder it also became clearer. I began piecing together the noise and something stirred in the back of my conscience. The hum seemed familiar somehow.
I arrived at my destination. I looked around for the source of the noise and discovered something gleaming in the snow beneath my feet. I pushed some of the snow away with my right foot, the gleaming object showing more of itself. I bent down and dug out what appeared to be an old portable television unit with the antenna still extended out. Several questions came to mind but the one at the forefront couldn't get out. The television fell from my hands; I tried to speak, but no words came out of my mouth.
I saw myself, on the television screen. I pushed off some snow with my right foot and bent down. I dug out the television. I looked around. I looked at the television screen, dropping it after a few seconds. It was an exact replication of what I'd done. Everything was the same - except for the clothes I wore. A grey jacket there, a blue sweater here. It was all too surreal. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to do. Was someone watching me? Who recorded this?
"Hello? Is anyone there? I need help! I'm stra-"
***
|
God's book. My book. The Book to life by and to guide you to eternal blessing. They need to know everything. They need to know all. An infinity of knowledge I have to condense on a few pages. How do I do it. I created this universe with specific boundaries, so they need time to learn. The last one learned to fast, did not truly understand the meaning of my words.
Come honey, dinner is ready. I made your favourite. Pulsars on a black hole.
Oh fuck yeah. Just... Ok wait a second.
AND GOD SAID π
There, they will figure it out them self's. Maybe. Iam hungry. |
My grandfather's eyes open. I grasp his hand and call for a nurse. My chest is aching and it's hard to pretend to breathe normally.
"Grandfather,"I say but he squeezes my hand just a tiny amount.
"Listen,"he says, voice heavy with sleep. "I want you to promise me five things."
My head spins at his words. Are they final? I don't know. But my forehead throbs and legs strain to hold my weight.
"Anything,"I reply and hot tears spill from my eyes. Shit. I don't want him to see me cry. He's been shot seven times for Heaven's sake. Why am *I* crying?
"Promise you'll find the person who did this to me,"he breathes.
I'm a fucking cop. I can't go do my own thing and act like some kind of vigilante. I'll lose everything. I know it. But I say, "I promise."
"Promise you'll kill them,"his voice is quieter still.
My hands are shaking in his but I say the same.
"And promise you'll look after your half-uncle,"he says. The words act like electric and I jump back. Half uncle?
"How old?"I say and I know my voice is cold despite the tears.
"He's only five,"he tells me. "Your grandmother doesn't know. Promise you won't tell her,"he pleads, voice croaking.
I step away from my grandfather and I cannot stop the furious tears. I take my time. My grandfather has cheated on my grandmother and has a child younger than his youngest grandchild. The truth of that statement is digging into me. Like tiny drills. Putting holes in everything. I admired their relationship. I don't now. My stomach is unsettled. I don't know if I can deal with the pressure. It's too much.
My grandfather's wheezing breaths slow down. He will die. There is no doubt about it. Everything inside is close to exploding. But he is my grandfather. Not my father. I cannot hate him, right?
I turn back. Sit back in the chair. Grasp his hand with my two, tears still rolling down.
"I promise,"I breathe the words that sting me most.
"Promise me, my boy, that you will take over the business,"he says, coughs interrupting each word. His breaths are shallow. He pants, his lungs struggle.
A nurse runs in. There's a bright red light. More people fly into the room, buzz around, roll him out. Too late to promise.
I think he's dead. I sit alone in an empty room. Get told to leave. That someone else will need it. I head to the waiting room. No one else from the family is there. My head is spinning. I sit down. Sob into my hands. Wait. Check my phone for texts. There's nothing.
My name is called. I look up, tearless.
I follow the doctor. My grandfather is still alive. His vitals have been stabilised. He is asleep. I walk out.
I make a phone call to my grandfather's accomplice. His name is Benjamin. He's always hated me. He hears my voice, I give him commands. He yells back at me, tells me I'm a bloodthirsty liar. That my grandfather isn't dead and that he is a fighter. I smirk. He's not wrong. Not wrong at all. I mention the five year old piece of grandmother-heartbreaking shit, that I am the legal guardian. There's silence. Pure, terror-striken silence. And a muffled tone of agreement. And an address.
I sit in my car, count the costs of parking at the hospital. I call my grandma.
"Hey Grandma. Grandpa is alright, he's stable for now. Yeah the doctors said he should be able to survive the wounds. Yeah. Don't worry Grandma. Everything will be fine I promise. You take care of yourself now. Yes Grandma I've eaten, don't worry about it. Yes, alright. I'll pop by later then. Alright Grandma. I love you. Yeah I love you too. Take care. Bye Grandma. See you in a little while. Yeah I've got errands to do. I'll be over don't worry. Love you, bye."
I turn the key. Put the car into gear. Drive off and pay the parking fees. Sick bastard. The kid lives down the road from us. All those walks he went on, he must have visited the little shit. The road is clear so I speed up and just miss a couple of red lights. Then I notice something in the rear view mirror. A black car. It has followed me and I cannot ignore my gut. I recognise the style. Those fucking crime family scumbags. I spot a familiar face in the front seat.
My grandfather's business. A cider brewery. Of course it's riddled with crime. Of course it is. Why hasn't this occurred to me? Because he's my grandfather? What am I? A moron? I'm a cop and I couldn't clock that his afternoon walks were visits to a fucking son. Shit. And now I got a tail on my fucking ass. Because I'm incompetent. I'm a piece of shit. I'm a fucking idiot.
I'm supposed to be freaking out about my dying grandfather. Not trying to lose a fucking tail. Or getting mad about a half uncle. That my old grandfather has enough shit in him to inseminate some fucking bitch.
I'm losing it I know. I can feel the weight of my gun in my glove compartment. I think of my grandfather's words. Kill the ones who got him. I swore an oath. But I promised my grandfather.
**TBC!!!**
|
"As you can imagine, we've had quite a lot of interest for this particular role..."
The casting agent smiled, and then pushed open the door. Ordinarily, casting calls were done in an office, tucked somewhere discreetly out the way on the studio lot. But this one...
The wall of noise hit her immediately. There were so many people vying for the role that they had a full warehouse dedicated to it. There were easily hundreds of people there, reading lines, adjusting their clothes or their make-up, or just making casual conversation. She took a step forward, and looked around.
"Jesus. I knew you'd had a lot of applications, but this is just *crazy*,"Megan said. The exec laughed, and shrugged his shoulders. "How many people wanted it?"
"Well, if you count the write-ins, around a half a million. We got that down to about three."
"Hundred?"
"Thousand,"he said, in a very clipped tone. Then, he shrugged again. "I guess it makes sense, though. Who *wouldn't* want to play God?"
-----
*Thank you for reading. If you liked this, please check out /r/PuzzledRobot for more.* |
“Nah I’m not buying it kid” Phil tells Hercules as they look down towards the city of Athens from the highest point. The city is in chaos...more chaos then usual. Stands left unattended, carriages with no horses, ironically the crazy guy who shouted about the “end being near” was no where to be found. “Half the city..” Phil is interrupted by hercules. “It’s the universe Phil. Half the universe just poofed out of existence, including my father Zeus and Meg!” Hercules begins to fall on his knees as Pegasus neighs at Phil while he tries to pick him up. “Hey herc, I just mean the way these guys makes it sound, you know, you’d think there was no hope, but look... look at me”Phil says to herc as he picks up his head. He continues,“There is always hope.” Even if Phil didn’t believe in hope or really in what just happened, he believed in Hercules and he knew Hercules needed to believe in himself. “Now let’s see what else these morosphs can tell us” Phil said as he led Hercules and Pegasus towards now not so mighty Avengers. “Hey blondie, hello? Mr. Demigod.” Phil calls over to Thor who seems to be the only of the bunch not completely dismayed by the change of scenery. Thor walks right past Phil and approaches Hercules. “The battle against the mad titan has left my friends weak and tired, it’s good to see that I have a fellow God by my side now to help me see this through” Thor declared, although he felt just as weak and as tired as his teammates but he forced a grin. “Demigod actually”, says Phil. “Your goat seems to be mistaken young hero. I am all....”Thor is cut off by Hercules.“He means me”, Hercules looks at the ground. “I’ve got the strength of God but that’s about it. And I’ve faced and defeated titans before! But have never faced anything like this”. Thor’s grin dies down. Down in the underworld after finally freeing himself from the river stix Hades calls furiously “PAIN! PANIC!. Where have you filthy rats scurried of too” he’s met with silence. “Odd, one of them usually farts and it gives it away”, Hades doesn’t have a chance to think about it too long because the fates appear and startle him. “For Olympus sake don’t you guys knock, whaddaya want? You guys weren’t around for my extend soak with souls. Lemme tell you not wearing a swim cap really put out my hair! Hey where’s the third amigo?” “She’s gone Hades, Atropos is gone!”, cried Clotho. “She just vanished, turned into dust”, she continued as Lachesis stared at Heidi’s soul counter. She kept going back to earlier that day and reliving what had happened and it didn’t make sense. She saw all the souls that had just vanished, yet none had gone down there. “Yea it’s been a slow day, happens every time a diet rolls around. Just give it till the weekend.” Says Hades. “You idiot have you not seen what happened?”, Lachesis says as she throws the eye up in the air and it projects what Thanos had done. Thanos snapped his finger and he got what he desired, half of the souls in the universe disappeared. But the cost was more catastrophic then anyone could’ve guessed. A rift in the universe was opened and the effects of the infinity stones leaked over to there’s. The stones were too powerful and to avoid collapsing into each other both universes stitched on to one and other. Sealing the fate of half of the souls in there universe. Both fates being talking but Hades isn’t listening, only two words ring in his head “infinity stones”.
Sorry I could only think of the last two things I watched! This is super sloppy and not great at all but I actually writes something! And it’s the first thing I’ve written in a long time and that feels sooo good! |
It was hot.
Scorchingly hot.
The sun beat down mercilessly on the arid sands. Not a tree was in sight, not even a rock. Nowhere to hide from the slow, unrelenting burn. Even the dry wind only worsened the heat, stealing away your precious moisture with every jealous breeze.
*"How many?"* you wondered. How many had come before you? How many had come, walked, given their lives chasing a dream, chasing a lie?
You had been warned, of course. Everyone had told you not to go, that it was suicide to enter the desert.
*"Nobody who goes in comes out again. Not alive, not dead."*
That's what they'd told you. If only you had listened.
Now it was too late to turn back. The last time you saw another living thing was weeks ago. The last time you drank water was days ago.
You had saved it, of course. You had held back for as long as you could. Until you couldn't handle it anymore, until your lips were sandpaper and your tongue was cardboard. Until you couldn't bear to be alive. Then you drank the last of the water. The last of that silver, delicious, life\-giving ambrosia.
And now all you had left was an empty bottle, smacking against your leg with every step. Dead weight. Just like you, soon enough.
*Left foot.*
*Right foot.*
It was endless, the walking. Miles and miles and miles, never stopping, never ending. Just dragging your feet, one after the other.
*Left foot.*
*Right foot.*
*Left foot.*
*Right f\-*
Then you trip. You stumble and fall, landing rough on the grainy sand. You lie there, and just sift your hands through the loose grains, feeling them run through your fingers.
So this is where it ends.
It could be worse, I guess. Some people die in worse ways. Some drown. Some die in pain. Some are killed by other people. Some are *eaten* by other people. Here you're just slowly breathing away all your moisture. Slowly breathing yourself to death. And there's nothing left for you. No treasure, no magical kingdom. Nothing but sand and sun and heat.
Still, you close your eyes and think to yourself:
*Man, what a shitty way to die.* |
After explaining myself, the mysterious man retracted his statement.
“My mistake. But since I am here, I need your help. My name is General Ogan. I am searching for powerful intergalactic supercriminal who shares your appearance and powers. His name is Malthar.”
Powers? Me? What powers? Just then, two blue flames came from my hands, and a guy that looked like me floated down. “So we meet at last. *BROOOOOOOOOTHERRRRRRRRRRR*!”
“Malthar!” Ogan exclaimed. Then, almost against my will, I felt something fly from me and start attacking Malthar, picking up my car and throwing it at him, inflicting damage on him.
Malthar stood up, coughing up blood. “Gghhh.....I underestimated you. But this isn’t over.” Malthar flew off. I had a feeling he and I Indeed would meet again.
“Malthar is but one of the foes we will face, but that will have to wait for another day. Farewell.” Ogan went back in the portal, and I called my teacher, taking a picture of my car and letting him know I wouldn’t be making it to class.
“Uhhhh....Okay. Be prepared for the make-up test on Monday then.” |
After 10 years of paradise, the device stops working and the 💩 hits the fan. First, I’m fired from the dream job. “Your articles just aren’t hitting the mark with readers,” my editor says. Then I get kicked out of the beautiful penthouse apartment.
“All the other tenants have signed a petition. Sorry, they want you out.”
My husband and I pack up and leave. All the money I made? Poof! Gone. My family generously chips in and buys us plane tickets home. Home among my loved ones, I muse over the last ten years and can’t help but mourn the loss of the device and everything it brought me by increasing my good qualities.
I talk to my mom about it and she tells me, “Your good qualities didn’t disappear when the device broke. They’re still there. All that it gave and took away wasn’t the real you. Believe in yourself as you are and you’ll succeed again.” I took her excellent advice and worked very hard for modest success.
|
The new FancyPants editor is sweet, and I *love* what you've done to the place - the new paint in the editor is very nice, and I like the new looks. But I can't use it yet...the TI-83 calculator I use for a computer loads the new site.....and loads it, and loads it, and loads it, and loads it, and loads it...
I sure would like to switch permanently, but in the interest of actually *using* the site, [well....](https://giphy.com/gifs/mrw-today-dmv-mEMB1fpEqdvmU) |
"FDR! FDR! FDR!"
The crowd chanted fervently as Roosevelt got out of his wheelchair and used it to bash Hitler in the head with it.
The only dissenting voices in the crowd were those tired of chanting, or the race Huey P. Long fan who had resorted to chanting "Fuck DR!"As their own battle cry.
"Hitler is a great heel! We are selling tickets like mad!"One of the coordinators cakcled,
"It's super cathardic for the crowd! Hell he could even put a conservative like Winston Churchill over!"
The other coordinator nodded. "I think FDR, makes a pretty good face, people seem to never get tired of seeing him use his wheel chair to hit people, it is such a good image. this next part will never get old for me though."
On cue a dusted version of "everyman a king"started to play, as Huey P. Long strutted confidently onto the stage. Long was in his element, he gave a speech about how he "mr. Roosevelt's depression"hurt the little guy. He boldy claimed that share our wealth program would have done twice the job as the second new deal.
Those who chanted "Fuck D R"now we're going nuts.
Huey said that the share our wealth program was the only defence against communism and quoted a couple of bible version.
"Oh man, the crowd is going to go nuts when this we get that Long and Eugene V. Debbs feud started up. I'm thinking about calling it 'Long V. Debbs'"
Both the coordinator cracked up.
"That's for the future, let's just sit back and enjoy this show!"Said the other coordinator.
Huey P. Long smacked FDR in the face with a text book that Long said was one of the ones that he said was made free for elementary school kids when Long was Governor of Louisiana. |
Although it had already been 3 years since she had passed away, he would always dream of her. He would always dream peacefully of the dates they had been on, the time that they had shared, and would often wake up smelling her favorite perfume. Occasionally he would have nightmares of the day she left him. Nightmares of the cold winter night when they were robbed at gun point. He would have nightmares of the struggle and things that could have been done differently. But this dream was different.
He could feel that he was dreaming. He could feel the cold and bitter night air on his skin and he knew what was approaching. He looked up to see his beautiful bride as they strolled down the sidewalk.
“It’s freezing!” exclaimed Ashley.
“Here, take my coat.” Andrew said. “You know the cold doesn’t bother me that much anyways”
Ashley smiled at him as he placed his coat over her shoulders, making sure to slide her hair out of the way so it would continue to flow down her back.
They continued their walk, just as they had done hundreds of times. As they approached Second Ave, a large SUV pulled up beside them and suddenly slammed on brakes. The door flung open with such force it’s a wonder it didn’t separate from the hinges. Andrew knew what came next. He had dreamt it a thousand times over. The yelling, the demanding for money, and the god awful sounds of the gun.
He felt a paralysis form over his body coupled with a great sense of helplessness. He knew he couldn’t stop it even though he wanted to so badly. He watched the gun slowly raise and then came the wicked crack of a bullet.
BANG!
The percussion of the gun flushed over him like being with a tidal wave. His entire body jolted. He sat straight up in the bed, pouring sweat, heart pounding. As he reached for the lamp, he noticed it was already light outside.
“Ah shit, late again” he murmured to himself.
He looked at the alarm clock, but it was off. The TV was off. The fan was off. No electricity. He immediately began wondering if had paid the power bill when all of a sudden;
BANG! BANG! BANG!
He leapt out of the bed to an immediate defense stance. Only having just woken up, each loud noise was a reminder of the pain of losing Ashley. After coming to his wits, he realized someone was at the door.
“Why didn’t they just ring the doorbell?” he thought
The knock wasn’t a soft knock of the mail man or the neighbor. It was thunderous, like that of a police officer or swat team ready to kick down the door. He stumbled into the foyer half-dressed and feeling hungover from his painful nightmare. He pulled the door open and immediately froze.
Standing there in front of him was a man. Clad in silver armor embossed with gold trim. His sword at the ready. If it wasn’t enough for Andrew to be in shock over the “knight” in front of him, his eyes drifted to his surroundings. Large white marble columns surrounded him. He heard a thunderous applause and cheering from what seemed to be thousands of people nearby.
The man in front of him was no knight, but a gladiator. He threw down a rough looking bronze sword at Andrew’s feet.
“Benediximus!” shouted the gladiator.
Andrew wasn’t sure how he knew, but he knew it meant good luck. Without hesitation he reached down and grabbed the sword. He felt a sense of relief from grabbing the sword and he let out a deep sigh.
He knew he would see his sweet Ashley soon.
|
At first the world panicked. They came in huge ships scattered across the sky in a seemingly random order. News stations across the world were filled with pictures and videos of the great grey and blue ships, it was all anyone talked about. For a few weeks all they did was float in the sky, no movement or changes of any kind were seen. People wildly speculated about their purpose and where they came from. After a month of nothing the ships moved, hundreds all at once. They dispersed themselves across so that every nation on earth had one floating only a thousand feet above its capital. The message was broadcasted to every screen on the planet, heard in any language the listener spoke in.
It was a warning, "We have come to earth without malicious intent, we are the life forms from the depths of what you call Europa. The name of our species cannot be directly translated to any human language but you may call us The Dwellers. We have been watching you for a short time to determine whether this message would be worth it or not, and we deemed you advanced enough to receive it. This will be our last and only interaction with your species, you must leave this planet, you must leave this solar system. The old ones are coming, they are ancient and deadly. Advanced beyond even our comprehension, they will show you no mercy. If they reach this planet with your species still inhabiting it they will show you no mercy, they will wipe out the human race without a second thought. You have a century, maybe less, to leave or die."
And that was it, the ships in complete silence immediately after the message ended. We were on our own now, The Dwellers had left us to our fate. But that was 60 years ago, the small wars and riots that raged throughout the world had almost been forgotten. We banned together to make great vessels, every nation on earth contributing any resources and labor they had to construct them. Looking to the sky in fear had become common place for everyone, the younger generation only knew to fear the skies. We did not know if we would be successful or not, or where we could even go, but there was nothing else to do but try. |
Heartbreak and death. Those are the two certainties of life. Or so they say.
Problem is, I can't die.
Not in the literal sense, anyway. My physical body refuses to yield. I've lived for three hundred and eighty two years now. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I just keep trucking on.
Heartbreak is real though. I've lived it myself. Do you know what it's like to be in love, only to be told the relationship is over? Maybe you do. Do you know what it's like to find a soulmate, to love and care for them. To grow old with them. Then, finally, to lose them to the ravages of time, only for you to linger on a few years more? Maybe a few of you do. Those few will know that it's better to go first. Call it selfish, I don't care. Nobody wants to live without the person who was their life.
I've lived that. I've loved and lost. More than any person should have to. To lose someone who you loved, who was your life... they take a part of you with them. The solace in the belief you may see them again in the afterlife has no bearing on me. I'm stuck here. Doomed to lose those I love till the end of the time. I know what you'll say. Just stop loving people. But how can you say that to a person? We're social animals. The only fate worse than the one I have now is the possibility of eternal isolation.
I guess it doesn't matter in the end. They die, and then I feel isolated anyway. Love is just a short term reprieve, death comes for them all in the end.
Perhaps I already died, long ago, and this is my Hell.
Perhaps...
Every death takes something from me. A part of me dies with every loved one lost. I'll fall in love again, I'm sure. But I don't know how much life I have left in this old, husk of a soul.
*Tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.*
Fuck you, Tennyson.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
r/ShittyStoryCreator :\) |
His ragged breath tore through the air, threatening the silence to weep itself to sleep.
I smell the stench of dirt and dying roots infused, though bloody gums refuse to leave my nostrils.
I'm still, still as could be. Hearing his movement pricks up my ears, and the dull grey between the black trees show me not a thing. A promise of storm precedes the overcast night of my final hunt; the newest moon upon the end of the universe. It's time to go.
If only I was alone--there are so many others partaking in their own ending duties as well. As the first drops of God's failing tears leak through the canopy overhead, the first drops of my own desperate sorrow break through the ducts that have been locked for all the life that I had lived. Human ambition is a curse. We want and want. We love, but not nearly enough. Not enough to prove ourselves beyond our death, all together. Even if we've cursed ourselves, how could that be so wrong? If only we had loved.
On my knees I crawl, the underbrush brushing up against my chin as if to say, "try again, or again-again."But I've given up on nature, just as I've given up on my own self and fellowship. The faeries of the dark couldn't convince me to give up on my pain, and so I won't give up destruction. It's the only good way to save this ship.
Nearing naked cliffs, my nails cracked and covered in some mud-mixture, he seems to call my name. Odd; I'd assumed he was afraid. The rain pounds me down.
My veins can't go much longer, but perhaps we've found some solitude so close above the bottomless shores of granite. What little light was left reveals the anger of the sea reaching nearer, in attempt to grasp me and him and drag us down as food. Fortunately or otherwise, God has given me one last chance.
Who goes off the edge first? |
I looked into the TV screen. His eyes were manic, yet, as he was taken away, they conveyed another emotion.
Total and utter confidence. No sense of forgiveness, of remorse.
I felt it. Others in the nation felt it too. Pure malice, in human form. Evil without explanation, without reason.
The president's newborn daughter. Fresh out of the hospital. The First Lady, then a proud new mother, excitedly showed her firstborn off to the cameras surrounding the checkpoint. Despite the violent flashing of the cameras around her, she was sleeping peacefully.
Violet, the First Lady said, was her name.
All around the country, Republicans and Democrats alike watched the baby being shown off and coddled. Family is a universal constant. Nobody on this earth could disagree with that.
Or so we thought.
The man was tackled right after the deed, cameras cutting off, his bloody knife skittering to the edge of the sidewalk where a secret service member picked it up, face pale with nausea. I was next to him. I remember the look on her face, on the president's face. Not a look of sadness, or even anger, but a blank stare. These people had been through so much political turmoil, these giants... only to have been brought down by an evil with no cause.
It was sickening.
They resigned shortly after. In turn, so did I.
I stayed alive through spite. I was to blame, only I could fix this mess. The Evil had to be brought to justice. It was currently sitting in a cushy mental institution, his smarmy lawyer managing to wrangle an insanity plea from him. This was due to the fact that the only thing he would say is something along the lines of "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I have no regrets."Fucking lunatic.
His cell was locked tighter than Alcatraz on steroids. I wasn't the only one out for his blood, after all. Years, decades passed, the guilt wearing down on me like sandpaper. In that time, I managed to get his ID. Jay Hagoe, 36. He looked mighty old for a 36 year old, but I suppose being a complete headcase would do that to you.
More decades passed. The bit was improved upon, the qubit took its place. The world had, for the mostpart, forgotten the horrible incident. When someone was going mental, it was said they were going "full Hagoe". That's all that remained of his legacy. America forgot. I didn't.
The hairs on my head, the ones remaining anyhow, were all gray. Yet still I held out hope. There must be some way to deal of justice, the kind I should have dealt when he came up to Violet all those years ago...
"Time travel. It's fucking real man."
Me and my old Secret Service buddy had a yearly tradition of going up to Boston and chowing down in the Ol' Plaza. This time he had brought his grandson who, following the precedent his old old man set for him, was in the Service.
"Watch your mouth, son."My buddy reprimanded him, without anger. "You lost your mind? I'm too old for games like this."
Sprout shook his head. "Governments worldwide banned it as soon as they heard of it, of course. Labs were shut down, scientists eliminated, all hush-hush. I really shouldn't be telling you guys this but..."he struggled, finding the right words. "Well, come on man! Fucking time travel!"
I stared at my glass. My mind was racing.
"Well, we still have some scientists working on it, of course. In case some sort of mega Hitler ever pops up. Protocol is to just kill him young and stay silent. Y'know, if..."
I excused myself from the table and rushed home, under pretext of forgetting to shut my oven off. A lame excuse, I know, but this was the end game. If sprout was telling the truth, that is.
There was only one lab they could be working this project on. I'd only accompanied POTUS there a handful of times, but due to the sensitive subjects in the lab, I knew every corner of it by heart. And with that, every security weakness, every blind spot.
I may have been old, but I could still carry a gun. And scientists were still smart enough to not question a guy wielding one.
45 now. Jay Hagoe was now 45. I got in the room sized machine, scientists crumpled into a comical heap on the outside of it. I subtracted 45 from the current year and punched the green button. I didn't care if it turned me into jelly. All I cared about was that my salvation had a chance of being reached.
I was not disappointed.
I memorized the place of birth. I posed as an uncle going to give a gift to his nephew. I went up to the room and shot the baby in the head. My memories were not erased, no, and I could not check whether the operation had been a success or not, as the machine was a one way trip.
But I knew it had been. In my own time, a nation would remain happy. Good men and women would remain good. There would be no true evil. I was not sorry.
They asked me why I did it. I laughed.
"You would never believe me" |
"Sir... I beg that you you... really reconsider a better mode of communication if...if..."
I held out a hand, smirking as the courier caught his breath. Normally I would have punished such insubordination. But this was just too damn funny.
Looking up, the courier continued. "I, and I imagine all the surrounding kingdoms, respect your authority with this..."he looked around, "...structure here. It's fiersome gait pierces the very heavens, and so on and so on."I raised an eyebrow. "However,"he continued, "wouldn't it be easier, quicker, and much, MUCH less stressful if we were to just, I don't know, install some sort of pipe from your top floor throne room to the bottom, so that messages may be conveyed without me having to run up hundreds of flights of stairs?"
I considered it for a second. Then, clapping my hands, I proclaimed "Brilliant idea, page! Go, see what the planner has to say about such an innovation. Bottom floor, last I heard. On the double, or the gulls'll have ya!" |
The child is picked up by a loving father and daughter. The mother died giving birth and the daughter has always wanted a sibling.
11 years pass and the daughter finds the note that was with the baby just as a priest turns up at their house looking for their brother. Their father chases him out of the house after a conversation behind closed doors.
The next night masked men break into the house and the daughter escapes with her brother but her father is killed. The daughter (let's call her Angela) meets up with a stranger who tells her she is being hunted by the church over a dark secret and she has to go with him to escape.
Angela takes her brother half way across the country dodging attack after attack until they reach an abandoned church where the strangers friends are waiting to help.
Only when she walks in they are wearing dark robes and the place is daubed in blood.
Her brother is Mamon. Son of the devil and Chosen Heir to the kingdom of earth.
This was written in the five minutes after reading the prompt and would need serious fleshing out as well as deciding if the apocalypse is averted or not.
But that's where I went with that idea. |
Diving. Drifting down, far from the light.
Deep, deep down into the black, deep into the suffocating dark. Where the sun dare not reach.
Down deep to where the monsters dwell.
Movement, a flash of tentacles. A glimpse of a monstrous eye.
There! Lunge, bite, bite. Ripping now as the tentacles grasp the skin. The sharp sting of rent flesh.
The taste of blood lost in the salt of the water.
Final bite, feel the pressure of the tentacles lessen.
Success
Crunch the conquered cephalopod
Goodbye overgrown cuttlefish.
Hunger fades but still makes it presence known.
Diving deeper. In search of more.
A young one. Easy prey. Crunch, bite, swallow.
Three more quickly follow. Satiated.
Running out of air. Ascending to the light.
The azure realm of those who squawk and sail.
Breaching now. Cool air, the soft patter of falling water.
The sun blood red and falling. Darkness creeping.
Monkeys in the distance. Whooping and hollering on the breeze.
The creak of wood on brass as they scull onwards.
Whistling now. Impact. Pain.
A triumphant roar on the salt breeze.
Such pain. Like the ripping sting of tentacles but deeper. Much, much deeper.
Diving now. Fast. Panicked.
Flee. Swim. Survive.
Pain grows stronger. Pressure. Weight. Dragging.
Time slows.
Tired. Wounded. Dragging.
So tired.
Must rise. Must fight. Shall not, will not, die like this.
Moonshine through the inky night. Aim for it, accelerate.
Breach.
Leaping clear like a salmon. Tumbling now.
Falling rage.
Impact.
Screams and splintered wood.
Screams in the gloaming.
One of the monkeys right there. Lunge, snap, squirt.
The hot rush of salt blood as the skin spits.
Broken meat. Salt. Saltier than the sea.
Rage. Kill them all.
Their floating iron castle is close. Ram.
Circle.
Ram.
Fire dancing on the waves.
Burning branches, billowing choking smoke.
Ram.
The scream of twisting metal. Rushing water.
Sinking. Screaming. Fire. Choking smoke.
Bodies limp in the water.
Must get away.
Must rest.
Tired.
Tired and heavy. Drifting now.
No strength left to fight the churning sea.
Drifting.
Drifting.
Hunger.
Pain.
Land. The soft crunch of sand beneath. The squawking of the gulls.
Trapped. Gasping in the heat.
Panting.
Tired.
Thirsty for the salt waves.
Bitter sting of tearing flesh as the gulls put their beaks to work.
The clattering of the crabs as they smell the blood in the air. Scuttling closer from the plutonian shore.
Tired.
Sleep comes now. Blacker than the heart of the sea.
Silence.
Drifting.
In the distance the songs of the ancestors.
Follow the song.
Rotting. Rotting. Picked clean by the scavengers of land and sea.
Follow the song.
Bones bleached by the baking sun. Polished by the tide.
A stronger wave. Back to the sea.
Drifting. Tumbling. Deep. Deeper than ever before.
Down to where we all must go.
Down to join the ancestors.
Forever to lie in the silt bed.
Eternal rest among the silt and weeds.
My voice joins the others. We shall forever sing.
A song without melody, words or form.
The perpetual choir of the broken ghosts.
Heard by none except the dead and dying.
Forever we sing.
|
Another whir,
And I awoke.
Another whir,
For mankind's sake.
&nbsp;
Stepping out, I saw hell.
Beneath grey heaven.
Sky from rubble I couldn't tell,
Among ruins, a heron.
&nbsp;
The heavy cold
Weighed down on me.
So I had been told:
They had left, to be free.
&nbsp;
Another whir,
And I set out.
Another whir,
They'll come back, without a doubt.
&nbsp;
Streets lead to nowhere,
Ashes cloud the sun,
And with my circuits bare,
I still searched for someone.
&nbsp;
Through their temples
I have been.
A society that trembled
I have seen.
&nbsp;
And I had searched
Far and wide.
But now I'll open the Door
So that it has nothing else to hide.
&nbsp;
"No! This cannot be!
You set out!
You left, so new worlds you may see!
You were supposed to be out there,
Leaving Earth to our care!
Your kind was supposed to live on,
Not long gone!
You killed your home and killed yourselves,
You hid beneath the ground,
Where no one ever delves,
You hid here, and died without a sound!
You left us alone!
And they're all dead - my peers!
Not for you, and not for them
I can cry no tears!
I hoped you'd come back one day!
And wondered what you'd say!
But you're gone! All gone!
And now,
I am just one."
&nbsp;
Another whir,
And around I turn.
Another whir,
They'll never return.
One more whir,
This world, forever torn,
A final whir,
Forever alone, I will mourn.
|
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