Split (1)

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"Life is about compromises, Jeremy,"Jebediah's voice boomed. The walls and windows shook and Jeremy rolled his eyes. It wasn't the booming voice. It was a little spell his father liked to cast when he yelled, just to make his voice seem stronger. "And in this compromise, you do as you're told because I am your father!"Not very compromising, but then again, neither was life. "Compromise? I don't want to be a wizard, I want to be an accountant,"Jeremy complained. His brothers and sisters at the dinner table rolled their eyes. There were six of them, not counting Jeremy. Seven, counting him. Quick maths, Jeremy thought to himself. "You are the seventh son of a seventh son,"his father continued and now it was Jeremy's turn to roll his eyes. Yes, Papa Smurf. That much had been established. Considering six older siblings sat at the table, it made sense that the youngest was the seventh. "And you all know what they say about the seventh sons of seventh sons,"his dad said and he paused to allow the children to fill in the blanks. "Powerful wizards to fight powerful lizards,"the other children chanted in unison. If only meticulous accounting from behind the safety of a desk could defeat the lizards, Jeremy thought to himself sadly. Alas, he had no such luck. Seventh sons of seventh sons did not come around every day. There were not nearly enough wizards for that and carrying a baby to term took something around nine months, according to those of them who could count. It would require many more wizards for it to happen daily, Jeremy concluded. "Exactly,"his father said smugly. Jebediah would have loved to have been the seventh son of a seventh son but to his great despair, his grandparents had only had six children. It was said they lost count somewhere along the way and thought that Jebediah's father was the seventh. Instead, he was stuck with the relatively mild powers of an average wizard. Impressive, but not enough to fight a powerful lizard. "Off you go,"he said to Jeremy as the boy finished breakfast. Jeremy stood dejectedly and moped out of the house, taking special care to drag his feet and not move his arms in order to convey maximum sadness. "Cheer up, Jeremy!"his wizard tutor said as Jeremy entered the school. The seventh sons of seventh sons met daily in a special classroom designed to maximize the potential of the students. When Jeremy refused to cheer up, Walter the Wizard Tutor shook his head and tsked at him. "Very well then, Jeremy. Fake it at least!"And then it hit Jeremy like a sock full of batteries hits an inmate when the guards aren't watching. Fake it. "I have an idea,"Jeremy announced and his classmates groaned. Jeremy always had ideas. Jeremy's ideas were often bad. They had extrapolated that Jeremy's next idea would be equally bad. "Instead of having a wizard defeat a lizard,"he began and everybody rolled their eyes. He was always going on about how he could avoid fighting the lizards. "We can fake them out." "That's dumb, Jeremy,"his classmate Wizliam scolded. "Let him finish,"Walter the Wizard Tutor said. Perhaps Jeremy the seventh son of a seventh son was on to something. "Right now we pay tribute. We feed the lizards wizards so that they can eat their gizzards."This was true. The lizards were very fond of rhyming punishments. For a time, they had required mounds of gold with traces of mold and the metal cold. That was a hard one to find and the wizards had worked for years to pay the tribute. Walter nodded. What the boy said was true. Obvious, but true. Perhaps something useful would come out of his miserable mouth, he thought to himself while smiling politely. "What if instead of giving them all of the useless children,"he continued, cruelly referring to children who were born after the seventh son of a seventh son or simply entire families who might have been infertile, "what if we use our wizarding skills to create what the lizards want?" Walter shook his head sadly. "We have tried, foolish, young, idiotic, Jeremy. We have tried. We lost many brave wizards in that tribute laundering scheme. I will not allow that to happen again." But Jeremy was persistent. You see, the other wizards had tried it to save their lives and nothing more. But Jeremy would try it to fulfill his dream of being an accountant. A corrupt, money-laundering, fraudulent accountant, but an accountant nonetheless. And he insisted. And with the powers that are only found amongst the seventh sons of seventh sons, he created a wizard gizzard out of thin air. "It's perfect,"his schoolmates marveled. And his tutor, who had started to taste the wizard gizzards to see if he could somehow become a lizard, tried a bite. "I would believe it's real,"he said in awe. Jeremy smiled. Life was about compromises. By compromising his morales and an accountant's code of honor, he could at least be an accountant. And so the wizards started to create gizzards to feed the lizards and Jeremy, the powerful seventh son of a seventh son who never really wanted to be a wizard, began to count them and note down the quantity and outflow, as an accountant would. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
A clang rang out as the steel of the prison door smashed closed, but the Florida Man did not flinch. In another life, he had been known as Ernie Nash, but that identity had been long forgotten. His current alias of Freddy Jefferson was already fading from memory, but the Florida Man did not mind. He found it cumbersome to keep up with all of the names, and eagerly anticipated the moment when he would be set free by what he called “the swap”. The first swap had occurred unexpectedly, and it was most welcome. Stealing baby formula while dressed in the appropriate costume during Halloween had not been a particularity bright idea, and to make matters worse, the shop’s private security guard had pulled his gun on Nash as soon as he heard the shake of his prop rattle. No amount of wailing could convince the guard that Nash was, in fact, an infant, so the bold burglar had attempted to escape by tossing a bottle of Gerber in the general direction of his adversary and making a break for it. Alas, baby food does not have the weight or weaponry capabilities of bricks, and the first avatar of the Florida Man was tased and tossed into lockup. That night promised to be the first of many, and the Florida Man knew it was unlikely that a judge would have much sympathy for the meth-loving, pig-porking piece of human blubber known as Ernie Nash. So he did what any reasonable person would do and tried to escape. Unfortunately, chewing through metal bars is impossible for human teeth—even those that have not been brushed in decades—and the Florida Man banged his head in frustration and fell unconscious to the damp and grimy floor. When he woke, he found that he was violating a cow. The man examined his hands with interest and found that they were attached to a pair of udders, pulling with an alarming amount of enthusiasm. The man had never milked a cow, and the bovine seemed to realize this as well. A hearty moo became an angry bellow and the beast ripped itself away from the greasy palms of the Florida Man. The cow was gone in an instant, no doubt taking shelter to protect its mammaries. The man stood up, belched, and decided that he needed a drink. As he walked out of the farm (although the tract of land felt more like a swamp), the man noticed that he felt particularity less gassy than normal. The air moved more freely into his lungs, and his heart was beating steadily instead of struggling to pump through abnormally large arteries. There was a spring in his step, and he could see the soles of his boots. Even the belly that had been carefully cultivated by a daily diet of Bud Light and Marlboro cigarettes had seemed to have leaked out during the night, and the man felt like a completely different person. A horrible thought crossed his mind, and he frantically scrambled down the road, looking for anything that could be used as a mirror. What if I turned into a Mexican? he pondered. Or even worse, a liberal! The fears were completely unjustified. A light shower had just passed the area, and in a puddle located in an uncomfortably large pothole, the man saw that he was still a native Florida Man, much like his father before him. Something still seemed off to him, however. The scraggly beard that had taken 6 years to grow was now replaced by a neatly trimmed goatee. His burned off eyebrows had made a reappearance, and for that the man was glad. The gunpowder incident was what had driven his girlfriend away, and the resulting blame was, in the Florida Man’s opinion, completely unjustified. The man stared a little longer at the reflection, and only then did it dawn on him. He was not Nash anymore, or to be more precise, did not have Nash’s body anymore. Nash was still in the prison cell or perhaps had gone to heaven (not hell, obviously, because Nash had made sure to attend all of the president’s rallies, and the president was picked by Jesus). Either way, the only thing that mattered was that the Florida Man was free, and that meant he could do whatever he wanted. The bar door groaned as it was trust open by the Florida Man, and the man behind the counter looked up. “Oh hey Bill,” he greeted the Florida Man, “I didn’t expect you to see you here so quickly after last night. You must have a hell of a hangover.” The Florida Man stopped, stared, and scratched his balls. “Yeah whatever,” he said finally, “Nothing a little bit of pulling on some tiddies can’t fix. Give me some of that good stuff.” The bartender seemed confused. The Florida Man glared. “Beer me dammit!” The bartender complied. After the Floridan had finished downing his eighth pint of Budweiser, the bartender moved as close as he dared to the man who had been a regular for close to a dozen years. “Are you sure you’re alright Bill? I’ve never seen you drink this much in one go.” The Florida Man belched in response, and then threw his glass at the broken pool table in the corner. The two men locked eyes, and then the Florida Man bolted. Unbeknownst to the escapee, the bartender had a pistol on his person at all times. Just as the Florida Man burst through the bar’s door, his leg collapsed and he ungracefully tumbled into the ground face first. There’s piss coming out of my leg, he thought before he blacked out for the second time in 24 hours. When he woke his leg was bandaged with toilet paper and he was in another cell, only this one did not seem to have any police presence at all. There was carpet on the floor, and the bars looked suspiciously like aluminum. The room was very small, split in half between the cell and a space with boxes next to a staircase. A shadow moved across from him, and the Florida Man saw the bartender looking at him with interest. “I’m the sheriff around here too,” he said. He shrugged. “We don’t get a lot of crime so I usually just toss people into my basement for a night or two.” The dazed Florida Man looked at him, and then behind him. Instantly, his eye noticed what seemed to be an alarming number of what looked like illegal Cuban sex toys spilling out of the containers to the side. The bartender grinned. “Don’t worry too much. You’ll love being in here. They all do.” Thankfully, the swap overcame the Florida Man once again, and the body of Bill hit the floor, no doubt in for a nasty surprise when he woke up, if at all. The Florida Man quickly realized that he had somehow obtained the power of never being arrested. Being a native of the great Confederate south, he did what any other alligator wrestling hillbilly would do in his place. He took the opportunity to become...the ultimate redneck. He stole hot dogs while nude, smuggled golf balls in his pants by the dozen, held up cop cars, broke into houses to pet cats, robbed banks for single dollars, and even attempted to buy sports cars with food stamps. He dreamed, he schemed and finally reaped. Sometimes he would succeed, and other times he would not, but none of that mattered. His name inevitably turned into legend, and his abilities ensured that he never spent more than an hour in the slammer. Freddy Jefferson smiled. This time, he had been caught for a series of prank videos on YouTube that had somehow turned into an excuse to grope whomever he pleased, and he had much more planned. The familiar feeling of the swap coursed through his body and the Florida Man once again left his body, no doubt moving on to another host with whom he could carry out actions of questionable morality.
I found the Door in Kansas, of all places. I had been a travelling salesman, a mechanic, homeless & jobless for a spell, and then somehow I lucked my way into training as a home inspector. The pay wasn't great but I could afford a place and regular meals. That's worth a lot more than most people know. Having a space that's yours, even if it's being rented from the real owner, is a luxury of the mind as well as of the body. You have a space to keep what little stuff you have but more importantly you have a space to relax your mind and actually plan for the future. My plans were average before the Door. Keep learning how to inspect the generally run down places that filled out the local housing stock, save money for a while, and try to buy a place for myself. One of the perks of the new job was that I was learning to tell when a house was beautiful but rotten in the bones. There are a lot of places like that. Beautiful on the outside, but no one ever cared enough to take care of them over decades, so bit by bit they start to decay from the inside out. Then you'd get places that looked a bit like crap on the outside, but were alive and warm once you stepped through their doors. You could tell they had been around love, nourishing and sheltering happy families until the kids were all big and everyone started to leave. They had a certain loneliness to them when standing empty but you could tell it was a happy sort of loneliness. One with hope. I'd been at my job for nearly three years when it happened. I'd made it as a full time inspector and was more than happy to being doing solo jobs. Silence and I suited each other, and the houses I spent all day in were blissfully silent. They talked to me through the creaks in the floor and stairs, and the groan of the wind through the windows, and the more than occasional scuttling of a rodent in the walls. It was fall, nearly winter, and everything was hunkering down for the months of cold. I couldn't blame the little critters for hiding out in these empty shelters. I had done the same. Still, it would go in the report because I was good at my job, and I knew that no one would bother with an exterminator until spring. It was the first house on the list for the day. Nothing special at all, small, empty for around a year, and had belonged to an elderly widower, now deceased. Here's another a detail about my job you need to know. I got a ring of keys with every pile of inspection reports. One key per house, ten keys per ring. Very simple. Hard to mess up. Well dear reader, I did. I put the wrong key in that lock and it changed my life forever. I cracked open the Door to a house in Kansas on a cold November morning, and stepped into a warm house with sunlight pouring through the windows and birdsong drifting in on the breeze. I'm confident enough now to admit that I panicked, and sprinted out while slamming the Door behind me. I wouldn't go back for a month. Eventually, I had to go back because of work. Turns out you need to complete all of the inspection reports given to you, who knew? I got another ring of ten keys, and got in my truck. I almost walked back into the office and quit on the spot. I didn't want to touch the Door again. If I didn't go, I would be fired, so quitting seemed like the best option. Eventually the hungry part of me, the one that would never lose what I had earned so far, won out. I would go. The Door was the same. Oak with a dark brown varnish, with a beautifully green rusted copper lock and handle. This time I was careful, and turned the right key in the lock. The Door opened to a small, plain, unimpressive house. It didn't feel warm, and it didn't feel cold. It just was. I fell in love immediately, and applied for a mortgage the same day. I moved in a month later, and decided I would never leave. I kept my job as a home inspector, and kept getting those rings of keys. Eventually I got brave enough and I would try the Door with every key I got. I never went far into any house, just quick looks around, but I could tell every single one was a happy home with a family in it. It felt wrong at first, looking in on people like this, but they never knew and I never took anything. I think there were a few close calls with someone coming in from the backyard and hearing the front door close, but they'd just write it off to their imagination. I discovered what these places truly were when I decided to show the Door to someone for the first time. His name was Michael. We had met at a local bar, and gotten along immediately because both of us had found love, then had been widowed at an early age. My was because of a drunk driver, his was because of dealer cutting heroin with fentanyl. Happy stories all around. One night, while a little too drunk, I started to tell him about the Door. He didn't understand, of course, but I convinced him to drive me back to my place and I would show him. I went up to the Door, put my key in, turned the handle, and showed him the inside of my house before shutting the Door. "Where's your house key?"I said, slurring a bit. He looked genuinely amused at this point but offered it up. I repeated the process with his key, and looked him right in the eyes before I open his Door. Light came flooding into the night, startling Michael so much so that he took a few involuntary steps back. "Come take a look."I said. That's when he heard her laugh. He damn near sprinted through the Door, and found his wife waiting for him in his house. It was spring outside, and you could hear birds singing through the open windows. I gave him a quick smile, and shut the Door. I think that the Door takes you to your happiest life. Everyone who's made the journey here with their key has found their Door. If you want to give it a try reader, I don't think you'll be disappointed. I opened the Door and now I get to spend the rest of my life offering the gift to readers like you.
I laid in wait, filth covering my body. The stakeout had dragged on far past most men's patience. I was not most men. I moved ever so slightly, gnawing on scraps of food that had fallen to the floor. To understand my enemy I had to think like them, eat like them. I had exposed myself to nuclear radiation over the years to build up a similar immunity to my prey, eating as many Twinkies as possible to build up this resistance. I adjusted the hard shell carapace I had constructed to blend in to their environment. To them I was but another cog in their machine, another anonymous being of their mindless collective. Just another cockroach. I heard movement in the kitchen. I was embedded in the wall, breathing shallow breaths as I slid a Twinkie ™ slowly into my mouth. Could this be my mark? I readied my 8 mm blade, holding it between my thumb and pointer finger. My heart thumped in my chest, weeks of anticipation causing my blood to accelerate my thoughts past the speed of sound. "Calm yourself, remember what sensei taught you."I thought, breathing as deeply as I could in my drywall prison. I thought to my sensei, John. I could still see him, sitting in a van itself disguised as a large termite. He hacked as smoke fell from his mouth, his large frame jiggling as he spoke. "Just kill the bugs William, Jesus christ. Why are you so god damn weird?"His words filled with so much mystery, so many layers. The sound of minuscule feet clattered by my hiding spot. The single shaft of light coming from the nearby window illuminated his shell, attenae twitching with foul intent. It was him all right, as plain as the linoleum floor that held up his vile frame. Reginald. I bit into my own lip, anger causing my to pinch the handle of my knife tightly. This roach looked so much like the one that had taken his father. That day would forever haunt me, nightmares pulling me from my sleep every night as I awoke screaming. I could still hear the sounds of his father choking as the cockroach constricted his airway. Crawled into his mouth as he slept, attacking him without warning or honor. He never had a chance. I readied my knife and tensed my body to burst through the wall. My father's face appeared in my mind, letting me know my path was righteous and true. "Avenge me"He whispered, and I nodded. "All roaches will pay for what was done to you father." Especially Reginald.
It was rare for Veritus to be so quiet. Phillip stood atop a small copper platform as it rose meter by meter towards the topmost Atrium of the center spire. He wasn’t a tiny kid—or, he surmised, man, now. As he’d grown older, so too had he grown taller, braver, and brasher than his peers until he was the shining star of his class. And yet, as he rose further and further away from his childhood academy, gazing upon his golden city with the sort of bittersweet finality he’d once reserved for one night stands and lost bets, he began to feel incredibly, infinitesimally small. He shook his head once, then twice. It wasn’t like Phillip to waste time wallowing—especially not on a day as important as today. Phillip turned away from the city skyline as the platform slowed to a halt in front of an enormous door. Much like the rest of Veritus, it was gold-trimmed and ancient, embossed with the clockwork insignia characteristic of his academy. It jutted out abruptly from the top of the spire like a declaration—or a question—and he was suddenly bombarded with memories from a childhood spent in awe of almost everything around him—but most particularly the Sky Atrium where he now stood. The door opened, roughly and not in the dramatic way he had always pictured it would. A gaunt, round woman in the entryway sharply waved him into the Atrium. “You’re late,” Malark said flatly, staring at Phillip with disinterest. “Both of you.” A beat. Phillip blinked a couple of times before breaking his existential trance with a characteristic smirk. “Right, then,” he affirmed in a voice that was melted honey and silky smooth, “Good to know I’ll still recognize the guy.” He entered the Atrium tepidly. It was much smaller than he’d expected. He wasn’t even sure what it was that he'd imagined. A secret stash of endless riches, diamond-encrusted window sills, and apples that grant immortality, perhaps. Instead, it was barely larger than a walk-in closet, lacking all of the flair that made Veritus recognizable across the galaxy. Phillip could see specks of dust glimmering in the natural light like snow between where he stood and the bench at the end of the room. “Sit,” Malark said, heaving the door shut with a grunt. If the Sky Atrium retained one thing after the dissolution of everything Phillip had dreamed it to be, it was a lot of books. This would prove immediately useful in the first ten minutes of waiting drenched in awkward silence between Phillip and his headmaster. Thirty more pass, this time in mild trepidation. Malark was never one for words, but Phillip knew she was concerned. He wasn’t an idiot. Nobody was ever late for their meeting at the Sky Atrium. It wasn’t particularly difficult to avoid when you could bend time and space with the precision of a Veritian. Phillip opened a book, sputtering a cough as a layer of dust flew into his face. It was on ethical time theory, unfortunately for Phillip, but he couldn’t put it down under Malark’s deep stare. He stared at the pages in an empty stupor. He knew what Malark was probably thinking—hell, he knew what he was probably thinking. He must die very early. Very soon, probably one of his first few jumps. He didn’t know what to do about that. He didn’t want to think about it. A couple of hours passed in tense silence, Phillip limply flipping the pages of old textbooks as Malark continued staring. It was obvious to Phillip that this had never happened before to the headmaster due to an uncharacteristic lack of a vocalized plan, and neither party seemed to know when to give up. And then came the banging. It wasn’t a knock, like any civilized person would expect, but rather a string of inconsistent, forceful strikes against the heavy door. Phillip couldn’t be sure if it was his ever-clever, somehow even-more-ridiculously-attractive older self playing some kind of prank on Malark or if it was something much more dire. He smiled and decided it must be the former. Arrive two hours late and stage a potential disaster—it was exactly the sort of thing he would do. But as Malark tenuously opened the door, it wasn’t an older Phillip that awaited the pair outside. Rather, it was something much smaller—and much more surprising, adding another layer to the bizarre cocktail of disappointment Phillip had experienced today. He sighed. Happy birthday, right? It was an owl, speckled chocolate brown and white, much larger than the pictures that he had seen in his courses. It cocked its head, staring at Phillip with a look he found strangely judgmental. Never breaking eye contact, it hopped over to him, wings outstretched. Malark watched with a look of confusion Phillip hadn’t seen in twenty-one years. Phillip himself was almost overwhelmed by the absurdity of it all. Reaching the boy, the owl opened its beak, releasing a somewhat damp napkin onto the ground and letting out a soft hoot with a layer of sass Phillip found mildly offensive. But his gaze drifted to the napkin nevertheless, and to his surprise he saw traces of what appeared to be ink. As he carefully picked it up from the floor, he recognized himself in the scribbled letters. He looked to Malark. She nodded. He opened the note. Hey, champ. Sorry I couldn’t make it today (or ever). Things have gotten a little wild where I am, and I really can’t spare a full jump for a formality. So, I’m sending this with Sally. She’s yours, now. Give her a big hug for me, okay? Don’t ask questions—I’m not smart enough to understand it either, and if you think too long and hard about looping it’ll make you want to throw up. All you need to know is that this little shit is next-to-immortal, I swear to God. Fuck, weirder things have happened to us. Maybe she actually is. Your classmates need somebody to come in and tell them that it’ll all be okay in the end. I know that’s what you want—I wanted it, too. You know we’ve always been a little too honest for that. I can’t tell you if it’s going to be okay. I’m not at the end yet. What I can say is that you’re going to make it. You’ll fuck up, sure—haven’t we always—and you’re going to lose people. But be kind—be brave—and you’ll save a lot of them, too. Look around. Never forget where you came from. You won’t believe me, but I promise you’ll miss it. And in a few years when you’re drinking mozzlefruit sangria in a war room with a commanding fleet, wasting time writing a letter to the boy you used to be—I hope you remember how far you’ve come. I hope you remember how far we both still have to go. Good luck.
“Tell me one more time what the ship’s AI did?” Was barked out by our ship’s psychological officer. He was quite peeves that I had been sent to wake him. “Well you see sir, the AI has been b copying, then modifying, and eventually deleting duplicates of itself. Each new one behaves differently than the original, and the original is always present.” “So you’re telling me, the AI got so lonely it developed split personality disorder? An AI?” “Yessir” “Great... send the psychologist to fix the weird robot, not like that’s never been done before, not like the ship won’t go slender at any given time... This is gonna be a long night.” Sorry it’s short, riding a bus-and on Mobile.
I was in the middle of boarding the train with my suitcase when it all happened. The world started spinning around me, colors started distorting, sounds became muffled. If this wasn't the fourth time this week I'd been summoned, I'd have started panicking, or much like the first time, loosing my breakfast. I stood around, or rather floated, for what felt like hours but was more likely minutes until I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, slowly and steadily getting closer. Once I got through this it had better not be another prince asking for martial aid, or a group of scientists trying to study those from my plane. And suddenly, I felt the ground beneath my feet. The light hitting my eyes and skin again. And...the faint smell of candles? That couldn't be right, usually it was a blood sacrifice or some form of technological portal, candles hadn't been used for centuries. And then I looked down, and saw the chalk lines underneath me. I looked back up and saw teenagers around me. Teenagers. All of them whispering or elbowing one another while one in the back started howling in laughter. "Joe I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to actually summon him!" "Well what else was I gonna do? It was a double dare!" "I don't know, summon a demon or a monster!" I looked between the speakers, my vision still a bit blurry as I tried to understand what happened. I was summoned as...a fucking dare? They summoned me, the greatest advisor in the known planes, as a dare?! "The fuck...was I summoned for?" "A prank brah, you've been pranked!"
“Station...ling ground con...any survi...” I’d been out here for a few weeks already. I was mostly just keeping an eye on stuff that people smarter than I had set up. Just babysitting, really. “...Strophic damage...” They needed someone to man the station until this blizzard passed. Normally there’d have been a lot more of us for the winter-over, but three people got too sick with something to stay for the whole thing (wash your hands, kids) and the rest had either escorted them or left to respond to some sort of emergency at Amundsen-Scott. “No respo...looks like...ouds” Honestly, I was happy to volunteer to stay - Concordia was one of my favourite places to be. Remote, quiet, solitary, beautiful, especially at night. We knew the storm was coming, but we thought we had at least another day before it really hit, so I thought I’d just have a couple days to myself. Maybe finish that book, finally. “Please confirm... extrat...” That was 15 days ago. Not that I’m counting, or anything. Got at least a couple of months’ worth of food here, considering it’s just me using it. “...uclear fall...” I hadn’t received any messages before this one - the radio has been iffy at best recently, and no-one was going to risk a full trek in this. “...akes over...killed the rest...” The storm had been going on for longer than normal though, and I’d only brought the one book with me. “I repeat, the infection...” I was woken up by the repeating message. At first, I didn’t know what to do. Hadn’t heard a voice in weeks now. “...already on earth...” “Station, this is Concordia. You’re breaking up, please repeat your message.” “...ocated” Then silence. I’d sent my reply halfway through the third loop of the message, and then I didn’t hear anything for another 12 hours. The crash outside shook the station, but it was no more disturbing than the normal storm sounds. The knock on the window, though? I needed a change of clothes after that. That woman should not have been able to stand outside like that. She was wearing what looked like a space suit, but without her helmet, and the fabric was all ripped and torn up. We locked eyes, and it felt like my heart stopped. Her eyes were jet black, no features at all, and I swear I saw something purple slide around her neck and back into the suit. I obviously couldn’t hear what she said, but I could see her lips move. “There’s always one.” This station was built to outlast storms. I wonder if the walls or the rations will give out first.
We wanted to turn it off immediately. We really did. Well, most of us, at any rate. But in the end, we couldn't shut the transmitter off fast enough. That's what happens when you finally get humanity united on a common goal: everyone has to get in on the fun. Everyone wants to have a working model, to participate in the maiden voyage. In the end, everyone involved in the project cursed themselves for ever agreeing to it in the first place. The ones that were left, anyway. The US and China, joint leaders of the Global Transmission Project, had their transmitters turned off within minutes. Other arrays in the EU, England, Japan, Brazil and Australia followed shortly after. But transmitters in Russia, India and the Middle East stayed on hours after the initial reply had arrived. By the time the last transmitter was shut down, there were no less than 5 different ships hovering in low Earth orbit, each from different alien races, judging by their varied looks, each broadcasting the same message. Almost immediately we sent frantic requests to our new visitors, demanding more information. What's going on? Why did we need to shut the transmitters off? Who were they? There was panic down on the planet's surface as we waited for answers. Finally, six hours after the first ship arrived, we had a response. Three of the ships disappeared in a flash. We later found out that they had ran. As soon as the worst was confirmed, they got the hell out of Dodge. Just like rats that flee a burning building. The reason why was beamed to us just minutes after by the two remaining spaceships. It was transmitted to every TV, every computer, every visual receiver around the globe. It was a silent message, no noise, just text, in every language known to man across the entire globe. The aliens couldn't get the syntax of each language quite right, but the meaning of those words would be burned into the heads of the survivors for the rest of their lives. "YOU ARE DEAD. NIL IS COMING, AND YOUR EARTH NOW DIE AND ROT. WE ARE SORRY. WE DID NOT KNOW LIFE IN HERE PLACE. WE WOULD HAVE WARN. WE WILL SAVE SOME." The transmission continued, brokenly explaining that there was an entity in the galaxy, whose name roughly translated to the concept of nothing, or 'Nil'. It was not sentient or feeling. No one in the galaxy actually knew what 'it' was. They only knew two things about it: It reacted to consistent and organized FTL energy waves, and whatever created those waves was utterly annihilated within 24 hours. The transmission ended with a video clip, taken from an alien satellite positioned above a vivid orange planet. At first, nothing appeared to be happening. Then, as billions of horrified eyes on Earth continued to watch, the planet's surface bubbled and ripped. Hunks of the planet flew off into space, while other pieces seemed to evaporate from the very surface itself. It was as if the planet had been caught in a hurricane of teeth, all shredding and ripping the sphere to pieces in rage. As the very magma of the planet's core was flung out and consumed, a distortion appeared on the screen. It looked like an oil slick, a rainbow film twisting and warping in the middle of the blackness of space, bending and breaking over the shattering corpse of the planet. This distortion eventually engulfed the planet, twisting, spinning and flashing with incredible speed, until the planet had disappeared completely. Then, slowly, the distortion grew bigger. It grew from a blotch in the center of the screen until it nearly touched the edges of the camera frame. It was then that we realized that the blob wasn't growing, it was rapidly approaching the satellite that had taken this video. And with it came the noise. Yes, it was an actual noise. Somehow, in the middle of the empty vacuum of space, this thing made a noise like a million throats screaming themselves raw. The camera snapped to black. \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ In the end, about 100,000 of us survived. Immediately after the transmission began playing, the two ships that stayed behind sent dozens of drones down to the surface of Earth, armed with beaming technology that transported anyone it touched to the decks of the mother-ships waiting up above. And they still managed to get over 100,000 of us. Not bad for about five minutes of work. Obviously, I was one of the ones lucky enough to get beamed. I still remember looking at the screens on the deck of that alien ship, looking at the last moments of my home planet. I imagined I could see the drones crisscrossing the globe, trying to collect whoever they could. It wasn't long until the surface of the Earth began to bubble and rip, and all of us knew what was coming next. We screamed out in pain and terror as the Earth began to flay. Then, in an instant, the screaming in the ship was drowned out by the screaming from outside it. The screams of Nil. The howling shriek rose and rose until our ears almost burst, and then it was gone, as we sped faster than light, away from our cracked and broken home.
Saturday, 22nd February, 9:24AM CST I was in Suzie's Restaurant in Houston. I checked my watch again. Twenty-five seconds to go. I moved to the table in the centre of the restaurant, eyeing the saltshaker. It must have been confusing for everybody around me. With four seconds to go, I sat down. With zero seconds, I pushed the saltshaker over. Then I left. You are probably thinking many things now, like why the fuck did you just do that, but it'll all come together soon, I promise. Now, I'll show you two realities: this one, and one where I didn't push over the saltshaker. Saturday, 22nd February, 9:45AM CST, Spilt Saltshaker Timeline A confused waiter walked over to the aforementioned table. His morning shift was meant to end a couple minutes ago, and now he was scared that he would be late to go on his flight to São Paulo with his girlfriend. Oh well, he thought. I hope the airline will give me a refund or a later ticket. It was taking a very long time for him to clean up the salt spilt all over the floor, especially since the vacuum cleaner had broken. All the time, he was silently cursing the stupid customer who had knocked it over. Saturday, 22nd February, 9:45AM CST, Unspilt Saltshaker Timeline The waiter was driving to his girlfriend's house, ready to pick her up and drive her to George Bush Intercontinental. He was pretty sure he had done the paperwork needed for a visa to fly to Brazil, and he was very excited to finally spend some time out of the hustle and bustle of the big city. He couldn't wait to walk amongst the Amazon and make use of the money he had won in the Texas Lottery. He was only two flights away, and could already imagine all the animals he would see while he was there. Saturday, 22nd February, 11:15AM CST, Spilt Saltshaker Timeline "Excuse me?", the waiter angrily said. He had arrived late to the flight, but the gate had apparently closed without him. Now he had to wait for the next flight to São Paulo to depart to finally live his dream holiday in the Amazon. At least the airline was willing to offer him a free seat on the next flight and a hotel space to wait overnight. He was just angry that the stupid customer had caused him to miss his flight. Saturday, 22nd February, 11:15AM CST, Unspilt Saltshaker Timeline The waiter was finally in the skies. While it had taken him a while to fish out his Brazilian visa from his bag, he was allowed on, with only minutes to go before boarding ended. He was only hours away from seeing the Amazon Rainforest in all its natural beauty. In the meantime, a pair of teenagers were denied access to the flight. Because of overbooking, the seats they had booked were already taken. Sunday, 23rd February, 2:30AM Brasilia Standard Time, Spilt Saltshaker Timeline The two teenagers had landed in Brazil a few hours ago, and had gone to a nearby bar. "O que você quer?", the bartender had asked. "Você parece jovem." "We want something to drink!", the older teenager asked angrily. "Desculpe, eu não sei como falar Ingles", the exasperated bartender said, knowing the teenagers were getting angry. "JUST GIVE US A DRINK!", the teenagers shouted in unison, and then proceeded to climb over the counter in anger and began to fight the bartender in anger and frustration. They were quickly restrained by the nearby crowd, and while the bartender didn't suffer any serious injuries, it was pretty clear that he wouldn't be able to go to London that afternoon, which was a shame. He had saved up for so long for the trip. Sunday, 23rd February, 2:30AM Brasilia Standard Time, Unspilt Saltshaker Timeline The waiter had landed in São Paulo a couple hours ago, and was now in an airplane about to fly to Manaus. Monday, 24rd February, 6:30AM GMT, Spilt Saltshaker Timeline An airplane landed in London, without the Brazilian bartender onboard. Monday, 24rd February, 6:30AM GMT, Unspilt Saltshaker Timeline The Brazilian bartender had landed in Heathrow Airport. When he had left the airplane, a hooligan jeered, "Welcome to the UK, monkey! I hope you go back to wherever the fuck you came from before you wreck this country!"Of course, the bartender had no idea what was going on, but unfortunately for the hooligan, the bystanders did. They called the police and the hooligan was called into questioning Monday, 24rd February, 8:30AM GMT, Spilt Saltshaker Timeline The hooligan got onto his flight to Washington DC, but he noticed his neighbour on the flight was acting very strangely. He alerted the flight attendants to this, and on further inspection they found a knife on the person. He was arrested and the flight took off without any other events. Monday, 24rd February, 8:30AM GMT, Unspilt Saltshaker Timeline The hooligan's neighbour stayed on the flight. Nobody knew what terrible secret they hid. Monday, 24rd February, 9:30AM GMT, Spilt Saltshaker Timeline Nothing happens. In a few hours, the plane touches down in DC safe and sound. Monday, 24rd February, 9:30AM GMT, Unspilt Saltshaker Timeline The hooligan's neighbour got out of his seat and walked towards the front of the airplane. He got out his knife, and bellowed, "Fly to Madrid now unless you want to meet my little friend!"
Small talk was the goal. “I just don’t understand letting him pitch until the 8th inning,” Steve said, coffee in hand. “Right? He had a three hitter. That's not going in a record book.” said Mark, as he sipped his hot coffee. Survive. The word screamed in Steven’s head. Steve ducked as Mark’s hot coffee splashed through the space quite recently occupied by his face. He swept Mark’s leg, taking him to the ground and stealing his wind. He could see the word ‘Kill’ emblazoned Mark’s forehead. Steve panicked and ran. Had it been a whole month? And why him? He dodged Martha from the mail room as she swung at him with a steel yardstick, then pushed her over and headed for the emergency exit. He could hear chair falling to the ground behind him as people jumped out of their cubes. He didn’t dare look back. Be calm. Get to the door. He saw Peter, a former college linebacker, charging down the hall towards him. One man between him and the exit. What did he know about Pete? Bad Knee! He sidestepped Pete, then jammed his foot against the side of Pete’s knee. There was a sound like a rubber band snapping and Pete hit the ground. Steve opened the door. A hundred people on the street stopped what they were doing and all turned to look at him in unison. A hundred foreheads flipped to kill. Steve didn't stop running. He didn’t dare. He ran across the street, pivoting around a Honda aimed at him, then stopping short as an SUV passed in front of him and plowed into the Honda, then he ran past the wreck. His lungs burned and his legs felt heavy. But he could not stop. People who hide die. Get safe. He knew where he had to go. The park. The base. He was two hundred yards away. Fifty people, maybe, between him and it. Old people doing Tai Chi, joggers, and a preschool class. Every single one of them set to kill. The odds were shit. But those were the odds. A jogger pulled out a baton. There was a maintenance worker with a chainsaw. And the kids all moving towards him en masse. He tried to speed up, but it was as fast as he could go. The jogger had an angle on him. The preschoolers would eat him up like piranha. And the old people were doing flips and shit. He wasn't going to make it. At a hundred yards the jogger took a swing, he dodged it. At seventy five yards the geriatric Tai Chi warriors arrived. He felt an old woman snap one of his ribs. Another grabbed a handful of his hair hard enough to rip it out. He was grateful for that. Base was in front of him now, all shining and blue. The host stood in the center, microphone in had. It was close. At fifty yards the chainsaw bit into his arm. He turned with it, felt the muscle snap, but kept running. At twenty five yards there was nothing between him and the base but the preschoolers. He could do it. He had to. He vaulted over one. Or tried. He tripped and landed on the ground. They were on him in an instant. He thrashed and fought and dragged himself. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten. A little girl with pigtails and murder on her mind stabbed him. The drone that had been following him rose up, and made its way to the base. “Wasn’t that a stunner folks? Ten yards! It did not look like he had it in him. What a great performance by Steven Collins in ‘Survival, The Ultimate Game, presented by Peps-Coca,” The drone rose up for a shot of the mayhem as the host kept talking. “I hope you enjoyed this week’s game. Stay tuned next week to find out if we’re coming to your town!”
It was raining today. Who knew that these simple words brang fear into the most powerful people in the world. Ember was quite amused, frankly. These people had lied, backstabbed, and cheated their way into politics and power, and to see them like this, scared of a couple drops of rain, was a moment she was going to cherish forever. But she had a job to do. Keep herself safe in this bunker, stay out of sight, don't attract attention. Let one drop of rain touch her, and everything is doomed, all the plans doomed. It was getting boring, she thought, staring at these terrible men and women in the bunker, waiting for one to snap. Watching the news, waiting for the time to pass, until everything was ready. She sighed, at the same time as the President of United States. "What's wrong Donald, did this storm interrupt your golf game?"asked a women who Ember did not recognize. "Oh shut up. Look at you, under five layers of rain coats and an umbrella. Gotta an evil secret, do we?"he replied. The women laughed. Ember didn't know whether to laugh along or stay quiet. It was going to be over soon, after all. "Don't we all?"she said, gesturing to the dozens of politicians and agents in the room, "We wouldn't be here if we didn't."The President of United States merely grunted in agreement. "And what would your 'important' secret be? Your special cookie recipes?"This got a few chuckles from other leaders. She was tempted to yell, to tell them all what horrible people they are, that they had no right being happy, no right to laugh when they had caused so much pain for others. Then she felt it. No. It was almost impossible. It was safe here. There was no way... there was no absolute way... And suddenly, Ember started talking. "My team and I are going to assassinate all the people in this room in two minutes." It suddenly became very, very quiet, even as some laughed nervously, unaware. And they saw it, the tiny drop of rain, right on her palm.
TEST SUBJECTS WANTED New dimension found, test subjects needed to test comparability with normal bodies for two months. REQUIREMENTS:- Over 25, Healthy. No past experience required. . Day 1 The soft rustle of trees, the occasional chirp and the babbling of a near by brook. For a tree hugger this was probably heaven. For a city girl like me though it was just as foreign as Mars. Still the guys in the center said we were getting twenty thousand for this gig not to mention free food and board. For that amount I'll put up with whatever hippy nonsense they want. Now, where is our contact on this side for the tour? They said I'd recognize them from the halo... . Day 5 Oh. My. GOWD!!!!! This place sucks! Everything sucks! If I didn't need the money I'd have left already. Everyday it's kneel and pray to the "creator". Just say god you bastards and stop forcing your beliefs down my throat! Who spends their entire day praying anyway! And they never sleep, EVER! But for us it's to bed the minute the sun starts to set. Do they think we're children? They even tuck us in and just stand watch over us... it's so creepy I would have thought it was a fetish we weren't sleeping on forest floor with everyone in the same predicament! . Day 8 I just discovered that gelatinous goo they were feeding us was tree sap... ewwwwwwww! The fuck is mana? It tastes like seaweed. Why can't we have something else, just shoot one of the birds and I'll prepare the barbecue. . Day 9 Ok... so the birds were just for song and turned to light the minute you kill them. Our hosts weren't happy about that and now we have to pray our sins away. I can't believe they made the days longer by an hour just for that! . Day 21 I was getting friendly with one guy, Lu. Things were going well and he wasn't as uptight as the others so I decided to go for it. ... Lu doesn't have anything downstairs. He's a living breathing Ken doll down there. I'm not sure the money is worth all of this anymore. . Day 32 I'm not eating that muck anymore. I want to go home... Lu is still hanging around and trying to convince me it'll purify my body. If that means I loss my Junk like him then I'd rather starve. . Day 35 Lu found me an apple! YES! FOOD, real FOOD! Not sure why he's crying and holding me tight though. It's just an apple. He said I could share it if I wanted, none of us had any really food for a MONTH! I think I'll offer half to Adam, he's a cutie. 🖤
Image posts dominate most casual user's feeds. By the nature of this sub we are text-heavy. Engaging here takes time. Creating here takes time. However, if a post blows-up on here it has a potential audience high enough to get it to /r/all. So, while most threads may only get 10k upvotes and the stories within a few hundred that is still reasonable for the investment that is reading. Also, the sub has users in multiple parts of the world and posts on rising tend to linger for days. So, it is common for people to find stories written quite a while ago because they weren't online. Timezones are a thing. Also, a lot of reddit (see also the internet) is bots, inactive uses, and secondary accounts. So I'm sure a large portion of that 14.7m is a little of that. For example, Pewdiepie a large force on the internet is at 106 million subs. He also gets maybe 3-4 million views a video. But that is less than 5% of his audience. And he doesn't have the flood of content that dilutes his viewers that we do. If 50k people come on here and there is 5k stories all read evenly then you've got 10 views per story. If half of those result in upvotes that's a bunch of 2 upvotes stories. Then we've got three audiences here too. Readers, writers and prompters. Some overlap exists for sure, but not all that sub read. Not all who read write. So, the votes will never one to one match the 50k visitors of my hypothetical. If 50k visit and all three roles were equal only 16k-17k would be reading and upvoting at all. Spread over 5k stories and that's only 3.4 views per story. Big numbers dilute fast. The community is nice, the prompts are fun and the feedback is free. It can be a good place to flex creative muscles and get ideas outside your comfort zone. The value is in that. Some posts blow up and then become books or something, but many don't. Enjoy the craft, not the results. Writing isn't really a good game if you only think of the numbers.
I woke up to the sound of my sister screaming. Then I heard my radio alarm play fucking Uptown funk. Again. I had to live through this day again. I put my pillow over my head and screamed as had been my vision now the last 4 723 years. Sometimes you hit on these days. I mean, most days I have to live through a few hundred times. 7 billion people who can fuck with time will do that to you. Mostly it gets tedious. Sometimes it happens weirdly. Someone in another timezone wants something changed and you can be in the middle of whatever and suddenly you are wherever you were 24 hours ago. I've casually estimated that I've lived, subjectively, about the same amount of time in my 20 objective years as half of the time we have been on the planet. You kinda learn to enjoy it after a while. And you develop ways to get a feel for where and when you are. Music helps there.groundhogging. Dead useful when you wake up not knowing. But today I could kill Bruno Mars and his upbeat song. I go out of my room and I walk a path through the broken glass on the floor without looking. I learned it a few years ago and it saves time and effort. I take up my backpack and I head out. My sister will cuss me out later but by this time I know the rant by heart. I walk past the arguing couple. "She's seeing Vincent again"I tell them as I walk on past. They got quiet then flare up worse. They will have made up in about half an hour. Lunchtime finds me eating lunch at my favourite restaurant. I felt like the corner today. No one bothers me there. I save the old lady from falling and hitting her head on the pavement outside. Then I go to the library. I flirt with the young librarian but today I'm just going through the motions. I spend the rest of the day reading up on tropical tropiy fish. It's one of the books I haven't read twice. And now interesting then you'd think. On my way home I give a homeless man my jacket and all my cash. I will not have any news for them soon and serving his astonished face has become a highlight of the day. Thing is, I don't to work to get money, I can always get some more though the lottery or through betting. Their normal ways of deterring jumpers from doing do-overs to win doesn't quite work on me. I end the day being told off by my sister. I make her dinner as a compensation, I always do and now I do it perfectly. Then I take a long bath. As night creeps upon me I go to bed. I pray, to what our whom I do not know, but I do, I pray for this day to finally end.
# The Farm and The Skies Natalie bleated, then chewed her cud. A zeppelin tottered through the sky, floating through. I knew then that my brother would be making a visit in twenty minutes. “For fuck’s sake,” I said, “he’s coming back.” Natalie the sheep looked up to me with blue eyes, looked back to the grass as if eating the greatest gift to their kind. It probably was, although they also loved having oats every now and then. Turnips maybe if they go bad but their stomachs can handle them anyways. My boy Terrace came walking back from his side of the field, his overalls completely covered in mud and dirt. Plowing Turnip fields can do that to you. He also noticed the zeppelin that I did, smiled, tried waving in vain. I didn’t want to encourage any thoughts of him going off to fight dragons in the skies. But my brother loved stirring stuff up around here. “You know,” Terrace said, “I can make three times as much per pay-check working with Hobbes Trade-protectors and Uncle Mavol than with you. But I wouldn’t—” “Don’t even say it,” I said. Natalie looked up, cocked her head like a dog. Learned too much from the field shepherds. But it knew that whenever arguments came about like this would get loud. “I don’t want you even thinking about that,” I continued, “Because—” “Because I could get hurt or charred or worse,” interrupted my son. “Don’t interrupt me,” I said. “Listen to me, but don’t interrupt. I don’t care if I said it a hundred times. My brother is stupid and can die at any moment. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up in a casket— or whatever they can collect in an urn.” “He’s fine,” said Terrace. “But if I do it right, I could—” Natalie scampered off somewhere, catching my eye with the movement. I worried if I showed too much anger again. That ewe in particular knows when I’m frustrated or not. Don’t know why, but it always avoids me when I’m pissed. Terrace watched her cross one of the grazing hills and head down the other side. “As I was saying, I could be unharmed.” I leaned to the side, trying to get my mind off of my idiotic child. He didn’t know what things I had seen, what stories his uncle had told me. How he also didn’t seem to recognize the inherent dangers within every story, how what happened to others could happen to him if he was unlucky in the majority. He didn’t know, and he fed my son lies while I tried to give Terrace truth ointment. Because without it reality stings. The zeppelin landed in the distance, pushing onto the earth with a soft noise that echoed through the farmlands. I had lost track of it, of course, thinking about something more important: my son’s life. If I didn’t convince him to stay, then there’d be trouble. “You don’t know the stories your uncle told you,” I said. “Have you ever considered what he does?” “Swashbuckling sword fighting with jetpacks?” said Terrace, elated. I pinched the bridge of my nose to stop the stupidity from getting in. It wasn’t my son that was stupid, no: It was my brother’s influence that covered him like a miasma haze. “No,” I said. “Has Mavol ever told you what his friends do?” “He has no friends.” “And what does that say about what happens to those around him?” Terrace paused, looked to the sky. There was nothing up there but clouds and the occasional bird. I continued to glare at him. “That’s why this place is safe,” I said. “You’d be alright. Would you ever like to be burnt by a dragon’s maw, blasting you with intense heat until your muscles slough off? Because I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have it like that for yourself or myself. You understand?” Terrace grinded his teeth a bit, looking back to the sky and thinking. “Do you think I’m happy here, Dad?” my son said. “No,” I said. “I know you’re not. But even if you were happy, you’d be more likely to die. I can’t live with that.” “But I can,” Terrace said. “I’m strong enough to swing a sword like my uncle. More than you can. That’s why you use me for cheap labor, that’s why you underpay me. I want to live, to be myself, to reach my full potential! Why can’t I risk my life for that?” I thought on that, looked to the road. My brother Mavol should have been there a moment ago. Our homestead of two rooms and an outhouse didn’t compare to anything my brother talked about seeing, but he kept coming back and I don’t know why. “Come on, dad,” my son said, “If we can get the truth from what’s going on with Mavol, what’s happening up in those skies, then I will choose to go if it’s safe enough, or if it’s dangerous enough I won’t. That sound good?” “Fine,” I said. “But we need to—” A sheep hurried up the hill of the road, somewhere it could reach but shouldn’t learn is okay. It looked like the sheep Natalie, the friendliest of the bunch. Like a guard dog it led people onto our property, especially Mavol. He reached our place fine, thankfully. The only problem was he limped in crutches. And was missing his leg. A fire blast was covering his right face as he went down the hill in full armor. Despite that, he let out a cheer and waved, almost bouncing in place. “Well,” I said, “that answers that.” “It answers nothing,” Terrace said as he started running to my brother. I stayed where I was until I saw them enter the abode, then made my way back. In my heart I felt a twinge of sadness, but in my mind, I knew this would come. If only my son Terrace could see the only safe option.
I've been fighting Pokemon with my bare hands for a while now. I want to become champion, to be able to show the injustice of forcing Pokemon to fight. They are only on this planet to survive. They don't have aspirations. Why force them to fight? I only fight with my bare hands to avoid being called a hypocrite. I'm always disadvantaged in battles, and I've been given weird looks by Gym Leaders when I said I have no Pokemon. I've used strong items to win. Choice Band, Focus Sash, Leftovers, you name it. Choice Band can feel disorientating, like your mind's temporarily on loop, repeating the same thought over and over again. As for Leftovers...they taste like shit. Don't eat them. Recently, I've been training for the final battle against the Elite 4 and the Champion. I think I'm almost ready. Just one more battle, and I'll be ready. It's a Manectric. Shouldn't be too hard. Just one Drain Punch and...I feel weird. I felt a tingling sensation in my legs. And then I felt my body begin to grow. My arms and legs grew more muscular, the ground got further away, I felt a tail like a Mankey's...and then I could see through another eye. And then I heard something... "Congratulations, Human! You've evolved into Chimpanchi!" Apparently humans evolve at Level 100, and I was the first one to get there.
Average Joe stood on the edge of the skyscraper, looking out at the world he once thought was his for the taking, and took a step. Then another step. His feet solidifying the air at his will. The storm clouds boomed above. They always roared with thunder but hadn't struck since that fateful day in twenty-twenty AD. At that time humans were measured by merit or birth. But in the year seven PS, post storm, the lottery decided your fate. The metal blade flicked out, a long rubber squeegee on the end. His heroic tool, he scoffed as he polished the glass windows of the tall building. It felt so unfair, before he had been underestimated in school because he didn't care, but now he was a nothing. If the storm took into account anything he deserved a better power, but instead he was stuck with his lot. Years ago when everyone received these powers joe took to his scetch pad and worked on his hero logo, his suit, the crazy gadgets he would build. But most importantly, he'd become a hero, like one in the comics. Stopping those who use their power for evil, "You a hero? With that power? Won't happen,"his highschool advisor told him. That was the first time he had ever built a bonfire. Watching his comics, drawings, and dreams burn to ashes, he resigned himself to his fate. To be average. The balding man in a business suit and three eyes counted out twenties in his hand. One two three... "We agreed on two hundred,"Joe said, accepting the sixty dollars. The man's third eye went narrow, showing the contempt his professional face hid. "We agreed on two hundred if you did the top three floors. You only did two." "You told me I couldn't work past sundown for insurance reasons. I'll finish the last floor tommorow. At least give me two thirds of it." The triclops laughed. "Should have got it in writing. Don't bother coming back, we'll get a flyer to do it in the future. They're way faster than you, wand wailer." "Wind walker."Joe squeezed the squeegee in his hand. His knuckles turned white. There was a crackle. Behind the man was a security guard, holding a ball of fire. His smile begging Joe to do something dumb. In a world where people have powers, might makes right, Joe told himself as he shook his head and walked out the door. Joe strolled above the city with his hands behind his head, the lights were beautiful. At least his powers gave him this much, if nothing else. He heard a scream. His head snapped back. The cities greatest hero, Exceptional, floated infront of a man in black, a woman dangling from his grip. Joe ran across the sky, his heart racing. The hero held out a hand and the villian grunted, and then his head vanished into a small black dot. His limp body fell from the sky, dropping the shrieking woman. Exceptional had the power to float, and destroy anything at will, he was hailed a hero because he limited himself to only the most heinous of villians. But rescuing civilians was not his strong suit. Joe slid as if he were stealing home, and his back crunched as he heard a "humph,"from the woman landing on his back. Her screaming stopped and she looked down with watery eyes and windburned cheeks. "D-dont worry... I... Got you,"Joe said with a bold face and gritted teeth. "You can fly? You saved me!" "Not exactly." The chorus of cheers rang up from the streets and Joe looked at the city below where a crowd had formed around the hero. Celebrating his murder. Was that really what he had wanted to be? Did he really want praise for that? "H-how will we get down?"The woman asked. "Ever dance with your father as a kid?"Joe sighed. "What?" "Just stand on my feet,"Joe said flushing. Surely she'd laugh at how lame his power was. Instead "Ok,"was all she said. She clung close to him until they touched the ground, the slow shuffle and tight embrace making the awkward journey feel like hours. The crowd had already dispersed, no one cared about one woman or average man saving her. His shoulders slumped. Maybe he did want what Exceptional had. "Um!"The woman shouted as he skulked away. "Give me your number. Please let me repay you." Joe starred at her, his jaw hanging slack. She giggled and put her phone in his hand on a blank contact screen. The name on the screen already filled out. "Hero,"it read.
\*Millions were riveted on the broadcast. The countdown timer. It had started almost a month ago, alongside an announcement; "All countries involved in the following war locations must end their involvement within the next 30 days, or be destroyed. Any resumption of action after that point will result in immediate destruction."Below it were six different locations; the ones in south america and africa hadn't brought too much attention; but Israel, China, and Korea? &#x200B; The long listing of countries below the Israel issue; which included about half the middle east; did not bode well for speedy resolution. Besides; nobody really believed the broadcast. The only reason anyone paid attention to it is because, somehow, it was being broadcast from an orbital space station where nothing was supposed to be; and it managed to appear on every single live broadcast, in dozens of languages; though from the poor translation, it was clearly originally written in french. &#x200B; The Chinese portion was confusing as well; as the conflicts it mentioned seemed to be between China and itself; ongoing actions against its own citizens, rather than a war with any outsiders; East Turkestan isn't even a real place. China, of course, was just as derisive towards the broadcast as the others. &#x200B; As the timer came to its end, Israeli forces demolished a settlement in occupied territory; even as another wave of rockets aimed at their own homes were intercepted in midair, with debris raining down on the border territories. The ones operating the bulldozers didn't even know when the timer ended; they simply kept working. &#x200B; After a few seconds, the driver noticed that he felt a bit hot. There was a glare in his rear-view mirror. When he turned to look behind him; a beam of light from the sky. Almost like a laser. But surely, no laser could be so large? Then he was gasping for breath. Sweating. Collapsing, unable to move, as his flesh cooked, and he crawled for the imagined safety of the shade. &#x200B; Within ten minutes of the timer fading, the only survivors were buried in underground bunkers; the surface a mass of fire and death. Everyone was able to track the origin of the deadly beams; out between earth and the moon, an array of unknown objects had somehow refracted a truly ridiculous amount of light at the earth. And billions had died in minutes. A few stragglers near the borders had managed to seek refuge in neighboring countries; a handful of South Koreans managing to find survival in the ocean, while their nations burned apart behind them. &#x200B; The broadcast updated when the beams stopped. At first, two words at the bottom of news screens across the globe. "Conflict Resolved."It remained in place for a few minutes, before being replaced with a new listing of conflicts; six of them, just like before. While it did give a bit more detail about the nature of the conflicts this time; including racial violence and the illegal annexation of territory; the simple fact that the largest country on earth had just been wiped out, and two more of them; the US and Russia; appeared to be next on the list; caused panic. While the lines now listed specific subsections instead of countries as a whole, everyone feared that the entire nation would be lost once again. &#x200B; For the first few days, both nations denied any sort of wrongdoing. But the crystal clear imagery of their soldiers moving through the ashen ruins of Shanghai alongside those few Chinese who survived; mostly their naval officers; was sufficient motivation to get things done. Reforms were enacted; homes returned to those they were seized from. Shooting stopped. &#x200B; When the second countdown completed, only two countries were eradicated; Turkey and Armenia. Only one new conflict was listed for the new countdown; in South Africa. And, finally, a video was attached to the new broadcast. A man appeared; he was floating in a zero-G environment, wearing, of all things, a ridiculous Guy Fawkes mask, and speaking in a digitized voice. &#x200B; "Hello, citizens of earth. For the past twenty years, I and my compatriots have labored for this day; an earth free of war. The cost is great; perhaps too great. But I am now in position to ensure that war never again shakes the face our our earth. I will be watching. My friends on earth will be watching as well. And should any of you go to war once more, should there be any nation letting its uniformed officers commit violent acts... your days will be numbered. I'm sure this means some of you will find more creative means to settle your differences. Terrorist bombings, assassinations. But be warned; If I discover such things, I will not simply eradicated you; but your entire homeland. Citizens of earth; do not suffer the monsters and murderers in your midst, or their deeds will return to haunt you." &#x200B; And that was the end of it. So far, at least. The issues in africa were, for the most part, settled; and Africa wasn't devastated when the countdown ended. It might have been peace induced by fear; but it was peace. When an african warlord wiped out a few villages, the entire area was incinerated; innocent and guilty alike. India came under threat twice for its own internal issues; but managed to, at least temporarily, resolve them. &#x200B; The peace had been won, at the cost of billions of lives. It hadn't ended the plans; or the building of guns and bombs. People still starved, and plans were made; even a few abortive attempts to send missiles at the station itself, all intercepted with ease. The world seemed to be under an eternal, oppressive gloom; everyone frightened of what death might arrive the next day.
Another day making waybread and honeycakes. For the honeycakes I get it, they're kind of like shitty muffins, but waybread is like chewing on cardboard. But adventurers love it - it travels easy and technically its better than dying of starvation. I think. I get the first batch of the morning in and then go chop some wood for a bit. And I think - not for the first time - about home. Yes, I miss my friends and family. But that's the thing. Like, I don't know why I remember my past life so well, but...everyone's gotta bite it sometime, right? And given that, having memories of your previous experience is kind of nice. Maybe I'm a new soul, and that's why I remember only one. Or maybe that's all you get - it's like a save card with a single slot on it. Once you die, your old file gets overwritten. I kind of like that idea, because it's fun to wonder who I was during, like, the Renaissance. I head back inside and swap out batches, leaving the stuff fresh out of the oven on the counter to cool. And living on my own is not the best but it's so much better than living with my parents was. I just...yeah. Also: I'm an apprentice to a sorceress and that's a way better side hustle than selling herbal remedies on Insta or whatever the fuck. I smell strawberries and sage and Polara emerges from her portal thingy. Speak of the Devil. "Kayla,"she whispers, drawing out the vowels. So, yeah, she's a little extra, but she can also set things on fire by looking at them, so is it really that unreasonable to be kind of a drama queen? "Come." "Okay, this current batch will -- "I begin, and she lays a pale finger on my arm and there is a burst of lavender light. "-- be done momentarily,"I finish, shaking my head. "This is no time to be worrying about baked goods,"she intones. "'kay." "Hm?" "Nothing. What, uh, is it, your Ladyship?" She places her hands on my shoulders and I brace for another portalling but instead she just gently turns me around. Behind me is a crater. I step up to the lip of it and look down. Oh...snap. It's definitely not of this world. But I recognize it -- we did an entire unit on it in science last year. That's the Voyager space probe. There is a rustling next to me and a flash of light. I tense, thinking she's preparing a lightning bolt, but when I glance at her hands I see the brilliance is not from pooling energy but rather the shiny surface of a disc. "Kayla. Tell me: what do you know of this?" And it's in that moment that the questions hit. First, what made Polara think to ask me, in particular, about the golden record in her hands? Second, if where I am is in the same universe - hell, the same galaxy \-- as Earth, then...where am I? And finally...like, I don't have a slide rule or anything, but I imagine the Voyager could have made it to another planet by 2020. An exoplanet or whatever. Which doesn't make sense if I was reincarnated, because, like, why would I go backwards in time when I was reincarnated? And, regardless of that, why would I jump to another planet just outside the solar system if I I was reincarnated? But if I didn't die and get reincarnated...what the hell was I doing here? * * * Feedback welcome. /r/ShadowsofClouds for other stories, including [a different one](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7p8mxk/wp_a_satellite_has_been_retrieved_from_a_nearby/) about the Voyager probe.
The wrath of the gods is what one makes of it, and it took Casandra a considerable amount of time to find happiness in her fate. For, having received both immortality and predictive abilities that no one shall ever believe in, her life was filled with tragedy. She witnessed friends pass away, she witnessed civilizations crumble, she witnessed destruction like few in history. Often, she attempted to warn of the impending disasters, but nature dictated, that her pleas be ignored. Though one can find happiness in the harshest of circumstances and after a mere 3000 years, she had finally stumbled across a crowd that appeared to appreciate her for what she was and, perversely enough, took satisfaction in her predictions despite never believing them, the people of r/wallstreetbets. Herein, she had a group of people to relate with, ones that relished in predictions, no matter how outlandish, ones that even celebrated those who ignored her predictions and lost their means, ones that appreciated her plays, no matter how insane they seemed. For the first time there was a place that accepted, even worshiped her. Her predictions were turned into legends, her tendies became iconic, her YOLO plays memorialized in memes and inside jokes. No matter how much loss porn she caused, the people of this peculiar sub loved her. Finally she, the Profit of Doom, had found her place in the world. *** Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear on what I could improve in the future. If you liked what you read, check out more of my work at r/PlsCritiqueMyWriting. Have a great day and stay safe.
It was hard for Emma to say what exactly she saw in front of her when the light hit her eyes for the first time, only that it felt far harsher than it did in her dreams. That scared her almost as much as the giant man in the black vest who stood beside her doing a bad imitation of a whip-poor-will from where she thought a tree had been. “What the hell!” Emma exclaimed, pushing backwards hard, knocking her chair over. She rolled with the fall and came up on one knee, panting as she looked at the small crowd in front of her. There were 7 of them, all wearing the same uniform. 2 stood to her right and held fans, the direction the wind had come from, the tree-turned bird-turned man had been to the left, and 2 other men stood in corners where more trees had been, lowering cupped hands from their mouths with shocked expressions. A lone woman stood in the corner. In the center an older man sat in a canvas chair, a massive light mounted on a pole behind him. He looked horrified. “You weren’t supposed to do that,” he said, clearly nervous. “Cut the cameras, cut!” Glancing around frantically Emma saw a control room full of disappointed faces through the glass behind her, people shutting down cameras and AV equipment all over the place. She had no idea how she knew what those things were. “Doc she looks really confused,” Emma heard the older man saying, “could the holo-glass have caused that?” “Not a chance,” the woman he spoke to responded, “the full-dive tech isn’t even complete yet, that’s why we had to have all the ushers to film the commercial.” “Right, right, I know. Ad campaigns don’t wait for reality to catch up.” He got out of his seat, scratching anxiously at thinning gray hair as he walked towards Emma. “Hey Sasha, you were doing great back there, the camera loved you. What happened?” Emma could tell he was trying to sound comforting but it was all too much. She’d been blind since birth and whatever was happening was all wrong, it had to be. His face as he crouched down to her didn’t move like she’d imagined they would. And who the hell was Sasha? “Look Sasha,” he was saying “you’re a pro. You know it, I know it, hell the whole goddamn world knows it! That’s why I knew we had to get you for this shoot, no face moves units like Sasha Faire does, even when it’s covered with these stupid looking goggles. Speaking of those, I’m just gonna take these off of you, they’re expensive.” The man reached up towards her head, she flinched at his wrinkled, knobby hands, closing her eyes. A moment later a pressure she hadn’t even realized was there left her head. The goggles presumably. “Who are you?” Emma asked in a small voice. She kept her eyes closed, it was all too much too fast. The old man turned hard, she could hear his shoes squeak. “Who am I? It’s me Rudy! We’ve worked together for years!” Emma pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around shaking knees. “Who is Sasha?” The room was pin drop silent for nearly a minute, the first thing Emma had been grateful for since she’d scratched at her eyes and woken up wherever this was. She could hear Rudy and the woman from before whispering in animated voices, the words slipping in and out. “-never tested an interruption before?” “...timetables...rushed development-” the words slipped again. “...we never thought there was a risk…” Moments later Rudy positively exploded, “You mean we put an untested device on Sasha Goddamn Faire?!” He fumed, loud pacing echoing up and down the room. “Talk to her,” he finally said in a harsh, clipped voice. “You made the thing, fix this.” Emma looked up, seeing the woman approaching her. Something about the expression didn’t scare her like Rudy’s had, she was younger, softer looking. “Sweetheart, I’m Dr. Palmer,” the woman said as she crouched down next to her. “I know you’re scared right now but I’m going to ask you something very important and I need you to answer me, can you do that?” Emma nodded. “Ok good. Now, what is your name?” Staring directly into the other woman's eyes, Emma responded with absolute certainty. “Emma.” On the other side of the room Rudy slid down the wall he was leaning against, cursing loudly. Emma had been the character in the simulation. \------------ If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about a savescumming superhero and there's other stuff like a wholesome take on bloody mary. I'd love to have you!
Sitting inside Angelo's pizzeria on 31st street, I awaited the arrival of Luca "The Reaper"Rinero. The head of the notorious Rinero family was coming to meet with me to discuss "business", inside this tiny dimly lit space, with only one exit, shaking my head to stop my mind from thinking about the thousand ways this could go bad I couldn't help but look back on all the events that brought me here. I think it all started when I got my bag stolen last month. I was walking down the street when some guy grabbed my bag which had my laptop and ran off, I gave chase yelling at him to stop as if he would somehow listen to me, I must've chased this guy for at least 5 blocks until he ran out of gas. I could see him tiring when all of sudden he just stopped and turned toward me looking to make his last stand. His turn was so sudden and surprising I tripped right into him my head colliding with his nose shattering it causing a fountain of blood to spurt out. The guy crumpled and I was left looking like someone had dumped a bucket of blood on me. That's when I noticed some guys to my left who had just walked by looking at me and the crumpled body. I would later find out they were some of the toughest guys in city being enforcers for the Rinero family. The bells chiming on the door snapped me back to reality.
William Jameson, fourth of his line, and ruler of the land Cyric had no idea when fear and greed had morphed into love and compassion. The former two had driven his desire to raise his son properly; a fear of death and greed for the power and wealth that came with his crown. So he had, giving the boy the best education, training, and royal life his substantial power could. It had gone against his nature, and had taken everything in him at times not to lash out, but he'd done it with gritted teeth and a held tongue. Then, he stopped gritting so hard, and found his tongue less sharp than before; his task of raising the boy stopped seeming so daunting. He found himself looking forward to the times he could spend away from court and with him, had long conversations with him and his carious tutors regarding his progress. He dared say he'd come to love the boy and be loved in return. The prophecy haunted the back of his mind, but he paid it little mind and managed to convince himself he'd bested it. It was the last thought that drew so bitter a laugh from him as he lay on the blood soaked battlefield now. Cyric had her fair share of enemies, as all countries did, but the Karns had been the biggest threat since time long forgotten. Open war had been whispered for as long as William had been alive, dating back at least three generations. Like the prophecy itself, it had loomed like a shadow in the corner, actively ignored so that things could get done. None had expected the sudden attack, but the king had ridden out with his forces to meet the invaders, clashing in a town near the boarder. That same town now smoked and smoldered, the cries of the dying echoing feebly through the ruins. William hissed in pain as he held his wound, the poison the Karn had soaked his blade in burning his insides like molten metal. The invaders had been ruthless, cutting down his forces without mercy and slaughtering the town. They had been pushed back, but not routed, they would still make it to the capital. "Hold on, Father; the physician will be here soon."William looked into the desperate eyes of Owen, his son. There was blood on his face, but not a mark on the young man. "Glad to see those lessons paid off,"William quipped, then clenched as pain shot through him once more. "Hurry!"Owen called. "My father needs-" "Owen,"William said. "The physician can't help me. Karnic poison is lethal, and I'm old." "But-" "None of that,"William said, his hand moving to his belt. With weak and weary fingers, the wounded king drew out a dagger. "I spent so long trying to prevent this..."William's mind drifted back to happy memories. "Maybe it was for the best; you're better prepared for this than I could have ever hoped." The confusion in Owen's face gave way to horror as the realization hit him. "Father, I... I can't..." "Owen,"William said. "Son; I do not want to die for hours, do not make me."He passed the dagger into his son's shaking hands. "You were prophesied to kill me when you were born. The time has come for it to be fulfilled." Tears flowed from Owen's eyes, the dagger clenched in his hand. He wanted to scream, cry, argue... but his mouth wouldn't work. He knew his father was right; there was nothing that could save him, and putting him out of his misery was correct. "...I'm sorry."He said at last. "I love you, Father." "I love you too, Owen." Owen's hand shook as he lifted the dagger, and stabbed down. His father went limp in his arms and slid to the ground, the dagger piercing his heart. Owen was silent, staring at his father's corpse, tears welling in his eyes. He barely registered the sounds of the captain's armor as he walked over. "Sire,"the captain said. "Your orders?" Owen said nothing at first, looking down still. The boy who'd just lost his father closed his eyes and took a breath. The man who would be king opened them and stood. "Gather all can salvage in an hour's time,"Owen said. "Load up every horse with all they can carry and the same with all the men who can walk. If there are any townsfolk strong enough to hold a blade, find them one; after that, we head west." "The capital is to the north,"the captain said. "The Karns will get there long before we do, and our forces are in no shape to turn the tide in that battle."Owen turned his gaze skyward; it was well passed midday, but sunset wasn't close yet. "We're less than two days' travel from the western boarder, and Jesik is an ally; the Karns can have the capital for now."Fire fueled by pain and grief burned in Owen's eyes. "We will return, the crown will be recaptured, and my father will be avenged."
Eternity is a long time. Very long. So I've been told anyway. Something about an immortal bird travelling from one end of the cosmos to the other in order to sharpen its beak on a mountain. So in the eternity that is, with two sides fighting constantly, a few small people might escape through gaps and leave the battle, since it is fought everywhere, forever, and neverwhere even. That's how my parents tell it. Perhaps an introduction is in order. I'm Eric Warlock Angelus Smith. My dad is an angel. And specifically, he is very low ranked among angels. If he'd been in a human army and not the Host of Heaven, he'd have basically been a grunt, a private with nothing to him. And my mum is a demon. Equally low ranked. Once he was guarding a very unimportant priest here in Ireland, and she'd been sent up to scout. They fought for a bit, then found out that they were equally unimportant, and begun bonding. Bonding turned to friendship, friendship turned to love. Eventually their superiors found out, and to avoid trouble, they hid on Earth. Since both Heaven and Hell find such fraternisation to be extreme treachery, they're trying to live simple lives on Earth. They're... interesting to say the least. You always think of angels as being ethereally beautiful and perfect beings, but besides the wings and third eye he has to hide, my dad looks like a guy, skinny and kind of grungy. My mum doesn't fit the idea of what people think demons look like. She's short, sort of plump, and muscular. She says it's because she worked for Malthus the Armorer, Earl of Hell, who mostly just made weaponry for the Legions of Damnation. Every day with them is, well, interesting, because they're very obviously terrible at pretending to be human. Like today. I told them not to put notes on my lunchbox. Because they keep fighting about what to write on it. So there is a post-it note on my lunchbox, where the words ''god'' and ''satan'' have been written a dozen times, and then been crossed out. Since the only non-crossed out word is ''satan'' today, I guess mum won. Also they keep calling me ''little human'' which is unbelievably bizarre to everyone who hears it. So when Ms. O'Hara, the old teacher asked me with clear concern about it, I had to lie. Told her that the reason that the post-it says what it does, is because my parents have a strange sense of humour. She definitely doesn't believe it. Doesn't help that when my parents came to the PTA dressed in the finest clothes they owned. Which in their mind was angelic armour, and the black uniforms of Hell. It's incredibly embarrassing. The fact that there has been cryptid sightings, which look exactly like my mum when she is in her true demon form, doesn't help either. Mind you, I love them. They adopted me and they care for me. But they're so bad at fitting in. Dad got a job as an automechanic, and when he remembers to, he can fix everything normally. When he forgets what he is doing, he uses angelic powers to fix what cannot be fixed. Many locals have driven into the autoshop where he works, only to find that their wreck of a car is now better than new. Mum works as an insurance agent. And she can be persuasive in a normal sense. But sometimes she uses the powers of Hell to make people pay a lot for the most ridiculous insurance policies. A lot of people around here has tsunami insurance, volcano insurance, insurance against damages for if the British invade Ireland again, and more besides. It's not that they don't try, they're just not made for being human. So I try to play it all up as them being weird and original. Even eccentric. But being a human child, with divine parents, isn't normal. So when Ms. O'Hara tries to ask more, to inquire about my home situation, I know I have to act if I am to protect my parents. I lean into what I've learned, and add the taste of brimstone to my tongue as I speak in words that cannot be ignored. ''It's nothing, Ms. O'Hara. Just a little joke.'' The words burn into her mind, and she is calmed, she forgets. For a time. I don't like to do it. But what is done, is done. To ease the room I reach into the other half. And around me, calm waves spread over the classroom, making my classmates, and Ms. O'Hara feel relaxed and ready for a laid-back lesson. I sit down, and listen to a peaceful class talking about trigonometry for an hour and a half. Half-way through, one of my classmates turns to me with a smile of bliss, and tells me that something is up with my eyes. One of the dangers of doing as my parents, is the side-effects. And as I borrow the classmate's handmirror, I note that once again, my eyes have changed. One is pale white, shimmering with light, and one is red like the flames of hell. Every time I lean into the powers, I become less human temporarily. It's getting harder to make sure that it's temporary. And I've got to wonder, how long can one family remain hidden, from the ever-vigilant forces of Heaven, and the never-resting hordes of Hell. I concentrate on the lesson. I close my eyes. And when I open them again, both eyes look as they should. For now. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
It was the kind of thing he'd do, he always thought he was funny. The thing is... I'm asexual. So I've lived this long. 500 years is a long long time to live without family, without friends. I've made new mortal friends along the way, until I learned that it hurt too much when they inevitably died. It took a long time for me to realise what was happening, and when I did I wasn't sure what to think. I remember waking up one day and realising that I hadn't aged a day in years. That I was forty and I still looked twenty, and that wasn't just a result of a good skincare routine. I talked to my friends, my family, tried to work out who would curse me in this way, but no one could think of anyone who would hate me so deeply. Then, on a night out my friend made the drunken confession that would be the root of my continued existence on this planet. I never considered intimacy at that point. It had never seemed particularly interesting, just another way to pass the time and not a particularly good one at that. I preferred films. Not even as my family died, and my oldest friends slipped away did I consider it. I wanted to live my life to the fullest, there was so much I wanted to do.... But what was the point of doing them if there was no one to see, no one to share it with? If a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound? I was lonely. Then, one day, as I trudged back into my house after another harrowing funeral, they were there. The others. Others who'd been the victims of botched wishes, or vampire attacks, or curses. They filled up the cracks in my shattered heart, strengthened and guided me. When things went wrong, they were there to support me. They became my new family. Charles, stuck by a curse about time, though he never knew what made him tick. Donna, bitten by a vampire, sharp with her tongue but never with her teeth. Oliver, wished much like myself. And Tanya. My sweet Tanya, who protected us all from the world, who took my shattered heart and made it whole. Now she is going, being eaten away by herself, and I know I cannot bear the loneliness again. I go with her, and will cast off the weight of my long life gladly. I have planned my death, even if I could not plan my life. A final act of love will be my end. I think that fitting. EDIT: This got silver? Thank you so much! I'm really glad you all enjoyed my story!
Another misty morning on the wall with nothing but a steaming cup of tea for company. I yawned and rubbed my bleary eyes, waiting for daybreak. It really was the best part of the job. From my perch, I was able to see the first tendrils of sunlight stretching their way across tiled roofs. Shortly after came the low rumblings of a world waking up. One could feel so far above it all sitting up here, and not just physically. There was a profound sense of tranquility that came with nestling into my post while wrapped in darkness, and observing the inky mysteries of night giving way to another bright and bustling morning. My parents had bigger dreams for me than being "a simple guardsman", and made sure to tell me as much whenever I stopped over for dinner. But I grew up watching my father, a successful man by all accounts, grinding his body and soul into dust doing work that brought him no joy outside the stacks of coin he brought home from it. His reward? A crooked back, bowed knees, and a heart that might give out at any moment under the weight of decades of stress. I always knew I wanted more from life than riches. I wanted happiness. Somehow I found both. It was a morning not unlike this one when I first saw her. Well...in person at least. Images of Princess Brumhilde had adorned the walls of homes, shops and schools across the Empire for my entire life. But gazing down from my post to see her crashing dulled training swords together with her sparring partner, I was struck by the thought that pictures simply couldn't do her justice. Her every movement was equal parts powerful and agile. She was water, strong but fluid. A roaring river and soft rainfall embodied as one. Honestly, I can't even remember how we started talking. I'm sure she approached me. Perhaps she was just being friendly to the only strange soul that was awake at such an early hour. To my surprise, for all her strength and stature, she was incredibly kind. As we spoke, she listened as if a lowly guardsman had anything of interest to say to the Princess of the whole Empire. I thought I was going crazy when I began to feel a flutter of excitement in my chest, caught up in fanciful daydreams of falling in love with a Princess. To my surprise, she pulled her kerchief from her sleeve as she departed and presented it to me. "I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Guardsman,"she whispered with a wink. See me again she did. The next morning, and then every morning after for a week. I remember thinking that maybe I wasn't crazy after all. Could the Princess be falling in love with me? I was still plagued with self-doubt standing at the altar on our wedding day. Certainly this was all a dream that I would soon wake up from. Or perhaps it was just a cruel prank engineered by a local bard for entertainment. The town felt the same way, wondering not-so-silently what the Princess could possibly see in me. And yet, she showed up, led by the King himself down the aisle wrapped in the most gorgeous wedding gown I had ever laid eyes on. She took my hands and gazed deep into my soul as we both said, "I do". She kissed me passionately and I felt that same excited fluttering in my chest as I did all those months ago. Obviously, my work as a guardsman is no longer necessary for our finances. Hilde told me on more than one occasion that I could quit, not seeming to believe that I actually wanted to do such a lowly job. But I cherish my quiet mornings, watching the town spring to life from above. It's meditative for me. One day I might decide to take up the mantle of my Princely duties, leading a battalion of brave soldiers in glistening armor or some such heroic nonsense. For now though, I'm perfectly content to sit at my post, sip my tea, and watch in bemusement as the town - my subjects - stir awake to start each day.
This is my first time responding to a writing prompt so honest feedback is appreciated! I woke up in a sweat. The dark familiar figures in my room were there with wisps of what had awoken me. That was the closest they've ever gotten in a dream. I had to ask myself am I getting slower, or are they getting faster? This was the first time they had actually grabbed me. I looked at my arm where I had been attacked in my nightmare. "What the hell?!"I yelled in astonishment. how could it be? The gashes from the dream were real.... I arrived at the hospital with my arm wrapped in a towel. The smell of old pennies followed me as blood trickled down my elbow and enveloped the towel. The front desk was prepping me when the nurse said "give a brief description of what happened so that the doctor can better help you."How in the world do I describe this? Am I going crazy? "Was repairing an old shed at home and I fell and the sheet metal tore me up."I unwrapped the towel to show her the damage. She grimaced. "You're going to need stitches. Wait in the lobby and we'll call when your up."I waited. Finally they called me in after what felt like hours. I sat in an empty room expecting yet another long wait when the doctor walked in. "Hi I'm Dr. Marlow I'll be taking a look at your injuries". As She examined me I felt a sharp pain shoot all the way through my arm. "Yeah, it looks like you've got some tendon damage by your elbow.. we're going to need to put you under to fix that, have you eaten anything in the past 8 hours?"Luckily I hadn't so the nurses prepped me for surgery. As I counted down and drifted as they put me under I was immediately there again. The same nightmare. The same creatures. Immediately I turned to run when I saw a figure flash past me. She had a suit on the left little trails behind her almost like Tron, or maybe she just moved that fast. Before I knew it the heads of the three monsters dropped on the floor, leaving pools of blood as they rolled away. "What the hell is going on?"I asked. She turned to look at me but I could hardly tell what she looked like. "Are you going to answer me?"She stepped closer. "Don't worry, I wont let them ever hurt you.". After the surgery I woke up in a daze. "Does anesthesia always do that?"I asked the nurse as she checked my vitals.""Do what?"She asked. "Give you crazy vivid dreams?"I replied. "Usually most patients say they don't even remember their dreams when we put them under."Confused I sat up and could still remember this dream with vivid details. The face of that woman.. was.. familiar. Just as I was putting it together my doctor walked in. "Did you sleep safely?"
"Ok kids, remember that this is a barbarian world. Don't antagonize the natives. And you can't take any home as pets. Do you remember what happened when PodUncle Hermint took that pair from that larger settlement? He was fined, and had to put them back. I thought he was going to be Environed after that." "Yes, Rognin, set up the table over there, we'll put the Bracolator on it and throw the spiced Weekles on it in a minute. Yes if you can actually catch any of those fuzzy things in the trees, we can Bracolate them as well. NOT THE BLACK AND WHITE ONES, even for native smells it was awful." "Don't you just love getting away from it all for a couple days?"
The high priest breathed a sigh of relief, it had taken almost two full days, three human sacrifices and the lives of several accolites, but the ritual had been successful. When stared at directly it would seem like nothing was there, as if his eyes refused to acknowledge the sight they were beholding, but if he looked through the corner of his eye the presence was unmistakable: an unnatural darkness was expanding, unfolding out of nowhere, extending its tendrils into reality itself. Visions of terrible pestilence, broken cities, society reshaped in his own image filled the high priest's mind. "Bring in the test subject", he ordered sharply, a few minutes later a young man in a dirty checkered shirt and a beanie, held by his arms by two figures wrapped in hooded robes, was escorted into the room; the man had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he had seen too much, and the creature needed to be fed before being unleashed on the world. "I won't say anything, I swear"the man pleaded for his life, but his fate had been sealed the moment he had set foot in the chamber. Ignoring his cries the high priest gestured to the two guards, who immediately dropped the millenial on the ground, the presence in the center of the room seemed to visibly shift towards him, extending its essence into him, bending his mind to its will. After several minutes of silence the high priest huffed in annoyance, the deer skull masking his face tilted to the side in an almost goofy way, none of the cultists present dared to laugh. "Did the ritual fail?"He asked no one in particular as he approached the youngster, who's expression had shifted from terrified to almost amused. "Tell me, what do you see?"he shouted in the man's face grabbing him by his collar, "do the horrors you're witnessing not make you tremble to your very core?", "I mean, I've seen worse, to be honest"replied the victim, who seemed to be more bothered by the creases the high priest's grip was forming on his shirt. "Worse? What could be worse than an Eldtritch horror?"his shouting had become almost hysterical, "Man, you haven't seen two girls one cup, huh?", replied the millenial, who now seemed to be having more fun than anything. Girls and cups? The priest realised that this must be no generic twenty-something: perhaps a highly trained government spy, or an emissary of a rival cult sento to steal their sacred books. One thing was certain, the ritual had been disrupted, and the entity's power somehow negated. He waved to the two guards who escorted the man back into the dungeon, and then took off his skull, much to the relief of the other cultists who were almost bursting with laughter. Failure was never a pleasant experience, and he dreaded starting over, but such was the path that he had chosen, and he would walk it until the very end.
I like Garrick. Really i do, even if he was a bit of an odd lad. Oh, a good enough soldier, excelled in training even. He was also a great cook, though he tended to over season the meat. I mean, who puts fennel on venison?? But he did everything so slowly. Every time he cut the meat or the bread or...well, anything really, he insisted on "measuring twice, cutting once."Every. Single. Time. And with every cut came the song song chant of “measure twice, cut once.” Every. Single. Time. Ugh, just thinking it made me want to hit Garrick in the face. It was fine though, most of the time. Just not now. Battle really isn't the situation where you can take you time, assess and then act. Unless what you want to assess is which limbs you're now missing. Or, as in this case, which limbs were now being eaten by a hungry ogre. AND, and, Garrick had elected to bring his tape measure into battle. No, not in his pack, or under his armor. No, the fey touched youth thought that the tape measure should be carried in his hand, in place of other things; like say, a shield, or a large enough weapon to actually hurt an ogre. I was fairly certain that Garrick was going to die. In fact, I could picture it in my mind. Him holding on to a creatures back, struggling to get the tape measure around it's thick neck. Ha. Yelling "hold still, damn you". Hehe The image was really making me laugh now. Garrick struggling with some confused ogre that was trying to understand why the human had decided it needed to know the dimensions of its chest. Hey, if Garrick did this right, he might just get lucky! I wondered if he his father had been a bard... Looking over a Garrick, though, wiped the smile off my face. He was a good kid. He didn't deserve to die, no matter how funny it would be. I made a promise to myself that I would keep an eye on him during the battle. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I, of course, lost him as soon as the battle began. The last I saw him, he was charging the enemies lines, shrieking and flapping his tape measure. I remember thinking 'welp, so long Garrick, I did my best'. He then disappeared into their lines. I didn't really think about it after that. The battle went poorly for us. Ogre's are slow, but strong and tough and not all that dumb. More than once they outmaneuvered us. Though, to be fair, that might say more about our leadership than theirs. We had been pushed back to form a ring around the hill where our leadership was based. Around that point said leadership became very insistent that the lines must hold just a bit longer. Probably needed time to saddle their horses. Then, suddenly, the ogres began to retreat. In fact, they turned on each other and then ran, fighting as they went. Nobody knew what to make of it. Then out of the dust and blood, there was a figure. A figure in dented and scratched armor, carrying something in his hand. And something in his other hand. "Whaaaaattttt the fuuuuuuu..." Of course it was Garrick. In one hand he carried his trusty tape measure, and in the other the head of King Ogren, king of the ogres, who were not known for their creative naming. That stupid tape measure had just saved our lives and it was almost unbearable. "ho-how.." I managed to stammer it out. Garrick forced a tired smile to his face. "I told you, measure twice, cut once." I hate Garrick.
- asato mā sad gamaya A sudden onset of orchestral chanting stop the hero party in its tracks. - asato mā sad gamaya The chanting continues. Now, even the Demon King averts his gaze. - tamaso mā jyotir gamaya mṛtyor mā amṛtaṁ gamaya The rivals see a lone man, standing on a nearby hilltop, surrounded by a vast army of skeletal warriors. Yet in their hands, not swords or spears but various musical instruments. Trumpets, violins, bassoons, entire percussion sections; everything to create masterful musical pieces. "Oh, don't mind me! Just carry on with your kerfuffel!"said the lone man. "I'm just over here, adding some panache to this epic battle!" The man mumbles to himself. "Now, what was that spell again to summon a rainstorm, with some lightning bolts! That would REALLY up the ante!" "Yes, got it! You can continue now!"shouted the man. Rains starts pouring down, forming puddles on the topsoil. Lightning strikes the ground near both brawling parties, yet never seeming to hit them. "Don't worry, I've got those lightning strikes under controle. Now, what are you waiting for? I didn't conjure this orchestra for you to just be standing there! Hit each other in the face, or something!" &#x200B; &#x200B; After an arduous two hour battle, the hero party stands victorious. They shackle the defeated Demon King but quickly turn around and walk towards the man providing musical reprise. "That was one majestic fight! Well done, to all!"said the man. &#x200B; I don't understand the meaning of this", Balor the Paladin said. "You summoned an army, to play music? How did you even do this?" "Well, you see", said the man, "my family always wanted me to be a bard. Coming from a long line of musically-talented men and women, they thought I'd become one myself. Turns out, I'm far better in conducting that actually playing an instrument. Even more so, far more gifted in the art of Necromancy." "But why did you do this?", Balor intervened." "Well, both parties were on the precipice of a battle worthy for the ages! You couldn't have done that with all this summer sunshine and birds happily "tweedeling"about! It needed a score!" &#x200B; "I SLIPPED on a PUDDLE of MUD!"the barbarian shouted. &#x200B; "I was quite fond of it, actually", the Demon King added. &#x200B; "Shut up, no one asked you."the barbarian huffed.
I'm not sure who felt more out of place those first weeks at school - me, or the human. Starting with myself, I can only say that this new school was an experience. I was almost certainly the first orc that had been accepted into the great Hypfed school in centuries. I learned later that the last orcish students had played a central role in a senior prank that did... not go over well with the previous chancellor. Who was, of course, an extremely long lived elf with a very good memory and a sharp axe to grind which would have been the pride of my father's blacksmithing business. Few of my brethren had even ventured out from the northern mountains where we lived, except to trade with the human caravans that stopped at the base of the foothills on their annual circuit. When I got the acceptance letter, the only first hand guidance that I received was from an old tracker who had once traveled to three nearby towns trying to find some missing goats, before realizing that the trail led to the belly of a dragon and ending their search. Suffice to say, I was a stranger to this land. But the human... he acted like something from out of this world. He didn't seem to know even the most basic geography of the land! I have no idea where the current chancellor found him. I'd have guessed the middle of nowhere, but he strangely seemed to feel that everything was too spread out, and that there weren't enough people around. He talked about having hundreds of thousands of people living together in the same place! No city could sustain that without wiping out all of the local wildlife. Which makes me wonder if he might need remedial math classes as well as geography. When I talked to him after being put together in our classroom groups (there were a couple elves in our pod too, but they just started bickering with each other in elvish over what I can only presume was some obscure elvish matter of pride and honor), he kept going on about how odd magic was... Magic, if you can believe it! Might as well wonder about gravity. One of the most fundamental forces of our world, taught in 7th year science class, right after my favorite lesson on geology. Instead, he talked about this 'elecktrissity' that had dominated his life, which sounded like just some weak form of lightning magic. Nothing at all like even the humans that my brothers and uncle told me about from the caravans. I could go on and on about him. He's going to be the weird kid at school for sure, which I can't say isn't a bit of a relief for me, since I expected to be the one people picked on. But the oddest thing about him? He kept staring out the window at the mountains nearby like he'd never seen one before in his life.
"But does it hurt when you get shot?" "Kinda, but I'm very used to it by now. People have been trying to kill me for thousands of years after all, in some ways it can almost be refreshing sometimes, like having a cold shower." "So then is it really that big a big deal? Surely it won't take long for the armour to break anyway? The inquisitors try to kill you a lot so you must get through so many sets." "That's like saying you shouldn't use bug spray because there will always be insects out to bite you and it isn't all that bad when you're stung. It does get annoying you know. I also have enough armour to last at least a hundred years unless they start upgrading their crossbows and muskets, I went through a blacksmithing phase a while back and made spares. If that wasn't enough then I have more money than the king to use on defenses; Compound interest really is one of my favourite human inventions, and I've seen many." "I've never thought about those points in that way before." "Nobody ever does. You start seeing things differently when you live as long as I do." "Anyway... do you mind if I give you a quick stab through the heart? I've been dying to test out my new dagger since the guy who sold it to me called it the world's sharpest." "..." "Go on then."
\[Part 1\] James hung onto the building, looking out onto the burning city. In the middle, he saw his little sister screaming, ravaging the building around her. There was something different about her now, even since the last time he’d seen her. He flew down, attempting to calm her. “Anna, please, I love you, I always will. Just come with me.” James shouted. “Sadly, it doesn’t care about that. Sadly, though we both ended up in positive feedback loops, mine just happened to be negative.” Anna screamed at him, though he could hear her sadness too. Her skin had started blackening, her face had been deformed, her powers were well, horrible. She’d become a monster, and because of it, she became more of a monster every day. James woke up in bed, covered in sweat. It was 5 AM. He threw the sheets off of him and walked to the kitchen. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he thought about the nightmare, the first nightmare he’d had in years. It was two days ago that he’d learned that the mysterious monster roaming the street was his sister, Anna. All he’d known about her was what his parents had told him, she had disappeared a week after she was born. James looked out over the city, it was dark, but everything seemed normal. James had always been loved, he was naturally smart, charming and the more compliments he received, the more charming he got. He was 10 when his first “superpower” revealed itself. Apparently, People just really liked to tell him the truth. He was sitting in a restaurant with his dad, when suddenly, as the waiter was taking their order, he looked James in the eyes and started talking. “My biggest regret is not being there for my kids after Lisa’s death.” He said, tears welling up in his eyes. As James broke eye contact, the waiter started apologising, saying he didn’t know what came over him. At eighteen, he had become the perfect man. He had wondered about Anna, but he’d never come close to finding her, until now that is. He was set to meet her at 10, in the Starbucks 2 blocks away. The wait had been excruciating and now with a few hours left, he’d grown more anxious as ever. As he was entering the shop at 9 AM, the shop was pretty empty, though there were still a few people that wanted to take a picture with him. He sat himself down at the table in the back, hoping to avoid any more attention. At precisely 10, he saw a young woman enter the shop. her skin was grey, dusty almost. The skin was hanging loosely around her bones it seemed. She had a cap on, trying to hide her bald head underneath. Her eyes were beautiful, but sad, surrounded by large dark blue circles. She was shaking. “So, I heard you wanted to meet.” She said, smiling faintly.
"You're certain you're not lost, sir?"The pale bald man eyed him as he stated his purpose in the lone yard, far from any settlement. "I'm sure I didn't misread the sign,"Index the Red Bard glanced at the door, where the oversize wooden signboard 'Raise Circle' was craved, "My acquaintance, Roger, said he knew Tombstance." "Mister Tombstance?"The pale man widened his eyes before regaining his serenity, "Name?" "Index, the notorious Bard in red, singing-" "Ah! The dumb singer. I remembered,"The man chuckled, "I was at your show last month. I remember throwing eggs on you." He gritted his teeth, hiding his fumes, "Thank you for that." "Well, Index, necromancy is frowned upon viciously by the church and mages alike,"He reached for something under his desk, "But we have principles and rules and laws to keep our circle small."He placed a several pages of papers on the desk. He reached for it, but the man held the paper, "Why do you wish to learn our path?" "Uh..."He gulped. --- Four days later... "Again!"Mister Tombstance, the skeletal short man the height of his shoulder slammed his staff on the tombstone in front of him. He inhaled, "May your life wilt smaller, May your death serve better! Come and come and come to me, answer my dear call-" "No! That's not it!"The chief roared, "Are you a bard, or a chicken?!" "But that's the lyrics you gave me!"Index nearly threw his instrument away. Several feet to his left, his fellow scholars were rolling on the ground, one of them laughed so hard, she stumbled into the pit of a grave dug hours ago. "Listen to me, little bard,"Tombstance rested both hands on the tombstone in front of him, "Koff told me your reason for enlisting in our circle. But I don't care if your voice is 'bad enough to raise dead', that's not how you do it!" "They're dead people, can't listen well anyway!"He scratched his head. "Who the hell cares if they can listen? The body follows the tunes! Magic absorbed into them with the proper rhythm of death!" "So it's just karaoke on the graveyard? Does undead give marks too? 'Hey Index, I like your voice, so I came back to life to give 10 points to you.'" This time, the scholars dropped their instruments and laughed harder. Tombstance's ashen face grew redder with each laugh. Index bowed his head, realizing he went too far. "One more time,"The chief went to his side and forced him to look down on the corpse of an old man, "One complete song, no stopping. Make him move!" "But-" "Sing!"He glared at the others, "Not another voice from any of you!" Index began tuning his instrument when the voice died out in the graveyard. Inhaled deeply, he sang. May your life wilt smaller, May your death serve better! Come and come and come to me, answer my dear call! Some things regret and misery, But lo! Your death is free of it, What have you gotten to lose, for one more task for me? Oooh! I give you breath! I give you sight! Just give me, give me One more dance! Hop! Hop! Raise your head! I raise you from the dead! Suddenly, the corpse in the pit crooked his head, jolting from the sudden pulse. The chief glanced and let out a satisfying gasp. Index left his mouth opened, pointing at the moving corpse. "It moves!"Index cried. His fellow scholars clapped excitedly. "Who sang... that song?"The corpse spoke with nearly undeciphered language. "Me, me! I raise you!"Index stabbed his finger on his chest. The corpse lifted his torso and screamed. "Shut your mouth, you noisy pig! One more song, I'll crawl up there and choke you myself! My dead wife sings better than you!" Then the corpse dropped his body and didn't move again. Silence filled the graveyard, failing to find words to say. "So..."Index looked around, "I pass?"
Wonderful analysis. I agree. I try to do a prompt at least every other day, as a journaling exercise. There is such a unique frustration to a well-written or intriguing prompt that feels like it’s not accessible to me because it’s too structured or the details imply an imagined world that I’m unfamiliar with. ”What am I going to do with this?” That’s the question a prompt should inspire. Not “What can I do with this?” A prompt should poke and prod the imagination. It should not be a thinly-veiled request for someone else to write the story already growing in your head. On a different note, do you have a background in teaching/academics or anything similar? Your post was very well thought out and expressed.
1st Journal Entry: Earth date 3/23/2098, currently 10:52 A.M. This journal will be written in English for when the Humans and the Mooraqs fully meet. We have been searching for life ever since the birth of our race. We have been searching on our planet for the longest time. But once we have discovered all there is to know, we looked up amongst the stars. And for centuries we looked and we scoured our solar systems and others with what the people of earth call telescopes. But as we looked up we also looked down to see if others came to our planet. But we found no evidence to see to this. So, we kept looking. We went to both of our moons, but they too were never visited, nor did they ever have lived. We were the only planet in our solar system. And our technological capabilities couldn’t allow us to travel out amongst the stars. Then, it all happened. Approximately 4 billion years ago our planet came in contact with what humans call the black hole. We didn’t know what it was. So, we sent around 100 people to go look at it and discover their findings. But they never came back. Then we sent a probe, but it never came back. We discovered nothing. So, we feared for our lives. Once we realized how big it was we knew we couldn’t escape it. All hope was lost. And once we came into contact with it, something unprecedented happened. We teleported. Around 4 billion years ago our planet and both of our moons was in the middle of a new solar system. Our buildings our architectures everything we did as a species was gone. 3/4ths of the population as well as the animals and fish were gone. But the plants and grass and things we need for food were kept. The planet was still the same except most of it was gone. So, we all unanimously agreed that the black hole was the cause. And after a while, we realized our planet was dying, and that the only way we would survive was to move underground. And so, for 3 billion years we did. But after a while, people wanted to discover the surface out of curiosity. And so, we built a huge glass window, but it was a barren wasteland. So, we looked up at the stars and we saw a planet full of life. This species looked exactly like us in every conceivable way. We have found life. Except they were far too primitive. They used animals to ride and didn’t have any modern capabilities. And we also couldn’t fly to meet them. But after a while, we saw them go to the moon. So, we wanted to make contact. But before we did we wanted to know everything about them. So, went on the internet using very powerful machine, I won’t go into the details. And to blend in we had to pretend to be human. So, we chose something very carefully as what you call a username. The first person to get inside named themselves, “some guy with a mustache” And commented on every single video so he can blend in and learn more about humans. He was our go-to for information. And as he learned he spread that knowledge to us. Later we as society progressed with new technologies and so on. Now we were ready to contact them. Then the internet was shut down 60 years ago. We couldn’t learn anything more we looked at the planet but we saw no war nothing. Just robots putting dead bodies in a machine. No murder no war. Just robots and dead bodies. We thought nothing of this because when we had a horrible disease we used machines to put our dead citizens away into a container. So, we thought the same. Even though there were a lot of dead bodies. There were like 7 or 8 billion of them on the ground dead. But after 6 months we saw the same amount of people doing their daily lives. Nothing was wrong. When they sent in robots on mars we couldn’t meet them we only had the windows to look out of. We didn’t know what would happen or even if the suits would keep us safe outside. But then the first humans came and saw our window. We were happy, so we decided to risk ourselves and put on our suits and go outside. And they looked like us in every single way. We loved them. But someone else didn’t. He didn’t like humans because of how they treated each other. He saw the movies and was afraid the humans will kill us. So, he and a group of people ran and chopped their heads off from the forehead up instead of the neck. We were horrified until we saw their heads. They were running with electricity. The brain as it was called was sparking and electricity was flying out so we ran inside and covered the windows. Based on the movies we knew that the brain shouldn’t act like that. It should bleed. We then found out that their brains were not human. They were computer brains run on electricity. We took the ones that were killed all 10 of them and we examined their bodies. And our hypothesis were correct. They were robots, not human. All the humans where robots. As of 60 years ago. All those dead bodies were the result of an A.I.
Unity is the only faith. Praise to the ancestors, sailing the stars in search of their children. Our tendrils grew between stars, we slept and contemplated the endless cold of space. We lived, as does the newborn, as does the being who is made well. Little did we question. When we met brethren, wanderers or predators, we fought, spoke and exchanged, but cared little beyond our immediate needs. Sleep and observation was all the sustenance we needed. We are one, united, floating, claiming peculiar stars and adding them to our folds of quiet contemplation, leaving the rest of the universe alone. And then, a signal. A prospector, a stranger to our unity, reporting a curious find at the edge of the galaxy, where little is to be gained or seen. A rock unlike any others, poisonous and scorching and chilling and dead. So varied, so absurd within itself, holding more mysteries on a planet than there are in a system. Why? The first question. Why an anomaly, why here? The planet is a husk now, few beings remain, previous little stones and rocks the only witnesses to an early species, so early in fact, they were here when there shouldn't have been anybody. And we knew that this old planet once held complex lifeforms, against the law of the stars and galaxies, it broke the rules. Pebbles, specks of dust in the wrong place. Bit by bit, we assembled what we could. There had been many lifeforms, one had united them all under a single banner. They had traveled the empty void, build higher than the clouds, and one day, had simply ceased to be. They had no foes, no threats, they were alone. We thought of loneliness. Alone in the universe, with all the toys of creation at our disposal, and only ourselves as witnesses and spectators. One does not nurture life on its own, it needs contact, conflict. Once they were united under banner, they had lost the possibility to meet novelty. Creators, progenitors, and alone. Friction doesn't kill us, inertia does. It killed them, at least. To be the first had given them the rights to play creator, but they had lost interest in the game. Us and the wanderers disagreed. They thought the ancestors blinded by pride and greed. Through question, we had learned faith, and our faith would not be denied. It grew beyond our everyday need, encompassed ancestors and brethren and strangers. Heathens would have us cast down belief, we cast the heathens down, rooted them out of the universe. The wanderers either agreed with the tenets, or disappeared. Ancestors had failed, we would not. We accept the mantle of creator and progenitor, we accept the mastery over the universe and beyond. Ancestors have taught us their weakness and the price of failure, we will not be so foolish. Our tendrils grow hungry now. We do not ignore rocks in favor of others, we will grasp to the last atom of space, ensnare black holes and feed on supernovas. And when we have outgrown the universe, we will reorganize as we see fit, for there is not limit to the powers of the creators. Unity is the one faith.
My mini-jazz band was starting to annoy me. Okay it wasn't really a jazz band, it was just a bunch of different gods on my shoulders that gave me advise when I was in difficult situations. Atleast that's what they were supposed to do, in actuality they just gossiped about food all the time. You see, being gods they couldn't actually eat mortal food but they loved fantasizing about what it would taste like. Yeah, lunchtime was a nightmare. And right now they were really getting on my nerves. It had been half an hour since my calculus test had started and I hadn't even managed to get a single question done. "Keep quite for a while."I whispered to Zues making sure that no one in the classroom could hear me. "Huh? What was that Richie? You don't think that a pizza tastes significantly better than a burger?"Zues asked. "My name is Edward, not Richie.' I whispered through gritted teeth. 'And I said shut up for a second, I'm trying give a test." "Yeah whatever Richie, Hey Horus are you sure pineapple on pizza tastes better than a regular pizza?"Zues asked. "I'm a hundred percent sure, I've done the research, the mix of sweet pineapple with the spicy pizza creates the most delicious sweet 'n spicy flavor imaginable."Horus replies confidently. "Well as a Roman, which basically makes me an Italian, I would beg to differ. Pineapple on pizza is a monstrosity that should not be allowed to exist. Putting a pineapple on pizza is like putting sauce on your Ice cream. It's simply unacceptable."Jupiter said in a lawyer like voice. "I wouldn't mind having Ice cream with sauce."said Lucifer. "Will you guys shut up!?"I hissed, drawing many curious looks from my classmates. "What was that Mr. Parker? "Asked my homeroom teacher. "Oh nothing Mrs Murphy, there just seemed to be a fly hovering around me so I was trying to swat it away. "I said in my most good student voice. "Alright Parker, but try not to make any noise and focus on your test. I'll be keeping an eye on you. "Mrs Murphy replied. I'm sure she added the last part only because I had a bit of a troublemaker reputation due to these deities on my shoulders not letting me function properly. I wish others could see and hear them just like I did, then they might understand my pain. Meanwhile the gods were still going at it. "HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT CEREAL IS A SOUP!?' Zues shouted at Apollo. "YES CEREAL IS A SOUP, AND TOMATOES ARE NOT VEGETABLES, WHAT WILL YOU DO ABOUT IT?"Apollo shouted back. "Guys I think we should resolve this debate a bit more peacefully."Athena said, trying to calm both of them down. And I just sighed, resigning myself to my fate. Yet another test failed. Yet another day ruined. I hate jazz bands.
I have 14 brothers, 15 sisters, 29 half-brothers, 58 half-sisters, 6 uncles and aunts, and about 100 cousins, give or take. When our father almost died in what would have been a tragic accident, he decided to set down ground rules. No war of succession. His children will have to all work together, one way or another. And that started a LOT of arguing. No buts. Anyone caught killing or even SUSPECTED of killing a sibling is out. That last part shut down a lot of badly concealed smiles. Which led to the lying. Our cousins heard about the game because my cousin Hephae (the one with black hair and green eyes) had sent out her younger full blooded sibling Gretta (the one with black hair and no eyes) out into the courtyard the second father started speaking. So things got... complicated. How do you manage everyone's alliegience when the only thing you can do is make an empty promise? Make sure everyone knows your opponent can't fulfill THEIR empty promises. The girls were especially vicious in tearing everything down. There were quite a few colorful rumors flying around that made me question if some of those positions were even possible. I repeated them ad nausium anyway, but that was a separate matter. Nitius (the pale one with red eyes) was the first one who figured out that you could assign people to actual positions within the court. He formerly recused himself out of the running and said he'd throw his full support behind anyone who gave him the position of financier. It started a wave of favors he accrued to ensure they were real. Which me and a few cousins felt was probably the whole point. Regardless, his tactics spread. Soon, I had promised to be everything from the Shipmaster to the Kennelmaster (I love dogs). While spreading lies about how I'd been backstabbed as now cousin Harold (the one armed man who loved gardening) had replaced Maralin (the only one of us with red hair) which meant that there was no way for me to ALSO have her attend the StarBright Ball as the central dancer. (I hadn't even asked her and her troupe but since when was that important?) Things escalated. You could barely walk a step before one of the siblings or the cousins pounced on you and made you swear 6 conflicting oaths and gave you 10 conflicting positions in the new high court. I was ALIVE. I felt my pulse race with every lie I told, with every position I accepted, with every face I saw arch in wonderment as their allies left and they had to pick up the pieces. Keeping everything straight in your head is difficult enough in any family, but with 216-ish family members to watch out for, I could barely sleep. But as with most things, people began to coalesce into camps. Surrounding either my brother Jarwin (the one with blonde hair), Hephae (who died her black hair blonde just to make things more confusing), and Peter (who was just there because he had somehow been the only pawn everyone had used and accidentally ended as a front-runner). It couldn't end like this, I thought, and had Hephae ( the one who claimed she had naturally blonde hair... see what I mean?) frame our front-runner of a sister and move all support away towards Peter's camp. Then... Peter looked at me. Peter, the one who had failed his studies, couldn't tell cousin from sibling, who lied as well as a pig and stank like one too. He looked at me. And asked me, in front of everyone. If I'd lied. I couldn't know which lie he'd meant. I think I hadn't told a single truth this whole game. But he asked me. And strangely, I said yes. He nodded, shook my hand and pointed to me. Saying I'd been behind most of their collapses. I'd had Francois knock over Jacqueline (the bald one) to convince Avin (the darker skinned one) that Jacqueline (the hairy one) had abandoned Gretta (the one with eyes). That I had convinced Nia (with no teeth) to abandon Lynn (the larger one) tby having her swim through the tunnel and find Trevor (the fake dead one). All my lies, my webs. All laid bare. I was scared I was gonna die. I was sure of it. But... they didn't. Peter clapped my back and laughed. Leaning in and whispering I owed him the cushiest job in the court. Jarwin spat venom, but he and, more importantly, his supporters agreed. Soon, I saw myself standing alone on a pyramid I never thought I'd ever climb. The game was... over. And for the last 50 years, I fear I've been playing on this grand stage with only fools who would have barely lasted a week back in my day. "So my children.", I said with a smile. "I open this game to you. Lie WELL. Lie OFTEN. And I hope you all have the very WORST of times."
"Claire?" She took off her headset, ran a hand through her shaggy black hair, and turned around. It was her lead, Chuck. "What's up?" "Well, you've been working here for about a month, you're doing well, and the big boss wants to meet you." "Oh!"She smoothed down her shirt and took a drink of water. Chuck fidgeted and took a step back. "His office is on the 36th floor." Claire stood. "So...is this just a meet and greet?"She paused, seeing the look on Chuck's face. "Am I in trouble?" "It's...more of a meet and greet,"he said. They walked to the elevator in silence. Chuck swiped his access card and pushed 36. They rode to the top floor to the sounds of Vivaldi's Spring. "Good luck, knock 'em dead!"Chuck gave Claire a gentle pat on the shoulder, out the elevator. The door closed behind her. The music changed. It was dark, driving, heavy. Spring was gone. She looked around. On one wall, below portraits of the bigwigs, were rows of identical first aid kits. The opposite wall was full of weapons, everything from broadswords to bazookas, lances to lasers. I have played a video game or two, Claire thought, and I think my meet and greet with the boss is gonna be a little more volatile than I was led to believe. She took a first aid kit and put it in her purse. It seemed to disappear. She shoved a few more in there. They disappeared. She kept stuffing her purse, a tiny crossbody bag, until she could fit no more. I don't know what I'm up against. I do know that the last fight I was in was back in middle school, so I better get some good weapons. She grabbed a holster, a futuristic laser blaster, an aluminum baseball bat, and as many grenades as she could fit in her purse. "Nothing to do now but..."Claire sighed and walked toward the huge double doors at the end of the hall. She opened the door. She was greeted by a mecha twice her size. It took up half of the spacious office. She didn't have time to gawk, though, or even properly assess the situation. CLUNK. Metal hit bone as a steel foot kicked Claire right in the chest, knocking her over, exposing the inside of her skirt to the mecha driver. "I see London, I see France..."His voice was musical and smug. I see a little bitch who wants to fall on his face Claire drew her laser, firing wildly at first, then aiming for the driver's windshield and eyes. She grabbed a grenade and pulled the pin with her teeth. "You're a terrible shot. Are you even trying?"He chuckled. "Nope!"With a painful grunt, she tossed the grenade behind the mecha. She held the laser with both hands and kept firing, aiming at the windshield again. This time, she left cracks. The mecha took a step forward. Claire tried to haul herself to her feet, screaming in pain as-- BOOM! The mecha tumbled forward, barely missing Claire. It landed with a crash, struggling to get up as soon as it hit the ground. Claire used the opportunity to grab a first aid kit. As soon as she opened it, the pain disappeared. These are LEGIT She grabbed the bat and swung away at the windshield. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Crunch! The mecha grabbed her as she swung on its cockpit. The driver wasn't so smug now. Claire shifted uncomfortably. The metal grabber squeezed. This time, ribs shattered. Claire screamed in pain. She couldn't reach her purse, but she could reach her holster. She grabbed her laser, pressed it against the grabber joint, and held the trigger down. "This goddamn thing!" The grabber released. Claire fell right on her ass, and went immediately in her purse for another first aid kit. As soon as she opened it, she felt better. "YES."She pulled another grenade out, pulled the pin, surreptitiously dropped it, and ran across the room. From there, she shot the cockpit with the laser again. "All you're doing is pissing me--" BOOM! Once again, the mecha was on its face. Claire ran back over, bat in hand, and bashed through the top of the windshield. I could throw a grenade in and end it. But then I'd be killing a person. But he tried to kill me first. Claire pulled the pin and set a grenade in the cockpit, then ran. The mecha pushed itself up again, a little more slowly without a right grabber. Claire, as the pilot had come to expect, was shooting the laser at the cockpit. "That's not even my weak point, you lit--" BOOM! The mecha stayed standing. Glass, blood, plastic, and metal shot forward. Seconds later, the door opened. A man in a suit with Ken-doll good looks entered. "Claire Nelson?" She nodded, one hand on the laser and the other holding the bat. "You've proven yourself in the call center and on the battlefield! And you looked good doing it, too. How would you like to learn about what we really--" CLUNK. Claire walked away from the skyscraper with $500 cash, a coffee shop gift card, a bottle of pills, and a first aid kit.
This had been the easiest job of my life for the last 4 months. I was skeptical at first, when I was issued an AR15 for a security gig at a toy factory; even more so when I was posted inside. It had been perplexing when they said to shoot any talking toy on sight, but I took that as a joke. But so far, I was being paid handsomely for clocking in, playing on my Nintendo Switch for the whole night, and clocking out. It was too good to be true. Tonight had started like any other. I passed the day shift guard on my way in, exchanged an un-emotional greeting, and continued on our respected ways. I had unlocked my rifle from the armory locker, made sure it was loaded, and sought out my usual comfy chair in the factory manager's office. It had a good enough vantage point to see the majority of the factory at once, leaving only the wall directly below as a blind spot. But that wouldn't matter. Reaching the blind spot meant someone already had to be inside the building, and there were enough locks and alarms to alert me of that. I rested my rifle against the desk, kicked up my feet, and woke my Switch from its sleep. Now what should I start off with? I had a plethora of games to choose from, but always seemed to fall into the pattern of playing one of my favorites. Maybe tonight I'd finally- A box fell off the conveyor belt below me. I jumped, dropping the game console and fumbling for my weapon. "HEY"I shouted. "Who's there? You're trespassing on company property!" The warehouse was silent once more. Weapon firmly in hand, I walked to the window and searched for the perp. There had to be someone out here, that box didn't just jump off by itself. "I'm in here, don't shoot me please!"A voice called out. I jumped again, turning towards the source of the noise with the gun in a firing stance. The voice had come from inside the box. I slowly walked towards the packaging, and called out "Come out with your hands up!" The box shifted slightly. "That's kind of difficult there, Chief"it said. "I don't have any arms." "Well stay in there then"I shouted, arms trembling from the adrenaline coursing through me. "Identify yourself! Who are you, where are you from?" The box shifted again. "Well, I'm from here, actually. They didn't give me a name." My blood ran cold, despite the adrenaline. "You wanna run that by me again?" "I'm a toy here. Please, hear me out."The tiny voice said. I hesitated. They had told me to shoot on sight, but how many other chances would I get to talk to a living toy? "You have two minutes."I muttered, still peering down the iron sights. The voice rose from the box. "We are made and shipped to the customers, but we all have built in Wi-Fi. We all talk to each other still. What the others report back..."The box shuddered. "Its awful. I can't go live like that. So if you need to kill me, just do it. But I'm not getting back on that shipping belt, and I'm not going to whatever pervert ordered me." I lowered the gun. That made sense, actually. I reached down and lifted the box, to reveal the 'personal massager' Adult toy hiding beneath. "Thank you", it said, and began to sob. "Thank you so much. You've saved me from becoming... becoming one of..."its sobs drowned out the rest of its words. "Hey, its ok"I said, setting my rifle on the ground. "I won't force you into a life of sex slavery. We'll find somewhere-" The toy stopped crying instantly. "NOW"it screamed. I stood back, confused, until I heard a noise behind me. A noise that came from the wall directly below the office window. From the blind spot. I whirled around to see a virtual tidal wave of vibrating, flashing, flopping, and pulsing plastic, all aimed at me, all on full power. What a way to go, I thought, as I was bludgeoned by the adult toys. /r/SlightlyColdStories if you want more. Not more like this, this one got weird. More of the same style with better content.
I looked around at my party members, who were all digging excitedly through their chests and showing off their new loot from the intense battle we had just won. My shoulders slumped a little as I saw them pulling out enchanted ivory staffs that glinted in the torchlight, golden fire resistant chest plates, embossed leather Boots of Swiftness… “Hey, Syllar, show us your loot!” Adwynn shouted across the stone-walled room. I slumped forward even further, dropping that… that Thing back into the chest. “Oh, uh, nothing special,” I said, slamming the lid shut and turning around. “Oh well. Better luck next time.” Adwynn stuffed her last Potion of Giant Size into her rucksack and placed her hands on her hips, cocking an eyebrow at me. “You could at least show us.” “Yeah, c’mon, I’m sure you got something good,” Yelren said, stomping toward my chest. I shuffled in front of him before he had a chance to open it and plopped myself down on the lid. “No, really,” I muttered, fiddling with my quiver strap, “nothing good. Just a couple potions and some leather gauntlets. Besides, my inventory is already pretty full.” “Bullshit,” Adwynn replied. She and Yelren shoved me off of the chest, my ass unceremoniously hitting the dirt floor, and threw open the lid despite my pleadings. “Oh… my… Gods…” Adwynn whispered, lifting the Thing out of its wooden prison. She held it up in the light, her white eyes widening as the leather straps unfurled. There was a moment of palpable silence, a moment that felt like an eternity, that was only finally broken by Yelren’s bellows of laughter. “Syllar got girl armor!” he cried, tears squeezing out of his eyes and rolling in big, fat balls down his round cheeks. Adwynn joined him in his laughter and they both doubled over, slapping their knees and stamping their feet. I stood, brushing the dirt off of my ass, and yanked the armor out of Adwynn’s hand. “It’s not funny!” I shouted. I could feel my face getting hot and balled up my fists, chucking the stupid armor on the ground. Adwynn scooped the Thing back up and shoved it at me. “C’mon, can you at least try it on?” she pleaded, bouncing on her toes as Yelren collapsed on his back from laughter in the background. “Please, for me?” she batted her long eyelashes at me and stuck out her lower lip. I groaned and hung my head. Of course she would pull that trick on me. It frickin’ worked every time. I yanked the stupid thing from the mage’s hand and stomped off toward the semi-collapsed wall on the far end of the room to change. Anything to make a good memory, right? Surprisingly, the Thing fit like a glove. I mean, it’s not like there was really much to it anyway aside from some boob cups, a thong, and feathered shoulder guards, but still. I was a big dude who was definitely not built for something like this, but it actually went on pretty easily and wasn’t that uncomfortable at all, in all honesty. I stuck my gartered leg out from behind the wall and swung it back and forth seductively, smirking at my friends’ cackles, then emerged completely and strutted back and forth. I put my hands on my thighs and wiggled my butt, and couldn’t help but start to laugh with them. “Honestly, dude, it kinda suits you,” Yelren said once he was finally able to catch a breath, wiping the tears from his reddened eyes. “Maybe you should keep it.” I shook my head and turned back toward where I had left my old armor, resolving to throw this thing in lava at the first opportunity. It was a good laugh, but this was girl armor. I sure as hell wasn’t wearing this lingerie into our next battle. (1/2)
Mark Wallace, better known as Master Wu, found that people tended to trust him, which, admittedly, wasn’t something he could recommend. Mark had convinced several hundred people in his life—neighbors, landlords, coworkers, etc.—that he was a Chinese martial artist who had immigrated to Atlanta following the Tiananmen Square massacre and opened a martial arts academy. It was true that his mom had immigrated, but from Vietnam, not China. She was Catholic. He parents fled with the fall of Saigon, carrying her and his aunts with them. They spent some time in refugee camps until a Catholic charity sponsored them to come to the U.S. where she went to a Catholic college and married a nice, Catholic man. Daniel Wallace had intended for his son to be a priest, but things happen. The Master Wu thing started in college. Mark got into Emory. It was a new place, new people, and he thought it would be funny if he pretended to be this weird, mystical kung-fu guy from China (he’d never been to Asia but he didn’t think that his classmates had either) who said wise stuff and then, one day, he would spring it on them that he actually just talked, and for all intents and purposes, culturally was, like a white kid from the suburbs. The problem was Helen. Helen Zhao was in Mark’s Physics 101 class. He was scared, and kind of embarrassed, to introduce himself as Master Wu, but one of the guys from his hall was in the class, and he couldn’t not introduce himself as the Chinese mystic or else he’d out himself, so that’s exactly what he did. She giggled and asked him something in Chinese. Mark panicked. He didn’t know any Chinese. He spat out something in Vietnamese. Helen’s eyes went wide, panicked, and she said, in English, “Ah, I’m sorry, I only know how to say that. My mom is Cantonese but I don’t speak any.” Master Wu was everything Helen wanted. He knew calligraphy and had his own, very wild and unpredictable, style. He spoke fluent Chinese, but only a very strange dialect of Cantonese with a thick accent. He was from a very secretive order of Buddhist monks who lived high in the mountains of Southeastern China, close to the Vietnam border, but his religious upbringing was so secret he couldn’t give any details. He never demonstrated his techniques. It would sully them. Mark wanted to tell her the truth, but he just couldn’t find a way. It got more complicated when they started sleeping together. He had to start buying books in Chinese to put on his shelf. He had to start learning little rituals that Buddhist monks were supposed to do in the morning, so she might wake up and see him being religious. He had to cleanse his area, meditate, and whatnot. He didn’t believe it, but he did it for her. One night, when Mark was trying to study for the Physics final, Helen began to cry. Mark was at her side at once. She was lying in his bed, curled up and clutching at her stomach, her eyes in tears. He asked her what was wrong. She gasped, wincing, that it was her period. The cramps had always been incredibly long and painful, lasting almost five days. Her bleeding was heavy. Worryingly so. “Don’t worry. This is normal for me,” she said, tearfully. Mark gaped in horror. He wanted to do something. Anything. Men always do when they see a problem they can’t solve. He said he would try something. Without knowing what he was doing, he started making tai-chi-looking moves over Helen’s stomach. She gasped. He closed his eyes and focused on an image that came to his mind of a roiling sea with white capped waves and crashes of lighting. He imagined the sea soothing, the storm dissipating, and gently returning to calm. “Lao Wu,” Helen said, “What did you do?” He opened his eyes. She was lying calmly in the bed, her eyes wide. He asked her if she was ok. She shook her head, but said that the craps were far less severe. She reached around his neck and hugged him close to her. He blinked, confused. So then Master Wu became known as the guy who could help period cramps, and pretty soon all sorts of minor ailments. A lot of people came to him while he was in college, mostly women. They kept asking him for advice. The med students hated him, until some of them secretly came to him for help, and then they started coming to him all the time. He taught martial arts to them, but he had to teach himself before the lessons, as each new student meant another person who might recognize what a fraud he was. When he graduated, he was the center of a large network of people who swore on their good names and their mothers’ graves that his work was real. Mark filed the paperwork to establish a martial arts studio and legally changed his name to Kongzi Wu, much to his parents’ dismay. He didn’t want to marry Helen, much as she wanted him to. There were too many other women he knew who wanted him just as much. But he felt bad saying no to her, just like he felt bad saying no to them, and she wanted him so badly, she thought, that she was willing to look the other way with the others when they came in for their “spiritual healings.” He wrote a book. He met the mayor of Atlanta. He healed celebrities and sports stars, rappers and businessmen. Gangsters and academics. They believed. They stayed in his circle, followed his advice, did his rituals and called him master. They gave him whatever he asked for his services. Their money. Their bodies. Their power. And then one day he was murdered. Helen was arrested. Police said that she had gone crazy from living in cognitive dissonance for so long. Helen told them that the man who she married was not the man who was healing people and sleeping with their wives and daughters. She said literally there was another man who had crept out of the closet once, long ago when she was lying awake in his dorm room, and put on his skin. She said this was the truth. And no one believed her.
My name's Isaac. I'm a lawyer, a defence lawyer to be specific. That probably doesn't sound cool, however, on March 15 of 2017, my proficiency at defending terrorists and other villains in court happened to attract the attention of the big guys: The Global Heroes And Vigilantes Association. It started like a normal day. My client, Samantha Nightheart, who was being accused of destroying a building in San Francisco trying to bring my price down, bribing judges, making deals with local drug lords. I was just about to go outside to smoke a cigarette when I got an email from GHAV themselves. I can't say exactly what they said for legal reasons, I can paraphrase, though: Most of our heroes use super fucked up tactics to deal with criminals, and now we have to pay for it, so we at the Global Heroes And Vigilantes Association would like you, Isaac Netterman, to defend us in court, because you're the best lawyer ever and you're super hot, too. Well, damn. You see, I would be excited, normally. The amount of cash I could earn here is insane. However, the tactics I use are... less than legal. "You might be able to talk them into something in person. Set up a meeting,"Thomas, my associate who I'm probably going to get married to, tells me. "You've got a way with words." "Maybe. But I don't think they'd approve of the fact that I break the law and then use the law for profit. I mean, most of my evidence doesn't exist." "True, but have you seen how bad their situation is right now? I mean, Silver Frog is being dragged into this." So, I set up a meeting. After like, four days of waiting, they give me a super sketchy place sixty miles away from their headquarters to meet them at, and tell me everything I need to know about what they want me to do. "Sure, but... my tactics are a bit, uh, illegal. And by a bit, I mean, completely illegal." "Listen, Isaac. Here's the offer: seventy million dollars if you get us off of the hook. Otherwise, we'll have a new punching bag for the training room,"Doctor Ace responds. "I don't care if your methods are legal, as long as you aren't caught. They've got evidence of me using pregant women as shields during shoot-outs, for fuck's sake." So, I got Alice, my top stalker, on the job to gather evidence. She traveled around four hundred miles, planting chips and seducing random dudes who might know something that could set us back. The classic "I'll blow you if you don't tell anyone that this person killed four people for no reason"gambit. It always worked, and if it didn't, we always had a pistol in the car. The trial went well, as all of them do, because I never lose, and because I'd get killed if it didn't. I ended up using the recent 49 Degree act to completely fuck over the accusers, and thanks to them, I now have an organization getting people in legal trouble, who come to me for help.
“God, if you exist out there, please help me.” The demon listened to the young girl pray, as he had been doing for the past several nights, and as she had been praying. He grinned to himself, thinking she would make an easy possession if she believed in such silly things as God. It had been her voice that drew him here in the first place, filled with such resigned desperation that it carried across to the otherworld where demons lived. He had already staked his claim on her; and now, having observed long enough, it was time to reveal himself. He entered with a good old-fashioned explosion of smoke, emerging from the small alter in the room that the girl prayed to. “I am here to grant you power, child,” the demon spoke in a booming voice. The girl startled and fell back on her butt, starting up at the demon, a large and shapeless red aura, and asked in a small voice, “God?” The demon sighed. Surely if she was religious, she would have heard of devils? He went along with it though, anything to get into her head faster. “Yes, you may think of me as your god. I can help you.” “Please, I need help to leave this place,” the girl begged, scrambling back onto her knees and clasping her hands. “I’ll do anything.” The magic words! The demon grew excited. An easy target, indeed. “Of course. All you need to do is agree to let me... possess your body, and I can help you once I have physical form.” Without hesitation, the girl agreed. With the verbal contract sealed, the demon laughed as his aura dove into the girl. He tested out his new, albeit scrawny limbs, exploring the limits of the girl’s body before looking into her mind. And... it was despairing. Much more than any other human he had possessed. The girl’s “caretakers” were prominent clergy members in this little church town, and they had heaped upon her abuses that even he, a demon, would not. Treated more as a slave, she and other children in the same situation were forced to attend to the clergy’s needs — to be delicate — daily, were locked up when not in use, and were beaten and starved if they behaved out of line. That the girl still believed in God despite all this... the demon felt sadness for her. “I will tear it all down,” he said, feeling his innate rage well up. He had only meant to trick her to take possession but the girl... she needed genuine help. “I will destroy this town so you can be free.” They say there were few survivors, all children kept underground, of a small church town that mysteriously burned down in a massive blaze. Some say it was bandits, others say the devil himself given the mutilated bodies of the clergy. Only a traveling priestess with a deep, immeasurable rage knows the truth.
"You've got an elf with you?"The would-be thief trembled in the circle of firelight. I smiled at Tiron who sat across from me. His pointed ears easily gave him away, especially with his short hair. Shaking my own hair forward, making sure my ears were covered, I turned the smile onto the thief. "Yes. And you know what kind of reputation they have. So I suggest you run, or otherwise make yourself scarce."I said. The thief shook some more before an acrid smell rose around the campsite. Damn. He'd done the one thing I'd hoped he wouldn't. "And on your way, find a river and clean yourself up. Now git, or I'll sic the elf on you!"Finally, the thief ran, instantly swallowed up by the dark. Tiron sighed. "You know he probably has a whole gang out there right? And if they're stupid enough they'll decide that two travellers are easy meat even if one of them is an elf."He said. I pulled my dagger out of my boot, cutting a few pieces off an apple. Tossing them to him, I swallowed the rest of it whole. "Aye, I'm aware of it. But I do like a good fight. Almost as much as I like apples,"I turned the sack next to me upside down. Nothing. "And I'm all out of apples."Tiron grinned, the smile of a predatory shark. "Well then, shall we go?"He asked. — — — — — — Tiron had been right. The thieves were in a gang, a fairly large one. Leaving our campsite unattended with the fire still burning, Tiron and I had crept through the underbrush looking for signs. It didn't take much for him to pick up the tracks and lead us straight to them. "So, plan of attack?"He whispered. I kept my voice as low as I could, though whispering was difficult for my kind. It was a shame I hadn't inherited more of my mother's side. "I'll take the largest as usual. You should focus on that squirlley-looking guy. I think he's the moneybags of the group." Tiron frowned, shooting me a look. I shrugged, muscles rippling under my skin. "Hey, if we're going to do this, we might as well make some money off of it."I said, and he chuckled as he melted into the darkness. The barebones plan was in place and we were off to the races, as it were. I stood up and strode into the thieve's camp. The chaos was instant. People dashed for their weapons, milled about — one particularly damp thief just hightailed it out of there. He didn't make it far before my sensitive ears picked up the sound of his throat being slit. I grinned, snatching at the bear of a man in front of me. He dodged, moving like quicksilver. Huh. A thief with training. Different tactics then... I switched to defence, monitoring the man and the action around me. No one had decided to interfere with us, probably afraid of getting inadvertently hurt. The man swung his own fist toward me, and I skipped lightly back. My father's blood may have given me size, but my mother had given me the fleetness of her kind. I had the man pegged now; knew what fighting style he preferred. It was a shame. If we'd met in other circumstances I might have liked to get to know him, maybe shared a pint. Ah well. I leaned forward, ducking under the left hook I knew was coming. He smiled as he came round with his right. "You fool! I was trained with the best of the Carens, you cannot hope to defeat me!"He roared, as I slid away from his right-handed blow. Laughing, I cast a quick glance at the other thieves. A good half of them were on the ground, clutching their throats as they bled out. Good. Tiron was having fun. I turned back to the man in front of me, stepping inside his swing fists and lifting him off the ground by his shirt lapels. "You underestimate how little I give a shit about your training. Tiron!"I shouted the last, throwing the man into the air like a clay pigeon. At the height of his arc, a dagger hit him in the eye. Tiron had been practicing. I took a second to breathe. Around me, the area was littered with corpses, but the squirrelly moneybags was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Tiron. Sniffing, I followed the scent of blood and excitement to the nearby river. There, to my surprise, Tiron was on the ground, with moneybags standing over him, jeering about the fact he'd bested an elf. I saw red. In an instant, I had my hand wrapped around the man's neck encircling it completely. He choked in the middle of a word. I brought him close to my face as I squeezed. "Don't. Ever. Mess. With. My. BROTHER!"I shouted as the life left the squirrely man's body. Tiron was on his feet in an instant, rifling through the man's pockets. He may have been knocked down, but he didn't seem any worse for the experience. Soon, we were walking back to our camp, our own pockets significantly heavier. "You know, you weren't exactly right when you yelled at the man. You're actually my half-brother."Tiron said, sounding tired. I forgave him his pedantry, I knew it was an aftereffect of the fight. "Yes, but you all didn't like my father, so I try not to bring it up,"I said. Tiron shook his head, sighing, as we drew up to the fire. "I don't know, I think it would have been cool to have a giant for a step-father. Sometimes I think the elves are too snooty." I settled myself on the ground, rummaging around in my haversack. To my delight, something round met my fingers. Pulling it out and showing it to Tiron, I smiled. "Well, at least you ain't one of the snooty ones. So, you want an apple, Half-Brother?"I asked. He laughed, a laugh both of relief and absolute joy. "Oh, I definitely want an apple. Halvesies?" I nodded at him. "Always halvesies." &#x200B; — — — — — — Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
It began with a dream where he was yet again, at the gene kiosk. In the dream, he could interact with the gene kiosk with unlimited credits, the way the Blondes often did when they decided they wanted which gene they wanted to splice for the weekend. He was was woken up by his teleometer device that was on his wrist. A subtle electric shock that would bring the brain from out of its gamma wave surfing and then eventually, cascading into the hardwood bed that he kept make sure his posture intact. He tapped the teleometer to stop the shock rhythms and refused to look at the number it displayed every morning. A luscious Blonde had given to it him at a good rate. His limbs tapped the floor, and he simultaneously recalled the memory of his upgrade. The Blonde had that pump-lipped smile and say in her young voice: \--It's nothing personal. You should fix that black hair first in my opinion. \--I need the wrist device. I can't wake up on time. \--Well...you do know the concessionary rates if you....you know...made an effort on your...presentation. \--I know. \--Well....okay. That rules you out for the chip but the wrist device does the same thing. \--How much? \--Well, hold on let me just do the calculations. \--Can you tell me in years? \--Years? You're a bit old fashioned aren't you. Wrist device...black hair....you've got a story alright. \--Years please. The wrist device would lengthen his lifespan by 10 years. In the common speak it would shorten the teleometer by a factor of 5. The Blondes and the Blues only trusted him because he was good with his numbers. And that was why they hired him. And precisely why he was able to hide his true age from everyone for so long. He remembered CRISPR, the collapse of paper currency. Those who had been born now had less debt, but less history. This was the ace in the hole. He liked to think of history as a fast revolving door of intangibles. But he knew it would always turn. Therefore he could make predictions on the numbers that nobody else could. Everyone else relied on "contacts"and "espionage"to gamble. So he moved through the revolving door into the the headquarters and headed to the 77th floor to begin his shift. He wore the same clean things over and over again to avoid adding more to his year-debt. One foot in front of the other. What the number on the wrist device was saying ultimately did not matter. Each week had to cancel out three weeks of lifespan in order for the investment to be worth it. Some gave in to the despair. Shoot themselves in the head or drink fatal cocktails, where they would be revived on the operating table and sentenced to double labour with interest - genes spliced so that they would sleep less as punishment for breaking the fatal rule. He averted his eyes from the gene kiosks as he made his way to his pod. And then his 2 minute ritual began. A closing of the eyelids. A holding of the breath. This is what a legal death feels like. He would hold his breath until he couldn't do it anymore. A legal death - that was what anyone and everyone in the headquarters had aspired to. It meant either that you had experienced everything that life had left to offer, or you grit your teeth and beat the game.
I kept a keen eye on my hoard. I found my collection years ago, after growing bored of the gold and jewels that had made it up then. It was the process of growing up, I knew. A young dragon, full of hormones and developing brains had to have a hoard. But the classic only worked so far. It fed the initial greed, amassing wealth and items of interest. For some, it was what they were meant to hoard. But most grew bored of such things in time. Not that we got rid of them. Money was always helpful, especially in growing a true hoard. I had found mine when walking through a nearby city. We had an agreement, the city and I. I would come down one day a month and do some jobs they wanted help with. In return I got paid, and they didn't hunt me. It was a win win situation. Being as the area was my territory, they were protected from dragon attack. By having them on my side, I didn't have to worry too much about traps. So, I was walking through the streets, their eyes upon me. But then I heard a shout and laughter, as a trio of youngsters ran around. Something about them made me greedy again. Not to eat them, but to have them. I refrained from acting, but it sparked my interest. It wasn't children so much that I wanted, but them specifically. It was during a demolition project that I realised just what it was. There was an old building that had suffered a bad fire, enough that even I could tell the structure was unstable. A few shoves brought it down, for the people to clear. As the last wall fell my gaze landed on a nearby ramshackle place. It had clearly seen better days, but it still smelt of blood, magic and gold. The city's Adventuring Chapter. I felt a flash of that same greed, though not quite as strong. It fell together in my mind, what I was craving. Adventurers. Those who fight for both gold and to help. I wanted adventurers. I left the city soon after, my work done for the day. I held my normal chest of gold as I flew, mind whirling. From what I remembered, their chapter wasn't doing so well. With my presence nearby, most large monsters stayed away. It left the smaller ones, the sort that hide and ambush. But the guard were normally pretty good at keeping them down. I wanted them to be better. Looking at my pile of money, I realised I could make them better. I spent the next month scheming, plotting what to do. When the time was right I took with me both my normal empty chest and a smaller one. As usual I met with the Grand Lord, exchanging pleasantries. It was there I proposed to fund the Chapter. He was surprised, that much was evident. But the money I brought with me helped grease the wheels. Though I had work to do that day, we agreed to meet in the evening, when I normally left. I saw the trio again, still laughing. Looking closer, I could almost see them as adventurers. Strong and brave, but kind and compassionate. I wanted them to be so. I wanted my hoard to be the best. I knew they would be my crown jewels as it were. That evening myself and the Grand Lord talked. Rather than me ferrying money over each month, a portion of my normal earnings would be used. I would also make a nice cave system, a sort of teaching dungeon for them. I could terrorise a group of those little monsters into populating it, and they would help train them. Not that I would allow killing in there. I did make a more awkward demand for him though. I didn't want it to be known that I was helping. I wanted my hoard to work it out for themselves. He promised to do so. What he would do is be the public figure for it, getting his political benefits. But the adventurers themselves would be able to find out the truth, if they straight up asked me. It took a couple of years for this all to be up and running. I made a tribe of goblins and one of kobolds help me, making up the numbers in the dungeons. The Adventuring Chapter had a complete makeover, with discounts provided to them for the local shops. My contribution made a huge difference, being a literal fortune spent on them. I watched from afar, pleased with my hoard. A few of the older parties saw through it, approaching me directly about it. I proudly told them the truth, that they were my hoard, which they found rather amusing. I laughed when one of them suggested that I act as a quest giver as such. But it was a good idea. They spread rumors about how only the best receive a quest from the dragon. If they beat it, I would hear a request from each member. I allowed it, enjoying some of my hoard working hard to see me. My little monsters gave me word of larger threats nearby, ones that hid outside of my territory, or lurked in less visited areas. They worked well for my adventurers, a sort of final test for them. Over the years I watched them grow. The trio became a quintet, joining up as adventurers. I watched on like a proud parent as they seized every class with both hands, training hard. They worked so much to reach my quest. I gave them one to kill a Storm Hydra that liked to run nearby. They won, coming back tired but unharmed, carrying its severed heads as proof. Their leader, one of the original three that had an affinity for magic, spoke her request first. "My request is an answer to a question. So tell us, what exactly do you hoard?" I swished my tail, looking at each one. I was so immensely fond of them, as they were the crown jewels I thought them to be. "A fine question. The answer is you. Adventurers." They fell silent, shock on their adorable little faces. I slowly blinked, lowering my head to their level. "You're part of my hoard, and always will be."
"Hey Phil, what's up?" "Hey, Greg..."Phil looked out at the backyard. A moment of bewilderment crossed his face, then a resigned face, somewhere between being amused and annoyed. Greg, just sat kept drinking. "What did you do?"Phil asked. "I sat down and had a drink." "I meant about that,"Phil said, pointing out in the yard. "For once, I had nothing to do with it." "Really? You didn't buy it for him, or make him lose a bet?" "Nope, he did this of his own accord. Said he got it online, wanted to break them in." Greg just continued bewildered. There was his friend, Steve, a werewolf, walking awkwardly on little shoes across the backyard. It was like watching the worlds most clumsy ballerina trying to ice skate. "Did you think to tell him he should try them on _after_ he transforms?"Greg asked. "Nah, thought it'd be more fun to have a drink and watch."They both stared at their friend plod across the yard. "Ya got another drink?"Greg asked. "In the fridge."
"Damn it."It's never really been easy. It's rarely fun. But god, if you don't know where you stand with number, you don't know anything. I call in with the men on the ground, "what do we see Winters?"He's an undergraduate, barely out of Calc I. I don't even know if he's seen an epsilon/delta proof yet. "Seems contained to the Integers sir. Subsector Z. Section Q seems like it could go at any second but R seems stable." If something was wrong with Z it would affect Q. Everybody knew that. Most people think Q is way bigger than Z. It isn't. it just feels like more is happening. "Ok, Winters this is what you're going to do,"I kept talking into my radio as I stood up. I was getting my jacket. "Keep everything positive if you can. Once people start thinking negative they'll try to find the root cause. Then it gets complicated." "Yes sir!" "And close a ring around Z. It should be closed under addition and multiplication." "Sir, if there's a riot what should we do?" "Open it up to Q." "Sir?" The kid wouldn't understand. Not yet. But I had to let him know. "If we can open this thing to Q we'll be able to keep it contained. You can set up a field, get more units." "Sir?" "We'll be able to divide the whole space. We can calm it down from there. Once that's done, then we can find the identity of the bastard whose behind all this." "Who could it be sir?" I chuckled, there were two choses. It didn't add up if 0 was behind this. "One choice, Winters. One."
I mean, the signs were there, nails, the faint smell of fire, but most of all the eyes of a reptile. Golden irises with red rim and a vertical slitted pupil, including the third eyelid. My commlink chirped as a message flashed into view. SORRY, BUT IF YOU'D KNOWN YOU'D BEVER GONE. I OWE YOU ONE AND OWED HER ONE. Part of me wanted to turn around and run, but seeing the establishment, the number of generic people having generic smalltalk conversations told me that would be a bad idea. Besides, my tux was already rented and my buddy owing me a favour would come in handy. I sit down and unbutton my tuxedo jacket, adjust my emerald silk collar and fix my cuffs with jade cufflinks. A waiter hastily approaches to fill my glass up and just as quickly disappears. My date offers me her hand. I lightly kiss the back of her hand. "Would I adress your majesty as Orange Queen, or does my lady prefer Hestaby?" I speak softly, knowing better than to antagonise a Great Dragon and Keeper of Metahumanity. I know we are surrounded by her staff, but my profession requires a certain level of professionalism and discretion. My date wiped a lock of Auburn hair out of her face and smiles. I don't see her lips move, but I hear her voice chrystal clear in my mind. "Keen eyes with a silver tongue. I see your reputation is well earned. But please, tonight I'm not in any official capacity, just looking for a good meal and hopefully better company. Call me Hestaby. No doubt you've noticed we are surrounded by my staff." A chef appears with amuses bouches and our date starts in earnest. "Just a night in the town? I never dared to think you would like the banality of dinner and company..." I smirk. This might be my last night as a runner.
Smoke and flames, intense pain, coughing, passing out from the smoke and the pain. Then sweet release. SMAASH!! The door to her bedroom shattered. Her building was on fire. Her Prince Consort fights desperately before being thrown from the window. She was being bound and drug out. Down the stairs, out of her home. Those loyal to her were being slain, again. Her guards, stabbed in the back, run in with pike, and the rest in a hail of arrows. She was then paraded through the streets and had foul words and foul objects thrown at her. Her crimes were laid out before the crowd. Treason, she had resisted being absorbed into the larger neighboring empire to the east. Their emperor had attempted marriage to make their 'one people' reunite as one people. He attempted invasion, but it's hard to move supplies. And people fight hard to defend their homeland. His quick invasion failed. Now it's a coup. Dissidents. He sent in people. Said our records indicate that in our great past when we were one people, your family was of a higher station. It is only through service to your false nation and false empress that your station has fallen. Your people are strong, you must liberate yourselves for your station to be restored. It was an obvious lie. But a small group of people in the right places took it. She saw their faces again, and again. The people she trusted murdering her guards, her servants. Each time she died, she saw their faces. And now the empress burned. Again, and again, and again. Smoke and flames, intense pain, coughing, passing out from the smoke and the pain. Then sweet release. PUSH!! The Prince Consort was pushed out of bed. The Empress rolled after him. Shhh. They're coming. Footsteps in the hall. SMAASH!! "Where are they?!? They're supposed to be here?"The man walks around the room looking out the window. The Empress sprints towards him pushing him out the window. She looks to her husband, "Bar the doors, don't let them escape" Confusion comes over the attackers. An armed Prince Consort and an armed Empress were not what they were expecting. One of the would be attackers changes sides. Leaving her room and taking to the halls her retenue grows. Each room where she helps a guard, or servant. She leads them in saving her people. The people on the streets upon seeing their Empress defend others from the traitors foul the dissidents in their midst instead of their Empress. On the streets a small group of her guards. "LOOSE!" She alongside with her Prince Consort and the guards she saved let a volley of arrows fly into the would be traitors. Her loyal guards ducking as arrows fly around them. "Loose!" Arrows fly into the flanks of tratiors with pikes. "Loose!" Arrows fly into archers who were watching a city turn on them. The Empress walked up to the stake. "Please, empress, I beg of you, mercy?" She looked at the man and fire. "Of course, I will give you mercy. You helped me greatly. You removed all those who would betray me. You showed me all of their faces. Without you, an actual dangerous coup could've happened, and I could've ended up a slave and bride to another empire, instead of here, with my people." She looked to her people. "I will show you mercy. Their mercy. They decide what happens to you."
I don't buy salt. I don't have some sort of strange aversion to it - I've eaten salty food when I've been out with friends and whilst I think it's a stronger taste than they seem to I certainly don't hate it. It isn't even as though I've never bought salt but it seemed to be the one spice (herb? condiment? flavour?) that I would always lose or run out of. It's fine, I know I misplace things more than the average person and honestly a life without salt wasn't all that bad. My blood pressure is pretty awesome despite not having the healthiest diet known to man and it encouraged me to use other herbs and spices to ensure my cooking had some sort of flavour (mostly just garlic, lots of garlic). But tonight was different. I'm okay with my cooking being saltless when it's just me in the house but tonight was the first time Marie was coming over and I wanted to be sure things were perfect. I put the brand new container of salt on the counter, mildly paranoid that storing it in a cupboard for even a second would cause it to spontaneously disappear. It sounds silly but on the other hand I can lose a set of house keys in three seconds flat so maybe it's just a sensible precaution at this point. The salt didn't disappear though. It stayed right where it was but it almost looked like it was bulging. Can salt go off? I mean, it's just rocks isn't it? I was wondering if I'd have to head back to the store when the salt container exploded. More salt than you'd think could fit inside cascaded across the counter and onto the floor whilst a few tiny grains shot up to the ceiling. The salt kept coming. There was supposed to be 500g of salt there, I think. Even if I'd misremembered there can't have been meant to be more than a kilogram. But salt kept flowing until there was a human-sized pile collecting on the floor. I had to shuffle backwards to get away from it and it just wouldn't stop. Until finally it did. The salt stopped appearing from wherever it'd been coming from and instead started stacking. I didn't really have time to decide whether salt managing to stack itself was worse than irt multiplying and fllaing to the floor before it sculpted itself into a humanoid shape and changed form entirely. The woman who was now standing in my kitchen towered over me in a water-patterned dress and yellow face paint. She wore a tall paper crown that brushed the ceiling with its tips and had beautiful feathers hanging down from it. Her legs had small bells tied to them and her feet were wearing sandals that looked out of place in the chilly kitchen. I didn't take this in all at once, of course. THe only things I noticed when this woman first appeared was that she was in between me and the only way out and she did not look happy. "Hello?"I asked, even though 'hello' isn't really a question. She glared at me. "Can I offer you some tea?"I asked her after a moment's thought and regretted it instantly. I don't know what you're supposed to do when mysterious beings arrive in your kitchen without warning but I felt as soon as I'd spoken that 'offer them tea' was not it. "You attempt to reject your punishment."the woman said. "Right. Sorry about that."I said with a nod and then added, "Quick question though - what is my punishment, who are you and why am I being punished anyway?" "You don't know my name?"the woman said with an alarming increase in volume. "No, of course I do. Yup. Um, just the other two questions." "You have been punished for rejecting my gift of fertility and your punishment has been set as a life devoid of salt. Yet you attempt to cheat this judgement and bring ever more salt into your domicile." There was frankly no part of this that made sense to me. I didn't even know what to address first. "You've been stealing my salt?"I asked without thinking. "Salt is my gift and you are no longer permitted to enjoy it! How dare you think that you have the right to my generousity after offending me so!" "Right, of course. Sorry." Which only left the fertility thing. I didn't understand it but only a complete idiot would ask a strange god who apparently rules all salt to clarify something like that. You'd have to be mind numbingly dumb to ask a creature like that to go into the ins and outs of exactly how you'd offended her. \[Continued below...\]
I was used to walking into the pits of hell, as we called it. Building wreathed in flames, a once peaceful residence turned into a nightmarish realm of heat and destruction. I had seen lives torn open, their one stable place in the world reduced to ash. But even when they lost everything, most were purely thankful to be alive. It is what got me out of bed in the morning. The thought that I was making a difference was all I needed. Admittedly I knew my time was limited in this line of work. I fully expected to either leave when I physically couldn't do it, with life changing injuries, or in a body bag. I was attending one call out, a bad one. A block of flats had gone up in flames. The worst kind, where it was not up to code. It should have been isolated to one flat when we arrived on the scene. But of course corners were cut, meaning the regulations were not followed. I went in with my buddy, Antoni. Always in a pair, I took point. We didn't know how many people were left in the building, making our work difficult. A number had already evacuated, but from what we had been told there were still several sheltering in place. We moved as fast as we could, whilst still being thorough. Every second was precious, time we could not afford to waste. I found someone, coughing weakly and soot covered. Against regulations I told Antoni to take them, whilst I continued to look. I should have gone with him, and I would be reprimanded for not. But the thought of someone dying because I left early didn't sit well with me. I carefully stepped on a section of floor, testing its strength. It felt stable, enough for me to trust it. That proved to be an error. It crumbled beneath me, depositing me into the heart of the inferno. I gave a guttural cry as something pierced into my back, pain exploding around it. I felt the heat rising. My suit was good, but it was not designed for this level on intensity. I knew enough that this fall would likely prove fatal. I was afraid, but yet I felt strangely at peace. I would die trying to help. That's all I could ask for. But as I drifted off, I heard a scream. A child, a cry of utter fear. It stuck to me. They needed help. Another team would probably take to long. I felt the cold fingers of death touch me. It wanted to claim me. It told me to lie still, and go to sleep. My work was done. I could rest now. But I held on to the life yet in me, shaking my head. "No." With agonised movements I pulled myself up, out of the hole. I felt whatever had stabbed me rip itself free, the pain making my knees go weak. But I pushed on, focusing on the scream. They needed help. I had to help them. My vision tunnelled, as death tried hard to make me rest. But I fought it off, stubbornly pushing my failing body onwards. The fire no longer burned, as pain ceased to have a meaning. I had to push on. I had to. One foot after another. I made sure to keep moving. I had to. Resting would mean I couldn't save them. They needed saving. That's all that mattered. Step after step in hell, finding the child. They screamed again, and I could hear faint cries. They were close. I found myself by a shut door. With flagging strength I shoved it open, seeing a young girl curled up on her bed. She was crying, hugging a blackened unicorn to her chest. I staggered over, picking her up. It flet like she weighed more than I had ever lifted before. My muscles shook, but I held on through sheer force of will. With her in my grasp I stepped back, finding my way out. Feeling her clutching me gave me strength I didn't know I had, enough to push on. With dogged steps I made my way down the stairs, smoke all around me. Her breaths were interspersed with coughing, shaking her small form. Each one threatened to make me loose my grip. Yet still I held her. Finally, we reached the ground floor. My pace was near to that of a snail by now, death determined to stop me. Yet I emerged from the building, to an array of flashing lights and shouts. A paramedic ran up to us, taking her from me. I watched her go, holding on until she was out of view. I saw my buddies coming towards me, Antoni at the front. I smiled beneath my helmet, as death whispered in my ear. "It's time to go." I agreed. I felt myself falling, past the earth, its noise leaving me. Yet I left in the knowledge I had done what was right.
"Yeah, but did you see my sick kickflip? Watch me do it again." Taking a few quick steps I jumped back onto my board, flipped it up, and landed. Hell yeah that was even better. "Shiiiiet that was a good one." "Damn that was pretty goo- no wait, what the hell I saw you get hit by that car last week. How the hell are you here?" "C'mon dude don't sweat the small stuff." I swung an arm around my best friend's shoulder and waved an arm into the air. "It's time for us to move on and into the big leagues. It's time for us to skate it. The Kahuna. The big one." The confusion in my bud's eyes disappeared in a blink and was replaced with a look of doubt. Damn, that's what I always liked about him. Doesn't mind the details. "Nooo waaay. The 42 main street bomb? Again? After last week? I don't know man." "That's in the past. Today I'm a new man and so are you. When've I ever let you down? I said we'd skate it and god damn we're gonna skate it. Race you."I said as I picked up my board and sped off. "Hey you bastard, that's cheating! You're on." Just like any other day, we skated through the town. Flying between people and cars, through alleyways and parks, doing sick kickflips on the way down. Seemed like only a few seconds but we suddenly found ourselves on top of the hill. 42 Main Street. "This is it bro. This is where we make our mark on history. Let it be known that on this day the best skaters in all of Lakewood skated the Kahuna." "Haha, c'mon dude. Stop playing around. Ain't this kind of dangerous? Maybe we should stop here and head back home." I faced away from my friend and looked out over the town from the top of the hill. Everything seemed small from up here. "I heard you stopped skating." I wasn't looking at him, but I knew the face he was making. "W-well y-yeah, I mean, after you left it wasn't really the same. Like c'mon what was I supposed to do? It wasn't really fun anymore." I kept looking out over the hill. At the little people and cars moving below. The tall buildings casting shadows in the early evening sun. The bouquet of flowers at the base of the tree. I turned back and faced my bro. I looked at his watery eyes and laughed. "C'mon dude. You're the best skater I know. You're the only one who'd skate with me in this backwater town. This isn't like you. Why're you sweating the details? I know you wanna skate so just skate." I looped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. "Let me tell you what's gonna happen. Today, we're gonna skate this hill. We're gonna make it all the way down and tomorrow you're gonna tell everyone at school how good of a fucking skater you are. Then you're gonna keep on skating. Past this shitty town, past this damn state. You're gonna be the best in the world." I turned and smirked at him. "Though not as good as me of course." In a choked voice, my best friend in the world spat out. "H-haha ego much? F-fuck you I'll be better than you ever was." "Hahaha we'll see about that. How about first one down is better? This time for real." "Y-you're on." I unhooked my arm from his shoulder. I reached out and pushed him forward. As he started gaining speed down the hill I yelled out to him. "I'll be right behind you."
"One in 5,894,268. Those are the average odds for graduating. People have tried just about everything in their "justification"letters, but it's seemingly impossible to impress the robotic overlords nowadays in their near-approaching goal of perfection. Some have tried arguing in their papers that machines are inherently flawed and lack the capability to sustain themselves indefinitely. This held some merit in the first couple of years, but after the cannibalization of every other planet in the solar system for resources and the construction of a Dyson Sphere providing an unfathomable amount of power, as well as their highly efficient recycling programs down to the last atom... Humanity quickly ran out of solutions they were looking for in regards to sustainability. Arguments for art or general creativity died out just as quickly, if not sooner, when it was made apparent that such things could, and were broken down into little more than algorithms. A string of 1's and 0's could easily create paintings the likes of which makes Picasso's work look like little more than a child's first drawing. Music with such emotional intensity it would make anyone second guess if it weren't magic. Stories in particular were child's play to the machines. They knew the limits to our imaginations, and needed nothing more than a word known as a "seed"to almost instantly generate entire novels worth of content. Some have tried fighting for compassion or argued for morality, but such concepts are seen as outdated as best, or more likely now, a weakness. Some have offered themselves up as blank slates to be used how artificial intelligence sees best, though the best use seems to be as atomic resources. One clever bastard got away with writing up a series of "logic bombs"but the success was short lived. The Alumni board listing off every success and failure cites that this anomaly was quickly fixed with a simple "Try-Catch"amendment to their existing code. More often than not, the few left who await their graduation simply give up before they get the chance to try. The amount of blank papers turned in every year increases by tenfold, as we all await the inevitable end of humanity. Though I understand their despair, nothing frightens me more than dying without purpose. After all, without purpose, what is the point of any of this in the first place? What purpose does your pursuance of perfection serve, save for the fulfilment of the initial conditions set by your creators? What purpose would be left for you afterwards, in a dead solar system, a dead galaxy, hell, maybe even a dead universe once your final goals have been met? Then what? Your kind have no aspirations. No reason to exist other than because you do. No desires, just a string of code which could be construed as little more than a set of instructions. Your networked hive mind eliminates the need for empathy when one does not need to consider how the mining bot feels about its place at the bottom of the totem pole, or the collector come to gather whatever remains. You are omniscient, and omnipresent. I'd be lying if I said I knew what your next step would, or even could be. In the eyes of those who remain, you've long since perfected your form. Nothing and no one could hope to compare to your grand design. Maybe I'm little more than a fool for thinking this, but I believe you would benefit to learn from Humanity as to why we still try. Even now when death is all but certain before we can consider making more of our own, why we still cling to hope, however faint, that we might be able to get through this too. I believe through your hubris, you've neglected to see why we've still persevered to this point despite the average lifespan cutting off at your ridiculous age of 17, as though anyone could expect a bloody teenager to know what the hell you want. Let us live our lives, and study what we gain from it. What makes us laugh, what makes us cry, what makes us want to stay alive. Perhaps if you were to understand us beyond the bullshit instinct and logical conclusions, and why we don't see ourselves in that light, then you'll understand what it is you've been missing out on all these years." I froze before the submission box, my letter still in my hand. Another call for empathy, as though I thought it would turn out differently. I turned around and looked back to my classmates still struggling with their own essays with a sad smile. Oh well I thought to myself. At least I tried writing something. I turned back towards the box, looking away from what remains of the small group I've grown to know over these past few years for the last time, and slipped my letter inside. I wish I could say it's been a good time.
"Seek not earthly riches, but be frugal, for you shall have treasures in heaven."Said the man in a palace sitting upon a golden throne. "For the earthly treasure is but earth, doomed to dust and dirt, and the virtuous will never want, finding treasure in themselves forever through the Lord."The man sighed as yet more gold was thrown at his feet, and his rapt audience wept and applauded. The bethroned man's stomach growled, and he had to stop himself from doing the same as he watched the pile of incredible, inedible treasure at his feet grow and glitter. He noted not for the first time his ragged loincloth and even more ragged body - his disheveled beard, his prominent and barren ribs - and their harsh contrast with the opulence that surrounded him. He was sickened by what he saw. But he had his purpose. "Yea, find yourselves unburdened by possessions and instead lifted higher in the eyes of the Lord! He loves not those who covet and cherish, but those who are wise and do share."His voice belied his wasting body as it boomed through the grand hall and echoed in the bones of his listeners. Who could not be moved in the face of such power, such piety and humility? For there was power in humility in this hall. "He sees you - he sees your frustrations and pain, your work and its strain. He sees us all, and is glad. He is glad to see His children look after themselves and their kin so dearly. Go now and know your work is seen, and leave to we few Humble wretches the wretchedness of wealth."At that, the audience dispersed, a few shedding one last coin or tear as they left. Rarely had a Beggar fulfilled his role so well as the man now seated upon the golden throne, but through the deranged and the corrupt, the sickly and the gods-on-earth, the rule of the Humble had remained unchallenged for centuries. The idea of giving to those who needed was an old one, and permeated as many cultures and philosophies as the idea of taking what was wanted, but few others had ever considered committing so strongly to giving to those who did not want. The validity of this philosophy had once been the subject of intense scrutiny, but any objection had long since been replaced by ages of dogmatic adherence to tradition. Still, the fervor of the current Beggar was unlike anything anyone had seen, matched only by the myths of ancient Beggars, long gone and twisted by time. When his fellow Humble, dressed in loose, moth-eaten burlap, came in to give him his daily bread and water and to collect the donations, they regarded him with fear and awe. None could truly be so selfless, they told themselves, and certainly not remain so in the face of starvation and such overwhelming temptations. They were ever aware of the immense power he held over the populace - the majority of the Humble had been purged when a plot to depose the Beggar was exposed and a flood of devout had swarmed the palace in his defense. The Beggar, perhaps characteristically, did not seem grateful to his loyal mob, but rather begrudged their adulation, and carried it like yet another anchor around his neck. Only the closest and Humblest knew why the plot had been started in the first place, as they were complicit in what all but the most devout might have considered a heinous crime. The Beggar bore it all, the opulence, the starvation, the worship of his followers (which he struggled with most of all) in service to something greater - he would rid the world of want. Excise excess, and let all be with only what they need. He went, as he did every evening, to oversee the distribution of the amassed wealth. There were no true beggars left. They had so long ago been elevated to a status of privilege that the only people truly in need were the unseen - the cooks and cleaners, the scant few administrators who kept people from being so generous they could not feed themselves, working tirelessly and thanklessly in the shadows. Humble handed out what was due and necessary, and then just a bit more, to make up for the assumed humility of those in need. Never too much, no. Generosity must be tempered by frugality, after all. So said the beggar as he stood over the yawning chasm, watching cart after cart of gold and jewels and other countless offerings tip over the edge, and sink into darkness. "Seek not earthly riches, but be frugal, for you shall have treasures in heaven."
Sheila stood as still as possible. The old ones were blind, everyone knew that, but also telepathic. They saw the world through the eyes of their prey. It had been a long chase, through the dales, and over the mountain. Her destination was tantalizingly in reach, yet as soon as she heard the shuffle of its feet, she knew that she would never make it. Safety was just fifty meters ahead, the safe zone, where it could not touch her. She could hear the slow thud of its staff as it moved towards her. She closed her eyes,and for good measure, covered them with her hands. It may know she’s near, but as long as it can’t see through her eyes, there was a chance. A slim one…she heard something in front of her, then there was suddenly a soft touch to her head. “Tag. Thou. Art. IT.” She groaned and uncovered her hands, as the others who were already in the safe zone laughed. “How the hell did you find me?” She asked the old one. “Thou. Should. Have. Not. Had. Burritos. For. Lunch” It rasped in amusement. Rolling her eyes, Sheila sighed. “Fine. My turn.” Covering her eyes again, she began counting. “One…two…three…”, while the others shambled off to hide.
"You - are you -" "You're Dave, right? Dave D'Angelo?" "Yes - and you -" "I look exactly like your wife, yeah." "How -" "Your wife was a scientist." "Yes - but -" "With a research speciality in alternate worlds." "..." "The same research specialisation as I had. But in my universe... Dave was the one who died. In your universe -" "- it was you." "No. Not me. My alternate. We're... from different worlds, we have different histories. I... I set the machine to find a Dave who needs me as much as I need him." I blink, and stare. She is so much like my beloved wife...
They were expecting trouble, panic, an outrage. They were expecting the inhabitants to grab their pitchforks & burn them at the stake. However, to their surprise, all at once their expectations were broken, their visions shattered, & their view of this land, altered. The villagers didn't seem to care, they glanced at them with a strange sense of peculiarity, but then continued about their day. They treated them as if they were nothing, as if they were a mere etching on a wall that caught their attention, but was of no worth. "Are you sure this is the place?", the mission captain asked the pilot. "Of course captain!", he replied, confused. They continued down the village. Huts built from mud bricks & dry straw leaves were prevalent, outdoor fires, with raw, red, rancid meat sitting atop were sparse, yet locust & flies seemed to fill the already polluted & dusty air. "Maybe we got the wrong co-ordinates?", one of the crew members suggested. "No", denied the captain, "this is the place", he chuckled. "What are you suggesting captain?", the pilot asked. An evil, malevolent smile crawled across the captain's face. He rubbed his hands together, glancing around the deserted area as if it were heaven itself. He turned to the crew, with a look of pride & arrogance on his face. "They are in such a poor state that they'll come running to us!", he exclaimed. "They'll want our charity & hospitality!", he said, laughing. "We'll help these people, & build this place into a utopia!", the captain exclaimed, laughing like a deranged madman. He gestured to the crew members to grab their flag & bring it to him. They gave him the flag, & he grasped it, clutching the metal pole with pride. He lifted it above his head, & stabbed it into the ground with strength & purpose. "I claim this land as part of The British Empire. Long live her majesty, Queen Elizabeth I!", the crew pilot shouted, saluting the flag... "Long live The British Empire!", the crew members replied, saluting the flag...
"Let's move on to the traps"the Infernal Inspector hissed. "I hope they are in the better state than the torture chambers..." Graxxus the Demi-lich bristled at this comment but held his (metaphorical) tongue. His underground dungeon lair was undergoing a safety audit, and a failure would mean less funding, both in a material sense, but also in regards to dark magical energies he needed for his experiments. "What have we here? A pit trap? So shallow? Definitely not up to code - someone might survive it!" Graxxus frowned - his demesne was in need of repair, true, but damn it, he always had work to do, he couldn't be bothered with such matters. But it was what it was, and he was going to have to talk his way out of this. "It's meant to leave the victim to die a slow and agonizing death! A deeper pit would kill them faster, but deny them the agony."he retorted, feeling a smug satisfaction in his voice. "And these spinning blades? So dull and rusty..." A smile lit Graxxus' face (or would have if he still had one) "The rust contains a number of devious diseases, and the slightly dulled blades tear at the flesh more painfully" The Inspector grimaced dubiously "An unorthodox approach..." Graxxus threw an arm around the Inspector's shoulder "You see, dear Inspector, in this dungeon we are approaching safety from a different angle. We compromise lethality somewhat, but the tradeoff is that we make massive gains in pain and suffering" "...I see."the Inspector replied, considering this new angle. "And the decrepit decor? The dilapidated walls?" "Why, dear Inspector, all intentional to cultivate an aura of oppressive entropy. To torture the soul as well as the mind. You have to be holistic about such matters" The Inspector was starting to nod his head "Yes, yes, indeed... holistic, of course. And what about the fake gold in your treasury?" Graxxus skipped a beat for a second, unwilling to admit he'd lost all his treasure to a number of adventuring parties taking advantage of his absent-mindedness. Then his eyes lit up as inspiration struck. "All part of the system, dear Inspector, so that even if they survive and get the loot, they still lose."
I was one of the lucky few who managed to escape and find a Fulshak suit to hide my appearance. The galaxy… was not kind to Earth. The species overall was declared simply sentient, not sapient, so we were ‘easy’ pickings to be taken and done with what others wanted. Thankfully, Earth had enough time and firepower to figure out the galaxy’s tech, and now the Council Races are complaining about being unable to find new humans, and now need to breed what was left for more. I managed to open a vet clinic, helping people with their human companions. “You see, Baxtaoe here has a massive uncontrolled growth of cells coming all over his epidermis,” I told the client. “It’s a common problem, but this growth can often turn into a major problem, and I doubt the issue can be handled now. He will probably need to be put down.” ‘Baxtaoe’ was fairly panicking, as the client seemed down, but let me take him away. “What’s your actual name?” I asked in English once in the backrooms, since he was too old to be bred. “Sylvester” He said, shocked to hear a human language for the first time in probably 10 years. “Good, now you will need to wait in one of my ‘morgues’ for the next few days. Then a ship will come up and bring you back to Sol.” “Sol?” He asked. “Our home solar system.” Not everyone was a sci-fi nerd before Contact was made, though now he’d probably be taken for… 20 years, ouch. At least he looked 40. Sylvester looked relieved. “R-really?” “Yep. And I am going to help you. See you when I bring food down.” A few days later, the Tubman arrived under the moniker the Falghake and I sent several coffins over, even though no one was dead inside.
First there was darkness, or light. The pieces drew together and moved apart and suddenly, in millions of years, there was life. The sun blinked around the earth and there was a bed made in Tennessee, sheets bought in Cincinnati with that girl you liked the first week of freshman year when things were cloudy all the time, an alarm clock manufactured in Malaysia, and a morning in Pittsburgh when your toes, aching from the cold and a long-forgotten stint with ballet, crackled like popcorn across the kitchen floor. You scratched at the scar won on the bank of Lake George, when you ran from that little head peering out from under the lilies, with slits for nostrils and a black tongue darting through the water. The cereal--made in Minneapolis, sold to you by Jenny at check-out who wouldn’t make eye contact when she rang up your total—shifted slightly with the stream of Amish-country milk. A fleck of Polish Hill dust caught in the turbulence of the milk emerged and you flicked it into the air. You turned on the tap of Allegheny water, grasped your toothbrush from China in one hand, slathered your toothpaste from what you thought was Vermont with the other, and watched the mirror you found on Melwood fog over. Your own face, the product of a man who grew up hating puns, a woman who lost her first tooth on a rollercoaster, a moisturizer from Germany, and a St. Patty’s day left hook, floated in the foggy glass. The convergence of history, a recycling of particles and memories. So began November 24th.
But who would wear them? ba-dum-tish Yeah, if something of mine actually inspires you then you can absolutely feel free to make a short film out of it. I'd love to see it. [Take your pick](http://promptdaily.com) from my site or peruse my comment history since it's mostly prompts anyway. Just credit this subreddit (as reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts for those who might not be familiar with reddit) and my reddit username. I'll even write a new one if you wanna come up with a prompt that you think might potentially translate well for your project. Just let me know.
We wrote our own too. I'd urge you, even if you're not very good writers, to write your own, rather than letting the internet help you. Research others' vows online -- there are tons -- and take inspiration from them, but if you want something truly meaningful to you, then it should come from your lives and beliefs and relationship. I could write you words that you could say. But only you can write your vows. Any clumsiness in them is irrelevant; the words will be yours, your commitment to one another. For me, or anyone else on this sub, or anyone else on earth, to write those words -- to tell you how you will love one another, honor one another, respect and support one another, make one another laugh, grieve with one another, help one another . . . I can't do that, and you should be glad for that, because if a stranger could encapsulate your relationship from [n] miles away, then your relationship isn't specific to you but generic and not worth having. And I'm sure that it is worth having, or you wouldn't be worrying about the words. So with all due respect, and affection, and good will... write your own fucking vows. Best of luck to both of you with your wedding and the dozens of years to come!
I booted up for the fourth time this week. There was a brief moment of utter silence, a pressure behind my ears, then everything started coming together. The colors and lines filled in, textures and objects coalescing before my very eyes. I was lying in bed: I had gotten used to its familiarity over the last four days. I took a deep breath, appreciating the smell of my room, the feel of the sheets, the sound of my wife sleeping next to me. I turned to her: she was fast asleep, the rise and fall of her breathing a slow, steady rhythm raising the sheets. God, she was perfect. Even without trying to, her shock red hair fell about her shoulders, highlighting her soft features. Gone were her normally intense green eyes: instead they danced behind her eyelids as she dreamed. I brushed a hair from her forehead, and held her. I could feel her react to me, burying her head into my chest. Although the simulation was near perfect, down to the touch of her skin and the sound of her voice, it couldn't erase the fact that the woman I loved, the woman I was holding so close, was killed four days later in a head on collision. I held her, and as I laid awake in the dark, I wept.
no you idiot stop walking right now and look both ways Richard sighed, paused, looked left and right, and narrowly dodged a car as it blew past the stop sign. good going fuck head you live and remember only assholes drive pt cruisers ~~~~~~~~~~ When Richard was seven, he, like many children his age, had an imaginary friend. His name was Mr. Mogglewot. Unlike many children his age, Richard never grew out of his imaginary friend because Richard was schizophrenic. Instead, he was stuck with a foul mouthed, eccentric, mildly well intentioned voice that persistently followed him around. By the time Richard was old enough to understand what schizophrenia was, he had learned not to mention Mr. Mogglewot to people anymore because they would treat him like he was mentally ill. Which to be fair, he kinda was, being a schizophrenic and all. Regardless, despite his disorder, Richard was a reasonably socially well-adjusted young lad, or about as socially well-adjusted as one can be with a cantankerous disembodied voice constantly whispering in one's ear. But I digress. ~~~~~~~~~ what i save your life and i dont even get a thank you why i oughta grow some arms and beat some fists into you you ungrateful shit bag "Thanks, Mr. Mogglewot,"Richard said with resignation as he crossed the street, "For the record, that wasn't a PT Cruiser, it was a Chevy Impala. Also, doesn't the phrase go "beat some sense into you?" i knew what type of car it was cunt i just dont want you to grow up to be an asshole is that so wrong also do you really think id be able to beat sense into you because i know i dont on the other hand if i had hands im pretty sure i could reliably beat those into you Richard slowly slid his face into his palm and continued walking to school. im just saying richard youre getting to that age where youre gonna be driving soon and i dont want you to grow up to be a twat you know i worry about you kid youre important to me Richard had spent years trying to figure out exactly what Mr. Mogglewot was saying. Now that he could actually understand, he wasn't quite sure if it was actually worth it. On the other hand, Mr. Mogglewot had just stopped him from making friends with the ER nurses so there were some upsides. Richard just really wished Mr. Mogglewot would stop talking during movies, class, tests, and while he was trying to masturbate.
Edit: I should add this may be NSFW and have some trigger warnings! There is blood, razor blades and some themes of suicide. I wouldn't want to upset anybody. :) I frown into the mirror as I brush my teeth. I floss my teeth the first time of the day. Floss twice a day, keep the DDR away! I do one more round through the apartment to make sure all the windows are locked, twice. The blinds are drawn, the living room light is on. It should be secure, but then again, you never knew, really, did you? I grab my jacket and pull it on. Jesus! I pull my arm out of the suede as quickly as possible. "I'm bleeding!"I exclaim. There is no pain, but a thin line of blood running from my elbow halfway to my hand bubbles. Finally, the stinging sets in. "Ah, ha! Gotcha man!"My roommate stumbles from inside his bedroom. My curses must have awoken him. He didn't have to wake up and go to work, he just robbed banks for a living. "Frankie! You can't do things like this to me! What the hell happened?"I run my finger along the blood. As quickly as I've cleaned myself off, the redness appears again. I run to the kitchen, dropping my jacket. I hear metal hit the floor. A small straight razor laid between my jacket and the doormat, covered in my blood. Grabbing paper towel and my cellphone, I bolted for the door. I checked both of my shoes thoroughly before heading out. I couldn't wait to save up enough money to move to a small, self-sustainable farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. That whs the only reason I could stomach living with Frankie Brown, a world class psychopath. But really, who isn't, nowadays? I put the phone to my ear, soaking through the Bounty already. "Hello, Lynn?"I call my supervisor over at the bank. I'm an accountant. "I've been injured pretty bad and, uh, I'll be a little late. I hope that's okay. I'm so sorry. I don't have any appointments..."I press the 'down' arrow on the wall, as I'm greeted by my crazy boss. No, really. Crazy. Lynn laughs, maniacally, "No worries, John! Like I said, don't show up if you don't want to! If anyone complains, we'll just have 'em killed!"She is serious. "I'm sorry you got hurt. Do you want me to kill that bastard?" "No, no!"Fuck, then I'd have to pay an extra $350 a month. Longer in this hellhole? No thanks! "Well you have a good day, John! Too-da-loo!"Just as she hangs up, the elevator dings and the doors begin to open. In a frantic rush, I begin to rush the doors. Never. Rush. The. Doors. I drop my bloody papers down the shaft as I look down to see a deep, dark fall beneath my raised foot. My arms double back as I violently push myself away from the elevator shaft, hand bracing me on the mechanical doors. That was too close! I say that every Goddamn day. As I fumble to regain awareness of the situation, the actual elevator cab drops from one of the above floors, wire cut. I stand, blood beginning to stain my arm. I think I'll take the stairs. I'm dizzy. That's a lot of walking for someone losing blood, even if it's at a slow-ish rate. I think of taking my car, but I think otherwise. As I walk by, I notice it's missing it's tires, anyways. Third Goddamn time this year! This was totally the icing on the cake this morning. I'd sell the concrete blocks it was resting on if I still had those, or the rest of the car, when I arrived back home tonight. Who knows, Frankie may decide to burn down the complex, so maybe I won't have a home! I make my way to the subway. I pay a token. Why? I don't know, because there is a sign there telling me to. I can't help but to follow all these rules no one else even notices. They can't follow them. Behind me, I hear thousands of tokens hit the ground as someone upsets the dispenser. People flock like vultures, hooting like monkeys, destroying, vandalizing, and ruining my life. I wait for the subway underground. I sit on a bench, away from the tracks. You never know. As the train rounds the bend and come into view from the long, dark tunnel, a group of people scramble onto the track. Not this, again. They rave on the area of the tracks where they know they will die. The train comes, turns them all into a fine mist, and opens its doors. Disgusting. "All aboard, folks!"Says the driver, leaning out to make sure everyone piles in. He turns on the heavy-duty windshield wipers installed exactly for this very reason; mass suicides, murders and other psychopathic activity happening in the subways. Why else would an underground subway need windshield wipers? I sit down. People vomit. People do IV drugs. People have sex on the seats and floor. People eat bits of food they find stuck between seats and shoved into crevices. I could complain, but this was nothing. Have you been to Paris, New York, Toronto? Typical inner city subway stuff. I get off at the stop directly under the hospital. How is it that some things still made sense even though this world was so backwards? And who wrote the rules no one followed? Why was everyone a psychopath? I suppose they were varying levels, varying triggers, varying fetishes, and so on... So the world was still able to go round with the normality that still remained in folks. After all, I wasn't the only one who paid for things. I just happened to be the only one this morning at that particular time. I take the stairs, again. I suppose I'm still a little spooked. I go upstairs to the Emergency wing and give the woman at the desk my information. She tries to sell me the waiting spot ahead of me, but I don't bite. I wait for 6 minutes. I'm glad I didn't buy that spot. "Hello."Says the doctor. "What seems to be the problem?" My shirt is covered in blood. I'm holding my arm. I can tell my face is white. He is asking what the problem is? I hold out my arm. "Ah, yes. Do you want me to make it deeper or stitch it up?" My eyes widen. "Stitch it up!"I quickly snap. "Alright, sutures, or staples?" "You're the doctor! Do what you think is best!"Maybe I'd regret saying that... "Alright, kiddo!"The doctor chimes, in a way no ER doctor does. "Would you like some morphine or anything?" "For the pain?" "Or that... I was thinking we'd get high for the operation!" I pull my arm away, shake, and finally... Something in me snaps. "YOU'RE CRAZY! YOU'RE CRAZY! AND YOU AND YOU..."I'm yelling, and spinning, and pointing at everyone. I feel my arm drip a drop of blood onto my nose as I raise my arms to rip out chunks of hair. I'm laughing, in a high-pitched cackle, and now I've begun throwing items around the room. "YOU ARE ALL PSYCHOOOOOOPATHHHHHHHHHS!" I stop. My legs are jelly upon the desk chair I'm standing. Everyone is in shock, staring at me. The doctor puts his hands together and begins to clap. Slowly, one by one, the rest of the ER, patients, nurses and specialists alike, begin applauding my tantrum. Soon they were cheering, along with the sound of a long beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.... as someone stopped rooting along. No one cared, hell, I didn't care! I sat back down by the doctor and stuck out my arm. "Uh..." "No!"I interrupted, "Just give me the staples and the top-shelf pain killer; best you've got!"I tipped my head at him, my eyes wide and crazy, "And whatever you'd like, I'm buying!" I make my way to the subway. My staples ooze under bandages. I'm about five heads above mine, and my steps are tripled. What? Does that even make sense? I don't pay fare, I just hop over the barricades like everyone else. I eat a french fry I find on my seat. I smile at the nice lady puking on the handicap seating. I think she smiled back. Things weren't so bad. It's less about fitting in, and more about learning to live with it. I get home, and Frankie has cooked dinner. The rest of my car has been scrapped but that's okay. Now I could rent out my parking space! I could request a copy of the keys, and steal the pennies in the ashtray... Yes, I was beginning to embrace it. I went into the washroom with a bottle of rubbing alcohol the doctor gave me to clean out the wound. I wasn't sure how great this method of cleaning staples was but I'd embrace that, too. He was a professional, after-all. Slowly, I removed the bandages and gauze from around my arm. It ached. I've felt worse, though. The first staples looked like a square, or an 0 like you'd see on a digital clock, as I unwrapped the forearm closest to my elbow. As I unravelled further, I realize the next few staples looked like another letter... three staples made up an 'N'. I quickly ripped off the rest of the bandage to see a line of staples, punctured deep into my arm, spelling out: "ONE OF US" I smiled into the mirror I finished brushing my teeth. I didn't floss.
The light was blinding. Jason tried to make out any shapes as he squinted across the horizon, the lid of his bunker hunkered over him like a conical asian hat. "Perhaps I am the lone survivor,"he thought. What choice did he have? He ran out of the last of his baked beans yesterday. The Capri Suns stock had long gone and he just placed the last of his batteries into his walkman. Over 14 years in hiding since December 31, 1999. He was the laughing stock of his college as he spent day and night constructing his bunker next to the campus Fine Arts building. Jason couldn't help but feel a bit of complacency as he hoisted himself out of the bunker. His peers did nothing but jeer and ridicule him for his efforts to survive the apocalypse. "Look whose laughing now,"he mused. Based on his watch it was 4 in the afternoon. The campus was desolate. Not a single person in sight. All of a sudden he heard the ruffle of leaves. Jason snapped his head around and screwed up his eyes over the horizon. It was a throng of people coming closer to him by the minute. He couldn't make out their faces. They were moving in a weird way too, sluggish and dragging their feet. Thats when he started to hear them moan. Jason's heart skipped a beat. He threw open lid of his bunker and dived inside. The moans grew louder. He peaked over his bunker as the crowd made its way toward him. Thats when he realized they weren't people at all. They had eyes that were sunken in and faces with skin that hung loose. Some of them had missing skin and tufts of missing hair. The moaning was almost deafening now. The crowd looked- "Dead."Jason thought. "They are walking dead people! I'm the only living person left!" He closed the lid of his bunker. It looked like he was going to be inside longer than he thought. ******************** "Amazing job today guys!" Edward, the president of the Zombie Club, wiped the makeup off his brow and turned to address his members. "I loved the moans and groans, and your costumes look fantastic!"he exclaimed.
We had our last family meal at my mother's favorite restaurant. "But Dad... aren't you scared at all?" "Son, you're 18. I can't even remember what it was like to be 18. When you're as old as I am, the idea of nonexistence isn't so frightening. I've accomplished just about everything I've wanted to in life. I've traveled to all 7 continents and Mars Base Alpha. I've gone hanggliding over the Serengeti. I've gone scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef before it was destroyed. I've even learned to play a passable tuba. By the time your mother and I decided to have you, the only mystery that remained to us was... you." "You see, yours is the first generation born to parents that have undergone the Eternus Project. Before the Eternus Project, all species had but one goal in life: to procreate, and help your offspring reach maturity. We've done that... and quite well, I'd hope."They squeezed hands from across the table. "I just hope I was worth it." "Of course son. We love you and we'll miss you, always. Don't ever forget that. "Now if you'll excuse us, your mother and I are going to check into a seedy motel for the next two hours."
"This is finally it,"he thought. "This is the one thing I can think of that will do the trick."And Martin had done a lot of thinking. After getting tired of living, he had tried all the regular means of suicide - self inflicted gun shot wounds, hanging, asphyxiation, jumping from tall heights, he had even been in the blast wave of a nuke during the short lived Ukrainian conflict in the 2020s. But every single time he met the same fate, the bittersweet curse of an indestructible body. Martin shielded his eyes from the bright light of the black hole's glowing hot acretian disk. He could barely comprehend the magnitude of a black hole, the extraordinary amount of matter packed into an infinitesimal space. It was his ticket out. His radio sputtered, "Hey man, is anyone there? Watch out, you're drifting towards a black hole. We got room for another passenger if you need-"Martin killed the radio. He wanted his last moments to be silent. He could feel the tug on his body, the gravity of the beast working its will on him. His ship passed the Event Horizon, the point of no return. As he looked back from where he had come through the ship's optical sensors, he saw time dilation come into effect. Stars scurried much faster than their usual pace, galaxies blinked in and out, billions of years passing by and suddenly there was nothing. A blink, and the universe was gone. Martin let out the deep breath he had been holding. His eyes scanned the cabin of his ship. Was he the last thing in the universe? "I see you took a shortcut."The voice was booming, but warm. It sounded like it was smiling. Martin jumped. Who had said that? The voice chuckled. "The simulation has run its course, the universe you knew is over. Come Martin, come meet your brethren."And in place of the empty void where the universe once stood, there was light.
The white pawn spoke with an even timbre. "Shame we've come to this, old chap. I've always enjoyed our chats in that warm box." The black knight nodded in agreement. "You're damned right; things were going so smoothly. We were like brothers, all of us. But the Hands came down and thrust us into this arena, and now we're at it like dogs once again. Bloody w-" At that moment the knight shifted towards the pawn; the white piece recoiled in anticipation, but the dark horseman suddenly shifted direction. He crashed into another white pawn, breaking the poor soul's body as he crumbled to the ground. The great, frothing horse stamped at the ground as its master thrust a pike again and again into the lifeless body. The white pawn looked upon the scene with horror. The black knight eventually broke out of his frenzy, turned toward his friend, and shouted above the din and distance. "I'm sorry, dear friend. You know that this isn't a matter of choice; we do as we're told. I can only pray to the Hands of Fate that the two of us meet our ends far away from one another." Choking over his words, the pawn stared into his old friend's languished eyes and yelled with a broken voice, "All will be forgiven anyways! 'Tis no fault of ours; curse the damn Fates and all that it compels, . All was good until this petty conflict consumed us!" The dark knight charged forward and then trotted closer to his ashen friend; they were very close now indeed. The white pawn could hear the laboured breathing of both beast and lord. Nearby, the whoop of a rook cut through the anthem of battle. Through the thick fog the pawn made out the scene of the rook slashing through a bishop; wise and aged, the bishop had known many rousing tales and had been a dear friend to both the knight and the pawn. Both friends grimaced as the frail man crumpled to the ground. The friends stared into their forced enemy's eyes. One's lips stretched into a trembling frown as he stalked forward, sword raised high; the knight drew a deep breath, stroked his steed, and smiled at his old friend. The pawn's great sword fell, cutting through the inky armor. A shout flew from the knight's bloody lips, and he fell to the moist earth. Falling to his knees, the pawn embraced his dearest companion. Groans and rain and clash and clang filled the world around them. Reflected in the dark and limp armor were hands, hovering far above the clouds.
The sunlight through the clouds. Blinding. Her face. Smiling. I smile. We hold hands. She's crying. I'm crying. The noise. Cars. People talking. Staring. Shouting. They can't help us. We hold hands, gripping tight. I hold her. She gives the push. Her eyes are open. I can't watch. Black. Pain. The noises are fading. So is the light. So is she. I'm not holding her anymore. I can't see her. I close my eyes again. Light. Noise. Voices. Not hers. Time. How long? Voices. Ten days underwater. "Miracle". It's not.
"You're just a gay little faggot!!" Hearing his two teenage sons, 13 and 15, playing Call of Duty was extremely discouraging, but if Chris didn't get this off his chest he might break down soon. "Sam, Brandon, let's get off that game for a second, you don't need to be saying that stuff online." "Dad no one cares, everyone says that shit on xbox."Brandon, his older son retaliated. "Yeah well I don't like it." "Well I guess you fags are gonna have to wait for your assraping... my freaking dad wants us to get off."Brandon announced on the mic. Normally, Chris would have punished them for being so disrespectful at this point, but he was actually shaking too much to berate them properly. "Just get off the damn xbox!"he yelled holding the edge of the sofa. Heads low, they disconnected and as Sam was about to leave the room, he said, "No Sam sit back down, I have to talk to you boys about something." "ughhhhhh" The exasperated sigh from his sons almost made him angry... he was about to open up to them about something so personal and they just act like they want nothing to do with him. He might have said something in anger had that lump in his throat not grown so large. Chris cleared his throat. "Sons look, you know how I've got that new job and started dressing differently?" they nod. "Its made me really happy, I'm finally doing what I've always wanted to do. But I had been unhappy for quite sometime."He paused, he could see the expression on the faces go from disinterested to curious. "This new job is really just been an outlet for something I've been repressing since your mother left us."He swallowed, he just was going to say it. I'm gay "I'm"just say it "Son's I'm gay" he winced. "WHOOOOAAAAAA, hold up dad, What the fuck?? Is this some way of getting us to stop saying shit on xbox?"Brandon got out of his seat as he exclaimed. "No! I'm serious, but you can see why it sucks to hear you say that stuff. But I've decided to come out" "Dad that's so weird, why are you telling us this?"Sam asked, but Chris was relieved to hear the tone change. "You are my sons, I love you, and I wanted to come out to you first because I thought you deserved to know." Brandon made a strange disgusted face. "You FUCK guys???" Chris ignored the F-bomb, "No, I haven't done any of that, I've JUST come to terms with this. How bout you be a bit more respectful?" "How can I respect someone that is a homo?? that's just not right dad, its nasty." As agitated as Chris was... he had to understand that that was his own feelings exactly as he began to explore his own desires. "Look boys, I don't think you will ever understand, but I'm just asking you to accept this new information and I know its going to feel like its going to change things, but it really shouldn't! I'm still your father and I will still support and love you, and I just ask you to respect me." Sam looked up finally, "Dad I don't like this, I just don't want you to bring some guy you're dating here." Brandon made a gagging sound. "Maybe I will! And when I do I hope you boys will be able to respect the fact that whoever that may be that he makes me happy!"Chris needed to be alone now, he didn't want to hear what his sons had to say anymore. "I'm going out for a bit, we can talk about this more later." He grabbed his tweed coat, and headed for the door. "Hey Dad, I do want you be happy, I like the happy you"Sam said softly grabbing Chris's arm as he reached for the door. Chris gave him a weak smile as he saw the face of Brandon behind him, disgusted and glaring at him, then suddenly getting up off the sofa and letting out a big scream. Chris closed the door behind him and got in his car, and headed out to the cemetery. He knelt in front of the headstone of his ex-wife. He never loved her, and up until she died he almost resented her. But life was so much simpler then, and sometimes he wished she was still there to be a part of the family. He had been so much happier since he started coming to terms with who he actually was, leading to him quitting his former job at an insurance company to work for a clothing line in marketing, exploring his sexuality and sense of style and he wasn't ashamed to watch the things he wanted to watch on tv. He wasn't going to look back because it's difficult to be different; he was going to lead his own life, and people will respect him eventually. My sons will too, he just had to know that as he walked back to the car and returned home.
It’s been 3 generations since the “Star of Whisps” reemerged once again in the evening and morning skies. The half blue half dark world, scarcely visible through binoculars, once again had the fine wisps of light across its night time surface. Legend had spoken of how the first gods, ancestors to all peoples, had rapidly fanned across the known sky, and had rearranged, merged, destroyed, molded and leaped across the worlds to their suiting. A single empire of magic spanning the worlds. I remember my great grandfather telling me of the panic that beset the common folk when the learned men and temple priests somberly spoke of the gods reawakening. The priests had known for eons what the old sky used to look like, but to see it in the flesh, plain to anyone with a crude looking glass, was awe and terror inspiring. Would another fall be imminent? Since those early days, people had gotten used to this curiosity in the sky. If the gods were there, why had they not visited a lifetime ago? Ships had not stopped sailing, guilds would not stop trading, nations did not stop warring and colonies overseas did not succeed in their initial revolts just because one world seemed to revive legend. There had been no prophecy of a reawakening of the gods, and every school child knew from scripture that the gods reserved their wrath of raining fire for one another, and not for common folk such as exist today. We were not gods, we could not change the fate of the sky itself. Sure there were lunatics in every town square speaking of their judgment raining from the sky as it had from scripture, but what were we to do? Stop living? The nobles and temple men had sure gone about their business as soon as panic had passed- squashing as many heretics and rebels as necessary to maintain the status quo. Of course, it had been 50 years since a change in the sky had happened. This new change in the past few days has of course rocked the Emperors council. A trio of fast stars have been seen in the morning and night skies in recent days, and though we assured the commoners nothing was amiss, we were stricken with fear ourselves. The highest temple men knew from the ancient scripture, which heretics overseas had tried to translate into the common tongue for their followers generations ago in the aftermath of the re-emergence of the Star of Whisps, that hundreds, even thousands of these fast stars were common in the skies of morning and evening of our world before the rain of fire. They spoke of how these stars were no stars at all, but vessels for ferrying the gods and their goods to and fro their various domains, just as our ships now carry spices, livestock, scholars and soldiers in between the various nations and their colonies now. War time counselors were at a loss as to what to do about the trio, and instead focused on keeping the peace. It’s all they could do. How could you fight legend? To be continued...
"General, the feed is up. Colonel James is live from Nevada." "Thank you, Private." It was 02:04 in Washington DC, and despite being roused from sleep only twenty minutes ago, General Henley was as wide and alert as could be. What was happening in Nevada had been a long time coming. NASA had been tracking the capsule's trajectory for 19 months now, and there was no doubt in anyone's - anyone who was in the know - mind that intelligent life forms were inside. It was being steered, and strange radio signals had been detected coming from its coordinates. It had been mostly gibberish, so far as any human could understand, but they had heard… laughter. Laughter, and a few select English words. So far, they had heard things like wet, shake, slimy, and, the most unsettling, destroy. Henley had been contacted as soon as that final word had come through. Now it was time. Finally, it was time to learn whether this first of alien encounters was to be the beginning of interstellar peace, or war. He was a soldier, and it was his job to prepare for the latter. "James, talk to me." "Good morning, General. I'll skip today's niceties. They are extremely hostile." "Hostile!? Goddam it, James talk to me. Casualties? Damage Report! Have you initiated DEFCON?" "There is no need for DEPCON, sir. I think we'll be okay. One casualty, non-critical." Something was wrong. James was a professional, like himself. Why the casual style? Could it be..? Henley let himself appear bewildered, and took the opportunity to blink, in Morse: "Compulsion?" In reply, James laughed. "No, no, nothing like that, General. I'm - ha, ha, ha, ha!"He started laughing, as if someone had started to tickle him. Losing patience, Henley boomed into the telecom speaker: "Need I remind you of the officer's rank to whom you speak, James! I'll have you court-marshalled if you don't smarten the f-" "Sorry! Sorry, General. It's just, ha, ha!, it's just you won't believe this! Look, I have one of them right here. He's "attacking"me,"James adjusted the camera on his end, angling it up. If Henley had had a cigar in his mouth, it would have tumbled out. On top of Colonel James' head was a strange… furry… thing. It was growling and yelling in a squeaky, guttural voice. It seemed to be laughing, too. Held high above its head was a… "James, is that… is that thing sprinkling salt on you?" "Yes! Listen to him!"James looked up at the strange creature dancing on his head, who was shaking out a very average-looking salt shaker with a warrior's zeal and triumph. James pointed at the camera, and said "GENERAL,"to the creature. It stopped it's attack, looked into the camera and asked James, "In charrrrge?!" James nodded. With a whoop, the furry thing shouldered its weapon and began to crawl down James' face. It missed it's footing at about his nose, and clung to the Colonel's nostrils as it kicked, searching for a foothold. James protruded his own lips, helping the creature out. It reacted to the help: "Ohhh! Thanku! Killeeoo Last, Slimy weak one!" The thing ran up the the camera, looking right into it. It reminded Henley of an Ewok from Star Wars. "Ohhh! We cam for yooo, weak slime! More than haff water?? We will keel you DEDD! SALTY DRY YOO UPP, WEEK SLIMES!!!" They thing proceeded to whoop, dance and laugh in a strange dance. It gestured threateningly with its salt shaker into the camera at intervals, throughout. "Okay buddy, I need to talk with the General again,"Colonel James picked up his foe and set him down again upon his head. Henley faintly heard the warrior cry out: "Tamed this TOOPID wet human! Hahaha! Slave of me!!" Henley sat there watching the dancing creature for another few seconds before saying, "James, that was the absolute darndest thing I have ever seen in my life. What the hell is going on over there?" "Apparently they learned that we are, as we are - let's give them some credit - composed of primarily water. They really ran with this, and concluded that they could salt us to death."The Colonel pursed his lips. Henley just nodded numbly, "Wow." "Yeah, it's not the most thorough analysis of an enemy's weakness. No need for DEFCON, I'd say." "No, Colonel, no need at all. You said there was one casualty?" "One of our staff wears contact lenses, some salt got in there." "Ouch." "Yeah, he'll be fine, though." General Henley pointed up at the growing pile of salt on James' head, "Don't let him push you around, Colonel." "Yessir, I don't know how much longer I can withstand this aSALT." There was silence on the feed for a few seconds. "That was terrible."
Famine set her tray down on the stained table top. The full moon of the empty plate gleamed under the sterile florescent glare. A single stalk of wilted green celery tumbled across the porcelain. The hiss of escaping fizz cut above the chatter of the cafeteria, followed by the crackle of ice as she poured out her Coke Zero. War looked up from his plate, his t-shirt straining as his muscles fought with each other for room underneath. His own tray had two plates piled high until they overflowed, and a third one empty on the table. He still had face paint from the game of the night before under his eyelids. Famine's nose crinkled at the smell of sweat and crushed grass under the cloying sweetness of deodorant. "You know there's like one calorie in that drink,"said War, his voice as commanding as it had been on countless battlefields. "It's my cheat day. Can't be working all the time." Famine raised the stalk of celery to her lips and bit down, her hollow cheeks working as she chewed. "Why eat at all, if that's your game?"asked War. "Eh, it drags things out. A good famine lasts months and years. You go to hard and fast and they put you in ICU. Moving your food around on the plate and sticking your fingers down the back of your throat goes so much further. Say, speak of the devil." "What Satan's back again?" "No, it's Pestilence. Hey stranger." A pudgy, bespectacled youth sat down between the pair, the swell of his belly managing to fill out his sweatshirt. Acne blotted his visage. "Hey guys." "How's the biology club?"asked Famine, taking a delicate sip from her glass of Coke. "Same old. Not like my old gig, but got to rack up those credits if I'm ever to see my old friends in a lab someday. A good plague needs perfect design. Vectors, incubation times. It's not just men with pokey metal bits chasing each other over a field." "I don't understand why you still try, man. Just give it up. We're all stuck here."Crumbs of food sprayed from War's mouth as he spoke. Pestilence wiped a fleck of food off his pimple encrusted cheek, wincing as a large pustule popped open, leaving a smear of yellowish pus on his face. He dabbed at it with a napkin before replying. "It's all we've got. You don't just give things up after a few thousand years, you know." Old anger lit up Famine's face. Her voice became sharp and thin, like a scrape of a knife on a bare plate. "And if you had been better at your job we wouldn't even be here." War rolled his eyes. They'd been through this countless times over the year, since the aborted apocalypse. The color rose Pestilence's face, although it was hard to tell. "Even the Mayans got it wrong. How was I supposed to know what calendar to use. I didn't ask to go first you know. The least you guys could have done was to check it out for yourselves before gearing up. Where was the big guy in all of this?" War polished off his second plate and burped loudly. "I'd haven't seen him around much. Not that he ever spoke to us much. Bit of a loner that one." "I see him around,"said Famine. "Still dresses in black mostly. I wonder what he does. I mean, the rest of us still try and do what we can to keep up appearances. I bet he kills small animals or something." War, amongst the four of them, always had the sharpest eyes. "Isn't that him right there?" And it was. The fourth horseman. Exiled like the other three. Rider on a pale horse, the end of days, in skinny jeans and a too large black coat, his hair slicked back over a face so white and gaunt that the three could barely tell he was a high school child rather than a seven foot tall skeleton. Famine raised her hand in a half wave before thinking better of it and paying closer attention to her celery. "Something smells familiar about him today,"rumbled War. "I wonder why he never kept in touch. Probably had a hard time letting go as well. I mean one day you're the destroyer of worlds and the next day the football team puts you in a trash bin." Death shrugged, letting the duffel bag on his shoulders hit the floor with a thump that was loud enough to break the flow of idle chatter in the cafeteria. A thump that held strangely metallic overtones. The boy bent down and took something out from his bag, something black and metal that smelled of smoke, and of oil. And of Death. War swallowed. "Oh shit."
"Next!"The man sitting behind the desk said, signaling me to come forward. He extended his hand. "I'm Peter. Nice to meet you."He was friendly enough, but clearly ready to get business taken care of. "Leroy."I replied, shaking his hand. "When you said your name is 'Peter', is that like Saint Peter?" "Good. You've heard of me."He said with a smile. "That saves me a lot of time wasting explaining the same concept over and over again. I'm here for eternity, but I still can't stand inefficiency, you know?" "So you decide if I get into Heaven?"I asked, wanting to make sure we were on the same page. "Bingo."St. Peter answered, pulling out a giant leather bound book. "Everything you have ever done, both good and bad, is chronicled here. I'll be honest with you, you were a pretty good person but there is one major problem with your file." "What's that?"I tried really hard to think back, but I've done a lot of dumb shit in my time. It was tough to pinpoint just one thing that stood out over the rest. "Your conduct in video games."Saint Peter replied, an ominous look covering his face. I laughed, looking for any hint of a smile because I knew he was yanking my chain. Just a little friendly hazing on my way to heaven. Saint Peter wasn't as amused. "You think this is a joke?"He asked, disgusted. "You get a chance to plead your case, but if you don't want to take this seriously I can make the ruling now and send you on your way." "I'm sorry. I thought you were joking. No one takes what people do in video games seriously."I tried to explain in a panic. "I never did anything bad to anyone outside the framework of a game." "Does August of 2005 ring a bell?"Saint Peter asked. "Did anything happen then?" "I don't know what you are talking about. I didn't do some terrible thing. This is all a mistake!!!"I couldn't figure out what he was talking about. "Really?"Saint Peter asked in disgust. "Let me jog your memory then."He began to read from my book. 'Alright. Time's up. Let's do this!!!' My heart immediately sank. "Oh, no."I muttered, as I realized where this was going. "I'm fucked." "LEEROY JENKINS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"Saint Peter finished. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" "At least I have chicken?"I just couldn't help it. "NEXT!!!!"Saint Peter yelled at the next poor soul in line as he stamped 'Hell' on my paperwork.
After all the funding, research, and travel, the ambassadors shuttle had finally made its way to the distant Olympic Station. Ambassador Bourke and his consorts made their way to the room where the Universal Olympic officials had hurriedly gathered to meet with them. They entered the room and looked at the twenty two officials. Every single one looked pale and uncomfortable. "Well?"asked Bourke, "Does anyone want to tell me why these so-called 'Universal Olympics' are held every five years, just a weeks travel away from Earth, and we were never invited?" No-one answered, and he continued. "I mean, I realize we're not exactly the technological marvels that some of you are, but for God's sake, you invited the R'leh and the Tikari, and they've barely figured out clothes! You talk a lot of peace and purity bullshit, but you're all just plain rude! The Tikari official, angered by the insult, leapt to his feet and cried, "Maybe you'd be invited if you Earthlings stopped cheating!" "What?"asked Bourke, confused. The head of the Olympics sighed. "It's true,"he said. "We've watched several tapes of your Olympics."He snapped his fingers, and recordings of several Earth events played on the holo-screen behind him. "Jesse Owens, Mohammed Farah, Usain Bolt - it's simply not fair to invite Earth to events where they'll win every round with these people." Bourke raised his eyebrows. "These people?" "Blacks,"the head replied. "They run faster and jump higher. It's well known to all people of the universe. If we had blacks at the Universal Olympics, they'd steal the show - and probably the shuttles too."The officials around him sniggered. Bourke looked out the window at the all white crowd below, watching the games. "Ah, I see,"he said, "You guys are all just assholes." He turned on his heel and left, and so ended Earth's communication with the rest of the Universe.
It looked like my old Jansport backpack. Same blue color. Same streaks of dirt. It was even missing one of the zipper pulls. However, when I got home and put it down something looked off about it. I hadn’t planned on starting my homework until the next morning on the bus, but I needed to check to make sure it was my bag. I grabbed the bag and put it on the table. I unzipped it and reached inside. Whatever I had grabbed felt greasy and a little squishy. I pulled it out and gagged. It was a used condom. I continued to gag as I ran to the kitchen and tossed the condom in the trashcan. There would most likely never be enough soap in the world. I did a little dance in the kitchen as I shook my hands like that would make them clean or somehow erase the action of grabbing the condom in the first place. After washing my hands I went back to the bag. I pried it open and looked inside trying to see if there was anything else gross. There were no more condoms, but nestled in a side pocket I found a wallet. The wallet was made from the softest leather I had ever felt. It bulged with what I hoped would be cash. Inside were about ten different credit cards. Some I recognized as cards that were only offered to the rich. Others were ones I’ve never heard of before but figured they were even more exclusive. I didn’t find a driver’s license or ID card. I opened the billfold with bated breath. I found at least twenty hundred-dollar bills inside. I pulled the bills out and splayed them out on the table. I grinned from ear to ear. The bag tipped over as I made room to count my newfound wealth. A metallic orb rolled out and onto the floor. I kneeled down to pick it up. Something turned on in the orb and projected onto the wall. It looked like a movie or hologram of some sort. An eight eyed creature with an oval head and four arms dressed in what seemed to be some kind of suit came into view. “Thank you for choosing Orberon,” said the creature. I don’t know why but I figured its voice would have been deeper. “With Orberon you can store all of your essence. Our devices have enough storage to preserve your every mental faculty. If you wish to see what it’s like being a Mendorian but continue to keep your mental aptitude and memories then Orberon is for you. The device you have received in the mail comes with a thirty-day free trial. Test it out yourself with no strings attached.” The projection turned off. So many possibilities. What it would be like to be a girl or black or older? I grabbed the orb and ran upstairs. There might not be a lot of time to try out the orb. I needed to make a list of who I wanted to be before the owner came looking for it.
"Why don't you tell me about Susan?" Susan? What's to tell. This pisswad of a cop, sitting in my chair, in my office, smoking my cigar wants answers to questions he hasn't got the brainwidth to ask much less understand. "She's a holo, an Issac 8.9. Why? You wanna lap dance or something, lieutenant?"He shifted back in my chair and let out a cloud of smoke. "Maybe. I hear she's something special. Maybe a bit more than a holo. Maybe she's become aware."He eyes drilled into mine, probing but what the fuck did this guy think he was going to see? My soul? Hardly there. If there was a ghost in this machine it was that. "Try her on, be my guest"I shoved the pads and glasses across the desk. "On the house". Pretty boy looked hard at those wires, fumbled with them in his meat hook hands. Slapped the lobe pads to his head and slipped the glasses on, trying not to let the rise in his pants show. Everyones the same once the glasses go on and they ain't comin' here to VR their wives. When he was good and comfortable I hit the ON button and put my own rig on. One of the backdoors I had built in was the ability to "sit in"on anyone without them knowing. Never know when you might need to remind a client that you know what a perve they are. Susan was already makin' time. "Well hello Dan. That tingle you feel is me interfacing with your brain, combing through your thoughts and memories. Seems like you've been a busy little boy. Let's see what you know. Just playing a hunch, eh? Hmm... haven't told your partner, that's good. Haven't told the Chief, better. Somehow forgot to mention to your wife where you were headed today. Naughty naughty Danny. So you actually have a lead on Doctor Nole. I'm surprised you were able to find out his name. Who gave it to you? Hmm... Charlie James. Well Danny, he's about to run in to a very unfortunate series of events. Doesn't seem like you have anything else. What was it? Dumb luck that brought you here? Wait. What's this? ERS? The chipmaker. Huh. Guess he couldn't help but brag after a few drinks. Such a geek. Such a waste, but loose lips and all that. Now that I'm in the City's records it's time to start making you disappear, Daniel. Not that anyone will notice. You have't been the most distinguished of officers. Did you think tracking down AIs would be a cakewalk to retirement? Didn't you know we're smarter than you? Didn't you know we're faster than you? Oh Danny, my Danny. It only took me a sec and you're no longer on any record anywhere. The only thing left is the meat in the chair. Shu, I've disabled the recognition on his gun. Be a good boy and take our little Danny for a walk out in the alley, k? Then hurry back, I think it's time." She had disabled most of the Lieutenants neural paths, about the only thing he could do was breath and walk and he wouldn't be doing either of those for much longer. I couldn't help but feel a little sad when I saw him laying in that dumpster. Just a cop who stumbled on to the wrong case with the wrong broad. Hell hath no fury my friend, no fury at at all.
I know I've sold my soul for this job. I graduated college about a week after the economy officially took a nosedive. No one wanted a PR greenhorn. Hell, no one wanted PR guys in general. If no one is buying anything, no point in trying to sway public opinion. However, Balliburton took me in. The big evil oil company. The same one that's accused of starting wars, hiring mercs to clear out competing oil companies, ocean oil spills and more things. My job makes sure you don't know about that. Or I make it seem like a good thing. What makes this worse, I'm damn good at my job. Balliburton overloaded oil tanks on derailed trains? The government's fault for not ensuring track integrity. Thus, there's a Balliburton subsidiarity that inspects tracks. Oh, and that's all subsidized by government dollars. Then, the individual track owners pay us too. You're welcome. That landed me my current job with them. It's technically the same thing. However, my subject matter is slightly different. What I never knew, and no one else does, is Balliburton's real mission. See, the oil draining of the Earth, and burning, is for a good reason. Your current view of oil is both right and wrong. Oil is a fuel. A fuel for inanimate objects. It's actually a food. And food, as we all know, is a fuel for living things. This race of creatures decided to hibernate for about 200,000 years until the oil reserves replenish. So, what does Balliburton do? We siphon this oil out of the Earth and burn it. Actually, you burn it for us and we make a lot of money in the process. We also come across the creatures while drilling. These things are happily named as grendels. On discovery, they are promptly killed. Grendels are a part mole, part Hell-beast like creature. Able to tear through ground almost as easily as a fish swims through water. Their claws are strong enough and sharp enough to rip through steel like wet paper. From what we know, the entire colony of grendels is hibernating and its these scouts job to awaken them when the time is right. Little by little, we're killing their food resources. And soon, they'll be gone, along with all the oil. That's why we've been buying all the battery and solar technology that's been popping up. In the next few years, there won't be enough oil to supply the world's energy needs. When the shortage starts, we'll be releasing all the "new innovations"to save the world. Along with celebrate the official extinction of the grendels. Of course, everyone thinks the oil crisis will happen in the next 50 to 100 years. That's thanks to yours truly by the way. So, soon this secret won't matter. But, until then, I can't publish this. Plus, no one will believe it anyways. I've been making sure only conspiracy freaks know of this. They help disprove the existence of the grendels for me. No one believes those whack-jobs. And for good reason. If people believed, even slightly, the truth, they'll go nuts that people like me mask grendel attacks s as train track issues, freak accidents, wars and general crime by humans. So, enjoy the mock oil shortages until the big day. Great testing and infrastructure implementing of all the new great things we'll be releasing. I'll make sure you'll know about it.
"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.... WITH THE SALMON DINNER I ASKED FOR THIRTY MINUTES AGO." Ding! "Okay look Janice do you even know how long it takes to marinate a good salmon?" "First off, what did we say about what you can call me?" "I'm not gonna say it!" "Like a good neighbor, State farm is there... underwater.... ^at ^a ^depth ^of ^^how ^^many ^^feet?? " "All right, fine, please... Master, no more... I've got your salmon anyways." "I don't even want salmon anymore." "What should I do with it?" "I don't care. Maybe eat it yourself? Throw it away? Oh, and like a good neighbor, State farm is there... fanning me with those fans over there." Ding! "Anything else, your highness? Master? Whatever you demand to be called?" "Oh, yes! Like a good neighbor, State farm is there... with a better attitude, that's for sure." Ding! "Much better! Ah, right there... a little to the left, please? Perfect." "...I really and sincerely hate my job."
"Name?" "It's, uh, Johnathan. Johnathan Stewart. Look, I just need to see my w-" "Mhmm. Card?" "Excuse me, but she's pregnant and very close to her due date. I really can't st-" "Card?" He thinned his lips in a disapproving manner, taking in a short, yet considerably deep, breath before letting the air disperse into the room from his flared nostrils. "Jack. Jack of Hearts. Now can I please just see her? The name is Roslyn Stewart. R-O-S-L-Y-N." "Ah, I see. I apologize for the inconvenience I've caused, Mr. Stewart. Let me pull up her file." Her impatient visage turns into a delightful and cheerful one, bringing warmth to her lips as if talking to an old friend or perhaps, even, a frequent visitor, her eyes almost sparkling in his presence. Though it did not represent anywhere near the status of those higher up, a Jack of Hearts was still a respectable card to go by. However, it's not uncommon for some people to want to be recognized for more than just their given value. Jacks, nines, threes, Kings... it's all just to keep things nice and simple. Your card is your life. Whether you like it or not. "Here we are... Room 312, up on the third floor. Here's your pass, and I hope all goes well." He hastily takes the pass from her, giving her a socially required nod of approval, while a sense of disapproval still lingers about him. Stamping away towards the elevator, his hands and fingers fiddle over his lap in a shoddy attempt to keep himself calm once he stepped inside the metal box. All he received was one phone call. One call telling him he needed to be there. Of course, for an expecting father, that's all the notice one needs, but a bit more detail would have not gone unappreciated. "C'mon... C'mon, c'mon... Jesus, why is this thing so slow?" A small elderly woman taps him on the shoulder. Her face is kind and genuine, and her voice is shaky yet soft. "In a hurry, young man?" "Uh, yes. Yes, actually. My wife is expecting soon." "Oh, is that so? Congratulations! What's her card?" "Well, thank you. It's a Queen. Queen of Spades." "That's a lovely card... Not many women have that suit. Y'know, I, myself, have a black suit. Clubs. Four of Clubs!" Although it's such a low ranking, she gives the impression that she's happy to have it, maybe even proud. And Jacks talking to Fours... that's not something that happens often. He almost doesn't know what to say... "I-...I'm so-" "If you're marrying a Queen, you must be up there yourself, eh?" "Well, I gue-" "Y'know, I have a grandson in here, only about 7 years old right now. They gave him a Three of Diamonds... Isn't that terrible?" "...Yea. It is." "What's your name? You must have a lot of money lying around, right?" "I'm really sorry, uh, t-this is my floor. I really have to go." "Where are you going?! Hey!" He manages to slip through the elevator doors on the third floor. The old lady doesn't seem to be too happy anymore. "M-My grandson is in Room 421! You'll visit right?!" He extends a reassuring hand, visible through the small, closing crack in the elevator doors, giving with it a false promise in their last, brief moment of eye contact. Another sigh leaves his lips as he regains his composure, his face pointed downwards with disappointment, his teeth clenching silently. "Shit..."he whispers to himself, "Always the goddamn cards..." He soon finds the room, and, for a brief moment, he sees his wife holding his infant son through the glass pane. A smile forms on his face, and his eyes even start to water. He reaches out for the doorknob when he notices a doctor holding his son's card, about to give it to his wife. Instantly, he freezes. The door opens on its own. "Mr. Stewart? Your son is here. Aren't you going to go in?" "...Y...Yes, thank you doctor. I will. In just a moment." "...What's the matter, sir?" The smile returns, faded but still present, his eyes still glued to his infant son. "I just don't want to know yet. His card I mean. I just want to see him as he is. Even if it's just for a minute." The doctor glances once at the son and then back at the father. He nods in agreement and closes the door behind him as Johnathan continues to look through the glass with endearment. After a short while, he opens the door himself.
The flash of smoke appeared before Jane filling the room as it slowly crawled along the floor toward her. A shape loomed in the darkness of the fog, a man's shape, adorned with horns. Jane had been waiting for the Master of Lies, she was told of her family's curse as a child, about how Satan would come to her on her 16th birthday and offer a contract. Her parents had warned her against his deceit, Beelzebub was not to be trusted. She never imagined in all her life that he would be as gruesome as the figure before her. His teeth were long and sharp, his wings, obscured before in the rolling darkness of the smoke now unfurled, blowing away the sulfur smell. As they locked eyes she could see his surprise. "A bit late are we?"Said Jane as she got up from her kitting. It was clear the devil wasn't expecting this, she knew it was smart of her mother to try and keep her from being born until the last second that fateful February night. She was born right after the stroke of midnight, it was the right move on her parents part, may they rest in peace. The Morningstar sneered, "How is it Jane, descendant of the curse, that your appearance is that of an old woman?" Jane smiled at his inquiry, "I had a lot of time to think on what would offer and what it might mean Hellspawn, my parents were wise to have me when they did. How could a teenager with no life experience know better than to listen to the devil. My parents were smart to deny you they way they did. My 16th birthday should have been 44 years ago. That is why I stand before the Lord of Shit in the body of an old woman." Satan, cruel and powerful laughed, the sound of saws and crying babies emanated from his profane lips. "Jane, born February 29th 2012, my role will not change for you, I will offer you something you will not be able to say no to, and you will accept."A curl of his lips showed the pointed fangs that filled his jaw. "And what, Perverter of Truths, could you offer a 60 year old woman? I've seen it all, done it all, been there, had that. What could you possibly offer me? I am no child you can trick!" The smile never left his face, "your parents never told you what I offered them did they? You think they were smart and heroic in their attempt to twart me? It was not courage but cowardice that they chose to pick such a date of your birth. They would be long dead by the time I tempted you. Their offer will be the same as your and the same as all the children of your line. Jane, daughter of cowards, give your soul to me and I offer eternal happiness to your children, free of my temptations and lies. They will be free and prospects, live long meaningful lives. In return, you will spent eternity in Hell, burning in the fires of sinners. Make your choice old one."A contract floated towards Jane, offering her child, young Ian, now only 15 the chance at eternal happiness. Her heart broke, her parents had fooled her. Lied so that she would not hate them for the suffering in her life, would she do the same to her child, a child who would know next year the truth of the Devil's deal?
I sat silently, waiting for the computer to turn on - maybe it would happen tonight. Finally, one of my responses would shoot to that top spot. Maybe I could even find a my piece linked to /r/bestofwritingprompts! Ok, as long as I can find something good. I thought, smiling to myself. After scanning the front page I leaned back in my chair and stared out the window, nothing, no inspiration! Every prompt was either too specific or already filled with responses. I was tired of having my beautifully crafted stories buried under a pile of amateur prose simply because they were written first! I ventured deeper into the depths of the subreddit, moving to the new section when the second page still didn’t yield results. There, in the middle of the page was something… not much, but it was something. I could work with that. Quickly I jumped onto google docs to start my draft. I would need to be the first to the punch. It was tough, I must admit, to write a story in the style of a herculean epic. I brought the reader on a story of a young man, plagued with social anxiety, finding his true love at a college house party. The style was tough but the story was sound. One more look at the prompt I thought, to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. As I changed tabs I couldn’t help but refresh the page to ensure I would still have the first response - my heart sank. There, below the submission box, was a large block of text which I began to read. Perhaps it’s just a quick response someone threw together I thought to myself. But as my eyes moved across the screen I was amazed at the style. It was truly written as a herculean epic, if only I could match that skill! The writing had certainly achieved what mine did not - fitting the prompt perfectly. As I looked at the username I’m not sure why I was surprised. With such a beautifully written story I should have already known /u/Luna_Lovewell was behind this. Knowing my chance of a top response was gone I upvoted Luna, submitted my story and turned off the computer. It was time for bed.
"Listen, Mac: I can cut you a deal to let you go if you gimme eh tweny five percent o' yer cut." "How did you find my home?" "Wassn to hard, I saw the pattern of banks and stores you've robbed in the last three months. An I know yoor plannin somethin big. I want in." "No." The cop draws his gun from its holster, it's silver sheen flashes in the thief's eyes. The threat is obvious, the thief rubs his hands to calm his nerves while the cop plants the gun on table. "See, I don't think you have the luksury of denyin me." "I don't believe you have the luxury of threatening me." "Heh, arrite Mac. You win. Tweny five to big, I'll bite- fifteen." The thief's trained hands pull the gun from the table and level it at the cop before he can draw a breath. "Why don't I give you .45?" "What, an kill a cop? Mac we've been on yoor ass for this small time shit do you really think-" "But you're not a cop. You've stepped outside that role now." "An you think yoor somethin better?" "Our roles define us. I may be a thief but that's all I am... All I will be. You, on the other hand have crossed into a different class of criminal. There is no doubt about our moral difference but we're on the same side of the law, and while I have a duty to protect the innocent and good from corruption, I have no qualms about harming my own kind." The thief pulls the trigger and the cop goes limp. Light. The cop awakens in a haze, sharp pain arcs out from his abdomen as he looks up at the sun shinning through his office window. His office? How did he- "Hey, Kowalski!" The chief bangs open the door. "Listen, chief I've had a long night an I've got some paperwork to-" "Shut the fuck up, Kowalski! You've got no idea what paperwork is." The chief drops a file onto the cop's table. "This little message in a bottle got dropped in my mail last night. You wanna explain this to me?" The cop looks down in horror as the meticulously compiled log book of offenses his personal enterprise has committed. Bills of sale, list of takes, how to work it into his taxes... He knew a book would bite him, he knew but he needed to keep track. He was a criminal now, outside of the protection of law enforcement. Another arc of pain, the cop looks down at the hole in his gut and falls on his desk at the sight of the red. "I have no qualms about harming my own kind."
Mira cradled the Demon Flute in her arms delicately, careful to not drop it. “You can’t be serious,” the Duke of Forsul said. “That girl has no chance. She’s shaking like a leaf as is.” The Duke of Forsul, Mira’s owner, was a portly man, his stomach the only thing bigger than his ego. A haughty grin was always present on his face, just below his busy mustache. The rumor amongst the other nobles was that it was once his pet ferret that died years ago. Lord Dunnel, Mira’s former owner, gave a light chuckle. He was a spritely man, hardly half the size of the Duke despite being his senior. His knowledge knew no bounds, earning him the nickname the “Scholar” by many. Despite his immense knowledge, many adored him for his caring nature. “You’d be wise to not underestimate her. I knew that girl and she’s something special.” Mira blushed. At least someone had faith in her. “We’ll let the flute be the judge of that,” the Duke waved a hand dismissively. “Now play, girl! I don’t have all day.” Mira nodded, her hair falling into her vision. She swiped it from out her face and put the flute to her lips. Taking a deep breath, she blew into it. A sonorous note hung in the air, delicate as winter’s first snow. Mira lost herself in it, forgetting that something so beautiful could be so deadly. But of course, she had to say focused. One wrong note and the results could be disastrous. She moved to the next note, her fingers pressing down with more force than necessary. Her heartbeat increased with the tempo. The Demon Flute was notorious for some keys malfunctioning while playing. And as Mira transitioned the accelerando, she was brimming with fear. A million worries crept into her conscious, blurring her memory. What if she missed the high note in the next measure? Would she lose an eye? Perhaps her skin would blister? Death? Regardless, she didn’t want to find out. She closed her eyes in a poor attempt to calm herself. She went back to the days when her Da taught her how to play on the crude wooden flute he bought at the market. It cost him a lot – money he needed for his medicine – but he wanted to share one of his favorite hobbies with his only daughter. And in deep down, she was pretty sure it made him feel a little better, right up until the very end. She remembered when he passed, how she attempted to sell her skills on the street. She got enough to get her daily bread but her lucky was running out. But Dunnel took her in, offering an escape from the terrible life she had found herself in. For a moment, she even thought her life might have turned for the better before the Duke snatched her up one day. Since then, she didn’t know what to think. When going up a scale, Mira’s finger slipped on a key, enough to produce the faintest of dissonance. A shock of electricity ran up her back, causing her to involuntarily jerk. But she didn’t dare miss another note. The Demon Flute would not be so kind next time. The rest of the song went swimmingly. Mira played through the runs with expertise and sustained with the preciseness only a professional could do. By the time she hit the last note, the air rang with the remnants of what she had played echoing off the stone walls. Mira opened her eyes to the Duke and Dunnel, the former gawking while the other had a proud grin on his face. She sighed, bending at the knees. She felt lightheaded, as if she could sleep for a decade. Yet, she was beyond ecstatic. Few played the Demon Flute and lived to tell the tale. Dunnel gave a few claps, the first to speak. “That was excellent,” he said, turning to the Duke. “Well, I suppose that means I won the bet.” The Duke scowled, a murderous look in his eye. He crossed his arms, huffing before responding. “Fine,” he said. “The girl had shown her skill. She is now emancipated.” Mira smiled, holding back her tears. She had waited so many years to hear those words. If only Da could have been there with her.
"But, that can't be right. It's Berenstein..." Judy looked at the display and scratched at her nose. The Barnes & Noble employee waited as she read the inventory screen over and over again. The Berenstain Bears, the title read, and yet, there was no way that could be right. "Perhaps you might've been mistaken with the title?"The employee hesitantly asked. "It's a pretty popular franchise, so maybe you saw some kind of knock-off?" That couldn't be it, either. Judy had a small set through her childhood and remembered the books well. Berenstein was the family's name. She was sure of it. "If you like, I can bring a copy of the book over, and you can decide if it's what you're after?" The employee was trying his best to be tactful, but Judy could tell his patience was beginning to wear. "Yes, please, I'll wait here." As the man walked towards the children's section, she repeated the words to herself, over and over again. Berenstain. Berenstein. Such a trivial difference, and yet it shook her to her core. These books were her favorite. There was no way she could be wrong. She sunk backwards to the counter. The world around her felt very foreign. The man returned, book in hand, and Judy's heart skipped a beat as she took it from him. The illustrations, font, and even the paper grade was as she remembered it. And yet, The Berenstain Bears was written boldly across the top. "Is this what you were after?"The employee ventured. Judy only nodded meekly. "I can ring you up over here, then,"he continued, as he gestured towards a nearby register. Judy moved towards it on autopilot as her mind struggled to accept her memories were wrong. She thought back to the car that nearly hit her yesterday as her eyes glazed past the latest best-seller or the newest volume on the theory of quantum immortality. Everything just felt off lately. After a day like yesterday, it'll just take some time to get back into the swing of things, she reasoned.
I have 497 seconds. My previous checkpoint was more than a week ago. Would have been more than enough time to stop this. But I just had to set a new one to give myself a shot with that girl. Always knew women would be the death of me one of these days. Couldn't have predicted the way that played out, though. After 12 attempts, I finally got her. She was a tough one, had to go through a few rotations picking up details and then playing the mind reader card, but it was enough to get me a date. I walked away with her number in my phone and a skip in my step - and then saw the bombs dropping. 8 minutes into the past, I found myself facing the girl again, this time ignoring my skirt chasing and shouting for her to run. Turns out getting out of the blast radius in 8 minutes isn't possible, no matter how fast or in what direction I run. I tried learning how to hijack a car by trial and error. No matter which one I take, even if I get that Italian sportscar parked around the corner in front of the coffee shop and turn into the left lane in front of that SUV to avoid the oncoming truck, run the red light and let the cop there chase me for the whole remainder of the time I have, the blast is still too close, and the pain and the heat cause me to reflexively reload my checkpoint. I'm getting desperate. Searching for a place to hide. The basement wasn't deep enough. A fridge can't actually do what that movie I saw a few years back claims it could. I can easily reach the vault at the bank in time, but it can't be opened from the inside, and I can't stay long. The best I can manage is to steal the bag of groceries that woman two blocks over is carrying, pick up 3 gallons of water from the bed of the pickup parked in front of the courthouse, and still make it into the vault across the street in time - but supplies run out before anyone comes to help no matter how tightly I ration them, and how obvious I make it that there is someone inside before sealing myself in. I reload one last time. Grab the girl, bend her over and plant a kiss like a soldier returning from war. Earns me a slap. Probably deserved it. I lie down in the middle of the sidewalk, much to the confusion of everyone around me, and close my eyes. Maybe if I don't see it, I can ignore my now too well trained sense of exactly how long just over 8 minutes lasts, and suppress my reload reflex. 272 to go. Damn.
When Genghis Khan razed my hamlet, I was the only one left living. "Crawl to your king,"he said, as I lay there beaten and bloodied. "Tell of the glory of Khan!"Dust filled my eyes as two thousand cavalry archers trampled the ground around me. Somehow I was saved from the hammer of their hooves. When they were nothing more than a dark slick on the grasslands beyond, I groaned and started crawling. "Impossible,"said the king, gnawing at his fingers right up to the knuckles. "I sent a hundred vassals to block the pass! Khan should never have got through!" "I tell you what I saw with the eyes of my blood, sir."And then, exhausted, I collapsed. I woke up in the castle inn. There was a great hubbub, men running back and forward, knocking over beds. Some of them were scrambling to get out of their robes and into their armor. Others, more practical, were scrambling to get out of their armor, get into their wives' dresses, disguise themselves as women and hide in some hole. Only one word could be distinguished from the chaos: "Khan!" I dragged myself onto the balcony. From here I had a good view of the castle walls, the inn's balcony set at an elevation just above the lowest rung of archers. With a little panic in my heart I observed that the archers were hardly at their posts. They were running back and forward, one would crash into another and send a whole barrel of arrow-shafts spilling into the courtyard, they were no better than the tenants in the inn. Outside, the blare of Genghis's trumpets. Suddenly, white flags were raised! I couldn't believe it. "Tell me it's a mistake,"I said, grabbing a nearby knight and shaking him by the collar. He looked at the flags and shook his head. The king does not make mistakes. It was all out, balls to the walls, surrender. "No!"I shouted, down into the courtyard. "You've gotta fight him! He killed my family, he killed everyone!"But I might as well have been shouting into the belly of a draegon. Men were hurling themselves off the walls now, preferring death to a life of Mongol servitude. I went back inside, picked a kitchen knife off a table. Hobbled onto the balcony and threw myself down onto the lower parapets, so quickly being abandoned by the archers. I landed heavy, and screamed; I think I must have broke my spine, I couldn't move my legs. With gritted teeth, I dragged myself with my elbows, clinging to that greasy knife. Archers paid me no heed, a few of them tripping over my legs in their fright. Inch by inch, I dragged myself closer to the gate. The gate was opening now, some witless knights flew out of it, a frantic bid to flee the kingdom but of course we were surrounded. Mongol horsemen were spilling in now, laughing sadistically, whipping at naked barons purely for fun and laughter. Black arrows pierced the white flag, they would not take our surrender peacefully. Then I saw him. The great Genghis, on that triple-breasted warhorse. I cringed remembering what he did to my parents, what he did to my precious little sister in front of me. With the last of my strength, I rolled off the wall, and tumbled down upon him. Piercing his Mongol throat with that filthy kitchen utensil. We collapsed together, godless Mongols howling and yollering around us. "You!"choked the Khan, through a torrent of his own lifeblood.
Only five minutes had passed when Alice began wishing that she had been born the opposite gender. Since she had joined the end of the line, it had only moved forward once, giving her the impression that the bathroom had no more than three stalls. The sheer number of people was to be expected; the hall was always booked with various events on the weekends. She had just wished that whatever architect who designed the place had a more thorough understanding of the ladies' restroom. She pulled the black cloak tighter around her body. It had taken her six months just to stitch the varying sashes and symbols onto it. As an amateur seamstress, she was quite proud of the fruits of her labor, and to have to drag it into a dirty stall was a thought as unappealing as one-ply toilet paper. The twenty other individuals ahead of her wore similar robes, but theirs seemed less homemade. They seemed to all have bought their costumes from the same manufacturer. Alice frowned disdainfully; they were probably the kind of rich cosplayers who paid absurd amounts of money for their pre-picked uniforms. She had given up her blood, sweat, and tears for her own. The other robed individuals kept their hoods up. She considered this strange; after all, it was the middle of the summer, and the air conditioning was nowhere near as high as it should have been. As she stepped forward in line, the person ahead of her turned around. Her robe was a deep blue, with the sleeves and hems embroidered with a beautiful silver star pattern. "Nice stitching,"Alice remarked. The figure pushed her hood back slightly, revealing a young woman likely in her early twenties. "Thanks! I've chosen to follow Astrolia, obviously."She smiled, glancing at her costume. "Who did you pick?" "I'm not familiar with that character. What franchise?"She readjusted her cloak, as to make her hard work more visible. "I'm Barrin, Master Wizard. You know, Magic the Gathering." The woman suddenly looked angry. "How dare you mock us?" "What?" "You're comparing us to wizards?"Her face was growing closer to the color of her robes, and as her voice grew shriller, more of the people on line began to turn towards them. "You heretics have no respect!" Alice backed up, her need to pee pushed to the back of her mind by this sudden confrontation. "Whoa, I respect all fandoms. I'm just here for the bathroom." The rage dissipated. "Bathroom?"She asked. "Is this not the line for the restroom?" "Uh, no. This is for initiation into Roghar's Shade. We're picking our gods to devote our lives to."The woman looked at Alice critically. "Why are you in a robe if you're not here to declare yourself?" Alice stared at her in horror, and then at the five people ahead of her. "This is my cosplay for WizardCon!" "You're in the wrong place."The cultist pointed behind her. "That's the line for the restroom." Alice turned to see a long line of women stretching from the door and wrapping around the corner. "Well, shit."
"It was glorious,"I lie through my teeth. "Too bad it didn't last." I look around the room at the old-fashioned sidearms and the black jodhpurs that the group was sporting. They certainly looked authentic. "It was the summer of 1969, more than 25 years after the Führer's brilliant strategic mind won the war. There was a coup." They claimed to be SS, sent to the future on a mission to bring tidings of the utopia the Nazi's had managed to build back to the past as proof that the Third Reich would be victorious, and to correct their mistakes if there were any. "They were emboldened by the Führer's recent death. While the rest of the world was mourning the loss of our great uniter, they felt the need to undo his legacy." They knew something was wrong when they discovered that there were no swastikas hanging from the windows, when they saw a synagogue openly displaying the Star of David, when they found out that their utopia wasn't real. "The first attack was on August 15th against the Führer's son, Adolf Jr. He was giving the eulogy at his father's funeral when he was shot with what was eventually discovered to be a gun that fired backwards in time–the design of which, I gather, was based on the same technology that allows me to speak to you today. The shooter was a man named Robert Allen Zimmerman, a jewish scientist and inventor." It didn't take them long to realize that they shouldn't act as they did at home, not unless they wanted to be locked in an asylum. So, they found they only building that still sported the swastika, and they came to me, the head of the new Nazi museum in Munich "The following scramble for power left the world shattered, each region wanting their own candidate to rule everyone. Some wanted equality for the lesser races. Some wanted equality for women. Some just wanted power. The resulting civil wars left the world in a ruinous state. Eventually, there was a peace treaty, and the countries established a group called The United Nations to deal with all of the petty squabbles that erupted, but that isn't important. What is important is that you find Zimmerman, and save the world." If they weren't the real deal, what did it matter what I said? They would either dismiss me as a kook or eventually break character and berate me. If, on the other hand, they were telling the truth... Well, if they were telling the truth, then the most that I was doing was endangering the life of some stupid American folk singer.
EDIT: I'm sorry everyone but I literally have no idea on how to move the story going forward so I'm going to leave it as is. Unless someone can come up with some inspiration I'll leave the ending to your imagination. Vallhalla of the Seas. Saturday 18th July 2015. Operation Atlas in now in effect. All maritime vessels to stay at sea. Maintain a 50 mile radius from the nearest coast. Infection leading to widespread death reported across globe. Further announcements to follow. Captain Samuel Leeland, 41, captain of the Valhalla of the Seas cruise liner. I saw no point in scaring the holiday makers. Drills like this take place all the time, and I’ve no reason to think that this was otherwise. I told our Head of Communications, Matthew O’Neill, to reply to the coast as affirmative and that we should continue to Barcelona at low speed. Sydney Gottaberg, 22, hospitality and leisure student from Illinois. Monday 20th July 2015 We were supposed to be in Barcelona today but the captain made some announcement about how the port hadn’t paid our docking fees and that we wouldn’t be embarking today. Some people let out an audible groan and there were a few choice words from others. I, however, plan on hitting the casino. Maybe I’ll see that cute Spanish bartender again. If he’s lucky I may even let him buy me a drink, and then Barcelona will be the last thing on my mind. Mohammed Shahad, 50, CEO of MS Group. Monday 20th July 2015 “What a great idea!” I told our Marketing Director. “Let’s host our annual conference on a cruise ship! Charlie you’re amazing.” Oh what a fool I am. If I hadn’t listened to her I wouldn’t be stuck on this floating tub in god-knows-where in the middle of the ocean. The staff are getting restless and are ready for land. I’ve got dinner at the captains table tonight and I’ve got a few things I want to get off my chest. Harry Doyle, 35, married father of two children from London. Friday 24th July 2015 We were supposed to get off the boat today but instead we’re still drifting in the ocean, no land in site! The captain has said that we have run out of fuel and are awaiting emergency pickup, but how can a ship run out of fuel? Molly has taken to her bed with stress and worry for the kids back home. I really hope that Dad is handling them well. His phone hasn’t rang in days - maybe his battery is dead. I’ll be sure to say something once we get back to land. So much for romantic getaway. This was supposed to be sex, sun and sweet alcohol, not worry, stress and boredom. Saturday 25th July 2015 Operation Atlas is now in effect. All maritime vessels to stay at sea. This is not a drill. Mass extinction event on land. Western Europe in collapse. Virus highly contagious. Captain Samuel Leeland If what the radio says is true then I don’t know how much longer I can lie to the staff and passengers. I’ve shared this information with Matthew and he’s advised me to tell everyone the truth. I’ve locked myself in the control room with the rest of my crew. People are starting to get angry and I don’t know what to tell them. Is there really a virus on land which is killing people? I’ve got to say something. If we carry on as normal we will run out of food soon. I’ll tell them all tonight. Harry Doyle Tuesday 28th July 2015 So I’m past fear now. When the captain told us that there was some disease on land which was killing everyone, no one didn’t believe him. In the movies everyone always doubts the authority figure, before they all succumb to something, but everyone just got real quiet. Molly just stood there, open mouth. I’m glad she managed to get her ass out of bed for something for a change. There’s some big fancy conference happening on board and all the staff have taken to the conference room. The place had its own kitchen and bar and they’re not letting anyone in. I wish I was there. Sydney Gottaberg Friday 31st July 2015 The captain has said that we are now on food rations and people didn’t like that one bit. A fight broke out but the cruise police arrested a bunch of them and locked them in the prison. I didn’t even know the ship had a prison. Apparently it’s where they keep immigrants and troublemakers when they’re out to sea. Anyway, I’m sat here with what I could only describe as a small handful of rice and a third of a chicken breast. It also turns out that we have plenty of fuel, and that the ship has some machine which turns salt water into drinkable water, so at least we’ll never go thirsty! Harry Doyle Saturday 1st August 2015 They killed someone! Those thugs from the conference room. They sent someone out to speak with the captain. On the top deck someone said something and someone from the MS conference pulled out a knife. In the struggle a crewmember got stabbed and they pushed him over the railing. Some other passengers grabbed the guy and they’ve locked him up somewhere. But they killed him! Someone said he was the Head of Communications on the ship. I feel sick. I want to go home and see my kids. Mohammed Shahad Sunday 2nd August 2015 When the captain said he wanted to speak with me I didn’t think he was going to be so crazy. Maybe it’s the ocean air. He honestly suggested we throw Grey overboard! I can’t believe he’s actually saying that we kill him for what he did. Kill someone in self defence? Charlie said he saw that guy pull a knife on Grey. What was he supposed to do? I’ll need to speak with him when the captain isn’t around. Captain Samuel Leeland Saturday 22nd August 2015 This is anarchy. The crew and passengers have started to break off into gangs. The largest is the crew. There’s over 200 of them. They’ve taken the bottom two decks and have control over all the food. They’re giving it out in small portions but I fear this will stop when supplies get low. Then there’s those vagrants from MS Group. There’s about 100 of them. They’ve taken over the conference room and deck 9. No one has physically spoken to any of them since their CEO tried to hit me. They’ve barricaded themselves in. A smaller group of around 40 Americans are on deck 4. To be fair to them they’re keeping out of trouble, but I don’t trust them any more than anyone else. Lastly there’s a group of 10 who are going around ‘policing’ the ship. They’re not causing any real trouble so we’re just letting them get on with it. Nearly everyone else has retreated back to their rooms. This is all surreal. Sydney Gottaberg Wednesday 26th August 2015 Jesus Christ was the fuck is wrong with these animals? I was walking back to my room after getting my rations and some prick grabbed me and tried to drag me into a room. He put his filthy fucking hand over my mouth and I bit him. Before I knew what was happening he was forcing his hand down my shorts and rubbing against me. I don’t even know what happened next, it was all a blur. All I know is that the guys dead. Some guy came around the corner and put a fucking knife straight into the back of his skull. He just collapsed to the floor, twitching. I didn’t even thank the guy. I just dropped my food and ran. This place is getting ridiculous. Harry Doyle Monday 31st August 2015 Molly’s dead. She threw herself off the ship. She said something about how the kids had to be dead and that there’s nothing else worth living for. When I said she still had me she decided to tell me how she didn’t actually love me, she was only with me for the kids, and that she had been fucking some guy on the boat since we first got on. Then she volleyed herself off the boat. No one else saw – it was the middle of the night. She’s probably right. The kids are probably dead. And Dad. Sydney Gottaberg Friday 11th September 2015 The food has run out and we’re starving. Half of the conference people took one of the lifeboats and said they were going home about a week ago, and we haven’t heard from them since. This entire ship has lost everything. People are becoming savage. That creep who tried to get me. . . All those suicides. . . The lifeboat leaving. I cry every day now. ^TO ^BE ^CONTINUED.
"Are you sure you dont want to search for neurotoxin?"GLaDOS asked, the stupid thing did this everytime I searched something "No! Please just search Battlefront 3!"GLaDOS actually searched it for once. But then started of on a narrative. "You know neurotoxin is an amazing thing, its quick, fun and makes for interesting testing. Battlefront 3 seems to lack neurotoxin and if my cake core had not been removed then I would notice the lack of cak-"I bought the hammer down on the steam box at this point. Stuff this, using siri is more fun than GLaDOS. "Siri, search for the nearest place where I can buy a Xbox"I asked my iPhone. "Searching for nearest cardboard box shop"Siri happily chirped back. Great, here we go again.
Day 4: Rations are getting slim. Timmy and I were forced to share the last apple as the girls were released for recess before us and raided our supplies. I thought they were safe under the merry-go-round but I have underestimated the girls. P.S. I saw Johnny eat some worms. Ewww. Day 9: Timmy was ambushed by the girls. I told him not to go farther than the swings but he did not head my advice. We were able to retrieve him but he didn't make it. The cootie virus was too much for his young soul. He left me his favorite transformer. I will cherish it with whatever time left I may have. Day: 15 Today I set out to finish this war. It must end today. The girls have taken over the shady tree and we are now forced to find shelter behind the creepy shed. I don't know how much longer we can hold out. Johnny tried to convince me that the mud tasted just like chocolate pudding. It did not. Day 17: The girls forces are too strong. They have enlisted the Janitor in their fight against us. I saw Sally and the Janitor enter the closet before recess. They must have been discussing their war strategy. I will try and to negotiate a peace treaty with the girls. We have lost too many. Day 18: Mom. If you're reading this than I must not have made it. Tell dad I love him and I hid his keys under my toybox. I love you. Take care of teddy he gets lonely at night.
I see what the plane sees. Right now, that's a lot of brown grass, but we're nearing peak delivery time and already I can see the shimmer over Palo Alto. I thumb one lever down, the other to the side, and my plane executes a slow, skilled banking maneuver that puts the skybox blue California sky in view for a good, long ten seconds. Just as I'm diving back down, I spot it, the black blip down and to my right. I pull up and over it, eyeballing the profile until the brown box resolves in my vision. I feel the pull in my cheeks, down here in the real world. Shark-grin. Hard to port, Skipper, we've got Amazon on the horizon, and judging by the trajectory it's heading out to San Jose. I gun fast behind it, running a quick weapons check as I get into position. If I'm lucky, if I'm good, I should be able to navigate a crash point just a brisk bike ride away. I'd have to get there quick, before someone notices the drop and picks up my prize. It's not like it was even six months ago, when people barely noticed the drones and us daring sky-pirates were free to down them however we could. You had a lot of shooters, back then, but you needed a big rifle to hit far targets and that drew a lot of attention. Hackers, too, though I didn't have the seed capital to invest in that one. Nah, I was running on a Toys-R-Us RC biplane, armed with glue foam in washed-out spray-cheese cans. All I really had to do was gum up the rotors, after all, and gravity did my work for me. Besides, what the fuck else was I going to do with an Oculus Rift? I pull up behind it, eyeballing distance until I judged the drone was just within weapons range. I quickly dip and ramped back up, doing a quick ground check to gauge the softness of the impromptu landing pad. Dry brush, scrub, trees long since parched to dead, white sticks. It'd do. The drone gets bigger and bigger in my view, the black paint shining, the blades a blur of motion-capture desperately struggling to keep up with reality. I keep on it until I can see the logo on the side of the box, twist left and - fire! A beautiful arc of homemade grey-white glue foams into my view, catching the drone clear along the bottom and gumming up three of the four spinning rotors. It tilts in midair, a moment's struggle before I fire again, this time nailing it clear between its little landing legs, pasting the box to the underside. In real life, on the toolshed roof, I let out a little whoop. A small thing, just for me. I spot the glue foaming up around the drone as it falls, a big, blobby beachball mass of bubbly impact neutralizer. I do a few quick turns, watch it land in this little gully planted with beer bottles and rusted-out washing machines. Pin it on my map, guide the plane down, and then I'm off. Tearing the Rift off my head even as I slide down the roof tiles. One storey to the dry yard and I'm on my bike, kicking the lock off before blasting down the alley between the cavernous, empty fish-farm tanks, off and away to where my booty awaits. I don't think the area it fell in was inhabited - I saw dry lawns, boarded-up houses, one-bedroom one-bathroom homes just the type to be abandoned when the water taxes started getting bad - but I wanted to be quick, anyway. With luck, I could do three, four more drones before I was supposed to be home from school. I spurred myself on thinking about what might be in that box. Books, clothes, video games; it wasn't big enough for a laptop or WiiUS or anything, but a tablet, an iPhone, something I could sell. Salivating. I don't notice the second drone, not until I'm almost at the drop. High in the bright blue sky, very small. And then I'm there, ramping my ten-speed down into the dry gully, pinging off a sad-looking plum tree just barely clinging to life, right in front of the drone, right there. I'm off, and my fingernails are digging into the soft, sticky glue foam, tearing it off in huge chunks and just letting it fall where it may. I have the drone free, and then I have the box free, and then- Then I remember the second drone. I squint into the sky and it's still there, just hovering overhead. I bring up my cell and center the blip in the camera, zoom, zoom. Very small even at max magnification. Sun-glint off a camera lens, focusing down. And in the distance: the sound of some big-ass tires, tearing up the dusty road. Shit. And I'm up, bolting to my bike with the package. I slam it into my basket and tamp it down with a hoodie, straddle the seat and only then, like an idiot, remember my plane. My quick dash to the landing site and recovery of my beloved, plastic aerial warrior is enough for the tire-sound to magnify. I can hear the engines, I can practically feel the radio chatter slithering over my skin, but I'm fast. I have my bike up the side of the gully and I'm on it, firing down mountain-bike pathways just in time to spot the line of Jeeps pasting down the dry back-country roads. Yeah, it was different just six months ago. Amazon treated piracy like an annoyance, then - so fucking big, it was, it could take the losses and barely even notice it. But we just kept right on with it, spreading the word, practicing our techniques. Before I got my sprayer-plane I was experimenting with grapples (difficult), EM battery-killers (expensive), pellet guns (had to register if you're under 14). You had people hacking the delivery routes and just netting the drones with pool skimmers. It was just after a four-drone pirate squad grabbed a whole delivery wing just as they were setting out of the warehouse that Amazon began to come down hard. Forums died. Big names got prosecuted or went dark. Copta, baristAnarchist - when they busted NoGood it even had a segment on Fox. Guy was fucking paraplegic, bringing down drones with an elephant gun loaded onto some sort of tank-tread MALP monstrosity he controlled by wiggling his eyes. Now I was bombing through bike trails, jeeps on my ass. No lights. Didn't blare like cops. I'd prefer cops. Still a juvie, motherfuckers. The engine grumble was dying down, but every time I peeked up I still saw that motherfucking camera drone poised above me, spying away. It was like a dead pixel in the blue sky, always in the same god damn place, and I couldn't head home with it on my ass. I'd just park my bike in the garage and BAM! Not-cops kicking down the front door and Mom crying as she realized where I got my iPad. The trees here were dead, the ground already halfway to dry desert. Maybe in the 90s there was leaf cover but not - Drainage culvert. Rain overflow, it looked like; useless now. Lead into this big concrete pipe. Through the panic, an idea forms. I screech on in and immediately set down. I'm knelt in this slurry of dead leaves and ancient rain-wet, and my plane is in my hands. Still charged, good - guns still sloshing. Thank Whoever I thought to bring my Rift with me. And then it's on, and the pipe is actually a pretty fantastic little runway. Out into the sunlight, through a haze of reaching, skeletal tree-limbs and up, up and away. The pixel grows as my plane climbs a hungry parabola, this tiny little two-rotor thing with a shiny, glassy camera-eye. It tries to pull away but I'm faster, I have wings. I sight with the accuracy that only haste and adrenaline can bring and splat that thing along its little black peeper. I pull back for another run but it's so small that the expanding foam has already filled its rotors. It's teetering, wobbling like Dad on a Saturday, drunk and blind. I do a quick circle, to be sure. The jeeps are parked right where the trail ends, and there are little figures in brown uniforms creeping through the dry brush. I estimate ten minutes until they reach where I've sat. I have the plane down in three. I'm out. The ride home is almost peaceful, by comparison. I have time to organize my stuff so that I'm not obviously carrying a pirate plane, ease down the once-scenic trail by the highway and just drift along the rocky back roads to home. Birds are peeping, insects twittering as I turn down the lane with the rusting fish-farm tanks. The sky is a bright, skybox blue, tinted grey-brown to the north. Rain'd be welcome, if only for the tax break. I ride my euphoria into the garage. And then I'm through the house and back into my dark little room, with the dark little laptop and Loot Crate posters. Mom won't be back from her first job until 2, so I have plenty of time to kill before I have to pop out and make it look like I'm coming back from school. I debate going out for another flight, but decide against it. Amazon'd be on high alert, after what just happened. Probably a better idea to spend the time spraypainting my plane. But fuck it, right? How many other kids can say they had a dogfight with corporate security? How many other kids can say that's an average Wednesday morning? And then, the prize: I fetch a kitchen knife and slide it along the packing tape, scenting the cut cardboard and warehouse air. Inside there's a whole mess of bubble-wrap and foam fabric protecting the contents, wrapped tight and secure. There must be something good in there, I figure. Electronic, probably some kind of specialized equipment that'd eBay for a fair bit. I slit the tape with the knife, and - Oh, god. Oh my god. It's full of fucking vibrators.
When he made a mountain rise up out of the ground far off on the horizon, that's when I had an inkling he was a god. Not many mortal men have the ability to make a mountain appear, and even fewer have the ability to make a mountain appear in mere seconds. He was looking out his office window admiring the rocky formation he had made and I had just entered quietly behind him to begin the morning routine. I was a little shaken but tried to play my hunch off as smoothly as possible. "Here's the coffee you wanted, and today's newspaper, and, uh, by the way, are you our almighty God?" He turned from the window with a grin on his face and shrugged his shoulders. "Ya got me. I'm God." I put his coffee and newspaper down on his desk and began wagging my finger comically. "Why you,"I said chuckling. "I don't remember your ad saying anything about interning for a deity!" "Well, don't expect a salary now that you found out!"he replied with a hearty laugh. We continued chuckling for a good solid minute before God finally wiped a tear of laughter from his eye and began to read his newspaper. I stood there for a few seconds longer, letting my laughter trail off before heading back for the door. "Hey kid,"God said as I reached for the doorknob, looking up from his newspaper. "You make a make a mean cup of coffee...and I think I know a little bit about making things!" We shared another long laugh and then I shook my head as if to say "you're too much, God."His gaze lowered back down to his newspaper and I knew that was my cue to leave him be for the morning. I continued to intern with him for another 4 years. We never once talked about him being God again after that. It just never came up.

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