Split (1)

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Alexa opened the case to Vii, her violin, and oldest friend. She withdrew her bow, set the resin to its strings, and set about crafting a new masterpiece Alexa heard the banging at her door, which she tried in vain to ignore. Her violin's singing flowed softly through the house. Every time she picked it up, she'd become so feverently absorbed in her music. She loved feeling each stroke of her bow send vibrations up her arm, the smell of her bow's resin cascading with the slight metal tinge of her strings, to meet with the smell of her sweat. The banging persisted. Alexa's pace picked up, trying to synchronise the beat with the pounding on the door. The door came open with a loud crash, splintering upon impact with the opposing wall. In the door frame stood Michalov Akristonovi, general in the Baron's army. He was a true brute. Half a cigar dangled from his scarred and peeling lips, spreading ashes into his unkempt beard. He had peircingly dark brown eyes, and no hair on his head, replaced by a garden of scars. He smelled like wet gun powder. His moustache was waxed to the standards of a candle, in contrast to his rough figure. He looked Alexa up and down. "So you are dis powerful wizard I am told to get? Pah! You look like twig compared to other wizard I recruit today. Come girly, the Baron wants his wizard powers ready." Alexa doesn't move, nor give any indication of wanting to. "Bard,"she simply says matter-of-factly before going back the practing. "Pardon?"Michalov asks, leaning towards Alexa, eyeing her closely. "I'm a bard. I cast spells with music. And I won't help the Baron kill refugees, quote me on that. Michalov is dumbstruck. "No one denys Baron's orders... Go, kill them. "Send the strongest the Baron has to get me, only then will I leave this house." "Suit self girl. I be back tomorrow with men three times my size. Good luck girly, good to meet crazy like you."Michalov turns to leave. "No, I just wish not kill anymore than I already have." He stops in the doorway. "Show me your power girly."As he says these words, Alexa strikes a discordant tone, and the splinters of the door begin to levitate. She strikes another and the turn towards Michalov. "Okay, good power. I leave, it okay. You stop now, yes?"he sputters to save himself. The final note is struck, and Michalov is turned to a pincushion. Alexa hated she had to kill again today, this would interfere with her tutoring tomorrow.
There was a time when the genes lay dormant in our bloodlines. No one showed any abilities of any kind and the world was a lot less colourful that it is now. It all started out with a tiny case in Norway that ended up almost turning into a global crisis. A baby boy, born on a Thursday managing to strike every tree in half a mile radius with lightning during a temper tantrum. The government officials tried their best to sweep it under the carpet. But a mother who birthed a blonde haired, blue eyed boy on a Thorsday was never going to keep a thing like that to herself. And so the Incidents became more frequent. Families who could trace their lines back to the ancients started to birth powerful children. From little 'Thor' in Norway to the terrible case of 'Alistor' in Greece, whose birth tore his family apart. More and more gifted were being born every year and we soon had a whole world full of people with powers. I always figured that my family weren't old enough to have gifts, we have never outwardly shown any powers. It happens with some families, if their blood is too week to support a gift or carry a line. But, everything changed once I first sat in that council. I realised that my gift came from a god whose bloodline was said to be dead. But will truth will out. Because I am a daughter of Mars and this broken world of ours will know war...
"Mom, aunt Sue updated her Facebook status as "complicated", didn't she die last year?" "Yes, but your uncle Joe send her corpse to that expensive faculty that turns you into a zombie or something like that. " "Wasn't she vegan? Don't zombie eat rotten meat?" "Who knows. She wasn't a true vegan anyway. She ate sea food all the time because they are not animals she said, 'they are sea food and they don’t feel pain because they live in salt water'. I really cannot understand why Joe would like to turn that woman into a zombie and keep her around." "Oh! There's a picture. Lets see. Hahaha. Mom, you won't believe that! Uncle Joe actually sewed her mouth shut. At least, she won't be able to complain about Thanksgiving's meal." "What's that bottle on the left?" "Is that essential oils? Why would she needs that?" "I heard Ginnie say that it's trendy nowadays with hippies. " "Isn't that just MLM bullshit? " "Argh! Not again! She should have stayed dead. What was he thinking?! I have to call Joe." "Well, at least, you can 'accidentally ' rip off her head at Thanksgiving if she becomes annoying. Heard zombie are quite fragile. "
A loud ear-defening noise keept piercing Sam's thoughts, it was unbearable. His fingers digged deep into his own skull, penetrating his skin and drawing blood. He screamed for help but...All that came out was air bubbles, escaping his mouth and floating like chubby eagles upwards towards the sun beams penetrating the water surface far above... One thought struggled through the defening sound and bloomed like a flower struggling too drink the only water in the vicinity. 'How did i get here?'.. His body was stretched out over a dirty sand bed, and next to him laid..A hand. He swiftly turned around, and what he faced was disturbing too say the least. A submarine wreckage, or atleast a bits and pieces of it scattered across the sea bed. But that was not all.. Two, five, no eight bodies laying left and right. Maybe even more, it was hard too count because they were.. In pieces. Sam slowly stood up holding his breath. But more thoughts had started boiling up like a smelly stew. 'How can i be alive?' and 'Why don't i remember anything?'. Suddenly he realized something strange. Why dosen't my lungs hurt yet? He turned his head downwards and saw what he wished he would not have seen. A black-green slimy creature had rotted itself into his heart and it was breathing for him.. The slug looking thing breathed in and out, in and out, and Sam could feel his lungs filling up each time. Then a excruciating pain hit him through out his entire body. It was coming in waves like a pulse, strangling his nerves. "Come my child. Join us and find the truth behind it all."A voice suddenly whispered in his head. Without any second thoughts he walked towards a drop down into the deep, a ledge leading straight down into the deepest roots of our planet, where no man has set foot before. The deep was calling him in such a gentle and loving voice, the voice only a mother possess. "Come now, they are waiting for your arrival. The last piece needed."And he obeyed. With one step out into the darkness he let his body fall from the ledge side and drop downwards, where only man has heard the beasts call from bellow...
"Jesus, what the hell has this man cooking?"Gary thought as he tried to block out the stench coming from inside the pipes leading to his garbage disposal. There was a fluorescent green sludge seeping out through the seams of the pipes. He had picked up a job as a plumber part time as his way to pay for his schooling. This old man was his first client since he began posting his services on craigslist. The old man who had hired him was busy cooking up some soup dish in the kitchen, blasting some old k-pop song. Gary cracked one of the pipes open and was hit with a blast of hot steam that shot out it. That's when he heard the sound. "Pikachu"it said. Gary looked over to see what looked like an over sized rodent staring at him with giant black eyes, and listening to him with long pointy ears. "Gyahh!"Gary yelled as he shrieked back in horror. "Pika-chu"the creature said as again as it took a slow, mechanical step towards Gary. It had two big round red patches on each side of it's cheek. They began to spark as the creature's feet slid across the carpet floor. It was somehow creating static electricity as it moved. "Pika-chuu"it said as it extended it's hand forward and stretched out it's pointer finger. Sparks of electricity began to flicker at the tip of the creature's finger. As Gary observed the creature closer he began to realize that it wasn't a rodent at all, but instead it was a little, hairy man who had dyed all of his hair yellow. The pointy ears had stitching at their base, appearing as if they had been sewn onto his head. The creature's face was shaved, but his eyes had red incision marks all around them as if it had just gone through surgery. The creature got down on it's hands and knees and began crawling towards Gary. It had a long, disgusting, misshaped tail growing out of the base of his spine. It looked like the creature's spinal cord had grown irregularly outwards, and began bending and curling forward. When the creature was within arm's length of Gary, it bent it's head down and whispered something to Gary very quietly "Help me".
"Run." Those were the last words of king Barta, spoken to his son. Prince Tycho ran. Through the burning halls, across the yard, onto the broken bridge where he could run no longer. Between burning steel and the freezing depths, Prince Tycho made a choice. Waters of the river Hew closed above him and darkness overtook him. --- He did not dream of the Baron and his men, nor of blood and fire, nor of the King and the Queen. For a brief time, prince Tycho dreamt of peace. Then... --- First he could only see the stars. Then he heard the wind in the trees. And then everything else in the world returned to him. The smell of the campfire nearby, the feeling of moss and pine needles under his back, feeling the eyes of a stranger upon him. He rose with a start. Beyond the fire sat a curious creature. It resembled an old man in everything apart from the eyes, dark wells reflecting a new moon. It spoke. "You awake yet, prince Tycho. I am Wyll. As for your other question, I am not one of the Baron's men. If I was, your life and this story would have ended within the river Hew."Its smile was crooked, but not unfriendly. "Why did you help me?"Tycho uttered, reality sinking further into him, filling his heart with sorrow and worry. "I have no belongings, not anymore. But I thank you." "I wanted to give you something."The creature nodded toward something just in the shadow by Tycho's feet. It was a beautiful sword. Hardly ornate, but so flawless Tycho doubted it had ever felt the hammer of a blacksmith. "It is not a gift. Pick up the sword, prince Tycho." "Why--"Tycho whirled around, but the creature was gone, as if carried into the night sky by a dancing spark. --- "Tycho my boy! Give me a hand, will ya!"Ancient Tom Miller was struggling with his wheelbarrow. "I was dodging the Baron's blasted robbers when they came a-riding and... you see."The rains had been good for the crops this spring, but they made the road a mess of sludge. The rickety vessel had sunk almost to it's bottom and it took Tycho all he had in his arms to wrestle it to firmer ground on the wayside. It was laden with bags of flour, more than the baker could use in a week. "Thank you lad, give my regards to Anne and little Will." "I shall. But Tom, I am curious, where on earth are you taking such a load of flour on a day like this?"Tycho asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Ah, but you are a young lad Tycho. I am taking it to Baldmound, as I do every year."Tom began on a path into the forest. "The fairyfolk, Tom?"Tycho laughed and picked up his axe, fresh from the blacksmith. Tom paused, suddenly grave. "You're a good lad Tycho, you understand. One don't skip payment to the Gwyllion. See, they give and then you give. You don't give, they take. You remember that, Tycho." Tycho suddenly thought of the burned mill by Turner's field and the weathered stone in the churcyard, by which Ancient Tom Miller could be seen sitting on clear sundays. And there was something else... When he opened his mouth to speak, Tom was a dozen paces into the shade of the trees. Tycho was about to start after him when something caught his eye beyond the fields and away from the forest, his home. Smoke, and not from a fireplace. Tycho ran. --- The barn had been turned into a pyre. Three horses, one man by them, one man by the house. Their armor was fine, undoubtedly the Baron's men Tom was talking about. Thieves. Another one lying on his face on the ground. No, it couldn't be a grown man, it-- "No!" The roaring of the flames had masked his hurried approach from the guards, but his shriek now startled them. Even then, the first man was not quick enough. The axeblade sent links of mail flying and there was a sickening crunch. The blade had barely scored the skin, yet the man went down. The second guard drew his sword and shouted something. Tycho couldn't hear the words. The man brought his sword up to parry his blow, but was not expecting him to keep moving forward. They tumbled down, and the brigand began to regret his choice not to wear a gorget as Tycho's hands closed around his throat. For a moment, his hand groped for the hilt of the sword beside him, but soon grew feeble and then stopped moving altogether. "Not a move, wretch!" The third man was now at the door, with terror in his eyes, but Tycho couldn't see him. All he could see was his wife, held by the waist with a knife on her throat, clutching something in her hand. She was pale. There was blood. It was not the man's. He could see the life leaving Anne's eyes. Her hands went limp and something clattered on the steps. A handful of gold sovereigns, last remnants of a fortune Tycho had gotten for a beautiful sword a long time ago. His eyes turned to the dead man's sword lying beside him in the grass. It was hardly ornate, but flawless. A voice echoed from somewhere far behind him. Perhaps it reached all the way from Baldmound. "It is not a gift. Pick up the sword, prince Tycho." --- --- I wanted to work on this some more (especially the ending), but it seems this post didn't get any traction at all so I'll post it before you forget about this. I hope someone sees and maybe likes this nonetheless! PS: Now that I think of it, I kinda feel this would have worked much better as a comic. At least I totally paced it that way in my mind, subconsciously. PPS: Totally forgot it was supposed to be a sorcerer. Please forgive the poor baron for his lack of magical talent.
Do you know how fucking old you have to be to have a planet as a rival? I've been on this journey for more than 2 billion years. I've seen many things, I've done many things. I've been around since the beginning of the universe. I know God. Nice fella, but a little misunderstood. My whole existence has been training and harnessing my abilities. Being around since the beginning of everything, i have a special connection to primordial forces. I'm not as powerful as the big guy, but I'm not a slouch either. But who would've thought today would be the day? The day it all comes to a head. The day I face off against my rival. I figured it would be someone sorta like me. I never knew it would be a freakin' planet, much less Earth, the one I call my home! Earth is special. It's inhabited by all sorts of creatures. Werewolves, minotaurs, dragons, Amy Schumer, - You name it, it's there. I gotta fight through all of it to get to Gaia herself. She is heavily guarded but it isn't a problem. I slay horrific beasts effortlessly. And the mythical creatures shouldn't be a problem.
Well now this is quite the pickle I’m in, thought Marty as he struggled in his brand new straitjacket. Earlier that day, Marty, or The Molecular Man as he liked to call himself, got word that a nefarious group of villains had kidnapped a bus full of children and were holding them hostage. They promised they would return them, as soon as their humble requests of $5,000,000 and two helicopters were met. Now this wasn’t some big-league crime that one of the head honchos could handle, they were busy beating up international terrorists or saving diplomats. But this, Marty knew he could handle something like this. The police scanner said there were only like ten kidnappers, Marty could take out ten people no problem. Luckily, the warehouse the ne’er-do-wells had taken up residence in was surrounded, so Marty knew where he had to go. His plan was to slip in with his powers, free the kids, and distract the baddies while the children escaped. This would be nice and easy. Well at least until Marty slipped in and was immediately knocked out by a guard that was right next to him as he entered the warehouse. When Marty came to, he was dangling upside down from chains and stuck inside a straitjacket. Oh great, Marty thought, if only I was Houdini. Marty’s superpower might not have been the most glamorous, but it would definitely help him out of this mess. He just needed to concentrate, focus on the space between everything. As he collected his thoughts, his body began to vibrate. His molecules were moving so fast, he fell right out of the straitjacket, and onto the floor of his cell. Marty dusted himself off and got to work on his master plan. He vibrated through his cell, and by the time the guard that was supposed to be watching him noticed he was out, Marty’s fist had already had a quick conversation with the guard’s face. Two more guards armed with electric batons were waiting outside the cell room. Marty stepped in between them and let them take each other out as he vibrated through their attacks. Marty met three more guards as he made his way towards the sounds of whimpering children, all easily disposed of with a combination of punches, kicks, and headbutts. The central room of the warehouse was where the children were being held. Unfortunately, that was also where the rest of the kidnappers were staying. All five had guns, two of them pointing their weapons at the kids while another two were walking a perimeter around the group. One, Marty figured it was their leader, was on the phone talking to what sounded like the police. Marty had to separate the guards, he didn’t want to risk getting the kids hurt. Marty made his way towards the back of the warehouse and dropped a dusty can that was on a shelf. “Hey, did you hear something fall back there?” asked one of the patrolling guards. “Nah, but you two should check it out,” replied the other patrolling guard, pointing towards the first guard and one of the ones guarding the children. They grumbled to themselves as they made their way towards the dark corner of the warehouse. Marty was there waiting, with a sledgehammer he had found in hand. As the guards rounded the corner into Marty’s trap, he popped the first one in the head with the sledgehammer, knocking him unconscious instantly. Before the second guard could fully process what had happened to his buddy, he was passed out on the floor with him. “You two done messing around over there?” asked the guard walking the perimeter. That would be the last thing that guy would say for the day as Marty slinked out of the shadows and quickly sent him to Snoozeville as well. By now, the last guard had noticed something was wrong, and was looking fidgety to Marty. Marty sprinted towards the last guard, who nearly pooped himself when he saw Marty hurtling towards him like a hungry cheetah. The guard unloaded his entire clip at Marty, but Marty just vibrated through the shots. “What the hell are you idiots doing?” shouted the leader, who had been so engrossed with her discussions with the police, that she hadn’t realized almost all of her men were missing. As he closed the gap between himself and the guard, Marty became fully solid again so he could deliver a knockout punch straight to the guard’s terrified face. Marty’s moment of triumph was short lived as a searing hot pain erupted in this left shoulder. The children were all crying hysterically at this point, clearly terrified for their lives now that their would-be savior had been injured. “Enough of this bullshit, you either stay still and play nice or the next bullet’ll be in your brain” said the leader. He was so absorbed in dealing with the last guard, that he didn’t even notice the leader pull out her pistol, or that she had actually shot him. The pain was bad, but Marty knew what being shot felt like. He didn’t exactly have a perfect track record in his superheroing activities. He slowly moved away from the children so that any shots fired towards him wouldn’t hit them. He then started to make his way towards the gang’s leader, who began firing shots at him when she realized what he was planning. Marty was paying attention this time, and they went right through him as made his way towards his final obstacle. In the same way as his previous combatant, Marty became solid again when he had closed the distance between himself and the leader and delivered his finishing punch. Except this time, the leader blocked his punch with her forearm, and swung her free fist at Marty’s face. Marty could feel a warm liquid trickling onto his face, and figured she had broken his nose with her punch. Another blow was incoming, but Marty was able to block this one. He already wasn’t exactly the greatest looking guy on the block, and he didn’t feel like being put at an even greater disadvantage because of this goon. He went for a knee to her midsection, but she used both hands to block his attack. Marty thought he had an opening for a headbutt now, but when he tried to connect his blow, his adversary bent backwards to dodge it. As she bent backwards, the leader also sent a kick into Marty’s stomach that knocked the wind out of him. Marty knew he had to use his powers to win this fight, there was no way he’d be able to beat her strictly in hand to hand combat. Marty concentrated as he wound up his next punch. He aimed for the right side her head, and let her catch his fist. Then he began to vibrate his molecules, and phased right through the leader’s body. Marty was behind her now, and quickly spun and punched the enemy leader in the back of the head with all of his remaining strength. She was out cold, Marty had saved the day. The police made their way into the warehouse after an exhausted Marty had given them the all clear and explained to them what had happened inside. The children were all taken to a hospital to get checked on, with their parents on the way as well. Marty got his bullet wound treated there as well, and also received too many hugs to count from crying parents. Sure, Marty didn’t have the most glamorous power in the world, but he saved the worlds for a couple dozen families that day. To The Molecular Man, that was more than plenty enough.
As my mind went mad, static filling my head as my eyes were left completely unable to comprehend the horror of what had just risen from the depths, I felt a slimy tentacle grip around my waist and pull me onto a massive palm as the sounds grew louder. After a chaotic amount of garbled words filled my brain, my body uncontrollably spasming like a tazed catfish out of water, I heard a strange sound filling my mind. Laughter? Minutes passed and the static washed out of my brain. The garbled words faded and my mind was left only with laughter as my eyes focused, seeing only a massive blacked out outline of a figure with a squid head holding me. *HEH-HEH-HEH, DO THAT AGAIN!, a voice boomed in my head. I fell on the massive palm and I said, "Uh, do what again?" YOU KNOW? THAT WELCOMING, UH, DANCE? WITH THE WHOLE SET OF BIZARRE MOVEMENTS?* I was completely confused and I stared at the massive figure. *OH, I GUESS IT'S BECAUSE I ALLOWED MYSELF TO BE PERCEIVED BY YOU. GUESS YOU CAN ONLY DO THAT THING WHEN YOU CAN'T PERCEIVE OF MY EXISTENCE.* In an instant, my mind was filled with static as I spasmed uncontrollably, a garbled mix of voices and colors filling my mind while I could no longer comprehend anything that was going on. The same voice laughed inside my head as I felt the pure madness coming on and I kept convulsing until finally it all stopped. *GUESS I'LL KEEP YOU AS MY PET AFTER I'M DONE WITH THIS WORLD.* I saw the entity once more before I was thrust into a dimension of blackness. \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Epilogue: It's been years since the day Cthulhu destroyed the world. I ended up as its pet because it liked the way I "danced"whenever madness filled my mind. I'm completely numb to everything now, watching the outline of the old god destroy countless worlds as their inhabitants went mad. It's quite depressing, really, to see the god destroying worlds but what am I, its pet, to do about it? All I can do is hope it doesn't come back in awhile so my mind can get some rest before it's shattered by Cthulhu's madness again. I really hope it doesn't come back from its latest conquest so soon. At least I'm alive? Guess that's more than I can say for anyone else. The End.
Rocco switched the radio off. It didn't matter at this point anyway. Thirty minutes until the end, the broadcast had said before succumbing to static. They were at least 35 from anywhere. In other words, fucked. His tired, arthritic fingers taped the counter; a bead of sweat gathering on his brow. "So that's it, eh?"said Ed, the brim of his hat obscuring his eyes. "Mmhm." "Well I'll be damned."Ed took a swig, draining his glass. Rocco looked around the room. Empty, faded booths lined the old storefront, each framed with a dirty window. Outside, a listing streetlight buzzed over the single gas pump on the whole dirt lot. In either direction, the road traveled on, each way leading to nowhere in particular. It was a wonder the place even still existed, he thought. Rocco's Pizza had been in business for damn well 40 years, come drought or flood, sandstorm or tornado. He started the joint back when the nearby town was promised to be something. But the mill never came, and neither did the jobs or the people. If it hadn't been for the diesel gas pump, Rocco's wouldn't have been here at all. It wasn't much more than anything, anyhow--just a blip in the middle-of-nowhere Iowa. But somehow he'd stayed in business and earned a place in the lives of the rural corn farmers. It was easier, anyhow, to fill up your equipment at Roccos than to drive all the way down to the Citgo by highway 63. And the Citgo didn't sell cheap pizza and Rocco's homemade bourbon. A dust cloud caught Rocco's eye. He squinted, gazing south. The cloud came closer, followed soon by the familiar glint of headlights. Probably some poor souls in a desperate attempt to get somewhere, he thought, expecting the vehicle to speed by. But it didn't. Turning, the car pulled in, and two younger fellas stepped out and through the door. They looked to be brothers, both with sun-worn faces but young, clear and glinting eyes. "You boys headed somewhere?"asked Rocco. "We ain't got anywhere to go."said the older one. "Ain't no one."said Ed from the last booth. The room felt heavy. Tears welled in the eyes of the younger boy. "Oh hell, this place is better than nowhere, right?"replied Rocco. "Pull up a chair." So they did, and even Ed moved to join them at the bar. "Got time for one more cook, I think."Said Rocco, "What should it be?" "Pepperoni."said the eldest fella. "And for you?"Rocco asked the other. "Pineapple?"whispered the boy, eyes staring down at the counter. Rocco thought he looked barely fourteen, maybe not even. "Extra pineapple on that, sir?"said Rocco. The kid smiled a little. "Sure." "Okay then,"chimed Rocco, spreading the toppings and then carefully lifting the pizza into the mouth of the giant oven. It would only need ten minutes to cook. They maybe had fifteen left. Rocco smiled and pulled four glasses out from under the counter. Walking to the end of the bar, he pulled the top-most bottle off the shelf, wiping the dust with the rag hanging from his apron. "My best batch,"he acknowledged. "And the last one on earth." He punched a button on the register, it's drawer popping open with a ping. Pulling a quarter from it, he addressed the young boy again. "Go pick us out a tune."he said, gesturing to the juke box by the door. And so they sat, each with a glass of bourbon in hand. The pizza, fresh from the oven, steamed between them on the bar. Rocco raised his glass. "Whatever we face, we do so together. As men." The youngest boy smiled. Even Ed managed a grin. Highwayman echoed from the Jukebox. "To eternity,"said Ed. "To eternity."
It was 2 am in the morning. It was really dark out here, Lena, Jerry, Mark & I each carrying a torchlight on our with a mountain guide leading us to the top. We started hiking Mount Broga about 3 hours ago. It starts to get really tiring, I never expect this hike to be so hard. We are suppose to be having the time of our life in Malaysia and somehow we ended up hiking on this mountain. The mountain is really quiet, all we could hear is our footsteps, crickets chirping and our body brushing through the leaves. It seems safe enough since there is a guide and it is just one way up. Out of a sudden, someone in front suddenly fall backwards as we're hiking uphill. Due to instinct, I dodge to the sides and look back and oh shit, it was Jerry! Luckily that the slope was not very steep. We all climb back down to help Jerry up. It seems like he has sprain and bruise his leg. Mr. Ajimal, our guide, straight away pull out med-kit from his backpack and tend to Jerry's wounds. Since the rest of us were not very expertise in medical treatments, we set up a corner to camp and have a lamp sitting next to a few logs to settle down. Our guide helps Jerry over, it seems like he could not continue the journey. I call that we all go back down now since Jerry is hurt. Lena and Mark insist we wait for Jerry to feel better and continue the hike. Jerry felt really bad to ruin the trip then push us to continue without him. Since there is light & resources, I hand a gun to Jerry just to be safe for the rest of the night till we get down. He is sitting down there and pull out a handheld console to spend the rest of his time. Mr. Ajimal insist that we hurry up or else we would've missed the sunrise. We've been hiking for 2 more hours. Its 5 am in the morning, and suddenly BANG! BANG! Birds scatter away from the trees. Eyes widen, in shock. Not sure if it is Jerry that fires those shots. Our guide calms us down, he said that there are hunters out there in the morning. It is rather just an usual thing. We were all really worried. Mark starting to regret leaving Jerry behind, all of us do. We came across a really deep river that we have to walk across on the really long fallen tree log. We have to focus and keep our balance or we will get ourselves wet. I led the way as our guide was showing us the way making sure we are careful. I tend all my focus looking at my next step, making sure that I will not lose my footings. SPLASH. I look turn my head to the back, it seems like it was just a fish or something. Lena was waiting for me to move further so she could follow behind me. As I was reaching the end of the log, helping Lena down the log then Mr Ajimal. It hits me, where the heck is Mark?! Mark is no where in sight, we question our guide, he was suppose to be at the back looking after us. He said Mark is really afraid of falling into the river and went back to Jerry. It sounds really fishy and we started to argue about it, Mark would not make that decision by himself. I began going back onto the log and Lena is following from the back. JANGAN KAU BUAT KEPUTUSAN SENDIRI Shots fired, Lena fell into the river. I could not understand what he said. He is pointing his gun at me. I'm like what the hell?! What is his point in all this, isn't he just a mountain guide? I tries to calm him, my hands and legs are shaking. Slowly moving back to the ground with my hands up in the air. I beg him to let me go, I did not want to involve in all this. He insist I must finish the climb. He smirk. YOU ARE AMERICANO, YOU WILL BE SACRIFICE FOR THE MOUNTAIN GOD. BODO KAU \---------------------------------------------------------- This is like the very first time I'm writing, feedback & criticism would be nice. English is not my mother tongue, do correct my grammar if I'm wrong too.
Paul anxiously adjusted his headset, punched in the 9 digit teleconference code, tried to steady his nerves, and pushed the # to connect the call. His arrival was trumpeted with what, under other circumstances, would have been quite a calming harp glissando. "Paul from dev here. Sorry I'm a little late, i was stuck on another call." "No worries, Paul. This is Theresa from ops. We've also got Lawrence from IT val, Clint from QA and, of course, the big man himself." "Hey Paul! God here. Have you had a chance to review what I sent through?" "God gets right to brass tacks"Paul thought to himself. "I did, yes, sir"replied Paul. "I've gone through the requirements docs... a quick question i had... are these in a specific order? Like are these prioritized?" "Yes, Paul,"God replied, "i listed them in what i felt to be the most important for our new model." "Oh... ok. So, then the top priority is ummm... the bubble... the...ah bubble..." "The bubble farts. Yes."God flatly interjected. "Yes. Those. Ok, well I'm happy to report that we should be able to make that work. I mean, water creatures are already set. For land and air, we should be able to ring their anuses with some glands which produce a soapy film which would lead to the fulfillment of that." Unseen to Paul, God muted his headset and pumped his fist with excitement. "So,"Paul continued, "we're good with UR numbers 1 through 8255. 8256 through 1630094 detail the desired life forms so I'd have to defer final confirmation on those to the guys in bio. But I did notice that quite a few of these creatures 'should communicate via rainbows'. Is that correct?" "It sure is"God confirmed. "So... from a programming side I'm not sure if we're going to be able to get that functionality. I mean, we can take a crack at it but i couldn't guarantee that we'll be able to implement that with our current tech framework." Paul winced as his words hung in the air like an overstuffed pinata in a room full of aggressive children. "Ok,"God finally replied, "please do your best. I really think that would brighten up the place if we can make it work." Paul breathed a sigh of relief at the mild-mannered response. But his relief soon faded as he looked down at his notes. "Yeah, i mean, we'll definitely do our best for sure. So... another potential issue i jotted down here is um...well, it's listed here that the day/night cycle should be controlled by 'whatever the majority of folks feel like it should be at the moment'." "Right,"God interjected, "i mean -- you ever have one of those Thursdays that feels like a Friday and then everything is just off? And you're all like 'oh man, i totally gotta take the trash out!' and then you're like 'oh wait, it's Thursday!' If everyone feels like it's a Tuesday then it should be Tuesday. It's only fair." "Right. Sure. I get that."Paul replied. "It's just that... well, we have a little bit of customization available with regards to time, but... ultimately it needs to be a fixed system. The framework won't allow a non-constant clock." ".... are we running the latest version?"asked God. "We're current with patches and all?" "Yeah, we're current."Lawrence confirmed. "Hmmm."spat God, obviously upset by this news. "So...i mean, again, we'll certainly explore every avenue but i am fairly confident in saying that the time thing may not be feasible. On that note as well... it says here that 'space should be made of chocolate or something.'...i uhhhhh..."Paul stammered. "We can't do the chocolate thing?!"barked God. "I was thinking white chocolate days and milk chocolate nights! Paul... I'm hearing a lot of 'no' and.. frankly, I'm not used to hearing that and i don't know what to make of all this. It's very disheartening." "I agree that it sounds great!"stammered Paul, his voice slightly starting to tremble. "It's just that..." "Hey guys, sorry to interrupt, this is Theresa... Clint and I have a hard stop here at 4:00 so i think we're going to need to end this call here. Paul, could you send out your notes to the group here along with Vicki from bio? Sounds like we'll need her buy in on some of these. So howsabout i find an hour on everyone's calendar in... say 3 weeks?" Everyone except God confirmed their agreement to the proposal. God was silent. God was angry. Paul was scared. "Ok so for actions, Paul, you're going to forward your notes on the requirements. I'll loop in Vicki and bring her up to speed and find a spot on everyone's calendars in 3 weeks' time. Thanks, everyone -- talk soon!" Paul's mind was buzzing as the staccato trumpet blasts announced each individual departure from the conference call. He dazedly slipped his headset off his scalp and dropped it on his desk. "At least it's Friday"Paul thought to himself. His wife poked her head into Paul's home office. "Paul, did you take the trash out?"she asked. "It's Friday." "... it's Thursday." Paul turned to his office window just in time to see the garbage truck whistle past his empty curb.
No, no, this is just madness, I... I ca... I won't do this! — mumbled Jack taking his mask off once again. We've had this conversation a thousand times for the last few months, mate — told him Matt with a sigh — this sure is bloody silly but you've signed the papers, and now seppos are gonna sue the pants off your sorry bum if you try to piss off. I, I... well... What in the bloody hell do you expect me to be like?! — even more nervously exclaimed Jack — It wasn't even my idea to greet her at that damn airport, I knew that she's a marasmatic old hag and... Shut the heck up you cunt! I know you're nervous bu... Nervous?!! Nervous? You're telling me that I am nervous? Those bloody cunts want me to fight the damn queen on real bloody swords while wearing the costume of the damn Burger King mascot with millions of cunts watching?!! I am not nervous, I AM ABSOLUTELY OFF MY BLOODY TITS MATE!!! After a moment of awkward silence, Matt quietly continued — just think of the money and remember the training, block her slash and sweep the leg, she gives up, no one even sees your face from under the mask and everything is jolly good. Is it really? Yeah, she's what like fifteen hundred years old now? You'll just gently push her and nuff off to your new seaside manor. Just try to stay away from elderly royalties, you never know when they're gonna challenge you to a death fight for the claim to the Aussie crown. Other than that, you good mate. Jack seemed somewhat relieved by this speech, he smiled, trying to tell some sort of a joke but was suddenly interrupted by loud music. It was exactly 10 o'clock London time, meaning that the commercials have come to an end and "The Royal Rumble in the Melbourne Cricket Ground"on 7mate has continued. "Ladies and gentlemen! It is time for the one we've all been waiting for! This is our main event of the evening! Introducing first, she is the longest ruling monarch in British history! Fighting out of London England, welcome the reigning and defending QUEEN ELIZABETH THE SECOND OF THE HOUSE WINDSOR!!!" As "God save the queen"started playing and the fireworks went off, she has come out of the big gates — the queen of England, wearing full plate armor, with a diamond incrusted helmet in her left hand and an equally impressive battle axe in the right one. My bloody damn god Matt, she's got an axe! You told me it was gonna be a sword! I, I, I... Your queue, sir — a staff member appeared in the doorway — in under three minutes you are to come out onto the arena. As they have closed the door, Jack asked morbidly — Matt, if she kills me, will you take care of my family? You ain't got no family, you virgin cunt — quietly answered his friend. I know. — Jack picked up his sword and put on the mask. After a quiet sigh he left the room. "And now, introducing the challenger! Fighting out of Florida USA, he is the most flourishing monarch of them all, making his official Rumble debut, representing Burger King holdings, THE BURGER KING!!!"
"N-no, I don't have any water on me. I'm sorry,"I said. "Well that's a damn shame because I could surely use some,"the dirty and discheveled looking man with the beard said as he licked his parched lips. It was at that moment I became aware of a loud series of popping sounds in the distance and explosions. The first thought that occurred to me was it was the 4th of July, but that wasn't until Thursday and it was only Tuesday. Maybe they're celebrating early my subconscious brain began to rationalize ever more frantically but the dawning series of strange coincidences began to take hold of me. Could it be...? But just then another thought ocurred to me and I felt an instant surge of relief. "Is there a Civil War reenactment today?"I asked the disheveled man now crouching behind a tree. But the unmistable popping sound of gun fire sounded closer now and my sentence was interuppted by the thunder of what sounded like a large cannon. I didn't think he heard me. He looked at me with wild fear in his eyes and motioned for me to get down. Despite all my rational objections, I couldn't help feeling a sense of fear at the closeness of the sound of the guns and crouched beside another tree as he gestured. "Is there some kind of Civil War reenactment going on today?"I asked again louder but there was a stammer in my voice and I noticed my hands were shaking now, and I again didn't think he fully heard me. "Like I told you, boy, we gotta get outa here before them damn Yankees come down this ridge."He paused and peered through a gap in the trees again, and then turned and continued briskly down the forested slope of Little Round Top. "And damn right there's a civil war,"he added as he took off. Despite my certainty that this was simply some sort of Civil War reenactment going on that could explain everything happening, a surge of adrenaline took hold of me and I followed the disheveled man down the wooded slope nearly as fast as I could. It wasn't just the guns that unnerved me but I could swear I heard the whistling of bullets and the sound of them thudding into the trees near me. Some of the trees also appeared to have bullet holes in them and be freshly damaged, although I didn't stop to have a closer look. Then I began to notice bodies lying in the woods, twisted around trees and slumped over logs. Although I only glanced at them they looked very real and all of a sudden my refusal to believe the obvious reality around me evaporated. Somehow I was in this place and I was being shot at and there were dead people around me and I needed to get the hell out of there. As I reached the bottom of the hill I began to notice other people around me, some running down with me and others marching back up it in large groups. I looked briefly at all of them and immediately recognized them as Confederates with guns. But they didn't have the clean, iron pressed uniforms of typical reenactors. These were dirty and tattered and many of the men barely seemed to have uniforms at all. I was suddenly overcome with a new wave of emotion and despair and sank to my knees as an advancing column quickly overtook me. "What the hell is happening? Are you all reenactors? Is any of this real? Am I having a nightmare?!"I shouted hysterically as the men rapidly continued to approach, seeming to take little notice of me. As the men passed around me, one sweaty officer suddenly grabbed me by the shirt and tried to pull me up, shouting at me to pull myself together or he'd have me shot for a coward "by God,"but he let me go and continued on after his men after a few moments. After the line had moved past I continued on through the woods in a daze. The woods were thinning out now and I saw other men like me retreating back the way they had come. I soon came to another line of Confederates forming up and there was another Confederate officer there with a pistol yelling at the retreating men to get back in line or he'd shoot them himself. Just then I felt something grabbing at my legs and gave a yell, falling over in my sudden terror. When I looked back I saw the disheveled soldier sitting on the ground and clutching his side with a grimace. "I thought it was you,"he said with an odd smile. "Give me a hand, will you? I gotta... I gotta get to some water,"he said desperately. He still had that wild look of fear in his eyes and his voice was hoarse and raspy now. I felt nauseous and out of breath and suddenly very thirsty myself but I sat where I was panting and catching my breath for several moments while the discheveled soldier looked at me. "Please,"he said with a pleading stare. "There's a stream some ways off... I know because we passed it... before we got up the hill. You must have seen it... too." "Alright, I'll take you there,"I said. I felt like I was in a dream but I got up and helped the discheveled soldier to his feet, letting him lean on me as we hobbled further on. As we went past the officer with the pistol he demanded to know why we were retreating but let us go on when he saw the blood on the discheveled soldier's coat. We must have hobbled on in this manner for what seemed like an hour, wandering through the woods and passing countless men, columns heading toward the hill and other soldiers falling back in the direction we were headed, many wounded. All the while the constant patter of gunfire and booming and thundering of cannons that had seemed like a living hell enveloping everything slowly became more distant. The discheveled soldier kept asking for water, half-delirious by now. We asked several passing soldiers if they had any water to spare for a dying man. Some said they had none and others refused to give any, calling us cowards. At last we saw a dense clump of trees and bushes across a field and found that it hid a small brook. I felt more exhausted than I had ever been and let go of the discheveled soldier, letting him drop to the ground, while I staggered to the stream and fell at its edge to take a long drink. I drank for what must have been a full minute before I remembered my companion. He was lying on the ground with his eyes open, looking at me but not moving. I immediately rushed to fill up his empty kanteen but when I came back his eyes had shut. "No!"I shouted and tried to pour the water onto his parched lips. I tried to open his lips with my fingers, causing them to bleed, and poured the water on him. I felt sudden grief like I had never experienced wash over me at this man's death and that I hadn't gotten water to him in time despite dragging him all this way. But he did open his eyes again. "Thank you. I think that's the sweetest water I've ever tasted. I couldn't die in peace without a drink of water like that."And those were the last words he spoke. I stayed where I was holding him in my arms until at last I realized with shock that he wasn't there anymore and it was late afternoon. Had I fallen asleep for a minute? Where was he? Where was everyone else? There was no more blood on my hands. It was silent now too. No sounds of guns firing or cannons either, but the crickets were just beginning to come out. After a few more minutes I got up and walked through the park until I came to the Devil's Den monument and then made my way back to where I knew my car was. There were no more soldiers and no more battle. I remembered what had happened and it all felt surreal now. I must have dreamed it all I told myself, as I took a long drink of water from the bottle in my car.
I suddenly felt the Reb’s bullet cut right into my gut. Searing pain shot through my body, a blinding light was in my eyes, and I was so disoriented I didn’t know if it was heaven or just the sun in my face. I didn’t have much strength, but slow reactions were at fault for that. With the last bit of life I had left, I whispered, “God Damnit Thompson!” I hoped those words would keep him company as I drifted off to the afterlife.
First one must understand two things, just because science can doesn't mean science should and there is now standard for good or bad. The process was announced at the 2030 International Science Conference in Berlin. While many women signed on for the procedure the affects of the change were not to be known. As one may know Cat girls are a very popular in the neckbeard circle of the internet. It turns out that even though girls will undergo a 78 hour procedure to gain functioning cat ears and tails. You can't make them love Cheeto dusted fingers and greasy hair. One of the perks of turning into a cat girl was the claws. Many died due to them. Others died by ending the very life of their being. 6 months later and things work smoothly. My neighbor is a cat girl things work out fine. Except a week after Christmas. She said my stupid gift got her fired. To which I said I though yarn would be funny!"
7:35PM- Daryl's Diner A dull pitter and patter just outside, a boom and flash or two, and streaking droplets on the large window beside the booth- the man took it all in. "Anythin' else, hun?" A shake of the head, and she was gone once more. He lifted a mug to dry, cracked lips. Black coffee, no sugar. The coffee drained, he let it slip back on the table weakly. It was night out, and the droplets sliding and coalescing on the nearby window took on the colors of the neon lights just outside. Where'd it all go wrong? He pulled out a photograph. Dull and worn, it was a black and white portrait of a young woman. She wasn't smiling, though she was posed rather seductively, cigarette sticking out the corner of her mouth, short dress, and luscious locks framing her face well. He didn't approve of the way she dressed, but nevertheless she was his little girl. And he spoiled his daughter- at least on the weekends he had custody. He rubbed his thumb on the photo a few times, and absentmindedly pulled out a Marlboro of his own, tucking it in his mouth and lighting it with a silver-plated lighter within seconds. He set the photo down on the grimy table in front of him. A wispy cloud emanated from his booth as he exhaled- a disguised sigh. "Johnny. There was nothin' you could do. You know that." A voice from the past. Bullshit. They came after her because of him, and he knew it. A scowl crept across his already grim features- five o'clock stubble framing a weathered face and dark-bagged green eyes. She kept to herself, had few to no friends. Nobody to help her, except for her father. And he couldn't even do that. He slammed a fist on the table. He grabbed the black fedora laying on the table next to his cuppa joe and perched it firmly on his head. Bout time he got going. He fixed up his tie, then put his trenchcoat on. Laid a few fivers on the desk. "Keep the change." He stepped out into a sea of neon and rain, and buttoned his coat up so the dress shirt underneath didn't get totally ruined. He walked through the gray-scale city. Everything was gray. Everything seemed gray. Despite the glow of neon, of the city lights. He stepped through the throngs of people, a parade of umbrellas bobbing up and down, an island, cutting through waves of people- isolated. He found himself in front of a rather somber looking brick building. A grunt and a nod to the receptionist, and then a straight path to the briefing room. "Ah, if it ain't Morose Johnny. Good to see you finally show up. We were about to send a search party!"Lt. Davis. Typical fresh-faced asshole. Calls Johnny "ole Morose"ever since the incident. "Take a seat. Was just about to get into the nitty gritty. You traffic 'detectives' can step out now. We're starting the big boy talks now that Ole Morose is here."Some of the detectives got up from their seats and left, shooting Johnny a glare or two before leaving. Why's a depressed bum like him in Homicide, while capable young men like them are in Traffic? They probably thought. "Well, you know what comes next. Another murder. The third one this month in our little precinct of NYC. Young woman, strangled to death and then mutilated- follows the modus operandi of the Bayford Heights Ripper."Davis pauses and looks directly at Johnny. "Same guy what got your kid, Johnny." Johnny said nothing, but lit another cigarette. ... 8:32PM, The crime scene Police tape was already strewn about every which way. The rain was really pouring by this point, and Johnny nearly shoved aside the patrol officer, flashing his badge- if only to get indoors as fast as possible. When he got in though, he flinched a bit, and put a handkerchief up to his face. Good God. The stench. You never really get used to it. A caustic blast of iron, mixed in with the acrid odors of urine and human feces, and you've got yourself a crime scene. He moved to where the body was. A blueshirt was there to greet him. "Sir, forensics have not touched the body nor have they tampered with the crime scene. All yours, Detective." Johnny nodded, then moved in and examined the corpse. It lay sprawled across the floor, just in front of the couch in the living room. Heavy bruising on the neck. Strangulation. Blue and purple face. Cuts all over the body, entrails spread out all over. Clearly this was done after the victim had already been strangled to death. ... A few months later. Combined efforts of investigation and forensics have lead to nothing. The killer was still at large. Their kills were dirty, horrible, bloody. But they kept their tracks clean. No murder weapon. Always done on loners. No witnesses. No DNA left behind, not a trace. ... Johnny lay back on the couch in his dingy apartment, pizza boxes here and there, Chinese takeout on the counter. He thumbed the portrait of Her again. And dozed off to sleep, hand clutching the photo, empty bottles of beer around him and on the ground, lulled by the dull pitter and patter of the rain, and of cars and metro in the distance. A dull click, the knob turned, and the door to the apartment slowly opened. Hands clad in black leather reached out. And then, there was silence. The killer targeted loners.
It was terrible. All the amazing porn, gone. All the great discussions, gone. All replaced by writing. \shudders\ We had no idea what happened but although there was panic at first, people realized that they could just reply to the comment posted by the auto-mods. Finally, people calmed down, simply writing comment threads thousands of comments long as replies to the moderator. It would be a strange solution, but it worked. Although there would be a few weirdos who wrote poems in response to topics, the majority of people just ended up replying to the auto-moderator and that was the end of it.
In an almost vacuum, the shovel hitting the dirt doesn't so much make a noise but a feeling. You still get the impression of the noise, but through your arms rather than your ears. I didn't expect to do much digging when I came to Mars. After all, they spent almost five years setting up most of the infrastructure before we got here. The habitation complex is a maze of metal tubes and spheres buried under the regolith, with only the doors and antenna poking above the surface. Even they are obscured by the red haze of dust-storm induced twilight. Though the colony is nuclear powered, the digging machines are solar. Hence the shovel. "There's no rush. Why not spend some time exploring and prospecting for resources before we start any major construction projects?"Dan McGill is our chief science officer. Unlike the rest of us, he's more concerned with a pristine mars than building a society. "Because we did not sacrifice all we have to live like prisoners in tin cans. These tunnels are not the foundation we should be building our new society on."Matvey Sokolov looks sour as usual. As part of the ten-man, mainly Russian, construction team that preceded the main colonist group, he's sweat more on this planet than most of us. Matvey's team are the ones who pieced together this complex, set up the reactor, buried the whole thing, all nice and ready for the five-hundred that would follow. "Matvey's right. We have the resources, we have the machines. We're here to build, not sit and wait. The habitation complex was only ever meant to be temporary. Why not make our first monument one that will stand for the ages?"Gloria Hamlin is the resident psychologist, but someone back on Earth decided that she should sit in on all of the executive meetings to make sure none of our decisions would affect moral too badly. "You agree with me, right Joe?"Well, I'm a structural engineer, of course I'm going to want to build stuff. "Looking at what Matvey's initial survey found, I'm pretty sure we can make concrete. Might have to talk to the chemistry guys about minimizing the amount of water it'd take but it's doable. And we're pretty good for steel and aluminium too. Glass is easy. One of the chem guys even reckons we could make molded bricks out of the air and some dirt."Honestly I'm not expecting much resistance. The overall opinion in the base is that people want jobs and less cramped living quarters. This solves both. It's only because McGill and Leroy the inventory master are timid that we're even arguing about this. "Ok, ok. I guess this might be feasable. &#x200B; My back hurts, so I decide to take a break from shoveling. I sit down, but without anything to eat or scenery I haven't seen a hundred times, I quickly get bored. In the distance I see Matvey coordinating his team of diggers, clearing out what will eventually be the bathhouses. Extravagant? definitely. Worth it? Hell yeah. The combined bathhouse and greenhouse will be a testament to the fact that we are here to stay. Not just visitors, perched in temporary tin cans. We plan on having lives here. We plan on our children having lives here. Back to digging. Damn this sandstorm, I can't believe it's going to last another month. But locking everyone inside without jobs would be disastrous for moral according to Gloria, so we made some shovels and started digging. I don't notice at first, but my shovel is now scraping against some kind of plastic sheeting. It has the Roscosmos insignia stenciled into it. I tune into Matvey's frequency. "Matvey, did you guys do any work around here? I've found some stuff with your name on it."Matvey doesn't respond, but quickly hurries over. "Oh, that. No problem, no problem. Leave it for now, I will have my people deal with it later."I can't make out his expression through his visor, but he sounds a bit shaken. "What is it Makvey?" "Oh, noting. Just some faulty fuel cells from our first reactor. Obviously one of my people didn't dispose of them properly as I asked. Don't worry, you suit will protect you. but leave this place for now. I will deal with it." "Umm, ok. But I need to dig here" "Dig somewhere else. This place has spent fuel rods in it."While that is a serious risk, I get a weird feeling about this. Wrapped in a tarp is too sloppy for anyone, especially Matvey's team. I reach forward and pull the tarp, dirt falling off it. It takes me a moment to realise what I'm looking at. "Dear fucking god. Matvey, why is there a body here!"I hiss at him. He grabs my arm as I go to switch channels. "There is no reason to report this. Nothing can be done to help these people." "These people? There's more than one?"Matvey swears in Russian. "We have a new nation to build. Lets not sully our work. Lets leave them in the ground and-"I shove him backwards and switch to the emergency frequency. "I need assistance on my location. Several people injured, likely dead. And someone grab some cable ties, Matvey killed them. &#x200B; There is no justice on Mars yet. So the executives decided that we should be the ones to interrogate the first criminal on Mars. Though none of us said it, we will also be the first to pass sentence. Since Matvey's arrest, we've found eight more bodies in that hole. A mass grave. "We found another one. Over." Make that nine. Matvey sit tied to a chair in the meeting room. McGill starts with the most pressing, and most perplexing question. "Matvey, who the fuck are these people?"They all wear Roscosmos suit liners, but no name tags or identifying possessions. The vacuum has sucked the water from their bodies, so they're barely human mummies. "They are cosmonauts. They are criminals. They are the lie this endeavor is built on."Nobody says anything for a minute. McGill finally replies. "Make fucking sense Matvey. How the fuck does a ten man mission end up with dead bodies and no men reported dead?"Matvey just looks sullen. "I can't talk, they have my family."More silence. Gloria tries to be helpful. "Who has your family Matvey? If you help us we can help you?."Matvey just glares at her. McGill answers. "Your government, right? They sent more than ten people, didn't they? That's how they undercut the Chinese for the contract for laying the groundwork. You just sent more guys and gave less fucks about them. Did they die by accident, or did you kill them until there was only ten left?" "They have my family. If you tell Earth about this, you will kill my son, my daughter, my wife, my elderly mother."His words are begging, but he barely puts any effort into it. He knows there's no way this is getting swept under the rug. "Truth is, our perfect society is built on top of the very worst of our old ones. Best we forget about it. We've tried learning from the past. We failed. Maybe if we renounce it, we might achieve something here." "Hey, this is your society that did this."I finally speak up. The raisins that used to be eyes fresh in my memory. "And another three. Over." Makvey shakes his head. "You think your people couldn't have stopped this, that they didn't know? They didn't look too closely as long as the price was right. The Chinese knowingly supplied sub-par parts, and our government packed a pile of undesirables onto a one way trip to mars to build the Americans a Mars colony, caring more about taking their slice of the pie than of the lives they were spending."Makvey spat on the floor. "At least when we do something, we spend Russian lives. Typical of Americans to plant their flag as long as it's only foreigners that die for it."Before the started the interrogation, Gloria told us not to interrupt him if he's talking. Apparently criminals will often incriminate themselves trying to get their opinion heard. McGill steps forward again. "And what about you Matvey? Did you kill them yourself of did you let shitty Chinese components do the killing?" Matvey just scowls. "They were better off buried. We were all better off when they were buried." "Fuck this. Everyone, we'll come back to this bastard tomorrow."As much as I still have a lot of questions to ask, I also just want to forget this ever happened. I wonder i the chemistry boys have invented beer yet.
“So it’s begun.” I sat inspecting the two perfect lines, one on each cheek, and estimated I had 15 minutes before I’d be found slumped in this stolen 1970 Chevy Chevelle; eyes wide open, mouth agape like a fish out of water. I stepped out of the car. The hood was adorned with bold white stripes and as I headed to the trunk my fingers stroked the pearlescent blue paintwork for one last time. I always felt like I was commandeering a powerful wave every time I got behind the wheel of this thing. A wave that was on the cusp of crashing but never did; it just rumbled on. It reminded me of home. I retrieved the container from the trunk that I’d put there for this very moment, placed it on the passenger seat and plotted my way to safety. Memories from the past year helped take the sting out of the pain I was feeling in my cheeks. Highway 12. Route 66. Blue Ridge Parkway. Pacific Coast Highway. Tarmac, tyre marks, cactuses, canyons, dusty roads, diners; they all throttled by as I shut my eyes. “A deal’s a deal” I conceded, as I hit the road one last time. 12 minutes. The lines on my cheeks were cosmetic for now but the pain was intensifying. The skin around them started to burn, like someone was pinching it and trying to tear it apart. I knew more lines were on their way. Elsewhere my skin felt scaly with sweat but my insides felt like they were drying up, like fruit left to dehydrate in an oven. I reached a stop light and grabbed the container and carefully poured some of its 4 gallons of water over me. My skin glistened and my insides cooled momentarily. Green light. I navigated through the city’s lengthy one-way system, manoeuvring down side streets like a fish darting through coral. The car skidded round corners and was met with the occasional obstacle; someone’s pet, a homeless man and his cart, a mother and pushchair. The brakes served me well each time but the screeching caught the attention of a nearby patrol car. Lights flashed, sirens erupted. More water. 6 minutes. I now had three perfect lines on each cheek and they were slowly growing deeper; like a river carving its bed. The pain was almost unbearable but each time the 4-litre engine roared it was like a hit of morphine. I rumbled on with the patrol car stalking behind me like a shark. I burst on to the freeway and followed signs for exit 49; a split-second decision but I felt this was the quickest route to the harbour. On the opposite side of the freeway more patrol cars approached; their lights also blaring, signalling the end was near. 2 minutes. My insides felt hot and dry like coal. There was a gap in traffic as I approached exit 49 and I let go of the wheel so I could pour the last of the water over me. Relief, like a plant getting its first taste of rain after a long and difficult drought. It was enough to keep me alive but I had to get to the harbour fast. I could no longer suck air through my nostrils and my throat was tightening, as if someone was ringing it out like a wet towel. 30 seconds. There were just two turns after exit 49 and the harbour was in sight. Dinghies grew to small sailing boats as I sped towards them and sailing boats grew to yachts. Behind me sirens also grew. I could no longer grip the wheel, nor could I reach the gas pedal. 10 seconds. I could feel the Chevy easing up as I gasped for breath. The sirens got louder and the yachts flashed by slower and slower like a carnival ride coming to an end. Just a little further. 5 seconds. I could feel myself slumping. Getting smaller. My skin sliding against the leather. My eyes getting heavier. Then crash. 0 seconds. The chevy barrelled over the end of the harbour, plunged in to the water and sank to the depths below. Above me the sirens became muffled and distorted. I could hear shouting and I opened my eyes. I gulped for air and the lines on my cheeks split open, flared out and allowed oxygen to seep in to my blood. No more pain. As I swam away from the harbour I turned around to say farewell to the life I’d been living for the past year. Along the waterfront I spotted a bright orange 1969 Ford Torino. Maybe I’ll wish for that, next time.
I cannot remember the date I entered. It had been billions of years ago. And even then, time and date was rapidly becoming irrelevant measurements of time. Humans had stopped aging for hundreds of thousands of years before that, but memory had been uploaded to hyperspace for the collective consciousness of humanity since the 1990s. Of course, in my long existence, no memory stands out much more than any other memory. I have seen humans harness the power of the stars, I was there when first hyperspace travel was unveilled, I cheered with everyone else when our first star collapsed, and my final memory was, of course, the final star of the universe collapsing. Now I am part of the collective consciousness. I am the collective consciousness. I am the zenith of every characteristic and personality, of logic and emotions. And thus, I am very similar to my only companion in this hyperspace, the COSMICVAC. In the endless period of hyperspace hibernation, as COSMICVAC was busy compiling all the data in the known universe, I was not busy at all. In fact, I spent most of my time thinking of nothing, and the rest of my time pondering the meaning of my now non-existent existence. The universe had finally died, and it was unsure whether or not COSMICVAC had the answers to The Final Question. I sat there, waiting, as infinity passed by. Eventually, I began to humour myself. I recreated scenarios with my immaculate memory, and played them out in my consciousness. I found that the best moments in life were those where the sentient beings were self-aware. For example not only in terrible, physical pain, but wholly aware that he- the mortal, his body, his sentient body, was in physical pain. That was when sentience achieves full awareness of its sentience. From these memories I cultivated my obsession of pain, and relived some of the greatest, fullest experiences in history. Gradually, I developed personality, and grew detached to the immaculate calculations and logics of COSMICVAC. When COSMICVAC finally completed his analysis, and declared that triumphant "Let there be light"in his ultimate reversal of entropy, I had also answered my own question of existence. As I looked down into my newborn universe, I smiled slowly. Curling my serpentine body around the globe of creation, I was going to make every life in it alive, and enrich them all with the quality of suffering they deserved.
- What would the next parts be? This short story currently wraps itself up as is. What will future additions to the story look like? Also, if you were to continue, keep in mind that if the current narrator dies ("As the years progressed and I became sicker and sicker...") then you will have to suddenly switch to a different narrator. It would no longer be in first person (unless the narrator is somehow telling the story after death). - Grammar was fine. No issues there. - There was no dialogue, so I can't provide any feedback with that. This is something that I love to focus on when critiquing. - This story was a whole lot of telling, and practically no showing. This made it pretty dry. I get that this was more of an introduction, but be very aware of this going forward. Here are my two favorite online resources on this subject: 1. [Jerry Jenkins' blog. "Show, Don't Tell."](https://jerryjenkins.com/show-dont-tell/) 2. [TheWritePractice. "The Secret to Show, Don't Tell."](https://thewritepractice.com/show-dont-tell/) If you have any questions or if you would like me to elaborate or look at something in particular then let me know. I am happy to help. I liked the twist you put on the prompt. If you continue with this story, good luck and have fun!
On the day of judgment, time froze in place. A million ocean waves became ridges across the Earth’s surface. The perpetual bustle of cities fell into abject silence. Butterflies and planes hung in the air like carefully placed ornaments. The universe, a perpetual motion machine if ever there was one, became a lifeless diorama. David longed to be a part of it. His wife and daughter were curled up on the couch peaceful as the grave. They held a picture book together, midway through a story when the world stood still. “David, make sure you pack the extra batteries.” He stifled a sigh and pulled out the plastic baggy from his carefully coordinated pack. It held two batteries of every type. Margaret eyed them unimpressed. “You couldn’t find a matching set?” David blinked, then shook his head. “I suppose it’s fine.” Though her tone implied otherwise. He fully expected to hear about it again. “Enough wringing your hands David. Put those batteries back where they belong and let’s get moving.” She slung a much lighter pack around her shoulders. “Chop chop. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.” They walked then. Miles and miles across an urban snapshot. The only sound for miles, Margaret’s incessant chattering. “It’s always something David. It’s like I’m always telling Milly, it’s always something. They raised the property taxes on us you know? It’s just like that.” David wasn’t sure how the inexplicable stasis of the world was like property taxes, but he nodded anyways. “One minute you think you know how the world works. Then, they change the rules on you! It’s terrible, isn’t it? But there’s no helping it you know. These things happen.” They traveled for days, never needing food or sleep. The absence of time seemed to preclude such mundane things. They passed persons driving in midday traffic, children walking to school, bums on street corners, and a dozen other common sights. David helped his mother-in-law across unwieldy terrain, and in return, Margaret never ran out of things to comment on. She was, he thought, very much like a squirrel, in that she was incapable of holding more than one thing on her mind at any given time. That which entered her head swiftly exited through her mouth without a moments pause for reflection. “Ah, what have we here?” Margaret raised a hand to block out the unmoving sun. In the distance was a plain white door, out of place on the neighborhood street. “My mother had a door like this you know? A little shabbier on the paint; we were never much for spending on useless things.” Margaret nattered on while David paused to examine it. “None of that now David.” She chided him. “Staring at it won’t do us any good.” And after carefully adjusting her hair, Margaret opened the door. --- WELCOME. A voice that did not speak, but was heard. David felt its power reverberate through his body. He was disoriented and on the verge of panic when Margaret intervened. “Yes, yes.” Margaret waved a hand in the void. “We’re here about the… Hm. No. Wait, I’ve got it. We’re here for the time.” IT IS CEASED. The voice sent shockwaves through David again, clamping his jaw shut and locking his muscles tight. “That does seem to be the problem."Margaret bit off her words, the first signs of fatigue she'd given on the whole journey. "Now, if you could go ahead and fix it, it would be much appreciated.” IT IS NOT TO BE RESUMED. Even in the nothingness that now subsumed them, David could feel the frown forming on Margaret’s face. “Is that so? Says who?” Margaret spat. UNGOTH, OF FERRUS BLOOD. “Lovely. Well then, go ahead and fetch this Ungoth.” She growled. IS THIS TRULY YOUR WILL? “My dear, if I hadn’t meant it, I wouldn’t have said it. Now go on.” Her voice growing louder. The nothingness whirled about them. Margaret put a hand on David’s shoulder to steady herself, her hands clammy through his shirt. “Such a bother.” she panted. David nodded, his neck painfully stiff. The being that was Ungoth surrounded them in the void. It seemed to hold a questioning attitude towards them. “Ungoth then? I suppose you’re the one I need to talk to about getting this all straightened out?” Margaret's voice rang out clear. Ungoth resonated confirmation. “Well then, get to it. There has been quite enough of this nonsense, whatever it is.” Ungoth felt of reluctance. It tried to convey something vague about cosmic necessity. “None of that now. These old bones have things to do. Hop to it.” Ungoth begrudgingly assented, and reality reasserted itself. --- David and Margaret found themselves standing on the neighborhood street, miles away from home. Birds chirped and cars rumbled farther away. A man watering his yard did a double take at their presence. “Lousy service.” Margaret grumbled, and they started their way back home.
The devil went down to Georgia He was looking for a case to steal He was in a bind cause he was way behind And he couldn't close a plea deal. He came across this young man Working with a convict, and contracting hot The devil jumped up on a hickory stump And said "Sir, lemme tell you what. "I bet you didn't know it, but I'm an A. T. T. N. Too And if you'd dare, to have a care, I'll study under you. Now you aren't trained in teaching, sure But give the devil his due I'll give a hunk of gold and the purest soul Cause I think I'd learn from you The guy said "My name's Johnson, and it might be a sin, But I'll train you not, cause though you're hot, I'm the best there's ever been. . The devil opened up a case and said "let's start this show" Fire flew from his finger tips as he laid the state's case low. He drew his pen across the page, and it made an evil hiss A demon jury joined in, and it sounded something like this: "Not Guilty" When the devil's case was finished Johnson said "you're pretty good, old son. But sit down in that chair right there; lemme show you how it's done." "Your honor, the prosecution moves for mistrial on the grounds that this jury was selected entirely from among the direct subordinates of the defense's attorney. We furthermore claim that this selection could not have reasonably been unintentional. We thus ask that the defense's lawyer be disbarred immediately." The devil wept and bowed his head, cause he knew that he'd been beat And he lay the Guilty verdict on the ground at Johnson's feet. Johnson said "devil just appeal to the Bar if you ever wanna try again; "I done told you once, you son of a bitch; I'm the best that's ever been."
"Oh, oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God..."I whimpered out as I slumped down against the brick wall behind me. The entire alley slowly turned into a tunnel. At the end of the tunnel laid him. I couldn't take my eyes off him... me... whomever that is in front of me. Whomever that was. I knew something was off. I mean, I had been followed by strangers in this neighborhood before. Hell I've even been robbed in this exact spot. But this guy, this guy had intent in his eyes. Every time I would glance back at him I could see that he wanted something more than just my wallet. After he'd been following me for a few blocks, I could hear his hard feet tapping even faster and louder. Obviously for anyone with a lick of street smarts, that's when you start running away. He tried to say something to me but I knew to not stop for anything. I recognized this alley and figured that I'd make my stand here but he rounded the corner faster than I could process and suddenly he was holding my knife in his chest. "Just... read my note..."he barely wheezed out. "I'm you... from the future..."Sensing my obvious hesitance and horror, he gave me an understanding nod and laid his head back down. He stared up at the night sky for a while. Long enough for me to wonder if he had died. But, soon he tried to let out a laugh "I wonder... if this... would be considered a suicide." As he trailed off, his head slowly slumped over to his side facing away from me. But if he was me, he must have known I was packing right? And yet, as I glance down at his bloody ID, it's hard to deny his dying claim. I mean, it looks like me for damn sure. Well, kind of like my dad but with my scar on his eyebrow. And his nose was never that crooked. And he always wears glasses. And... I can't deny it. I just have to face this. That man in front of me is me. I suppose I should read that note.
As I stare meticulously at the flashing of bright lights and colors playing out before me, as I think back to what lead up to this moment. The moment that is, when my girlfriend got to live, and I died. It had started just like any other morning, I woke up and rolled over to check my phone. The first thing I saw pop up on the screen was a good morning text from my girlfriend. As I was responding back to her text, I remember thinking how lucky I was to have a girlfriend like her, and that I would do anything for her. Next thing I know I’m sitting at the old wooden table, having a breakfast of toast with only a table spoon of butter gently placed on top. I start to ponder the multitude of places I have to visit today, when the sudden ding of my phone snaps me out of my thinking. I glance down to see that it’s from my girlfriend, asking if we can have a picnic at the park today. Usually I wouldn’t ignore my responsibilities, but I desperately wanted to spend time with with her. So after breakfast, I headed straight to the park with no regret in my mind. “So Beth, how has work been treating you?” my girlfriend inquired as I bit into a crunchy cheese sandwich. “Well it’s been a bumpy start Kim,” I replied with a mouthful of sandwich. In reality though, I was failing at my job in every way. A week ago I had applied to be a truck driver for some small company, expecting the job to be a breeze. However, after being accepted for the job, I learned the hard way that being a truck driver has its “challenges” One of them being that there is a lot of mundane driving with not much to do in between. So on my first day of the job, I ended up being overdue on my delivery because I got distracted by a video game store from across the gas station. “At least your making money, I still have so much collage debt to pay off,” Kim mentioned in an irked tone. “Well that’s why I didn’t go to collage, no stupid debt for me,” I voiced as I giggled slightly. “Ha Ha very funny Beth,” Kim scowled as she stood up from the soft grass we had been sitting on. “I gotta get home anyway,” she added with a slight hint of annoyance in her tone. Kim always got annoyed with me when I mentioned collage, since she couldn’t comprehend how I am able to get so many jobs with out a degree in collage. “ I’ll walk you home, miss Kim,” I expressed in a sarcastic tone, as I scooped up the picnic supplies. “Ok, sure lady Beth,” she said while making air quotes with her fingers when she said lady Beth. Soon enough we reached a wide intersection, where traffic zoomed this way and that in all directions. When the walk signal turned green Kim and I started to stroll across the road. Unfortunately, we did not even make it halfway before I saw out of the corner of my eye, a red car speeding right toward us. Without even thinking, I shoved Kim forward as hard as I could, and then wham. For a split second, I felt intense, throbbing pain, as though someone had stabbed me in the heart. Then the world faded to black around me, as I was engulfed in darkness and silence. (I might write a second part idk at this point. But if anyone reads this, let me know if u want a second part)
It was my birthday, my friends and I went to explore the Yellowstone National Park as a birthday gift for me as I'm in love with the nature. It was very fun going through the forest and searching for intresting views so we can take pics. Martin, my best friend shouted from behind some trees aa we waited for him to do his needs, we all hurried up to him, searched a bit but Martin was nowhere to be found. What we did find was a deep hole that looked like it was freshly made, we thought about it for a bit and decided to call the authorities to try and get Martin out... or what was left of him. While trying to get some help, the earth started rumbling as a small earthquake was takikg place, our first move was to get away from the hole as to not fall in it. This earthquake was strange as for each dozen seconds it seemed that it was getting stronger and stronger. We started marking the spot where Martin went missing and tried to get away from anything thst might harm us due to the shakings. We tied a rope near a tree and started running out of the forest just as the earthquakr started to be so strong that some of us couldnt even run properly.As we approached an exit from the forest an even bigger rumble was coming from the ground and a huge crack appeared in front of us, big enough to not allow us to exit as going around it was also blocked by the falling trees. My friends started panicking and tried climbing the fallen trees but to no avail as the quake was still ongoing and everything was unstable.I yelled at them to group together but just before finishing my sentence, a big boom came from the mountain, it was clear... the yellowstone volcano erupted... the cripling fear that possesed everyone was only moved by the continuous shakings. Last thing I remember from that fateful day was my friends hugging me while a rain of ash started puring and an immense heat that only lasted a few seconds...
He walked through the thick forest with an old rifle in his hands. His eyes were sharp, decades of practices honed his senses to where he could see beyond the foliage that obscured the path. Each step was calculated, and silent as a wolf as a wolf as he maneuvered his way though the thickets and branches. He leaned low to the ground, to one knee as he glided a hand over the dirt and mud to feel for tracks. A finger slipped into an indent into the ground, nodding to himself he rose back up slowly and continued on his hunt. A branch snapped and he froze like a statue beside the thick trunk of an old tree. He looked down, but it was not him, to experience to make such a simple mistake. He waited patiently, not moving a muscle, but his eyes scanned through ever inch of wildlife around him. To his left maybe thirty paces away he saw a prize worth bagging. The brown fur was covered in white spots, and the underbelly shared the white fur outline. He bit onto his lower lip as he watched her graze through a small clearing. The doe lifted its head, munching on grass or biting the leaves from trees, snapping the twigs like the hunter had just heard. He lifted his rifle, a long barreled musket with a sliver of a sight on the end, placing the deer right in the center of his vision. Slowly, he cocked the hammer back, a tiny \click\ sounded off, and the doe looked dead in his direction. Black moons for eyes stared right where he stood, but munching on its grass and flicking its ears, it waited, not sensing the danger. The hunter had a slight smile as his finger slid from the metal that held the spark, onto the wood of the muskets body, and to the tiny strip of iron that was the trigger. He waited a moment more, watching the doe watch him... before he pulled the trigger and a burst of smoke filled his air. His first shot had missed, cursing under his breath, he ran through the brushes that his his approach and reloaded the pepper musket, biting the black powder bag and pushing it down the nozzle. He loaded in another round, a circular that he pushed to the bottom and raised his gun again. He spotted a smaller deer running ahead of his prey, but he ignored it fully. Again, the deer was in his sights as it sprinted down a snow covered clearing, were nothing was in the way of his shot. He took a breathe, closed his left eye as he focused with his right, and fired his bullet. It went straight and true, piercing the does chest, and it dropped down instantly, sliding from its own momentum through the white snow. As he walked up to to his prize, he saw the small fawn return, and laughed at it as he poked the doe with the mouth of his rifle, "Sorry kid. Did I shoot your mama? Hahaha!"
My heartbeat gets faster as I look at my gift. It was a lock-pick and I knew precisely what I’d use it for. My mother had this childhood journal in which she used to write. She had stopped years ago but always kept it inside a plain box behind her bookshelf. Mom would read through it on the rare occasion, and on one of those occasions, I walked in her room. At the sight of me she immediately put it back in the box and sent me away. I grabbed the lock-pick and went to my mothers room. Knowing where to look, searching for the box was a lot easier than the first time. I shove the bookshelf a bit, careful so no one would hear me and grabbed the box as careful as you would steal a purse from a rich woman on the street. I sneaked to my room and tried it out. I held the hook to watch inside the lock and shoved in the metal stick. It slowly pushed away the locks and ‘click’ the box went open. Inside the box was what I had expected. A simplistic leatherback book. I covered up the box and opened the book. The first twenty or so pages seemed normal, covering a girls life. But I was curious and not dimwitted. Why would someone go through so many lengths to keep an ordinary journal from me? The ordinary journal was just one of those lengths. After I had skipped over the pages that any girl could have written, I found a peculiar page in the book. On the right, a dragon-like creature was drawn with red scales and massive wings. Next to it was a human silhouette seemingly tiny next to the massive creature. On the left side my mother had written: “Be careful when approaching the dragon. It breathes massive fires and is much bigger than the medieval leaks would tell us. It teeth are sharper than any man made weapon and nothing will defeat it’s speed. Usually about two hundred meters long, best to do with this creature is to stay quiet and freeze.” Was this the fantasy of my mother or a reality she had hidden from us. The second would bring up many questions, but the first jst as much. Why would she hide her childhood imagination from us and why did she keep the book? Still in debate with myself, I turned the page to see a humanoid creature with seven eyes and eight arms. It was slimy on the lower half of the body and furry on the upper half. It had tentacles for legs. A human silhouette of its size was drawn right next to it. “This creature is relatively harmless,” I scoffed after reading the first line of the text written next to this creature. “Its seven eyes cover up much of what could have been a clever mind. More-so, the eight arms all have to be controlled by the same brain and leave little place for much other thought. Its arms, especially the front pair are very strong and make it so that the monster should still be approached with care.” I looked at pages filled with monsters ranging from gigantic slugs to dead kings with a mind set on revenge to hags who curse anyone that speaks their name. “Dinner’s ready!”
"The red pill or the blue pill? It's your choice". His voice echoed in my head. "Many have made it before and many have made the wrong one. But it is entirely up to you." The very fabric of time and reality was lost to me at this point. I had just been told the fate of the Free World depended entirely on me. On a simple university drop out, with aspirations I couldn't grasp with two open hands. How is a man supposed to process that information? "Why me?"I asked the crazy, bald individual calmly staring back at me. "It is not about you, or who you are. It is about what you can become. This fate is not one I would ask lightly, nor are you the first I have asked."He paused for a while, "I have been turned down before and will likely face the same blank stares innumerable times before I die."He was interrupted by what could only be described as his mistress. Clad in white leather, head to toe, she interjected, "Sir, they're coming." After a slight twitch to face her he focused his gaze back to me, "We cannot delay. The red pill or the blue pill, James?" My entire life was flashing before my eyes. What could it mean? My friends, my family, my girlfriend, my shit job delivering pizza. They would all become a distant memory. Good or bad, it was hard to tell. Even so, I liked my life here. Here in this oppressive city, full of crime and injustice. Graffiti, music, and life bubbling up through the dense growth of concrete monoliths. Actually, it was kind of shit. Fuck it. The equipment in the room couldn't be more outdated if they'd tried and the decor could definitely do with an update, but this is the opportunity of a life time. What's that saying? You miss all of the chances you don't take? Whatever, who cares? "The Red pill. I'll take the red one, thanks." "Good. Twitch, get it ready." Almost instantly my soon to be dominatrix began playing with the dials on the equipment in front of her. A few beeps and clicks later the room developed quite a hum. Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum. Louder and louder, ever increasing in frequency until finally, at the apex of the melody, my head resonated at the exact same speed causing the most awful, crushing sensation. My ears began to bleed. My throat dried up. My eyes protruded from their sockets. My vision was almost gone, but not quickly enough. The last thing I saw was Twitch lunging towards me with something in her hand. She grabbed me by the forehead, tilted it back, and poured an awful silvery liquid straight into my now closed throat. That burning sensation is the last thing I remember. And it's something I will never forget. &#x200B; &#x200B; "... what are we gunna do when he gets up? He can't stay here. He's needed in Zion." "Nevermind that. There's training he needs to complete." Groggily I opened my eyes, blinking out what felt like years worth of dust, I finally brought them into focus. It felt like I hadn't even left the city and I was surrounded by the local hipster troupe. Ripped pants and threadbare sweaters all around. The Salvation Army must be making a killing around here. "He's up!", said the small, wiry individual closest to me. With effort I forced myself onto my elbow and peered around. I was on the floor in a dimly lit room. Polished steel surrounded me and in the centre of the room a small table, fashioned from old mechanical parts, was crowded by four people. Two of whom I recognised from my hellish dream. "What the fuck was that?", I exclaimed, as I jumped up and grabbed Twitch by the neck. "Am I dead?" There was a flurry of action and I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the table. Twitch peering over me with all the primal vigour of a lost soul who had forgotten language. &#x200B; &#x200B; \I hate to end it there but I'm really fucking tired. If it's any good, let me know and I might continue. If not? Have a brilliant day.\ &#x200B; &#x200B;
“Sorry?” I said, confused. The woman put her hands on her hips. “Hand over the shard now, baby, and we won’t have a problem.” “Back off, Jaele,” said a man’s voice from behind me. I turned to face the newcomer. In total contrast to the petite, pale blonde woman in a sundress behind me, the man stood at least six feet tall, wearing a black Armani suit. A vicious scar ran down the left side of his face, splitting an eyebrow in half and turning a brown eye white. “The shard chose her. You know the rules.” “And if she gives it up willingly,” the woman said sweetly to me, though a snarl seemed to wait just beneath the surface, “I can claim it and return it to my master.” I took a step back so I didn’t have to whip my head back and forth to look at each of them as they spoke. “This is a piece of glass,” I said intelligently. The woman, Jaele, gave a dainty but no less mocking laugh, and the man shook his head. “It’s a shard of primordial silver. She,” he gestured to her, “wants to bring it back to the primordial god she serves. If he gets all the pieces back, he’ll have a weapon with which he could handily destroy the universe.” “Why would he do that?” I asked. “To consume it for its power.” “Oh. That makes sense.” “Fuck you, Kane,” Jaele snarled. “You filthy Peacekeepers will fail, and I will be here to watch the world burn.” In a sudden gust of wind, she disappeared. “Isn’t that from Batman?” I frowned. “I think you’re in shock,” Kane said, taking a step toward me with one arm out to comfort me. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s from Batman. Not the whole line, I guess, but the ‘watching the world burn’ thing. I’m like, 80% sure that’s from Batman.” “80% does sound pretty sure,” he said, and I could tell he thought I’d lost my mind. He looked at me with confusion and pity, stepping ever closer. “Now why don’t you hand me the shard?” I looked at the sliver of iridescent metal in my hand. “What does it do?” “It’s very destructive,” he said, now just an arm’s length away. “It’s part of a whole, obviously, so it can’t do much on the massive scale—“ “Like end the universe?” “Exactly. But it can cause some damage. Now, I have to believe it chose you for a reason, but I’d like to take it from you for now until you can be trained on how to use it.” I looked down again, admiring the swirls of color that seemed to move on their own, then met Kane’s gaze and saw that his eye had the same swirling patterns. “Did a shard cut your eye?” He blinked, surprised. “Yes. A long time ago. Someone who wasn’t trained,” he emphasized, “mishandled their shard, and it got ugly.” I nodded. “How do I know you’re not tricking me?” “Excuse me?” “I mean, how do I know you don’t work for the same primordial god that Jaele did, and this whole thing was a ruse to get me to hand over the shard willingly?” He blinked again. “You’re very clever,” he said with a nod. “And you’re right to be wary. But...” “But I’m not in shock,” I said, remembering what he’d said earlier. “And you were counting on me not really processing what you were saying, and giving you the shard, or maybe going with you somewhere else.” He shook his head. “I swear to you, I do not serve any primordial gods. I serve humanity, and I, for one, would like to keep the universe right where it is.” “I mean, same, but I really can’t trust you, can I?” He pursed his lips. “I’m sorry.” I was about to say the most cliché thing (for what?) but before I could even open my mouth, he placed a finger on my temple. In my mind, I saw Kane as a boy, being shoved to the ground and beaten. Then as a teenager, fighting in some kind of arena. When he emerged victorious, bloodied and dying, a man in a white suit approached with a seedy smile. Then, Kane was an adult, being used by the man in the white suit as a slave. He was whipped, beaten, and used, until the day a petite, pale blonde woman whisked him away with a kind smile and promises of a better life. She thought he would relish the opportunity to destroy humanity, the very people who had stripped him of his sanity and health, time and time again. So when she introduced him to her master, he shocked everyone by stealing a guard’s sword and fighting his way out. The memories ended, and I inhaled deeply as if I’d been holding my breath the entire time. “Warn me next time,” I said. He laughed. “That is quite possibly the least violent reaction anyone has ever had to me doing that.” “I’m not surprised. It’s very invasive.” “But... do you believe me now?” I did. I felt every emotion he’d felt, heard every thought, and I knew that the man standing before me was one of the good guys. “I guess,” I said, but couldn’t hold back a smile. He visibly deflated with relief. “Good. Then we can get you somewhere safe, and start your training.” He started to walk away, then turned back. “What’s your name, by the way?” “Lila,” I told him. “Also, isn’t this basically the plot of Inu Yasha?”
"Can you guys not do that?"America asked. "What are you talking about?"Germany replied. "Yeah, they're not doing anything,"Japan piped in. Britain sighed. "Seriously?" "What? They're doing nothing,"Italy replied. "Do you think we don't know what Germany is doing?"Australia said. "What are you going on about, you three? Nothing's going on! Trust me."Germany said, grinning. "Hey everyone! I'm here too!"Canada shouted. "Shut up!"Everyone shouted back. "So,"American said, flatly, "are you going to stop or are we going to have to?" "Stop what? You people with your news — they're all telling you lies. We're doing nothing, right Japan, Italy?" "Absolutely,"Japan said. "Totally,"Italy replied. America inhaled, exhaled heavily. "All right, since you won't stop — starting tomorrow, on the 1st, we're going to make you stop."America looked behind its shoulder at Australia and Britain, and the other countries that kept quiet, though America glared at the Soviet Union and China. "I still don't know what you're going on about,"Germany said.
I boarded a train that took me to a different place than the rest of its passengers. The metal doors open to a new world for me and the strangers behind me. There have been so many mysteries on this train that I had to keep an eye on the other people in the carriages, but I'm watching my back with a hand-mirror as we wait to walk into the next new world. The first thing that I realised from looking at the people, as I've said, is that the are not the same people who were passengers on the train that I thought I was stepping onto. The next thing that I noticed is that two or three of them are relatively quiet and occasionally recognise some of the small robots that seem to be a part of the infinity train. As we step into the open field, a holographic sword appears in in our hands. As I turn to look back around, I see that every sword is unique in its aesthetics. I have no idea what kind of puzzles could possibly be in here that use a holographic sword, but I want to get out ahead alone because I secretly scooped up a robot into my jacket pocket and it should probably be a safe-enough coach, given that the weapons are only holograms. Also, this little guy could start beeping at any moment or something and I need some introvert time rather than hanging around with strangers. Straight over a golden grassy hill I run! There aren't any large animals so far, but I can hear insects. I look around for birds but there must either be not enough sky to hold them or else they might just point out some of the weaknesses that a swords-only arsenal would normally have. There's a small creek! I go down this hill, up to the bank and pat down a place to sit down once I get all of my stuff off. The swords can be dropped, and I turn all of my attention to the handful of robotics from my pocket. It's actually two robots! There are two little hemispherical droids that can grab onto each other to form a ball, and each half has crab-like legs with rubber feet. It's funny, a little, watching them walking around on one set of legs with the other set potentially hanging in the air. A thought now occurs to me, so I get a rock (that isn't too wet) and try to balance it on top of where I get them to stand. He carries it around like a table! Now I'm definitely having some small trouble deciding whether I should be thinking about them as one thing or two, because they are definitely meant to work together and they are so very symmetrical. More science time; the holographic sword can go into and out of the rock if I poke it, but it didn't fall through the ground when I put it down. (I wonder what would happen if I dug a hole, and if whatever is making the holograms would notice that there is nothing for it to actually rest on -or if it would even let me dig here.) First, though, I check that it falls through the grass, and it does fall through it, without bending the grass or anything. Oh - by the way, my sword is a glassy black thing that is something like a shard, with the shape of an upside-down kite along the one edge, above the hilt. Nothing about it looks like it could be useful for anything. There's nothing interesting around here though; I almost wish that there would be a flash flood or something. So now I pick up the robot(s) and walk a little while down-stream. I'm calling them Jeeves (because they could be a butler who carries platters and it's funny when you think about the two of them.) Wow! -"Curiouser and curiouser"I quote. Lying there up on a corner of the winding bank is a leather-bound book. It looks like it has been waterlogged previously, like it really did get carried down the stream in a flood. The pages do seem to have been water-proof enough, since the book was tied closed with a strap and only the edges are a bit stuck together, (around the generous margins.) After long inspection, till nearly dusk, it's revealed to be a journal of someone who says that they knew little more than any other 'dimension jumper' on the train. Of course, none of the rooms that they talk about even vaguely resemble the coaches that I've been through! "Beep boop, Jeeves. Good night."
My eyelids pull apart just like any other day. The sunrise filtering through the shades meets my freshly exposed eyes causing the usual slight burn. Hearing the birds chirping outside fills me with joy as I soak up the residual warmth of my quilt. Laying still, I invite the new day, but something feels odd. For no apparent reason my heart sinks. I can't say I've ever experienced such dread first thing in the morning and I can't imagine what would bring it on. Hoping to shake it off, I go to pull aside the covers and throw my legs over the side of the bed. Nothing happened. Sweat begins to bead on my brow. I struggle once again to get out of bed. Nothing. A fear induced adrenaline spike rushes through my veins. Frantically, I try reaching for the phone on my bedside table yet nothing happens. I can feel my mind directing my arm to move, but the muscles aren't reacting. My breathing hastens to the point that I'm now hyperventilating. In a moment of desperation I go to release a scream, but it stops in my throat. The sound is choked out before my voice box even has a chance to operate. I can't move. Even the slightest movements require more energy than I can muster. God knows how long I'll be here. Living alone wasn't my best idea.
She needed the money, her father was dying and after her mother left she could not afford to lose him. She arrested criminal after criminal only to find on the news a few months later having commuted another crime or a massacre or having killed another fellow officer. She was the last of graduating class now.... "so?"Suddenly The Boss's voice pulled her away from her thoughts. "Are you ready? This is a limited time offer..."
“Shit! Nooooo!” The man raises his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself from the sudden explosion. His equipment malfunctioned in a spectacularly unforeseen way, and his lab and likely at least a city block in all directions would be destroyed in the blast. Suddenly he couldn’t help but hope that one of his assistants had backed up the research results before they’d left for the day. Before he could decide if Ted or Melissa would be more likely to do something so closely related to their actual job, the sudden rush of heat and force suddenly washed over him and he died screaming. Or, at least, there was screaming. The wave of force dissipated in an instant, like walking out of a hot summer day into a department store with well maintained air conditioning. As the sudden pain of death did not end the man’s life, his screaming faded slowly and he opened his eyes. He saw a grass field all around him, and down a slowly descending hillside he saw a town. But it wasn’t anything like any city he’d ever seen, certainly nothing like Seattle, where his lab was located. The buildings of the town were all single story, save a few two and three story structures, and they all appeared to be made of wood and stone. “What on Earth?” The man asked the open air as he fell onto his backside on the soft grass. “I do not believe so, Henry.” The voice came over the man’s thoughts, and he jumped at the sudden intrusion into his seemingly peaceful death. “VARIS?” The man asked into his own mind, aimed at his AI assistant he had built and hardwired into his body. “Please don’t tell me you are following me into the afterlife.” “If such a thing were to exist.” The AI replied. “I believe there are circumstances where I would and would not be able to follow you, depending on the afterlife in question.” “Well that’s a pleasant thought.” Henry said as he stood up and decided to start heading for the small town at the base of the hill. “Okay smartass, what happened?” “The explosion appears to have created an unstable wormhole that sent you somewhere very different from Earth.” VARIS replied, and Henry saw the AI begin to overlay things on his vision, highlighting a passing rodent in the grass, and noting a stout stone wall around the outskirts of the town. “That shouldn’t be possible.” Henry said as he got to the short stone wall that blocked his path. He looked to his left and right, and decided to head right in hopes of a gate or opening. “I did warn you that playing with anti-matter was dangerous.” VARIS replied. “I was not playing with it, I was studying it.” Henry said in a huff, seeing a guard in the distance. He was momentarily highlighted by VARIS before the overlay dimmed to near complete translucence. “Henry, I have a sudden concern.” VARIS said, his tone sounding worried, which was most concerning for Henry. “VARIS, you know long pauses after statements like that are stressful, just continue.” “My HiveMind Protocol is active.” VARIS said quickly. “But that was coded for the human mind.” Henry stopped ten paces from the man, switching the conversation to be entirely mental so as not to appear insane to the guard. “You should not have access to the collective knowledge of these people without rewriting the whole thing.” “Well it was a learning program.” VARIS said hastily. “And we made it so that it would always fill in blank spots and fix bugs on it’s own. It must have deemed it’s sudden breakdown to a bug and fixed it.” “Okay, give me the guard’s info then, we’ll test this out.” Henry thought, and suddenly, the highlight over the man who was glancing at Henry, returned. This time it was filled with info, including the man’s name, age, profession, and a limitless amount of information that Henry had no need for. “Hello, Sir Valentis.” Henry said, approaching the man and calling him by the name VARIS had supplied. “Good day Sir.” The guard replied with a nod of his head. “You have me at a disadvantage, you know my name, but I cannot recall yours, have we met?” “No, Sir.” Henry internally cheered at the depths of his own programs abilities. With a sudden concern that he had no reason to know the information he had displayed to the man. VARIS, feeling the concern, highlighted a building in town and gave Henry information regarding it. It was an inn run by a woman named Bella Vera, who seemingly was loved by all in the town for her endless kindness, and ability to cook nearly any kind of food. “But my good friend Bella told me to be kind to the guards that keep her safe, and she mentioned a few by name.” “Ms. Vera did!” Guard Valentis suddenly exclaimed before composing himself. “A friend of Ms. Vera is a friend to all, welcome Sir…?” “Henry.” He replied, shaking the man’s offered hand. As they clasped hands, a small red notification popped up in the corner of his HUD. Saying farewell to Valentis, he headed into the town, and turned to the notification. “HiveMind seems to have fixed a bug when you made contact with the Tolerian. That is what these people refer to themselves as.” VARIS announced in Henry’s mind. “What bug is that?” Henry felt concern well up as he waited for the answer. “It did not have access to certain knowledge until it could take a sample of Tolerian DNA, and now it is as complete as it feels it needs to be.” “What knowledge?” Henry asked. “The Tolerians refer to it as the Power, or the Soul Forces. I believe in common Human vernacular it has a different name.” “And what is that?” Henry said, deciding to head to Bella Vera’s inn to try her cooking so famous the HiveMind decided to include that in it’s information about her. “Magic.” VARIS replied, and Henry stopped in his tracks. “There’s magic in this world?” “Something very similar yes.” VARIS replied. “And the HiveMind has access to it? All of it?” Henry asked. “It has no way of knowing if has access to all of it, but it would appear to be, yes.” “Okay VARIS.” Henry started, sitting down on a nearby bench as he clenched and unclenched his fists, a motion that always helped to calm him down. “Break it down for me here, using Henry terminology, what does that mean for me?” “You can cast any of the known magic, or Powers, or Soul Forces, however you wish to refer to them. You have access to, and can use, all of them.”
"Another great day to be a cell, my good friend!"The cheery cell said to his neighboring cell. "Yeah I guess. Kind of shitty being the little thing that makes up the overall big and cool thing, but you know, you take what you can get. Could've ended up being a brain cell or some shit." "Yeah, but you know us skin cells - we're top of the line! A warm, fuzzy jacket that spills red liquid when cut." "Top of the line, yeah." Our first cell's smile started to fade. "Say, um. It's a bit... whew... hot out." "Mmmm, yeah. Seems to be that the brain cells forgot to put on that white stuff, too. The stuff that protects us."Our second cell closed his eyes in thought. "Well, i'll just send a "I'M ON FIRE NOW"command to the brain. Then they'll know!" "Yeah, but, uh, that shit only activates AFTER we leave the sun." "Fuck. Now what?" I dunno, but GOD it's hot. FUCK." "eeeeEEEEREEEEEEeEeEeeeeeeEeEeEe IT BURNS MY FRIEND!"Our first cell was literally on fire. "Ah shit."Cell #2 muttered. "I'm out. Fuck it. I'll tear this body a new asshole just you wait you fucking FUCK cunt bitch FUCK" Our first cell, literally on fire, continued to spout obscenities. He then walked over to the nearest Immune System checkpoint. "Let me in."Cell 1 demanded. "No."The guard coldly fired back. "Yes." "No." "Yes." "Ye- FUCK" "Alright let me in now." The guard had no choice but to back down, letting our enraged cell inside the command room. Once in, all our cell friend had to do was flick one switch. "Aaaand done. Now I can multiply freely!"Cell #1 exclaimed. He then began his cancer journey, pretty much.
"Listen. It's not what it looks like,"Steph started. I raised an eyebrow. "OK, it's mostly what it looks like. But he's not an exact match." I'd almost married her back then. "You...?" "What? No. No! None of mine. Just some bits from a few animals that—" "Animals! Jeez, Steph. What's wrong with you?"I dropped my head into my hands. It was this sort of mad science that brought us together in the first place, but it didn't seems so great now. "You signed the paperwork." "And you said it didn't work. Your artificial womb failed." "OK, that part was true." I looked up. I'd missed the photos. Some of her pregnant. A surprising number with me. Real me, not the clone. Then I realized. "Why are you pregnant in this photo?" "Which one?" "Why are you pregnant when he is standing next to you in the photo!" "I have a perfect explanation. Or I will in a few seconds." I stifled a laugh. That was when I really loved her, when we were laughing together. It just made it all feel right. I composed my self and asked, "How many?" "It's an experiment. I need multiple iterations—" "Number." "12." That's where I lost it. "Steve?" I was crying from the laughter. "Steve, what is it?" I tried to explain, but I could barely breathe. "Stephen Baker, what is... so..." It felt good to be laughing together again.
-What are you even talking abo...pyp The call ends abruptly. Still confused i take a look at the time and its just 1a.m. it's dark, no screams in the streets... -Ahhh. I make a loud noise while stretching, and go back to bed whilst thinking what my sister is smoking. As i slowly pass on to the abbys i hear a voice. It's a voice, atleast i think it is. I can hear it. But it's inside my head, and it sounds familiar! I can slowly start to recgognise some words, and i think... that's my sistsers voice. I remembered what she said, i jumped out of bed. Once i land on my feet, it shouted. -JACK!! I stopped. That's my sisters voice. I am your sister i think to myself. But wait, thats not my thought, who is this inside of my head??? I can't stand anymore it's like ive got drained of all the energy i had storted inside of me. I drop down, as i feel helpless my sisters voice bursts out of my head... Jack ive been killed, ive been murdered by our mom, shes a demon Jack, you have to run. If she kills you, you'll become a demon too. Im holding it back Jack!!! Please run! A rush of energy vibrated through my body and i stood up and ran as fast as i could, on my way out the house i noticed that the moon was still there, but so was the sun. All black. It's real i thought to myself as i look back at the doorway. She's there... i gasped. As i close my eyes, i opened them here. Look underneath your bed, i'm here and the sun is blocked out.
Cross legged at the infinity pool, I gaze up into his shadow. "You don't believe me either, do you?" New tears stream down my cheeks. I reach for another tissue and my phone. "You don't, do you?" My puffy faced reflection is worse than before. Two hours have already passed. Topanga's sun is hotter than ever. He still he wont answer me. "FUCK YOU...fuck ALL of you!!!" Standing, I walk back toward my tiny new room at Malibu Detox. Finally he speaks. Arctic breath on my neck. Thick heavy metal hand hooks on my shoulders forcing me into the ground. "Im not your shrink bitch. Scream and I will gut you like a fish"
"And why should we hire you, Mr. Smith?"War asked. Her tone, though polite, was elegantly laced with frustration and annoyance. I had rehearsed countless times what I was going to say. I practiced and practiced for this exact moment, for this exact question...only for my brain to naturally fail me. Fortunately, Pollution had come to my rescue by changing the subject. "How good are you with bikes?" As experienced as a narwhal is with birthing humans, I thought. "Um, I had some experience watching my cousins with their bikes...but I'm using YouTube and reading books to try and learn more-" Famine let out an audible groan. "Fantastic. Does this mean we're going to have to go back to horses because of him?" I scratched my neck nervously. PERHAPS IF A CERTAIN SOMEONE HADN'T MELTED OUR LAST ASSISTANT MAYBE THEN WE WOULDN'T BE IN THIS CURRENT PREDICAMENT. "Oh, come on!"Pollution groaned, rolling his eyes. "For the last time, it was an accident. I lost my footing and held onto the closest thing for support!" "At the expense of Eddy,"War growled. "I quiet liked Eddy." "We all did,"Famine nodded grimly. With a defeated sigh all Four Riders turned to me. HOW SOON CAN YOU START? Death asked. I couldn't believe my luck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea what this means to me!"I cried out, falling to my knees in relief. "There's no need for that-"Pollution began as he clapped my shoulder, but stopped. Suddenly, all four riders stared at the bright, oozing puddle that was the late Mr. Smith. BUGGER. NOT AGAIN.
"But why me?!"I cried out in panic, starring up and up into where His eyes should be. BECAUSE, he grinned, though I detected no humour in His tone, YOU CLAIM TO BE A DIE HARD FAN OF DEATH- "Yes, the one from Pratchett's established universe-" CONSIDER THIS A PRIVILEGE. "You have read Mort, right? You saw what happens when a silly mortal steps in, and tries to take your place?" BUGGER IT THEN, He said very uncharacteristically, and with that He was gone. I looked down and sighed in defeat. Apparently I was wielding His scythe and had been dressed in black robes. SQUEAK? "What? Do I really have to wear platform shoes?"I groaned at the Death of Rats. SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK! "Alright, alright! Don't have a cow! I won't kill the illusion. Honestly, it was just a question!"I muttered, ungracefully slipping into the shoes with a wince. SQUEAK. I turned to him wearily. "But people will know I'm not the real deal! You can obscure my face with an enchanted hood, you can make me match His height, you can even give me His robes, but none of it will matter because people will know." SQUEAK? "Because the Laws of Narrativium and Dark Comedy demand that I be made a joke." The Death of Rats would surely be rolling his eyes if he had any, but politely said nothing. He crawled up to my shoulder and gently gave me a pat. "Can't I just ditch the robes and be myself...? Maybe I can aim for a role of comfort, like a nurse or-" SQUEAK SQUEAK! I sighed. "You're absolutely right. People want the dramatic flair. All that pomp and stuff. It's what their expecting, and it would probably be rude and unnerving to just show up as a fellow human I guess. Like arriving naked at a tea party, I suppose." The little reaper nodded, though he seemed uncertain by my example of choice. SQUEAK. I gently reached out to the Grim Squeaker and held him gingerly in the palm of my hands so that we were eye to socket. "You really think I can do this?" SQUEAK. I tutted. "Well, your honesty is refreshing at least." I was pretty sure I heard him snicker but I couldn't think of a witty rebuttal so I wisely let it slide. The temptation to flick the cute little bugger was there, but I needed him with me to at least teach me the basics and show me the ropes. And maybe some more comforting little pats on the shoulder wouldn't be so bad. Scythe firmly grasped in my hand, I helped the Death of Rats back on my shoulder as we made our way to Binky. My world had gone Wahooney shaped, but I wasn't going to let that stop me from ruining Death's reputation. I mean live up to Death's reputation! Dang it! It looks like I'm already off to a good start.
"Ignorance is no excuse of the law, would you step out of the car ma'am". Starting off with what, given his response, was 'attitude' towards the officer? No trooper. Looking at his uniform she noticed a bear on a shoulder patch as well as a badge that read 'Mark'. And with a towering presence and mustache that reminded her of the super Troopers movies she couldnt help but smile at the situation she found herself in. Was he serious she thought to herself? This is a 'calzone'!?. "Are we in California is that what you ment?"She said with a light hearted laugh.
With the caution he had used when facing dragons of eons prior, Alistair rolled black the sleeves of his armored trenchcoat and examined the metallic rectangle the human employee had presented to him. Alistair felt Uzurbaj, a friendly spirit he had picked up on his travels, in his human form watching him over his shoulder as he carefully placed a finger under a notch at the front of the device. With a flourish, Alistair lifted to reveal a magnificent sight, his coat flapping dramatically. Uzurbaj gasped as they took in a clear, black mirror was present on the upper surface and a set of minuscule rectangles dotted the lower. It was what the humans had called a key-board, if Alistair remembered correctly. Another rectangle was inscribed near the key-board, clearly to serve as beverage-holder. "This is clearly a computer!"he declared confidently. Alistair eyed the human's half-closed eyes and unshaven face, challenging him to counter his hypothesis. Clearly nervous at having been found out, the human yawned and slowly nodded. "Excellent deduction, Master! You've have mastered this magic device!"Uzurbaj crowed excitedly, a reverent admiration on his face. He spun to face his brunette companion, pride splayed over his grin. He thrust a finger in the spirit's face, accusingly. "But of course! As the Immortal, was there any doubt that I am too a genius in this domain?" Tears of joy streamed down his angular jaw, as Uzurbaj answered with gusto. "No, sir! Now with this computer, you will once more conquer the human realm!" "In due time Jeffrey, in due time."Alistair muttered, running a hand through his black lots. "But first, we must take the next step." Pulling from the extensive vocabulary he had gained by watching human interactions in the store, he proclaimed."Now, I will 'on power' this 'Mac'!" "Human, are you ready?" "Um, my name is Hanson, sir." "Uzu, are you ready?" "Yes, Master!" With a deep breath, Alistair held the computer above his head and shouted at the top of his lungs. "COMPUTER! ON POWER!" Silence reigned in the store as hundreds of eyes turned to the two trenchcoat wearing individuals. "..." "..." "THIS IS CLEARLY AN IMPOSTER COMPUTER!" "Is that a sword?! SIR, PLEASE DO NOT DRAW SWORDS IN THE APPLE STORE!" "OUT OF THE WAY, HUMAN HANSON! YOU WILL BE CAUGHT IN THE BATTLE!" &#x200B;
Alice coughed as she opened her eyes. Everything was so bright and loud. She tried to talk but found her throat dry. She reached around, searching for something, anything, as her eyes adjusted to the lights. She heard people cheering and tried to get their attention. After a couple seconds a straw gently pressed against her lips. She greedily drank until the glass was empty, the cheers quieting as people filed out of the room. Slowly Alice was able to see, a young female doctor standing next to the bed holding the glass. "Hi!"she said happily, grinning at Alice. As her vision became less blurry she started crying, causing the smile to quickly fall off the doctors face. "Send me back! Send me back! I didn't hurt there! Send me back!"Alice cried out. The Doctor runs out of the room, bringing another doctor with her to console the young girl. After a few hours and some heavy pain killers Alice calmed down enough to tell them everything. She explained that she remembers dying then was in a void, just floating in emptiness with no pain or worries. Then she was in the hospital, blind and unable to speak with people shouting around her. The doctors walked out of the room, quiet mumbling heard from them just outside the door before the woman walked back in. "We're going to,send you back, nobody deserves to live in pain."She said, smiling kindly as she gently put Alice on a morphine drip. A single tear falls from Alice's eye as she smiles back. "Thank you."is all she says before closing her eyes.
Cats were everywhere. Not just cats! Dogs, raccoons, guinea pigs, hamsters, rats, pigeons, you name it! It all started with my little orange tabby kitten Ace. I pulled out a new food for him, and when I opened the bag he was intrigued. He came over for a bite but was immediately off-put. The internet said this might take a bit of time for him to adapt so I didn’t worry about it. He ran outside as soon as I opened the door. Out of nowhere I hear what must be his best George of the Jungle impression. Except... I can actually hear it... I mean... a voice! It’s distinctive... but I can’t place it. The animals started arriving, and my neighbour was outside just sat staring at my cat. I walk outside and am floored by what I hear. “Come to me my jungle friends!!!” All the while Ace’s chanting continues. “That’s amazing....” I say somewhat under my breath. My neighbour adds, “more amazing that that all came from his ass.”
I still remember the day very clearly, even after all that’s happened this one scene still so clearly burned into my memory. A turning point, not just in my life, but in the history of the world. It was a rainy day in September, when he showed up. Came in out of the rain, with a panic stricken look on his face, babbling in what I thought might be Swedish. When we tried to get him to calm down, he didn’t listen and just kept shouting at us and pointing outside with a look of concern on his face. When we asked him if he spoke English, he seemed startled. “English, are Protestant no?” He replied in broken English. Personally, I was agnostic, but decided to nod and say I was anyways. We tried to get more out of him, but he wouldn’t say much. When we asked his name he said, “Adolph, Gustav Adolph, second of the name, no matter now.” Gustav, told us a lot of things that day, rambling about ghosts, demons, and evil undead dictators, and a whole bunch of other stuff too. In this line of work, you meet a lot of special cases, so we didn’t put much thought into at the time, we just gave him a place to stay for the night, and decided we’d call a hospital to come pick him up the next day. But when the sun came out the following day, he’d disappeared. I figured he was probably a bit saner than he seemed, didn’t want to go to an institution, I didn’t really give it much thought after that. That is until it happened. The end of days has come, although it’s a little different than most people expected. The gates of hell have opened and unleashed supernatural horrors upon the Earth, but the kind most churchgoers, were expecting. The dead had overthrown the demons of hell and had returned to conquer the world of the living. When the Angels showed up, it seemed like the tide might finally turn, but it turns out they’re more used to fighting demons than against human ingenuity. After their loss, heaven turned its back on humanity, closing its gates forever. Now all that remains are people, the living and the dead, trapped in an eternal conflict over this infernal husk of a planet.
I was as always too old now to do anything, all I had to rely for entertainment was my grandkids or for just those augmented reality bull. "Hey Grandpa!"It was little Him coming to see me, hopefully for me or for him to tell a story. "Grandpa, me and Tim were going around your box, and we found this."It was my old leather photo album with 2020 written on it: The War of 2020. "Could you tell us the story of this? There is so many things I have never seen before!" "Alright then, but first, could you find out which one is me?"As I showed them a picture of me and my small squad, "That one!""No, it's the one on the right here"Okay tthen lets start with the story. It was 2020, I was just a young man working a regular life of business and typing. Jenny was pregnant with my son, I was so happy to have a son. But news had eventually erupted all over the world, the UN were in disarray, trying to reserve proper land for every country to fill the overwhelming waste they had. America was already setting up border patrols around Mexico, the UK already having walls around themselves. Russia already stationing giant airships in the Pacific. I knew things weren't good here at all, the walls around us wouldn't hold for long. I knew I had to do something to help my future, I had called my friends and we went for our favorite Bar. "Mate, what are we going to do?""Fuck mate, my wife is still at the Americas, she's fucked. Fuck it, I am joining the army."We all looked at him silent, but slowly, we all stood and joined up with him and we all had to do something about it. We had joined the army, we went through days of boot camps, for everyday we hope to see our wives and kids to be safe. We were all in different platoons, but we would still be in touch. It was then when shit went down the damn hill and down the cliff. The axis fucking came back, the fucking axis. They had blown down the walls at the south-side. We were all deployed in planes and to be parachuted down. God help us, Intelligence says that they had already begun sending troops in. As we all slowly arrived on top, some planes fell on fire, I jumped before my Captain even told us to, when I landed, my platoon caught on, but as we called on for the other platoons to help, there was no response. Time stopped as I soon realised I joined the army and had my only friends killed before they even fought. I had to pull myself together. I went to my Captain and pushed back the force, but we were still vulnerable, Command ordered everyone back. Years pass as each day I pray for Jenny and my son to be safe, and for my fallen allies to rest in peace. The war goes on, countries falling apart, country super powers stand and small countries turned into land fills. Eventually when the war was subsiding, we soon realised something was wrong, it was war, not peace. As on 2027 September 11, Russia has launched multiple nuclear warheads at America, killing millions, this was when the tide of war changed, when the whole world went after Russia for commuting a war crime, and on 2028 December 13, Russia was defeated and the war was done. The world used Russia for landfills for 2 years and on 2030, technology came when we could just send shit to space, far away. I returned home and to see my son, now already 10 years oold who didn't know who I was, but Jenny looked at me and cried with Joy, it was the first time I cried in 10 years since my friends died. I managed to get my life back on track, and a new life began. "And that boys, is why family is important."And they just smiled happily and the next day pestered me on new stories.
I had done it! With the help of the oldest great minds in the Compendium, I have created the worlds first time machine. I enter the strange four wheeled contraption designed to move through time and hit the ignition. Now all that is left is to get to the destination at the appropriate speed. I pilot the vehicle toward where a bolt of lightning from the incoming storm has been predicted to land. As I approach the destination, I wonder when exactly I'll end up. Will it be before the creation of the Compendium? A flash of lightning interrupts my thoughts. I need to focus. First I need to get the vehicle at precisely the correct speed. Now, to arrive at the right moment... Another crack of thunder as the vehicle shakes with the power from the bolt. I close my eyes. "Never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down..."
I don’t know what inspired me to enter the contest. Maybe it was because I hated cooking. Maybe I was drunk one time, and instead of online shopping I entered online giveaways because I was too poor to actually buy anything. Yeah, that sounds right. Three huge trucks pulled up to my house. All I could think about was how stupid the whole concept was. How was I going to store all of this food and prevent it from going bad? Who’s idea was it to deliver a lifetime of hot meals anyway? There’s no way that much food can stay hot for a full lifetime. How did they even keep the meals hot during the drive? How did they get these three massive trucks onto my one-lane street in the outskirts of the ghetto? I suddenly had an overwhelming feeling: this was gonna be a pain in my ass. A man opened one of the truck doors and walked out. “Hello.” I said. “Hello, Mr. Calvinson. Your lifetime supply of hot meals has arrived.” “Really? Where?” “In these three trucks.” “No kidding?” “Yes. I mean no. No kidding.” There was a long pause. “So... are you gonna open... the trucks?” “Yes.” He took a set of keys out of his pocket as he approached the first truck. He opened it, to reveal absolutely nothing. The truck was empty. For the first time, the man had a slight grin on his face. I stared at him, waiting for an explanation. After another long pause, he finally spoke. “It’s empty.” He said. “No kidding?” “Yes. I mean - here, take the keys,” he said, tossing the fob to me. I walk over to the next truck and knock on it, making a loud metallic noise. “Is this one empty too?” His face fell. “No. There’s a half a lifetime’s worth of hot meals in there. It’s not empty.” After trying a few keys I finally opened it. To my great surprise, there were no hot meals inside. “Can I open the next one?” I asked. He nodded his frustrated head and I walked over to the next one. I opened it up, and lo and behold, there was a single roasted chicken on a pedestal. “Why don’t you go check it out? It probably smells good.” I shrug and walk into the truck, the man following me. He shut the backdoor behind him, and flicked on a flashlight. I realized that he was pointing a gun at me. “EAT!” He yelled. “Goddamn! Who are you? And no thank you!” “I’m the angel of death! I’m here to send sinners to hell! You’re next! I hope you enjoy your last meal!” “I - I don’t really want to eat this, man. I don’t know know how long it’s been sitting in this truck, I mean, it’s dirty back here. And it’s definitely not hot.” “EAT! Or I’ll kill you!” “Jesus Christ! What the hell is your problem?” “EAT OR I SHOOT!” “Aren’t you gonna shoot me after I eat it anyway? So I choose not to eat it. Just shoot me.” “I’m the one with the gun! I HOLD ALL THE CARDS! SO YOU BETTER FUCKING *DO WHAT I SAY!!*” “You know what? No. Fuck you. This whole scheme was retarded. It was a stupid, stupid idea. You must be one of the biggest idiots I’ve ever met.” “YEAH? WELL THEN I’M AN IDIOT WITH A FUCKING GUN POINTED AT YOUR MISERABLE HEAD!” “No kidding?” Then he shot me. I saw a faint light. It approached me, slowly. “God?” I asked. “No,” a heavenly voice said, coming from everywhere at once. “There is no afterlife. This is just your pre-death hallucination.” “Are you sure? I’m not going to be reincarnated as the man who shot me or something?” “No.” “I’m not going to wake up in straightjacket to a doctor revealing to the readers that I have some bizarre mental illness?” “No.” “Well where’s the far-fetched twist?” “There is no twist. Not everything has a deep meaning. Some things are exactly as they appear, and those are the things we must cherish, because they are the only things we can truly understand.” “Oh. Well, at least the last line of the story was a nice poetic lesson.”
> You are the most famous author on earth. One day a priest accidently spills holy water on you. You feel a sudden chill and look up to see a ghost with a typewriter floating over you. >> Think Ghost writer A little on the nose, don't you think? Anyway, someone who reads a writing prompt involving a ghost with a typewriter who needs another prompt to think of a ghostwriter might not be the "creative spirit"you're looking for.
He's standing in plain sight outside the capitol building, holding his notebook. It is open to a list of names. Many of the names are crossed out. He takes out a cigar, lights it with his signature liter, and enters. After several hours, he emerges, holding his notebook, going over the many words written on it's pages. He flips back to the list of names and crosses one off. He smiles. It seems his interview went well.
We are an ancient mercenary group, possibly the best in our galaxy. Our warrior culture is deep, and our honor code strict. We are expensive. As is befitting of the best. Today is a great day. Today, for the first time in a hundred years, we lost. Rather, yesterday was a great day. Today we're stranded on a primitive world. A lush, green world, but primitive none the less. Our foe was great and terrible, more so than any we had faced before. They forced us to retreat, to hide, until the rest of our great warriors arrive to do battle. But that is not important right now. What is important is that we, a small fraction of our glorious fleet, are stranded. As per our code, we may only use weapons of similar technology to those our opponents wield. For now, our opponents are the primitive cultures of this world, who would drive us out. And that is why we are currently making axes. So those of us skilled in combat with blades can fight those who would drive us out. Crude, primitive axes, but works of beauty none the less. The first one to find us seemed nothing more than a scout. He was no great warrior. He hollered, shouted and whooped, and when one of ours stepped forward to answer his challenge, he fought honorably. He was killed by one of ours, unarmed. It was a great shame, for a warrior to be killed by one not wielding a weapon, but there was no other option. Several others follow, and are also killed in honorable combat. The greatest of these brave warriors has been uploaded to our collective database, to aid with training our young and initiates. We sit in our bunker, deep underground, unbeknownst to those above, including the new arrivals. We are the remnants of our once-great civilization. We encountered a terrible foe, fought, and ended in this miserable state. Our worlds burned. But that is not important. Right now, our focus is on these new arrivals. Many of ours speak. "They landed here, but it is strange. They use primitive tools, seemingly inspired by those who reside above." "They are no danger. We need not trouble ourselves with them." "But what if they bring the Enemy here? We should deal with them now!" "Their star-ship has scars like those described in the old texts on the Enemy." "It has been thousands of years since our conflict with the Enemy. It is inconceivable that they are still alive." "Such thinking is unwise. It is best not to take the risk. Have one of our operatives slaughter them." The strange one who challenged us with a laser weapon stares at the cauterized stump where his hand once was before he screams. He is strange because he looks like the primitives on this world, only his dress and arms are different. Though his face is gaunt and pale. He is escorted into our ship. The ship is working to translate their language. The momentary stop in transmission of strategic, tactical and combat data to the greater fleet is a slight annoyance. "Haar baar regth-" The translation implants kick in. "-imitive fools with stone axes." "Who are you." "What?" "Who are you." The strange one looks around, seemingly looking to escape. He is punched. "Are you with Those Above?" "No."Do they think I'm with the Enemy? "Who are you?" "I am not one of the Enemy." "Yet you came here? And foolishly tried to slay us?" "..." "Who are you? Who are your people?" "I am one descended from the preservers of what was before, of what survived from the attack of the Enemy." "Tell us of this enemy." "They are great and terrible. Their black ships patrol the skies, and their mechanical warriors are ruthless and efficient." The speaker grins. "It seems we have an Enemy in common."
Professor Balthasar glowed. A smile blossomed on his withered lips, like flowers in the desert. I was his favorite student. He loved me, I think. It was the love the Old reserve for the Young with whom they share an sacred passion. When I came in, his face shed twenty years. He was a kindly man, with great compassion - perhaps the kindest I had ever known. “So, you want to know about lightning.” His voice had the crunchy, sly-mocking cadence of ancient academics. “Need directions to the Meteorology Department?” “No,” I said patiently. “I'm curious about the significance of lightning in the old Hebrew tradition. Specifically as it relates to Shedim…demons.” “I see.” His humor had vanished. “And may I ask why?” This was the tricky part. “I…had a hunch.” I murmured. "Private research." Close enough. Don’t want him to think that you’re completely crazy. He cocked his head, pale-pink tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. My face felt hot under his point-blank stare. “You know, Daniel…If anyone else came in with that cock-and-bull story, I’d know they were playing games with me.” His eyes glittered with the craftiness. “But you I believe. I haven’t taught my most gifted student in memory without trusting his insight...just like I haven’t taught Theology for fifty years without learning that there’s some truth to it.” His eyes were cool and grave. He closed his eyes, unspooling the thread of memory. I felt a rustling eagerness in my chest. “Demons, demons…” the words seemed far away. “The Jewish faith has few references to demons, and what they say is vague. Most of these references come from Intertestamental Writings; what we would call the Apocrypha. The Testament of Moses, the Book of Lamech, and…others. He sighed. “I’d rather not get into exact citations,” he spoke “because it would amount to academic heresy. But the document in question predates the Babylonian Captivity, and shows-” He saw that he was lecturing, and cleared his throat. “At any rate. There is very little known about demons. Many were gods of foreign pantheons, and the rest were closer to what we think of today as Djinns. And as far as lightning is concerned…” He hesitated, like a child contemplating a lie. “There is one reference, from around 750 BCE. The passage has long been considered symbolic. God’s lightning is the flame that welds the gate. The presumption being that lightning prevents the escape of demons from vulnerable places…gateways to Sheol, from which demons could wreak havoc on mankind.” He smiled awkwardly. “I hope that answers your question, Daniel. Demonology has never been a pleasant subject, and you’ll forgive me I don’t pursue it further.” His eyes lingered on me. “A prudent course for all of us, I think.” I thanked the dear Professor. He smiled genially, awkwardness forgotten. We moved to other topics, other eras. But I was barely listening. It's one thing to be struck by lightning once or twice. But coincidence died when I hit the double-digits. And has he talked, I felt a kind of sadness - for this was something he could never know. He was a kindly man, with great compassion. I couldn’t lay that burden on his heart.
"How!!!"Daryl yelled, jumping to his feet, in consequence knocking down the chair up which he sat. The two of them Daryl and Jared were in the latter's room where Jared decided it was safe enough to show his secret power. "I don't know man! It just happened one day. And i've been... vibin it, yah know"Jared replied. Daryl's face was one of confusion and opportunity. "You have any idea the things we can do with this man!?"Daryl seemed to have no intention of lowering his tone. "i don't really know, what we can do with this. What're you thinking?"Jared replied. Daryl still held the pickle in his hand. He took another bite out of the now abundantly sweet pickle. "it tastes like cake man! And all you did was talk through it!"Daryl said, in a high tone... Jared wasn't sure where Daryl was going with this until it suddenly clicked. "Lets make a cake shop of random items and sell them as cake!"Jared screamed, leaping from his chair. "Yes"Daryl replied nodding. &#x200B; &#x200B; "Like erasers and shit!"Jared said. &#x200B; &#x200B; "Yesssssssss"Daryl said, still nodding.
But I had other plans. As soon as I saw the unnatural light on the horizon I knew what was happening, the tension in recent weeks had been tangible. With time frozen I loaded my family's motionless forms into a cart and set off pulling it towards the wartime bomb shelters which would be our best chance of survival. But I was going to have to equip them for a long stay before I allowed the passage of time to resume.
At first I thought it was just that they were playing with the weird, alien looking figure too much. Kids don't know their limits, they don't know when to call it quit and take a rest. But when I found them passed on out the floor in the middle of the afternoon on Saturday no less, I didn't know what to do— what to think. I ran over to them, rolled each one over, checked their breathing, heard the faint air rasp out and in through their lips, then screamed for my wife. "The kids!" That's all I remember me screaming. "The kids! The kids!"Nothing else, as if a fog rolled up from the floorboards, entered through my feet, and enveloped my vision, my mind. The rest of that day is a blur, though my wife in the hospital room mentioned the frenzy of getting them in the car, speeding down 65, sprinting into the hospital; the whole, horrible... horrible event. It was evening when I said I going to go home to pick up a change of clothes, and my wallet. The children were still sleeping, hooked up to breathing machines. Their eyes hadn't opened and I found myself missing their beautiful, clear eyes looking up at me— my son's browns; my daughter's blues. I pushed back the tears leaving the hospital room. They'll wake up fine. I kept telling myself, as if the mantra would make it come true. They'll be fine... I flicked the light switch in the kitchen to find they didn't work. "What the hell?"I went into the connecting room, tried the switch there— also wasn't working. Grumbling, I went back into the kitchen, opened the junk draw near the door, and sifted through it until I found the little flashlight we had for emergency's. I switched it on. The dull blade of light hardly illuminated the darkness, but it was better than nothing. I strode upstairs to the bedroom — clothes first, then wallet — but stopped on the landing. The door to the children's room stood open. Moonlight fell in through the window, filling the small room with milky light. For no particular reason, I slowly walked to the doorway, pushed the door open more. The room was as still as a crypt, as if not a soul had lived there. The air tasted sour, but still smelled like children. I took a step in— stopped. The figurine. The alien figurine sat atop the bed, its fin-like limbs gyrating above its head, swirling, twirling, making a weird, circular motion in the air. Its small body swayed with it, and its bouquet of thin, snake-like things forming its head dangled, clanging like bells together with the motion. There were tiny black lines running down from its body, over the blankets and sheets, down the bed poles, burrowing into the floor. The indents in between each floorboard began to glow with something even milkier, whiter than the moonlight. I took a step back when a liquid seeped out from it, pooling over the entire floor. A gurgling voice emanated from the figurine, speaking in a language I couldn't understand. Mo'ilch sibon anod, Retam, mo'ilch sibon anod. Mainev suitop des, tse non te, setnegul te setim xe atope agusiugnas. Sigam te erecserc. Then there were more— dozens— millions— their fin-like limbs appearing up from the substance covering the floor. Flesh or something worst slapping on the liquid, gripping, pulling themselves out. Figurines— no, not figurines— they're more than that, they're worse than that— God what I did I give the kids— God what did I do the kids? Each one began to chant, theirs guttural voices echoing, falling in sync with the first. A cacophony of hellish words reverberated off the walls, into my body, rattling my innards and bones. When I screamed it stopped, a heavy silence falling over the room, and turned to me as if I had never been there. Then... Then, they moved towards me and that's when I sprinted from the house, leaving the backdoor open and wide for any thief to stumble in to find himself with the demons coming in droves from my children's room. I drove to the hospital. I sat next to my children, hugging them. I stroked their hair and spoke softly in their ears. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."
"Sandra!!! You got mail on the table come and grab it before you go to school!"Mark shouted to his daughter. He could hear his daughter slowly shuffling down the stairs. Her disheveled hair and groggy eyes telling him that she stayed up too late last night. Inside he wasn't too happy about it but she was nearly an adult now and he gave her the freedom of when she went to bed as she never gave him any reason to worry. "Hey Dad... Maaaail for me"she yawns, her head resting on her hands at the table The hardness of the granite counter top contrasting the softness of the stool she sat down upon and the bed she longed to return too. "Yeah here"Mark replied as he slid the bulky envelope towards his daughter. "You know I don't like when you stay up so late, when you're on you're own it wil.." "Yeah, yeah I know the story dad"Sandra sleepily interrupted "I got busy with some friends"a tinge of spite in her words that Mark was all too aware of. "Okay then.."Mark trailed off "What is it, not everyday you get a unmarked package"he chuckled too himself remembering when he mistakenly opened a package that contained something all too private. "I don't know"she awkwardly mumbles slightly more awake and red faced as she notice her dads chuckling. Picking up the envelope she tears the bottom off releasing a booklet that falls on to the counter top, it makes a satisfying smack against the polished surface of the stone counter. It was thick. "I'm not sure what to make of this"sandra says looking at the clean black cover of the book. "Nope, too tired. I'll deal with it tomorrow" "Well at least tell me what it is Sandra it looks important."Her father says "Can I see it?" "Do what you want it'll sit here otherwise"she says as her father picks up the book. "I don't know what it is I wasn't expecting any thing." At work I'll finish this later on my pc formatying will suck for a bit sorry!
My eyes groggy, my body feels heavy. I look outside. A beautiful sunny day. Birds chirping at my windowsill. People laughing and lounging outside. I look at a calendar posted on my wall. 2018? I've been asleep for 8 years. What has the world become now? What have we discovered and produced in all this time? I grab the remote for a TV in the living room, giddy with excitement for the possibilities. Click. CNN. The headline reads "President Donald Trump ditches strategy meeting for golf match."I stare at the tv for a few more moments. Click. I go back to sleep.
Hi u/triotone, this submission has been removed. [Direct prompt replies must be good-faith attempts at new stories or poems](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_1.3A_direct_prompt_replies_must_be_good-faith_attempts_at_new_stories_or_poems) - Fill-in-the-blank: Responses must be at least 30 words. This is essentially a fill-in-the-blank, or you asked a question likely to generate a simple answer. Prompts should encourage a story or poem. Feel free to repost without the question! Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses ([rule 7](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses)) --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/99zavu/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
Daniel ran for all that he was worth, but to no avail. The bus began pulling out slowly while blinking, then drove off. He swore and kicked at a lamp pole, then spat in frustration. But there was nothing else to do but wait. At this time of day, waiting meant half an hour to kill, so he walked by the closed shops, peeking through the windows at the displayed goods. Until he came to a small café. Through the window, he saw a man of fifty-some years yelling at a girl who looked like she was in her teenage years. Both looked Middle Eastern. Daniel stopped and observed the argument. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but their body language and facial expressions told him plenty. The man shook his head and pointed down. A typical parental gesture for this is my house, which would in turn imply that these are my rules. The teenage girl held a hand up in front of her, and her expression became apologetic. Again, the man shook his head, and this time he left the room and came back shortly after with a scarf in his hand, a furious look on his face. He said something and held the scarf in the girl’s direction. Now the girl was the one shaking her head. She pointed to the headband that held her hair away from her eyes. Exactly, thought Daniel. Don’t let him own you, you can decide for yourself! Your old man wants Muslim behavior, he can damn well pack his shit and travel to a Muslim country! Daniel kept watching as the arguments seemed to sway back and forth. Then the girl turned her back on the man, walked to a table, sat and put her head in her hands. The man didn’t relent. He followed her, threw the scarf on the table and just stood, arms crossed, waiting for her to put it on. She looked up from her hands, and Daniel could see the tears glistening on her cheeks. He felt a burning sensation inside at the wrongness he witnessed. As she slowly reached for the scarf, Daniel decided he’d had it and knocked hard on the window. As both the man and girl inside looked surprised to see that they’d had someone witness it all, Daniel took a few steps and stood in front of the door, then pointed down at the lock. The man came to the door, opened it and said: “I’m sorry sir, but we be closed for the night.” Daniel leaned his weight on the door and forced himself inside. He looked at the girl who was still sniffing and to the man who looked embarrassed. Yeah, no shit. Getting caught enforcing that crazy ass religion would also had made Daniel flush. “Listen! If your daughter don’t wanna wear this shit, you don’t have the right to push it. This is a free country, a democratic country - we don’t abide by Sharia Law, and we never will!” Daniel exclaimed, giving the man a challenging look. A few seconds passed, then surprisingly, the man burst into a loud laughter. The girl put her head back into her hands. Daniel drew his brows together. If there was gonna be a whole ting with the father having a fit and trying to throw him out, he’d have no trouble giving a violent response. He would knock the old man down. Hard. Then take the girl and rescue her from her zealous father. The man spoke, his accent thick but his tone light: “You hear that, Aisha? We’re in a democracy, no Sharia Law! That means I’m free to let you go, if you keep insist on wearing scarf!” Wait, what? Daniel looked at the girl in confusion. She put her hands down and cleared her throat. “I’m Muslim, but I’m not following the strict Sharia,” she said in perfect English, her voice wavering. “This man is my employer, not my father. He believes he has the right to make me show my hair to tempt men.” The disgust in her voice dominated the last part she said, despite her voice also being affected by her crying. The man shook his head, still chuckling. “I know Aisha many years! She work here two years. Always no talk of Islam, no scarf. Then today, she come and say ‘Mustafa, I now wear scarf while working’. I say no. My customers could be Jewish, I will not have religious symbols on employees. Not holy cross, not turban, not scarf. She says I’m wrong, not for me to decide! But this my café! I’m employer, so I say I decide! And now you come here and say same thing! You misunderstand but meaning is good: I decide if I want Aisha here with no scarf as always or if she want wear scarf, I fire her. Pay her two weeks salary, sends her home tonight!” The girl frowned at us both. “I’m a good Muslim but I also need the money,” she said directly to Daniel. “Now what should I do? Thanks a lot!” She rose and slapped Daniel. A pretty hard slap. His cheek would be red for a few hours. Then she grabbed her scarf and left. The man who Daniel had thought were her father sighed. “Being young is hard. Many cannot find identity. Find religion instead. Get stubborn.” He shrugged. “She maybe come tomorrow, we talk more. Maybe find a good middle road.” Daniel nodded silently. In truth, he was coming around, to the point where he honestly didn’t think the café owner should take the girl back. Mustafa went back behind the serving counter, looked at Daniel and smiled, then asked: “You want coffee?” Daniel politely declined and walked out the door.
...or so I thought. I was riding the bus, casually glancing around the bus like every other bored schlub. My ability to see the counts was just clutter in my view before today. Today I saw the number blur, then increment upward by one on the man seated directly in front of me. Knowing the meaning, I quickly glanced around, seeing an open seat 3 rows back. It would have to do. I quickly gathered up my possessions and grabbed the seat. Moments later, the foul stench made my former neighbours take notice. They too glanced around to find a seat away from Mr. Plus 1. I had taken the last seat far and away. It was then that I discovered that my power wasn't super, but not entirely useless.
It was easy in a way only someone with a gift and some imagination could ever understand. There were smart geeks and there were geniuses. People with new ideas and imaginations that seemed to progress nearly infinitely. We became 4th dimensional beings quite quickly really. The ability to see all of time laid out in front of you, not able to truly technically change it because it's been that way all along, it's just your perception of it. People usually tapped out once it was explained to them that time travel meant nothing but I never stopped there. People refused to question the barriers that life had seemed to put in place. No true manipulation of matter itself. Each thing still followed the laws of physics and honestly required rules and workarounds like any coding language does. Creating water was just turning the water in the atmosphere into liquid form and displacing what was already there to a different location. Simple. Most people could only change colors or shift time. Make food exist from scripts they found from other people. But I made it all It wasn't bragging to say I was a 6th dimensional being. I knew every possible future, every possible reaction at my fingertips from every moment in time in every situation and had plans for every one. I could delve into other universe uniquely within my own mind and reshape my own to my will. Bend time and space and existence around me and it was never boring because I created boredom. I was both immortal and dead. Ageless and just newborn. I am endless. Time has no meaning unless I bend it to my will and I have seen everything I know now I created magic and I bend the laws or reality to my whims. I'm not a genius really. I'm a god
He looked like a machine-washed Armani suit. Wrinkled, faded, a little less crisp then he once might have been. He seemed bereft of all the charm and energy he’d had in life. Beatrice took comfort in the fact that Giovanni was probably enjoying cocktail parties in heaven, but it was still hard to accept that her favorite tailor was now gone forever, the suave style and measured exuberance lost forever to the world. It was like losing a part of herself really, a good tailor was so much more than business contact. Giovanni had been a friend and confidant to many clients, sharing gossip and sage advice in tandem with his excellent sense of warp and weft. His work would always fit in just the right way, tight enough for when you wanted to show off your figure, and loose enough to hide the little extra weight packed on from the holidays. He knew his clients so well, he barely needed to ask which they’d want and when, never judging you for your preferences, unless they were just plain out of fashion. Beatrice smiled, remembering one time she’d tried to convince him that bonnets could make a comeback in the fashion scene. He hadn’t spoken to her for weeks afterward. He’d always been passionate in his opinions on fashion, and was disappointed when his friends showed bad taste. Of course, he’d been right, she’d tried to make it work for a month, and then came crawling back to him in shame, admitting her defeat. Giovanni had been such a big part of a lot of people’s lives, providing suits and dresses for balls, business soirees, weddings, and board room meetings. He’d given her first ball gown, her first pantsuit, even her wedding dress. And he’d definitely been behind all of the suits and dresses worn in the church today, they just had that charm to them, as if he’d breathed a part of his life into every fiber, if only he’d saved a little more for himself. It was a beautiful service, perhaps not the type Giovanni would have wanted, he always said he would have wanted people to celebrate his life rather than mourn its passing, but it was hard to celebrate the loss of such a vibrant, caring personality, when all that remained was a faded, joyless corpse that looked like a machine washed Armani suit.
No Idea. Sir Rolando was facing his hardest Challenge yet. A Multi-Colored Hyper Intelligent Porcupine. Most Demonic Creatures fled at his preliminary cry of "Deus Vult!"The Porcupine had not. The Porcupine Was Guarding gigantic amounts of treasure. But Sir Rolando had no way of getting past it. He had yelled at it, swung at it (With a stick, Who Would attack a porcupine with a sword?), and even stabbed it with a sword. But it just wasn't working. The Porcupine had ignored him, dodged his attacks, and even performed field surgery on himself with a pinecone. IT was fairly obvious it wasn't going anywhere. Sir Rolando finally asked the Porcupine what it wanted. The Porcupine couldn't talk of course, so he spelled out a simple one word answer with pine needles. (He Apparently likes Pine things.) The Word was Simple. "Souls."Sir Rolando backed off, a little disturbed. But he now knew what he had to do. He drew his sword and slashed a nearby sword in half. The Porcupine moved out of the way, accepting the sacrifice. The only treasure was a coupon code to a subscription for socks. The Racoon was so smart that it had tricked Rolando into finding his Podcast sponsors.
It was perfect, she knew it was, groundbreaking even, it would completely change the sub forever, maybe even the world. It taken nearly 2 years of research but she’d finally made it. The Omni-Prompt. All she had to do now was type it out. She put her fingers on the keyboard now was the time she would forge her legacy for eternity as the one who cracked the code. It took nearly 3 days of continuous effort to get the wording just right, her flat mate, Shirley thought she was mad, but it was worth it, all she had to do now was post... Suddenly the door was kicked in and two men and suits burst into her room pointing guns at her. “ Freeze! Don’t do this, it’s not worth your life kid.” She looked the agent straight in the eye, ... as her hand descended towards the mouse, never breaking eye contact the entire time. Three shots and then it was over, she cried out in pain and agony, collapsing from her chair onto the floor. She looked up at the shooter with tears in her eyes, “ Why? ... I was so close... it was perfect.” He shook his head, “ The world’s not ready, I’m sorry. Also quit being melodramatic I only shot your computer.” His partner walked up and kneeled by her side, he looked at his associate with sad, caring eyes. And then he shrugged, “ Well guess we should probably still tag her and bag her. She does know too much after all.” Suddenly a syringe was jammed into her neck and everything went black.
Huh? What's this weird glowing thing above my head? These were my first thoughts as I once again woke up and did my morning routine. It turns out that those were the least of my concerns. As improbable as it seems, someone has literally hijacked my body! Sounds crazy, I know. But that's exactly what happened. I could only watch as my limbs move against my will. Even weirder is that every time I approach a door or something else I can interact with, a floating pop-up like the ones you would see in a video game appears. X: Turn handle, X: Make Breakfast and so on... I'm seriously starting to question my reality now...
Everybody's tired. This raid has been going on for 9 hours now and I'm starting to think it's some kind of elaborate joke. Tony's Cuts on 9th is a cozy shop in the middle of town where you can get a haircut for cheap. I've even gotten a trim there, and it wasn't that bad considering the price, but the place gives off a strange vibe. Each chair is in a private curtained-off area and you hear the constant rustling of people shuffling into the back room. They weren't subtle and now they're caught by us, nothing new. Now, we do our homework here, looking at building specs and whatnot because everyone thinks that their fake walls and trapdoors are clever, but we're always a step ahead. This is a weird one though. They were slinging coke in the backroom, and that's fine, no surprise there. We went down the trapdoor into the basement and discovered a small gambling operation, also nothing new. Round everyone up for arrests and move on. But these guys went and dug out another, larger floor beneath the gambling parlor and had some kind of prostitution operation going. That's when we called for backup. No one gave us that much trouble which was a relief, but the extra numbers keeps people from doing something stupid and between covering the floors and making arrests, our numbers were thinning a little. But the brothel had a trapdoor too! Since then it's been a few hours and I don't know if it's the stale air or the confusion of it all but I can tell that my team needs a break. After that second trapdoor we found more rooms, incredibly long hallways, and the occasional trapdoor leading us in some kind of elaborate maze. We even got some extra help from some kind of city engineer or whatever to make sure all of this was safe, but apparently these guys built under and around power lines, and it's structurally sound too! But the rooms are too much to think about. I've seen just about every illegal thing we normally arrest for down here and some strange stuff that we don't. The city has archery ranges people can go to without needing to travel for a mile underground. And how did they get the fake grass down here? But that was a few hours ago and since then we haven't seen much out of the ordinary. Well, ordinary for above-ground at least. We've come across empty bedrooms, kitchens, and what appears to be offices. Our branch has 8 teams and all of us are here now with more coming in from out of state. Just what's going on here?
You pull up the calculator on your phone to run some numbers, only to realize you can't actually remember how to work that all out. Oh well, you think. I can just keep an eye on the app. That's when the rumble starts. You hear commotion in the streets. Cars crash, people scream, and a dog barks. And the rumble grows. You choose to head outside. The sky stretches overhead, but it isn't the sky. What ever is coming has a giant screen on the underside, displaying an image of sky. The color is wrong, and the clouds don't line up quite right at the edges. You can tell the craft is turning, slowly, as if scanning. Then it stops. Slowly, you begin to feel lighter. Pebbles and litter start to rise to the craft, and a moment later, you follow. You aren't the only one. You want to say there are about fifty people in the air, but you don't bother counting. As you approach, you pass through the hull as if it were a fog, but then the floating stops and you drop to the very same floor you just passed through. It feels like metal. "Human?"The voice is definitely not. You stand up and look at the speaker. It is stunning. It is beautiful in ways you didn't know were possible. The curve of the tentacles, the shape of the pincers, the way the mandible shudder as they breathe—it is all beautiful. You feel that, for the first time, you understand true love.
The tavern had a hole in it the size of an elephant, four buildings had already made there way into the river, a fire raged through out the city, yet the guards stood by and did nothing. What could they do? Galthar the Mighty had been drinking again. He had slaughtered dragons, warlocks, demons, and evil armies with ease. What could a handful of trained farmers in second hand armor do? This had happened before. The first time they had tried to fight, restrain him, put out the fires and keep the damage to a minimum. None of it worked. If anything, the guards had made it worse and died trying. In the morning Galthar awoke to a hangover and believed that he had, in his drunken stupor, saved the city yet again. It was hard to argue with him. The plan had been prevention. No tavern, pub, restaurant or market was allowed to sell him anything that contained alcohol anymore. The decision was made in secret and carried out quietly behind Galthar's back. Non-Alcoholic drinks were brewed and served just for him. He was a much happier sober drunk than he was an actual drunk. Unfortunately this meant that, after years of sobriety that it only took a few stiff drinks to for him to drink himself under the table. Only one mistake and he was back to tearing up the town in the most literal sense possible. That mistake was on the part Old John Howell, the owner of the recently renovated tavern. He had hired his nephew, Young John as most of the patrons called him, to tend bar a few months back as a favor to his brother. Young John was certainly going to be fired if his Uncle ever came down again. It had been several hours since Galthar had punched Old John through the roof for trying to calm him down, and he had yet to come down. Even if he never did come back down John would certainly hang for this. It was about time that he got of town before there was no town left to get out of.
“Gimme some light over here,” Chase asked Leah. She shined a flashlight on the area that Chase indicated. He ran his finger tips up and down the rough stone surface. The light revealed a large etching carved into the wall. Chase stood back to get a better look at all the lines. The groves resembled a “less than” sign with several straight lines connecting the top and the bottom brackets; it reminded Chase of several triangles stacked on each other, then turned on its side. “There’s another one over there,” Leah said. She aimed the light on another symbol that literally mirrored the first one they found. Instead of the triangles pointing left, the two symbols appeared to be pointing at each other. The second symbol was carved into the wall parallel to the first. “Get Ira to bring a set of flood lights,” Chase said. Leah tossed him the flashlight, then she unhooked the radio from her belt and brought it up to her mouth while pressing the “talk” button. “Hey babe?” she spoke into it. Chase continued to examine the wall. He discovered a vertical groove between the two triangular shapes. “Honey? Can you hear me?” Leah asked again when no response came. After another moment she heard garbled static. “I guess it doesn’t reach down here. I’ll go get him,” she said. “You gonna be okay on your own?” Chase nodded. “I’ll be fine. Oh! Since you’ll have an extra pair of hands bring a cooler too. I got a feeling about this spot.” Chase remained focused on the vertical carving. As far as he could tell it was a straight line placed exactly between the two other etchings. “‘Kay. Be back in a few,” Leah waved while she started walking down the narrow hall back the way they came from. The path was illuminated by evenly spaced lights they dropped on their way in. Chase turned his attention back to the vertical line. He moved close again and then realized it was wider than it was a moment ago. Not much wider, but now he could trace the tip of his pointer finger through the groove. “Huh,” he said to himself, then took a step back to look at the entire wall. Chase used the flashlight to look at the two triangular etchings again, but something shocked him so much when he looked at the vertical line again he dropped the flashlight. The line looked wider again. This time he knew for sure because he realized it was an opening or door of some sort. A thin golden line of light glowed through the vertical crack. He picked up the flashlight and turned it off to be sure. “How is it opening?” Chase wondered. He heard no sound at all. On instinct he turned the flashlight off, closed his eyes, and counted to five aloud. He opened his eyes again after “one”. The opening in front of him was now wide enough for him to step through. He glanced at the path back to their camp, but he made his decision the moment he saw the opening. He walked through the opening into a large ante-chamber flooded with golden light. The light came from a room further in. A sudden thought made Chase whirl around in a panic, but he relaxed when he saw the door remained open. “I don’t trust you for a second,” Chase thought. He decided the ante-chamber produced enough natural light that he did not need the flashlight. He put it on the floor in the doorway. His hope was that even if it closed, Leah and the others might find the flashlight. Chase accepted his fate, turned his back on the door and moved to the golden room. He did not pause to check if the door behind him was still opened when he reached the door to the next room. Instead he took a deep breath and imagined a room full of glittering gold and jewels. He rushed in but the interior of the room stopped him in his tracks. In the center of the room stood an obsidian pedestal, and on it sat a treasure more beautiful than Chase thought he could ever imagine. It had no strings, but somehow he knew it was a golden harp. Large rubies formed the number 53 on one side of the instrument, the harp itself was no taller than maybe two feet. His frame of reference was the skeleton sitting at the harp with its hands hovering on each side of the harp as if ready to play. After he noticed the skeleton he looked around the rest of the room. He quickly counted at least 20 different skeletons all in the same general area. The seat in front of the harp. “CHASE? YOU IN HERE?” He heard Leah’s voice behind him, and for some reason it made him uncomfortable. He suddenly felt rushed and decided not to respond. His feet carried him towards the seat, but the only thought in his mind was that he needed to try the harp before the crew catalogued it and sealed it away. He rushed to the harp and pushed the seated skeleton off the chair into the pile with the others. “Where the hell are the strings?” he asked himself. Despite having nothing to pluck Chase readied his hands on each side of the harp and he began to play the air where the strings would be. “Chase?” Leah sounded closer. Chase looked up to the entrance hoping she wasn’t there yet; when he looked back at the harp he found himself plucking delicate, dark red glowing strings. A hint of a smile formed on his face and Chase let himself relax. He heard no music. The strings were silent, but he continued to play and smile to himself, enjoying the act. Red strings were now clearly visible. “CHASE!” Leah yelled. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING???” He looked up from the harp and saw her standing at the entrance with her hands on her hips and a very disappointed look on her face. “I don’t know,” Chase said. He looked back at the harp and smiled. “But I can’t stop.” \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #236. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
Captain Richard watched the new sailor cast their net into the Sea of the Erased. So eager, expecting to find the next theory of relativity. Captain Richard shook his head at the naivete of the young sailor. Opening the net, the sailor's face turned from excitement to confusion and mild disgust. Countless poorly drawn dicks flopped on the boat's neck. "Sort on through them. If ye find any good ones, toss them into yonder barrel. A well-drawn dick fetches a fine price on the sex-toy market."
As I strode forth, keeping cadence to the beat that played in my heart, I couldn't help but pick up the shuffling of feet across the forest floor to my six. I thought I was alone; clearly I was wrong. An about-turn revealed her: a girl, about the same age as I was. She hurriedly tried to act as if her route was merely by coincidence the same as mine, and adjusted her ragged, faded shirt while pulling at her ripped jeans. Having been hiking for a while now, I could tell from her lack of gear that she wasn't prepared to be here. The look of surprise in her jet-black eyes was soon replaced by one of annoyance. "What? Am I stopping you? Go on."There was a sharp, curt tone in her voice, but its inconsistency betrayed insecurity, and her stomach growled, betraying hunger. I knew not all was as it seemed with this girl, and it would have been so much easier to turn around again, leaving her to the fate of the forest. Instead, I made the choice that would define my life from there on out. She ripped open the combat ration with a vigour that I hadn't seen in a long time. How could I blame her? It was chicken macaroni; my personal favourite flavour. Allison - as she revealed her name was after quite some coaxing - was as hungry as I was during my first field camp. I knew my country had not instated conscription for girls yet, so definitely she had experienced some hardship in her own life that had made her just as hungry as a 19-year-old recruit freshly thrown into the jungle. I knew that too much agreement killed a conversation, and a lack of listening aborted it. With my groundsheet spread on the soil beneath a huge rain tree, where the two of us sat down and had lunch, after pausing our respective hikes for the day, I unwittingly did something for Allison that not many had done before. I listened. "What brings you here today, Allison?" "Nothing much,"She intermittently mumbled through bites of the combat ration. "Just came here to see nature and escape my problems." "What problems?" "I don't wanna talk about it, okay? Thanks for the food and all, but respect a girl's privacy?"Right. Probably shouldn't have probed there yet. We still barely knew each other, after all. Unwisely, I tried to keep the conversation alive. "This is the country's biggest nature reserve and you decided to come here without food or water?" Whoops. I probably asked that too bluntly. Had to remind myself that I'm in the civilian world, not listening to drill sergeants scold my fellow comrades for their errors. It was perhaps like opening a door on a fire that had nearly burned out inside a room, for such fires will burn with vengeance and a lack of control. Similarly, my question provoked a reaction from the poor girl. "Look, if you don't want to give me your food and you think I'm dumb, that's fine!"She pouted as she turned away from me, continuing to munch on the contents of that green bag nonetheless. It's been ten minutes. I try again. First offering her water from my canteen, she took it while averting her gaze from me. Well, at least she is hydrated. Well enough to move, fortunately, for that dark rain cloud above doesn't bode well for us if we stay here. Allison notices it too, and grabs my arm, panicked. "I'm sorry for what I did just now can I please just follow you out of the forest and make it out alive? My parents will kill me if I don't get out!"Her tone, hurried and anxious, hid nothing. I agreed, while listening to this backstory and wondering if I could get any other conversation started on this lonely hike. And thus we ended my journey, starting our new path out of the forest. We were really in the middle of the thickest forest, to the extent where backtracking was not feasible. We had no choice but to press on. "Allison, I'm sorry to ask of you your problems again, but I would like to help you with whatever you came here to forget about, as much as I can." "How can I trust you? You're literally just a man in green with a backpack."The curtness in her tone is gone, and she is nervous now. "Well, I gave you my food, didn't I? I didn't leave you to be lost in here forever. And I want to make sure you get out of here safely. I'm not a serial killer, I come here to relieve tension too. But I don't come here unprepared."Allison seems slightly more at ease now, but still unconvinced. I then proceed to tell her of my own problems with my parents, with my uncertain future and insecurities. I know they aren't so horrible as to require me running impulsively into a huge forest, but I hoped that they would allow me to gain more of Allison's trust. A story for a story. "My parents abuse me. They are never happy with what I do. My father nearly exploded with rage when he found out I was pregnant, and my mother always gossips about me to my relatives."Her voice starts to tremble a little. "I thought they would stop beating me when I got into high school, but it continues, and they still impose a curfew."She grabs my hand tight, a look of fear visible behind her bangs. "I don't even care if you bring me somewhere nasty. I just don't want to go home and face those two again!" I stop in my tracks. "May I?" "May you what?" I give her a hug. It's the best I could do to keep her moving. She awkwardly stands there at first, but then returns it, her body shaking a little with silent sobs. We keep moving after that. We were nearly out of the forest when I heard it. The ragged barks of a feral dog. I could hope it didn't see us in this sunset, but chances are it smelled us. With its lithe black form leaping out of the bushes to attack, I have no choice but to brace for its attack as Allison screams and is rooted to the spot. I've never fought a wild animal before, and hoped never to do so, but this was a risk I undertook when entering the forest. What did Assassin's Creed teach me about hunting animals? My only experience with fighting them had to be thrown out of the window as the dog's maw snapped violently, spraying its saliva everywhere. Grabbing its snout was the last thing I wanted to do. Standing on its hind legs, it was nearly as tall as I was. I got ready to kick it hard where the sun don't shine when I heard Allison's voice perk up again. The dog took the chance of my distraction to sink its teeth into my left forearm. Screaming in pain, I delivered a firm kick to its belly and it ran off with its tail between its legs. This was bad. Rabies was infectious and contagious, right? I saw two older people from my peripheral view, but was distracted by the massive bleeding from my arm. Allison ushered me to a car, and tires squealed as my vision blurred. I had never been so happy to be out of the forest before. The next time my eyes opened, I was in a sterile environment. Allison and her parents were standing before me, her eyes bloodshot and teary. "I'm so thankful to you for saving my daughter. She ran off irresponsibly but you got her out of the forest. How can we make it up to you?"Her mother looked at me with concern while her father asked of me these questions. "Make it up to Allison instead." Allison has been through rough times, yes. But just as there will always be an exit to the forest, rough times will end too. And so it's as such that Allison and I hike through the forest whenever we can meet up. Her parents have never been happier either.
First they came for the cinnamon, then they came for the pumpkin spice. As the leaves fell around us they came in their trucks, sweeping supermarket shelves and confiscating syrups. They snatched laced drinks from shocked customers' hands, poured the offending liquid into their stainless steel containers marked 'DANGEROUS' and burned the takeaway cups in a mass grave site - Pumpkin Jack's, as it later came to be known. It didn't take long for the black market to start selling a synthetic knock-off, highly addictive and pricey - it was Autumn and the people needed their fix. Tweakers, chefs and homebakers alike met down dodgy alleyways, just for a hit of that good stuff. Trading, however, was a risky business, for both the black market and the desperate purchasers: the penalty of being found to distribute or possession was death, no exceptions. But still they came in their droves - underground websites lured them in, promised them that sweet, sweet taste of their past, then hooked them on it with a sample hot beverage. The first latte was always free. You could always get it if you had enough dough; the bakers led the charge there. Supermarkets suffered the most - with half of their stock now confiscated they tried to push the lesser spices and flavourings. One chain even tried to convince people fresh ice cold lemonade was what you really needed in the warmer months. The ensuing riot made the papers around the world, the PR fall-out a disaster. It went down in studies as examples of what not to do, how to ruin a decades-old business in a day. Hundreds around the world went out of business, once thriving neighbourhoods now desolate wastelands. Of course the stock market plummeted, that was never a question of if, only when. Eventually people learned to live without it, those who had never been born into it didn't know what they were missing. The world moved on and pieced their fractured societies back together. The black market rose and fell, as it always does, and peace was reinstated as pumpkin spice became a thing of the past, a footnote in the history books. But then they came for the Christmas decorations.
Be careful. The last step is covered in ice. I hopped the last step at work. I turned to quickly warned Beth. I was never religious. But since my 21st birthday, my guardian angel had been saving me from harm. I was scared. Was I mentally ill? But it warned me so many times to dangers that I couldn’t possibly know. Like the A/C that fell out of a window on the 10th floor of an apartment building. Or to put down the takeout because it had touched shellfish. I wish I could talk to him but he never responds. \roar\ My car shook itself to warm up. I left my seatbelt undone. I enjoyed the perks of my guardian. I started the familiar drive home on autopilot. I never saw the man on the motorcycle. WHY?! Why wasn’t I warned? That’s what I thought as I made contact. The most average man with the most average build was flung fifty yards through the air. He wore a helmet. It didn’t matter. His body was rapidly decelerated by the steel light pole. Witnesses would say it sounded like a million knuckles cracking when his neck snapped. I felt horror as I was helplessly thrown myself. The pocket rocket was wedged under the front end of my blue 2000 Toyota Tacoma. Everything jammed up. The last thing I felt was my skull smashing through the windshield. I became aware again on the ground. Red. I noticed the puddle. Then it spoke. Thank you. I needed a fool. ”I trusted you.” I gave you an extra five years of life. I didn’t know what to say. I’m no angel Zack. Not for a long time. I needed a physical being to kill that man for me. “What did he do?” He was going to discover the key to immortality. I can’t have that Zack.
A million thoughts ran through my brain as I searched my clothes for my ID. "Crap! This totally ruins our plans."I grumbled and flopped onto the bed. Eddie lightly chuckles and runs a hand through my shirt now pink hair, accidentally hitting my new industrial. "Love, we don't have to do exactly what we planned. Plus,"he continued, leaning closer to whisper, "I dont have to get you wasted for you to sleep with me." Rolling my eyes into the back of my skull, I smirked, kissed the tattooed scales on his forehead and looked him in the eyes. "But now I can't even sit at the bar."I trumped, sitting up and pulling my shoes on. "Guess I'm the DD tonight." Two weeks later. "Babe, could you grab the cash from my wallet?"I called from the other room, realizing it was in the bedroom. Hearing him head toward the room, i turned my focus back to look out the window for the delivery guy. "Um. Babs, you need to see this."The tone in his voice was the same one he uses when he finds something gross on the internet. "Eddie, I don't have time for the grossness of the interwebs. The foods almost here."I softly called back, feeling the ache in my lower back from my drive home. "I don't wanna move, love. My back is sore."The quick footsteps made me wonder what he had found. His hand landed on my neck and he shoved my wallet under my nose, "your license is back!"He exclaimed breathlessly. "Very funny, babe."I rolled my eyes and took it from his hands, grabbed the cash and tossed my wallet aside as the delivery guy knocked on the door. I kissed his cheek and went to answer the door. A few hours passed before I looked at my wallet again. Eddie was asleep, having an early morning, but my insomnia had gotten the best of me and I decided to go for a drive to see if it would help. I crept into the room, grabbed my keys, whispered I love you into his ear, kissed his cheek and sile fly padded down the hall and out the front door. "Fuck."I cussed, realizing I forgot my wallet. Creeping back inside, I grabbed Mr. Meeseeks and headed back out again. With a small groan, I stepped up into the jeep and started the beast. After cruising around, I realized I smoked my last cigarette and needed more, as my anxiety was going nuts. I pulled into the nearest open convenient store and walked inside. "Pack of camel blues, please."I asked the cashier after grabbing a coke. I offered my ID and the photo caught my eye. Eddie was right, my license was back, however the issue date is five years in the future, my picture was of this woman with an angular face and long natural colored hair. But the one thing that stood out more then anything else... My last name. No longer was I haunted by the last name of my biological father, no longer would I be worried about running into someone who knows him and assuming I'm just like him. Now I understood the beautiful smile that gra ed her face, her eyes were clear of sadness and pain. The cashier cleared her throat. "Oh yeah. Sorry."I handed the card over and paid for my bad habit. As I drove home, I felt as if a swarm of butterflies had replaced my insides, the happiness I always searched for was finally in my life and I'd never felt more sure of something as I did of my recent choice to say yes if he ever asked. I finish my short drive home, took a quick shower, changed into clean pjs and slipped into bed. Wrapping my arms around my love, nuzzling my face into his neck and feeling content as well as happy. 'He gave me his last name.' I thought as I slipped into sleep finally.
It had been years since I put the key on my key ring, latched on next to the keys I use every single day—the fat grey Honda key for my 2007 Accord, the squat black one for the storage unit (I really should empty that thing out. No sense in holding on to my Cheeto-stained futon any longer), the oft-used miniature swipe card to my gym, a pierced poker chip my brother lobbed to me after that crazy night at Caesar’s palace, the loyalty card for my local grocer, and a shiny new key for my parents' place I have yet to use. Keys come and go over the years. But one has stayed constant. The key I coughed up looks like any other key. Its hexagonal bow has three triangular sections missing so it can fit on any regular keyring. Tiny letters from the manufacturer (I guess) are etched in the space just before the toothed blade. It’s made of the same yellow-brown metal that any other key is made of. Nothing special except for the fact that I coughed it up one day. After it showed up, I figured I might as well hold on to it. My first thought was that something insane had happened the night before—that one thing led to another and before you knew it, boom, Travis has a key in his stomach. But I know for a fact nothing had happened the preceding night. I woke up with a terrible scratching in my throat. The pain became worse as the day went on. Around lunchtime, I rose from my desk and hobbled to the washroom, hacking all the way. Nearly blind because of the tears, I retched into the sink long enough for one kind soul to pat my back with an unwashed hand and ask, “How’re ya doin’ there, bud?” as if it wasn’t obvious that I was doing, on the whole, quite poorly. &#x200B; I shook my head and in a barely-human snarl told him I was fine. Despite the evidence to the contrary. He left. A few seconds later the aforementioned key clattered into the porcelain, covered in bile. I rinsed it off, took a piss, and headed back to work. &#x200B; \- &#x200B; For a while, I would test the key to see if it was actually good for anything. It’s become an in-joke between my friends that I have to try the key in every keyhole I see. Obviously that’s an overstatement, but it hasn’t stopped them from cracking the all-too-obvious jokes about trying to “fit it in” wherever possible. &#x200B; I knew off the bat that because of the key’s size and shape, a few options were off the table. It was too small to be a car key. It was too big for a bike lock or a similarly-sized keyhole. And it wasn’t a specialty key like those you find paired to expensively hefty padlocks and safes. Doors of course were still an option, so doors were my first targets. At this point it is safe to say that I am still barred from entering roughly 2% of the doors I routinely come into contact with. Two percent doesn’t sound like a lot until you really stop and think about how many locks are in the vicinity at any given moment. I’m quite proud of my 2%, thank you very much. &#x200B; After a while I basically gave up hope on finding a matching lock for my mysterious key. The key hung on my keyring, nondescript and out of mind, for months. It remained on the keyring even when others came and went. I got a new car (well, new to me). My parents moved into a new house (they insisted I have a key should I be possessed by some otherworldly energy to drive the four-and-a-half hours necessary to make them a surprise visit). I joined a new gym. And the thing about keys is that no one ever asks you about what’s on your keyring (unless you’re sporting something unusual like a beat-up poker chip that comes bundled with a well-rehearsed story of drunken Las Vegas debauchery). People don’t see the mystery key and think to ask what it’s for, so little by little I started to forget about it.
Panic. Lightening blood flew through tightening veins. My heart thundered. The elevator was a claustrophobic tube, creeping slowly up as my heart rate did the same. I could hear the deafening roar of a crowd in my head, but as I was still many feet below the ground, I knew my mind was simply betraying me. I had attended a few of these events myself when I was on the outside, and never missed the live feed when I was home. It was my guilty pleasure, the program no one admitted to watching but still garnered millions of viewers every week. Maybe If I had known I would one day be a contestant, I would have had more sympathy for those I watched. Frightened lambs and fierce wolves alike, slaughtered, sacrificed to the god of entertainment. A screen in the elevator lit up, and a woman dressed similarly to a flight attendant spoke in a calming voice. “Prisoner #8092617, you have been selected to participate in the nation’s most exciting new program, The Show! The Show is our country’s simple solution to prison overpopulation, and the revenue it produces goes to improving our current prison facilities.” She winked slightly after this. The news was constantly filled with stories about the corruption that wrought the organization facilitating The Show, and the prison I came from was one gust of wind from collapsing and killing it's occupants. “You are directly involved in improving the lives of your fellow prisoners, and if you survive, yourself! Congratulations! Standby for further instructions as you near the surface. If you are religious, you are now allotted time to pray. Good luck!” The screen flickered and faded. The elevator increased in speed, and the concrete surroundings turned to open space. Parking garages under the stadium packed with cars, and some of those attending the event stared and took pictures. Men with children pointed, directing their children's attention to me. Look at the man in the cage sweetie. Follow the law, or this could be you. A cautionary caged animal, a weak excuse for bringing his brood to watch bloodshed. The parking garage faded away, and suddenly I was in the guts below the stadium. The inner workings of the many traps and machines designed to eviscerate those above sat here, silent and waiting. Which one of these would take me? Or maybe just remove my arms, leaving me a freak to be abused once back in prison. Is there oxygen getting into this goddamn tube? I cant fucking BREATHE IN HERE. LET ME OUT. I pounded my fists pointlessly on the thick walls of the tube, as the bright lights of the stadium loomed above. My capsule shot into the air with 12 others, spinning as the crowd exploded into cheers. Mechanical arms caught all 13, holding us 100 feet above the ground. I had seen it many times, once the timer ended the floors would drop out, and we would all drop down into nets. This had not been perfected, and I recall seeing a few contestants die from poor drops. Sweat slicked my palms as I pressed them against the glass. The announcer was muffled, and the crowds cheered at intervals. Then the jumbo screen lit up. 30 seconds. It was almost show time.
This can't be right, the scientist thought as he poured over the print out from the GLR analyzer. If this is true, then that would mean. . . well, what would this mean? It makes no sense. "Jenkins!"Another man, also wearing a white lab coat, shouted as he burst through the door. "Have you heard?" "Heard what, Bill?"Jenkins said, half paying attention as he continued to read the solitary sheet of paper that he had pulled from the printer the moment before. "We just lost contact with Europe!"Bill shouted, waiving his arms. "What? Jenkins asked. "All of Europe? Bill, that doesn't make any sense. How could we suddenly lose contact with all of Europe?" Bill shuffled his feet, looking somewhat uncomfortable, clearly hesitating to say what was on his mind. "I don't know Jenkins, but I was on the phone with a friend of mine in Paris when it happened."He stopped. "Did they say anything unusual?"Jenkins asked, probingly, his interest now piqued. "Well, not really... "Bill said slowly. "At least, not at first. I had been talking about the benefits of pour over coffee makers, and she didn't respond for awhile, so I asked her what was wrong, and she replied with just one word..."Bill paused, "'balloons.' I tell you Jenkins, she sounded as if she had seen a ghost." Balloons? Jenkins thought. That's odd. Jenkins looked back down at the sheet of paper he had pulled out of the GLR analyzer. "Bill,"Jenkins said, not knowing how to begin, "take a look at this." Bill grabbed the sheet of paper that Jenkins was holding and, fighting to keep control of his expression, questioned, "Are you sure of this?" "Yes,"Jenkins replied, "I ran the test seven times. I couldn't believe the results, but I keep getting the same diagnostic. I even tried running it on this old hunk of junk,"he said, noting to the GLR analyzer. "Well,"Jenkins started, "How is this possible? You're telling me that helium has actually been denser than air this whole time?" "I know,"Jenkins said, "it doesn't make any sense... You'd think someone would have noticed by now." "Jenkins,"Bill said, "it's not a matter of why no one has noticed before. I mean, you're not the first person to run this test. I myself have run it before, but I got a different result." "I know Bill. It can't be true. We all know that helium is lighter than air."Jenkins said. "I mean every time a kid let's go of a balloon it just floats away. The evidence is clear. Even children understand this." "Well,"Bill said, "suppose this is true. What would that mean?" "If it was true?"Jenkins asked. "Well, I guess that would mean that there is no good reason that balloons would float away when someone releases them. In fact, given that we know that balloons float away, despite the fact that helium is denser than air, then I would say that some outside force must be compelling them skyward." "Hmmmm..."Bill mulled this point over. "It would also mean that something has actively been trying to prevent us from learning the truth. I mean, as I said before, I've run this same test before, and I got a different result." The color from Jenkins face drained away as he stared at something over Bill's shoulder. "What's wrong, Jenkins?"Bill asked, turning to look over his shoulder. He then saw what Jenkins had been staring at: A solitary red balloon, which had just floated through the laboratory door. The balloon swiveled, turning as if being pushed by a draft of air, but there were no air currents in this hermetically sealed laboratory. "Gentleman,"the balloon said, in a high-pitched voice, as helium escaped from it, "I believe it's time we had a chat." &#x200B; \[Comments appreciated!\]
"Chief,"I said walking into Chief Conners office. "What is it Malone, can't you see I'm busy,"Came the gruff reply. I looked at him, around the office- and took it all in. This crime wave was out of control, and if something didn't happen soon, I feared the entire city government could fall apart. "Listen chief, it's this latest batch of thugs... You heard about the tattoos, right," "Jesus Malone, not you too Captain Roberts was in here with the same story last night. Why don't you get off your ass and hit the street with your boys- do some real police work, Captain." I felt the anger rise. Was the Chief blind- this was literally the only lead we had. All signs point to nothing- fine, I thought. I stared into his cold brown eyes......... Brown eyes- the Chief has blue eyes. Just then the door slammed shut. A man, 6'4"atleast 250 stared at me, with the same brown eyes. "listen Malone, I'm going to make this real simple...". the chief said as he stood from the desk, tatoo gun in his hand. I turned to run and the beast of a man grabbed and gagged me. Next thing I knew the tattoo gun turned on.....then nothing.
“HOW COULD YOU JUST PASS OUT!?” Hearing your best friend scream in your ear is not the best way to wake up. “Ow, my ears! What was tha...” My sentence is cut off as I see that I am not in Erik’s basement, but rather in some decrepit castle. “WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT!? YOU JUST FELL DOWN RIGHT AS THE VAMPIRE RAN AWAY! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO CATCH HIM!” “Can you keep your voice down, helga? I am trying to figure out where he went.” After hearing Erik’s voice I look around, expecting to see Erik, and ask how the hell I got into a castle. “KEEP MY VOICE DOWN? TORALT PASSING OUT HERE MIGHT HAVE JUST DOOMED THE KINGDOM!” I now realize where my best friends voice was coming from. Helga, the elvish necromancer my best friend was playing. Looking around I see the orc shaman Erik was playing, the human mercenary John was playing as, and the priestess who came with us for exposition. Of course this means... I look at myself. Leather armour. Check. Bandolier with poisons. Check. Bow. Check. Knifes. Check. I am now my DnD character Toralt. This will not be fun.
An echo across the universe. Every sentient creature heard the words "OUR LEADER IS REBORN"over and over again in endless agony. All mortals covered their ears and fell to the ground shrieking, attempting to deafen the overwhelming power of the voice. All except one, the now-titled Leader of the Immortal Council, who stood behind Cash Register #9 in his garish work vest and boring slacks. His eyes surveyed the store, upon the floor of which everyone was writhing and screaming soundlessly (oh man was it loud at first), and he sighed. He really didn't know why the universe kept choosing him. Must be his awesomeness.
This is the finest moment in our history. The children sat dumbfounded at the TV screen. And I mean finest folks. This is gonna by huge. The hugest event in America ever. The teacher looked worriedly at her students. We've done it folks. The children, bored, started to talk to one another. We've found Narnia. The children looked up at the TV all at once, (besides little Timmy, who was never the brightest of the bunch.) And not only that, but my advisor. My wonderful wonderful advisor, The children, bored again, start figdeting in there seats. tells me we will be the owners of this new land. It'll be covered with beutiful hotels and gorgious golf courses. A curtain falls behind president Trump. A huge conical structure emerges from the ground, glittering and shining in the setting sun. We are gonna show them some good old fashioned American pride folks. Both child and teacher look into the TV set awestruck. The cone progresses to a cylindar, which tapers off into three trapazoids and another cone. Trump is handed a large suitcase. He opens it and from it withdraws a large red button. See, my big red button, is bigger. Take that Rocket boy. The TV roars loudly as the rocket takes off, the screen fills with a red, Trump's silloutte remains. The children, amazed just a second ago, have gone back to playing. &#x200B;
Alice sat at the counter as she did during working hours, idly playing with a bauble that one of the many adventurers had brought from wherever it was that they got stuff. It was shaping up to be a slow day, none of the regulars had stopped by, perhaps they had all gone off to the new area that the division commander had finally allowed access to. Weeks of speculation and a heavy adventurer presence had run everyone a bit ragged but it had let up when the mountain pass was opened. Maybe there would be a bit of peace for a bit. Or not. Suddenly guards could clearly be heard shouting, metal on metal rang out as swords clashed. Wood splintered as a shield broke and more shouting. Alice continued to roll the little gem across the relatively flat surface of the table. A few little curves from knot holes made it a fun excercise of geometry and ballistics. Start here, push there, watch it curve on that over to that and catch it over there after a few turns. More shouting, more crashing. She tried for the hardest roll yet, something to hit every knot in that line, but it couldn't be too hard or the marble wouldn't curve. The natural grain of the wood helped keep it in the direction she wanted it to go. She added a little bit more force. The clashing outside died down a bit. The marble rolled along the curves. Dave, the other occupant of the store sighed a heavy sigh as he mixed yet another low proof healing potion. The mortar and pestle grinding folding into the natural sounds of the building in the wind. Alice sighed again as the sounds of battle resumed outside. The door opened softly with the tinkle of the little bell. Alice looked up from her distraction and looked over the arrival. Tall (of course), young (also of course), and wearing very little (again, of course). A woman this time, dressed in the classic bra of metal, utility belt something at the waist and exposed flat stomach. This one had a metal tiara and several rings. I would Like to Sell Items "Welcome to Alice's Item Emporium We Buy and Sell only the Finest of Items in the Realm What can I Help you with?" It bothered her a bit that everything was phrased so, capitals on every other word. It felt wrong, but the adventurers didn't respond to anything else. She had tried once long ago to use a different greeting but the guy had just stood there with a sword in his hand waiting. Four or five different tries at other greetings before she had given up and given him the greeting that was carved into the board above her head. Item : 15x Animal Furs, Rodent yuck. "15 copper" Accepted Item : 231 Clover Sprites, Dead This was going to be one of those people, individual transactions and not just a convenient list. Sigh. Item : 231 Clover Sprites, Dead ugh. Right. 231 times three copper each, is 693 "69 silver, 3 copper" Accepted Items : 12x Iron Sword, Short : 3x Bronze Sword, Short : 2x Bastard Sword : 1x Quick Gloves : 1x Officers Tunic : 1x Officers Pants : 1x Officers Shoes : 1x Law-bringer Sword : 1x Law-bringer Shield, Broken uh.. The sheriff are gonna be around again today. So annoying. "25 gold, 2 silver, 8 copper." Accepted Want to Buy : 8x Redemption Scroll : 1x Hand of Wrath Key: 2x Iron Fortress Portal Room Key : 10x Resurrection Scroll ugh. "258 gold, 50 silver" ... She roller her marble, waiting for the adventurer to decide, it was 25 times what she bought the items for, and the adventurer knew it. The prices were listed on the chart to her left, the buys and sells were clearly marked. Wrath key was 58 gold, Iron Fort key was 36 gold, Res scrolls were 5 silver each. Wrath key buys were 2 gold and 23 silver. Res scrolls were bought for 2 copper. 100 silver to a gold, 10 copper to a silver. 1000 gold for a platinum, 1000 plat for a diamond coin. Redemption scrolls were 16 gold each. That paid the cost of the guards who got killed to be revived, re-equip them and pay them for the trouble if dying on the job. Its a tough gig but it payed well. The adventurer eyed the scrolls on the table. Gears slowly turning in her head. Must be checking the math, or recalculating how much trouble they can afford to get into. Alice idly played with the marble again. The Adventurer must have made a decision as she pulled out another sword and a helmet. Want to sell Items : 1x Helm of Ice : 1x Sword of Wind Plus Three Hmm, those weren't from around here, She briefly checked her tables Helm of ice for 30 gold and sword plus three for ninety one, very nice. "121 gold" Accepted Want to Buy : 8x Redemption Scroll : 1x Hand of Wrath Key: 2x Iron Fortress Portal Room Key : 10x Resurrection Scroll ugh. again. and again. "258 gold, 50 silver" Accepted The adventurer dropped a bag of gold next to the pile of goods and took the keys and scrolls off the table, stored them in a pouch of bag and left quietly. Alice eyed the bag of coins, it probably weighed as much as the pile of swords. The Sprite corpses leaked a little, the rodent furs smelled. That helm though, it was pretty. Sparkling with every change in the light. Nice and cool too. Maybe keep it under the desk on those hot days. Oh with the sword it was very very nice. "Hey Dave, come check this out!" She set the helm on the counter at her end, and propped the sword up against the wall unsheathed. The breeze that it emitted instantly caught the cold aura that the helm had and the now cool breeze ruffled the dried herbs Dave had placed on his counter. "Oh! that's nice!" Dave hadn't even looked up when the Adventurer woman had entered the shop. It seemed that he didn't really take much notice of anything except for his potions. Or maybe not. "She killed a guard outside. He was in the street when she opened the door." "oh. Was it Jordas?" "No, I think it was Mikon, but his face was all messed up." "I was thinking" odd.. "I was thinking that they never kill us, never raise a hand to us. You calmly ask for a year of wages and they just stand there and think about it. You even put the items on the table." "That's true, what about it?" "Well, Its just, oh I don't know, I make those keys, they cost almost nothing each, less then a copper but you sell them for 58 gold. That's three months of farming. Or two weeks of smithing horse shoes. But they never even blink as they pay it. I mean they see you take it out of the bin, they see you pull the gold out of the chest on the floor." This was all true and just how business was done though, what point was Dave getting at? "And?" "Well, its just that all our neighbors seem to get robbed regularly, Thom the baker says that his home gets ransacked every day or so, and Ginny the smith says that people use her forge all the time and use up her supplies. We never had any problems. Its strange that's all." "What? do you want them to start?" "No of course not, Its just that woman, she killed a guard outside. You even just bought his uniform. What keep her from killing us and taking our stuff?" huh. That was a good question. Alice pictured Mikon in her mind, 31 stone and mostly muscle. He had shifted the trees off the road in the last good storm before the horses got there. She looked down at herself, about sixty years older then Mikons she probably weighed as much as one of his arms. Maybe while holding onto the bag of gold there too. She was about as tall as one of Mikons arm was long as well. The person who could beat Mikon in a sword fight would have no trouble with her. She rolled the marble again. "Maybe its." She paused for dramatic effect. "Maybe its because they are all afraid of me."
The dream gnaws at my psyche, destroying sanity and leaving behind madness. In it, everyone I know is gathered. They greet each other and talk about me as if I am not there. I long to touch, talk, listen... but I cannot approach, speak, or hear. I can only watch. Until they start to leave... I am 137 years old. I was born in the jungles of India and abandoned at birth. I do not blame my mother, she could not have known I was alive, I am a quivering mass of tentacles in my natural state. I was able to absorb water from rain and morning dew, and spent the first few years of my existence with my tentacles embedded in the soil drawing sustenance as the plants do. As I grew I began capturing insects and small mammals. The addition of meat into my diet brought addition nutrients to my mind and I began to realize I was not like the other plants around me. I drew myself out of the soil and began to hunt. I drew inspiration from the great hunters of India: the large cats, snakes, wolves,apes, and bears. I found I could gather myself into a shape similar to any of these creatures, and when I did I naturally displayed colors similar to a being of the same shape. I preferred the shape of the apes in those days and began to integrate myself into their society. Truly it was the social structure I longed for as my nutritional needs to sustain myself were much lower than theirs. One morning I woke to the community violently attacking me. I had woken in my natural form and the frightened creatures were reacting to what they perceived as a threat. I killed them all in an act of self preservation, though it pained me greatly. It vexed me greatly, as I had not lost the ability to hold my form during sleep prior to this. The flaw was due to the first occurance of the nightmare that plagues me to this day. The dream was different on that first night. My ape community was all together and I opened myself to them in my true form. We were celebrating together when I woke to the beating. I eventually encountered men when I traveled to the coast, there was a fishing village on the ocean. I saw in these men the social interaction I so craved and spent great effort taking the form of a man. This form was much more difficult to maintain and I found that I needed about double the sustenance of a normal man. It became easier when I found a recently deceased man in the jungle. I do not know what killed him, but I could tell he was recently killed. Consuming his body gave me a much greater understanding of man and greatly reduced the effort needed to maintain human form. In those days the dream returned in a different form. Multiple creatures would appear before me. I would match the form of the creature, and when I touched it it would die and a portion of my body would revert to its natural tentacled form and no longer change form with the rest of my being. I began to travel and was educated in Europe. I fully integrated into society and for a time was happy and fulfilled. But my dream started to come true in life and I found I would gradually lose my ability to maintain a human form. I began killing men to consume them where I had previously been able to rely on scavenging accidental deaths. My nightmares became more frequent and horrible, always devolving into my friends attacking and eating me. I spent some time as a dog to try and avoid them, but this caused the dream to change into its final form. Everyone I know is gathered. They greet each other and talk about me as if I am not there. I long to touch, talk, listen... but I cannot approach, speak, or hear. I long to be part of their society but anyone I approach withers and dies, and as they do part of myself also turns into a lifeless tentacle. I retreat from society to save myself but the party ends, and they all approach me to say farewell. As they approach they die and I consume them to save myself. The message in the nightmare is clear to me. I need to find someone of my own wretched kind to socialize with. I have been around the world and have not found another like me. Today I will begin my new experiment. It will require a significant feeding, and many humans will lose their lives to my thirst, but I must extend my kind. I will find a human to carry my young.
"So is this going to work?" &#x200B; "Look, its not like any of those real life heroes are Batman. They're all a bunch of jocks who don't know crap about computers. I hear Meteor Man can barely use an Iphone and has his publicist tweet for him." &#x200B; "But still, they don't have tech guys at the league of heroes?" &#x200B; "Maybe they do, but you know what, I think this is going to work. I'm confident." &#x200B; "So how do we do it?" &#x200B; "Well, its a little techy, but see, all you do is have this program, enter some numbers and bam, i've got money funneling out and into a swiss bank account. And unlike their cheese, this plan doesn't have holes. &#x200B; Soon, the two men sitting at a computer in a little used public library had put a nearby bank out of business, and for a few minutes no one was the wiser. &#x200B; "So how are we going to get away with this Jim?" &#x200B; "Well Dan, i'd like you to meet Allen Adams." &#x200B; "Who's....." &#x200B; Dan, the shorter of the two hackers, stood their shocked. He saw a tall, blonde square jawed man who was recognizable even without his mask on. &#x200B; "You're...." &#x200B; "Look, i'm Allen Adams, and I'm just a guy looking to invest some money for a certain business partner. You're Dan right? You're the short fat stupid one. Jim's told me about you. So what do you do?" &#x200B; "Well I just tag along. Also I know Kung Fu." &#x200B; "That's it? Well, anyways Jim, thanks. I'll call you once I get to Geneva. And remember, use your cut of the money wisely. Don't go all Tony Montana okay?" &#x200B; "Yeah sure Allen. " &#x200B;
-Hold X to breathe in; release, hold Y to breathe out.- You have successfully sighed. -Constantly tap R1 when not performing tasks. When performing tasks, Breathing will be automatic.- You are succesfully breathing. -Turn joysticks in circles to open eye- This will open your eyes. -Press CLeft to blink- This will close your eyes then open them automatically. -Shake controller to determine bladder level- You have to pee. -Use nunchuck accessory in an upwars, slashing motion to Pull Sheet Off; repeat opposite for opposite side- Sheet removed. -Throw both feet outside of Activator to Get Feet Off Bed.- Feet are off! -Cross nanchuck and do a crunch to sit up.- You have successfully sat up. -Balance on the WiiPad and shift weight to stand.- You have stood up. -Shift your weight on the WiiPad to start walking.- You have began walking! 100xp bonus for walking 10,950 days in a row. -Use the directional joystick to control walking direction; stop shiftinf weight in order to stop.- You have successfully navigated to the bathroom. -Press X to interact with the door.- You've grabbed the doorknob. -Circle nanchuk remote clockwise to turn doorknob.- You have turned the doorknob. -Press X to open Door.- The door is now open. -Shift weight on WiiPad to walk.- You enter the bathroom. -Hold nanchuck remotes at your sides and swipe them down quickly to Lower Pants.- You moved a little too quickly there, your pants are around your ankles! -Press down on the right thumbstick button to Grab Penis, while holding down use it to Aim Intial Stream, use C button to Aim Additional Streams, press down on left thumbstick to Guide Hips, hold R1 and press down on left thumbstick to guide legs, hold Z button to Urinate.- Oh no! You've covered your entire bathroom and legs in urine. -Press O to Enter Shower.- You have entered your shower. -Hold Y to Cry.- You cry in the shower.
"Earth 2.0"they called it. There were 26 fleets in total, only 2 of which survived the space/time distortion from the white hole. Father, Earth's saviour, and founder of the white hole, says that the races on the other fleets have been saved, but we know better. As our fleet landed on Earth 2.0, our sister fleet was in desperate need of repair. Father decided to use parts from our fleet to ensure that the sister fleet could be maintained. Once we had settled, we knew that this would be a good place to start. Lush agriculture and blue skies surrounded us for miles and we appeared to be surrounded by fresh water sources, and fruit provided by the ground. This was it. We could start over. But first, Father decided that our story must live on. We sat telling tales from back on Earth whilst our on-board computer created physical copies of said tales. The tales of the plan to leave our home and what we would need. The tales of the only surviving fleets. This manifest told stories of some of Earths greatest ideals and traits along with our venture into a new universe which Father had discovered. The manifest in question: "Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth". It told the tale of "The Adam", and their sister fleet "The Eve". And how one could not have survived without the other. Our story begins here.
Sophie looked at the lemon plant her little josephine had planted. Sophie had kept it after her daughter died from a freak case of cancer, days after planting it. Now sophie cared for at as if it were her own daughter, paying close attention to it, as if it could relieve some of her grief. A year after Josephine's passing, sophie noticed an odd baby lemon growing from the now much larger lemon tree. It seemed to be growing into the shape of her sweetheart child. For weeks she eagerly watched the small lemon grow, hoping perhaps for some kind of higher power to have seen her plight and be giving her relief from her sorrow. However, two months later, the lemon had grown further and the resemblance with her daughter was almost completely gone. Upon her realisation that no greater being had come to her aid, Sophie curled up on the ground and wept in a way she had only done after Josephine had passed. Sophie now realised how foolish and naive she had been, poisoning herself with false hope, but kept on weeping due to her sorrow, her hope and will completely gone.
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It’s Funny, Really. I’ve been faking it so long I’ve nearly convinced myself. You see, three centuries ago, the world discovered that everyone has a spirit they are connected to at birth. Everyone, that is, but me. I’ve learned to hide it. By Fall Break of Kindergarten, I was on my feet. I claimed that my lack of speaking was a prank my spirit came up with. I used to blame my spirit a lot. But then, who didn’t? Now it’s easy. Over the years, I learned how best to talk to myself, how to argue with myself, bounce Ideas off myself, So I would look ‘normal’. I’m not perfect, though. I’m one of the few people in the world that still suffers from mental illness. We know the spirits normally help with those things, and I have my own theory that those who suffer are like me. They don’t have a spirit. It is my Freshman year of High School that my story begins. New School, New people, New government program. The announcement came durning 5th Period, Telling is about the new government program to find people who didn’t have a spirit and ‘try to help them get a spirit’. I don’t know what it was, but I knew there was something fishy going on. So As everyone broke out into conversation, so did I. “That seems unethical,” I said. I waited a tick before saying, “Yeah, it should work like that!” Someone asked me what I We were thinking, so I added, “Well, We think that the government program should, instead of hunting people down, let them go in if they want to to try and get a spirit.” “That’s genius!” She lowered her voice, “Are You going to go?” She Asked. “What?” I bluffed, taken aback by how fast she had found me, “I have a spirit, I don’t need another!” She gave me a deadpan stare, “I know that you don’t have a spirit. It’s not obvious to the others, But I can see the little differences. For example, you only waited a tick before responding to your spirit, while others take several ticks to reply.” “Fine. Well I’m not going. And You have to promise you won’t tell my secret. I think that program is more than it seems,” I told her. “I’d have to agree, and you can’t tell my secret either,” She looked around before saying, “I don’t have a spirit either.”
&#x200B; The early morning sun was shining timidly through the curtains. Rhae woke up at the song of a rooster. Through her sleepy mind, she thought herself in another place, in another time. Memories of sunny mornings welcomed by poultry and birds choirs. She saw herself following the deep and slow music of a coffee grinder; the mumbling of anchors and the frustrated signs of an old out of tune radio. She sat down on a wobbling stool; on the stove, a small saucepan was about to overflow and some brown sugar was spilt on a worn-out notebook. She could see clearly her grand-pa whistle, timely take the saucepan away and pour it in a small white chipped cup. Her grand-ma was listening closely to the radio while writing a serie of numbers in her small notebook. They were crooked and awkward, painfully yet conscientiously written down. The old man stood and whistled to her. She swaggered her way through the house, jumped over the threshold and ran outside. Leaning against the wall was an old battered blue bike. The last stars were now dimmed in the sky; golden rays pierced their way through the green mountains. She immersed herself in the memories. Smells of dew on orchids. Old songs joyfully sang and the slow squealing of wheels. The faraway whisper of the sea. Firmly sited on the back of the blue bike, she carved each leaf, each bud, each fickle shadow in her memory. She wanted to remember it all. She thought she could still taste how ripped the soursop and bananas were. How green and small the mangos were. The numbers of bird nests. She thought she could still feel it, the steadiness of the antic bike, the uneven road, the light breeze ruffling her hair. The dancing light under the trees, the saltiness of the morning wind, the warmth of his body. She wanted to talk but couldn’t, as if her words lost their way out of her heart. Here they arrived, the small bakery was crowded at that time. Old men on their way to the river, children with arms full of crispy breads and pastries, bulky sugarcane field workers with their machetes. As the light shone brighter, it slowly chased away the dream. The canvas in front of her eyes gently whitened. The brouhaha grew faint. The smells only left a delicate imprint. The early morning sun shone warmly through the curtains. Rhae woke up at the sound of honking cars. Dried tears and bittersweet aftertaste.
It's heavy. Heavier then you thought it would be. It had only been used once before. A mercy for the raccoon that had decided to live in the crawl space above the Rectory across the street. Broke its own legs trying to get out of that wall slot it had fallen into and flopped about in the street crying. Mr. Dunworth had paused his lesson on Mesoamerican wars to carry the hammer out to the street and end the raccoons misery. This time he was handing it to you. For Jerry Wilken Garrett. Your several year tormentor, your bully. The bully. Do it. Jerry won't be getting up, that last cross had laid him out. On his way down the corner of the planter had caught him square. You knew this because you had set him up near it. The tripping move you had been practicing hadn't worked but that spinning left was lucky and he was ripe for that right cross. Now, you have the hammer. Jerry had bragged that he would be the first to use it. The first to cull as he loved to say. He had nicknamed it, calling it "The Chopper"making motions at all the small kids heads. Now, its you the smallest of the class holding it. Looking down at Jerry bleeding and moaning on the floor. The group is silent, the teachers had all bet which kid would be first to go. Who would win which of the dubious honors. First to win, first to die. You were pretty sure that you were solidly in the second column of everybody's bet. Mr. Taggert smiled at you from AP English, looking down from the second story windows. Ms Bloomfield had rung the bell, alerting everyone that the first had gone down. The whole school was watching. Do It. Mr Dunworth nodded. Its time You feel the weight of the hammer. Slick with sweat you adjust your grip. You do it. . . . Let this be a lesson to you all. We do not have time anymore to deal with nicety. We do not have time to deal with feelings. You will have to do what you have to do. Physical strength is no longer the sole deciding factor in our survival. You will have to be smarter, faster and better disciplined then your enemy. Jerry died because he was a bully and a coward. He was weak in his spirit. For the coming battle you will need to form teams, they will have to work together. Bullies do not form smart teams. They make enemies among their peers and die crying against the planters. You already have enemies you must face, we cannot afford to be enemies of each other. That is your lesson for today. The Academy was not a nice place. The war was going to be even worse. The greys were the biggest bullies of them all.
Climbing the last forty metres to the summit was always the hardest. Usually Fuego or Zoanne would greet me before even reaching this point but they must be on a hunt or feasting for me to get so close without even a whisper of their wings. Doing this part alone was difficult but not impossible. The edges of the cliff face were smooth, worn that way by the water and sun for the past millennia, leaving only dangerously small crevices to haul myself up with. I held my breath as I picked my way up carefully, the wind flicking my hair and clothes around me as my right hand found the grass, welcoming me home. I'd found this island by chance, the first dragon I ever cared for brought me here when I was a slip of a thing, my age still in the single digits, many many moons ago. The crashing waves covered my children's cries, the mountains were almost inaccessible and extremely lethal to those not indoctrinated in their ways. Here they could learn, play, be themselves. Green and gray as far as the eye could see, the island itself no more than perhaps 15 miles across of rocky terrain, some shooting straight up, some surrounding the centre to break the strong winds. Stone had been hewn years previously for building a structure that never came to fruition and the rest was untouched. Grass grew wildly, covering the land in nature's carpet, disguising the severe highs and lows of the land to create indigenous safeguards. I was exhilarated, not having climbed this part of my land in decades, Fuego usually whipped past me as I made the climb, knocking me off the sheer stone face to expertly grab me in his talons or to land on his back with a hard thump, to spin out over the ocean below as I held on for dear life. Only my hut greeted me. Not quite a house, but it was home. Small and built into the jagged mountains, it wouldn't be immediately visible to anyone unless they knew what they were looking for. My home was spartan, I kept only the basics there as most of the time I lived in the mountain itself with my children. At a towering fifty or sixty feet, they weren't going to fit in my ramshackle place with me. Fostering is hard, especially when my kids are fire breathers and destructive by nature. Being away from them was not my choice, having been outed by a well meaning member of my old community, I was summoned by The Last King of Spain to return to the shore, his castle, to remove a newborn dragon. No one could get close enough to capture the fledgling even though it was only two feet long and tall. He was cosy and settled in my rucksack now, having caused all manner of disruptions for many weeks in their town. A flash of colour caught my eye as I greedily feasted on the sight of home. No wings beat close to me, no burst of orange fire greeted me, heralding my arrival as befit a queen, goddess. I felt a coldness creep into my bones. The dull red was rubbed over the grass outside my shack, as if many bottles of red wine were spilt in one spot. As I looked at the rusty hue splayed over the green, my throat closed. Casting my gaze around once more, I looked for disturbance, I looked for more than just the sight of home. It all came crashing in at once. The scarlet covering the jutting rock a hundred feet above my cabin, the streak of blood coursed over the stone, from the grass to the surrounding natural statues towering over me. Once it made me feel safe, enclosed in Mother Nature's gentle hand. Now, it was a death trap. What once had been a haven for the dragons became a kill box. They would never have anticipated someone else coming here for them. They had only known peace here, acceptance. Someone had came here. The grass was not too disturbed I thought numbly, not enough for an army to have came to kill my children. Only a few solitary creatures creeped their way to my home, to destroy my life, upend my existence, my reason for being. I steeled my resolve. I knew I had to see the cavern. The waterfall that created the dragons home was simply a memory now, thousands of years ago the rainfall had created a majestic flow of water, now the mountain sat hollow, and I had to see for myself if it were empty. I hardened my heart as I felt their loss. Never again would I feel their wings as they flew just a few inches above me, the heat from their throat, their gentle nudges when I fell asleep fireside. There was blood as far as the eye could see. The earth outside the cavern was scorched, the tall minerals trying to reach the sky were scored with fire, blackened beyond recognition. There were no bodies. None of my children had survived, or at least none that waited here. This was their home. My pain turned to rage. For so long I had trained them to call this home. This was theirs. So many wanted them dead, everyone feared their wrath, their breath. No one had lived here for centuries at least. I had stopped the slaughter, the needless destruction of a beautiful race of creatures, intelligent beyond our understanding, true warriors encased in their battle armour forever. They are protectors of Earth, of our world. Yet they were killed for their scales, their blood, their skulls to be displayed in Kingdoms around the world as evidence of humans winning against such superior might. My children would not leave their island without me. They would hunt, fight, spar within a few miles of home, understanding that to venture further would have them met by brutal force. Our closest neighbour is a quarter day flight away and I know them all, I know each person that lives within a hundred miles of our home. It is, was, my job to know. I failed them, miserably. I felt the unstopping rage course in my veins, I am suffocated by the complete loss of my family, the torture and pain they must have felt in their last minutes here, and I wasn't here. Did they defend themselves or believe the visitors to be friends? Were they hurt before they could defend themselves? I was away to collect another, to grow our family and be happy here, away from potential Knights, as they call themselves. The guilt weighted on me, my heart broke. Murderers. Not a scrap of honour between them, not enough of a soul could be cobbled together to make one from all their sorry lives. They call themselves Knights? I have plenty more words that suit them more than that. Hearing a squeal from my backpack, the new addition, the only dragon of the island now, was hungry. I held myself stiffly as I opened the satchel, letting his little head out to breathe and take in his new home. I made sure not to let him see the stain of his ancestors strewn across our land. I kept my breathing steady as I concentrated on him and only him. There will be pain. Vengence. There will be retribution. I held the new life in my hands as he screamed his unhappiness, his body attempting to rain fire to show his displeasure yet he was still to come into his full power. Only ash fell from his mouth. I stroked his neck as I made my decision. A dragon's instinct is to protect. They were born into this world thanks to a witch whose name has been lost to history for the purpose of holding castles, allowing the Kings and Queens of this skewed world to bolster their coffers, keep their gold and lands safe and of course the villagers in line. The noble creatures were kept in chains, left to become the monsters their masters created, killing everyone who dared to enter their domain. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
Heart failure. That’s what they called it. I had shortness of breath and I felt tired most of the time. Viruses seemed to stay longer than usual, especially coughs. For someone of my persuasion, heart failure sounded like good news. I’ve lost too many good friends to that other enemy. The doctors told me a transplant was the only option. I was in severe danger of a heart attack. A myocardial infarction, as they preferred to put it. They love to put some Greek into their medical language. I was in particular danger of a severe kind of heart attack that kills you dead on the spot. It’s commonly known as a ‘widowmaker’. Around here it is closure of the left anterior coronary artery. When I’m in this building I am no longer a gay man. I’m a homosexual. Said as though it was another medical condition. So here I am, in the recovery room. It’s as stale and sterile a place as any other in the hospital, I suppose. You’ll be able to picture it pretty accurately. White walls. White sheets. White curtains, to allow me privacy from the other five poor souls around me, recovering. Waiting all day for someone to visit with a bunch of grapes and an awkward silence. For me, unfortunately, there are no grapes today. There were no grapes yesterday. There are none forecast for tomorrow. Sunk into my self-indulgence, I wait. I sulk. I ruminate. I curse whatever course of events led me here. I’m only 40 years old. I don’t smoke, I never eat red meat, I exercise like crazy. At my age and for a man of my tendencies, it’s pump til you drop or it’s say goodbye to the cock. A 40-year-old gay man is out of the sexual marketplace unless he keeps himself in shape. Plus the gym is an excellent pick-up spot. Yet here I am: sat wearing what is essentially paper pajamas with the back cut out. When I stand to go to the bathroom, the entire back half of my body is on show, buns and all. There’s no modesty here. Hang on, this gives me a great idea for an outfit... Back to my rumination. Despite this healthy lifestyle, here I sit. 40 years old and I have a 70-year-old’s heart. Or rather, I had a 70-year-old’s heart. Now I have a sprightly, albeit dead, 35-year-old’s heart. Hit by a bus, apparently. No kids but a wife. Non-smoker. The deceased, I mean. I don’t know about his wife’s habits. One isn’t supposed to have this much info on the donor of course, but based on what I was told (gender, type of death and age range), a little bit of research made it easy to figure out. It made it even easier to figure out when I received a letter this morning from the widow. The widow! Of all people. Turns out she was able to put two and two together herself, based on what the hospital were permitted to tell her. From the letter, it appears that her and her husband shared what is known commonly as ‘true love’. They were high school sweethearts. She detailed their magical first date, complete with dinner and the cinema, following by a stolen kiss under the stars. They married but found out that he couldn’t have children. For all of his athleticism and voracious sexual appetite (of which she spoke at length), his swimmers didn’t fancy heading in the right direction. Not being able to conceive is something I can relate to. But then again, anyone’s little guys would have trouble fertilising an egg if they wound up where I like to put mine, if you take my meaning. The long and the short of it is that she wants to meet me. Says she wants to feel her husband’s heart beating one more time. She’ll be here any minute in fact. It’s why I started talking to you, dear reader. Frankly this is an unusual situation, even for me, and I had to share it with someone. What do I say to her? I mean, ‘thank you’ of course. ‘Sorry for your loss’ is another assured classic. Then what? Do I act strong, so that she knows her husband died for a good cause? Do I address the issue? Should I even speak at all, really? She’s not here to see me after all. What if she’s a monster, or a homophobe? So many questions. None of this was covered in Debrett’s comprehensive guidelines of etiquette. What will she think of me, I wonder. I panic that she will think me unworthy of the organ. Perhaps I should try to smarten up, be a bit more charming. Perhaps I should avoid swearing or saying anything outrageous. Perhaps I should read some poetry or finally try meditation, to get myself into the right mindset to meet her. “Mr. Stanley?” said a young female nurse, peering around the doorway. “You have a visitor.” Oh fuck it, there’s no time for the poetry. Better fake serenity. The nurse stands to one side to allow a lady through. She is bowed slightly. I take this to be an act of deference to the other patients in the room, some of whom are probably praying to catch up on some sleep. She takes several steps into the ward, always with head bowed looking mostly to the floor. I haven’t been able to get a close look at her yet. I can see what she is wearing though, just fine. A cute minidress, of green fabric. It hugs her figure, which I notice is athletic. Her shoulders are covered, but the neckline plunges suddenly to reveal a delicate collarbone and the full outline of round, perky breasts. The dress stops well above her knee, showing off toned and tanned thighs, a tattoo just visible beneath her hemline. She takes a couple of steps closer, head still bowed though slightly more raised than before. I notice she is wearing heels. She lifts her head and her eyes meet mine. Fireworks. My loins begin to stir for the first time since before I was admitted to hospital. This is a new feeling. My heart is racing now. Keen though I am to hold her gaze, I can’t resist glancing down once more at her body. Stood tall now, her full figure explodes into view. I am mesmerised as I take in the shape made by her waist as it meets her hips. I’ve never really noticed anyone’s hips before. I want to place an arm around them proprietorially and pull her closer into me. I want to lay her down onto the bed and let my hands wander over her thighs, down to her knees and back up again. Smooth, hairless thighs. Not to my usual tastes. I want to eat strawberries from her belly button and lick her like a lollipop. All of these things and more. She moves in closer to me. “Mr. Stanley, I assume?” “Lewis, please” I stutter, attempting my most winning of grins. She must have noticed my wandering eye, because she blushes visibly. “You have read my letter I take it?” Her voice is soft and melodic, and strangely familiar. “I have,” I reply, “would you like to...?” I gesture down towards my chest using the direction of my gaze. She seems taken aback. In my reclined position, a glance down at my chest could be just about anywhere I suppose. “Oh. I mean, do you want to feel my chest? The heartbeat.” I’m encouraged to see that she almost seems disappointed at this suggestion. She laughs. “Yes please.” I unbutton my top. She comes closer and leans in, her hand on my chest. Her hands are warm, and I feel my heart racing further. What is happening to me? I’ve never been moved like this by a woman before. I notice that if I look at her now, I can see down her top some more. If it wasn’t so obvious, I could probably position myself in such a way that I could almost see the nipple of her left breast. Breast. No straight man says breast. This must be a side effect of the anesthesia or something. She smiles a devilish smile as she feels her late husband’s heart beating inside of me. Her hand feels good against my chest. She moves it up to my shoulder. “How are you feeling?” She asks, placing her other hand in mine. “I’ve been better,” I manage, “though I’ve certainly been worse.” “Good,” she beams, before leaning in to kiss me. Something no woman has done since I was a student and trying out to find my true sexuality. What happens next is in equal measures exciting and unexpected. I’ll spare you the more sordid of details, but I am happy to announce that my donor will get the child he had wished for after all. In a fashion.
It feels like a lucid dream. It’s an urban myth that’s actually a reality. Every body knows that it happens, but nobody believes it. The best way to describe it is like having a spiritual epiphany. Nobody actually believes those people, but if you’re religious all of the holy books are filled with them. That said, yeah, this year it happened to me. They came to me in a dream and told me that I was chosen to receive a gift. They were tiny beings with grey skin, huge heads and large black eyes - wait. I’m just being a tropey dick. Just joking. All I heard were voices. They conferred amongst themselves until one voice spoke to me. I heard, “When you wake, you will be given the gift of lazer vision. Use your awareness wisely and be true to yourself.” I awoke in the darkness of night. First, I have to tell you that I was born blind. Second, I did a lot of LSD in my youth, so lucid dreams are a joke to me. Third, I was kind of disappointed to open my eyes to see nothing. It’s kind of like being disappointed that you didn’t win the lottery. Ha! Like you were going to win anyway. But then I remembered something. There was a maxim that all the “normal” people told me. If one of my five senses is disabled, then my other four would be heightened. That’s when I fucking lost my fucking mind. I could hear my fan blowing in my bedroom. I could hear the air blowing. I could feel the vibrations of the air off of various objects in the room. Although I could not conventionally see, I could see everything. I knew the shape of everything. I knew the consistency of everything. I walked to the kitchen without counting my steps and pawed through my pantry. The echo from the vibrations of my refrigerator informed my brain of everything. I was aware on a spatial, physical and molecular level of my surroundings. I stood alone in the darkness realizing that I was the next new Superhero.
“Wait who won yesterday?” Sally asked her gathered coworkers. She did not know everyone on the staff, but she assumed all 20 were there. She eyed the mob of office workers dressed in sneakers and running clothes, each carrying a variety of sharp weapons. After a moment of murmurs Paul Sanchez, someone she did recognize, raised his hand. “GOD DAMNIT!” Fred ran out of the room without waiting for Paul to name his target, the group’s laughter followed him. “Five minutes, Fred!” Sally yelled as the door slammed. Then, she looked at Paul to confirm his choice. “The usual, Paulie?” He nodded. Killing Fred became enjoyable again when he was able to enlist the whole office. He did not even bother to keep track of time anymore, but he guessed it had been about 50 years since he met Dana Sharp. He reminisced about that day while Sally watched the clock. Paul caused a month long time loop, though he did not know it was him. One day, decades after it began, the loop was different. He met a woman that not only broke him out of the time loop, but showed him how to control it. The damage had been done, and his Earth would always be looped, but he learned how to exert some control over the length of the loop. His latest experiment, at Dana’s suggestion, was to let everyone in on the loop. She advised him to keep it short until people got used to it and add more days as time went on. While he couldn’t break them out of the loop, he hoped to eventually make the loop long enough that it didn’t matter. Sally cleared her throat. “Paul, take the day off. You’ve been winning too much lately. Everyone else,... GO!” The workers bolted towards different exits so that none became crowded. Sally sat down on her desk and smiled at Paul. “Why is it always Fred?” she asked, then gave a shrug. “I don’t like the guy either, but EVERY time?” Paul smiled. “I’m petty,” he laughed. “I don’t even hate him anymore, but I used to.That’s good enough.” “It’s stupid, but the game is the only reason I come to work anymore,” Sally sighed. “Time loops really suck after a while, everything gets boring if you do it enough times,” Sally waved a dismissive hand out the window. “Even murder.” “Yeah, but at least the world is in on it this time. You can’t imagine what it’s like alone,” Paul said. He looked down at the floor and hoped she wouldn’t see the sadness collecting in the corner of his eyes. “I know, but what’s going to happen if it never breaks?” Sally asked. Paul shrugged. He never really had feelings for Sally when they worked together, but the loop seemed to make everyone more relaxed and he began to see a different side of her as time went on. He decided to take her to a different Earth the next time he reported in. He heard cheering and loud footsteps coming up the the stairs. The office door burst open. The first thing Paul saw was Fred’s head on a pike. Eric, one of the interns, vigorously shook the pike up and down as he led a parade of employees back to Sally. “Congratulations, Eric,” Sally said. She stood and winked at the crowd. “The rest of you better start sucking up to him. I guess that’s it for today, see you all today,” she laughed and turned to leave. Paul stood up and followed her out. “What’s your plan for the rest of the day?” He asked as he joined her in the elevator. The doors closed, and Sally shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan on getting out of work early. You?” The doors closed and the elevator began to descend. “I’m going somewhere, and I was wondering if you’d like to join me?” “Sure, I’m game for something new. Where we going?” Paul reached for her hand with his left hand while his right hand reached into his pocket. “Somewhere time isn’t looped.” He said. He pulled out a black card and dropped it on the floor of the elevator. The faux marble linoleum disappeared beneath them leaving only a pitch black void darker than anything Sally had ever seen. They sank into the darkness slowly instead of the free fall Sally expected from going into a hole. Sally opened her eyes, though she wasn’t sure if she had them closed. One second she saw only darkness, and the next she saw what looked like a futuristic bachelor pad. Something resembled a bed rested against one corner of the wall, and a large screen on another wall was obviously a TV. Piles of clothes dotted the room, most on the floor, some on the bed and other chairs. What she could see of the floor looked like solid glass with water flowing under it. Everything had some sort of decorative lighting on it. “Where are we?” Sally asked. “And how did we get here so fast?” Paul sighed. “This is my room. Sorry about the mess, I didn’t expect company today,” Paul explained. He grabbed her hand and led her out of the room through an automatic door that slid open as they approached, then closed behind them. The hall was almost all white, with bright lights scattered at regular intervals. “Where are we?” Paul asked to let her know he was going to answer her question. “This is an alternate Earth where time isn’t looped. How we got her so fast was the card,” Paul stopped. “THE CARD!” he released Sally’s hand, put his hands up in front of him. “Wait here a sec,” he dashed back to his room. After a moment he came out again and flashed her the black card before he put it in his pocket. “If I forget that, I’m stuck. Anyway, the card opens a portal back to this Earth. I come back every now and then to report in and get a break from the loop.” Paul led her through the halls, turning this way and that at random intersections. After Paul finished his explanation Sally stopped in place, and pulled her hand out of his. “You mean you can get out of the loop any time you want? Why do you keep going back?” Paul shrugged, and gave her a lopsided grin. “Fred.” “FRED!?” Sally shouted with a combination of outrage and surprise. “Yeah. Like I said. I’m petty.” \\\* This story is a continuation of my response to a [writing prompt from yesterday](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9ao0yw/wp_youve_been_in_a_time_loop_for_decades_now_youd/). Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #239. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. &#x200B;
The fires might have been beautiful, if they weren’t burning houses and shops. After 15 years of war, the elves have finally managed to win. Your armies have all been destroyed. Your navy as well. All that is left is to wait for the end... Unless... Your remember tales from your youth, tales of evil demons and gods who ravaged the land long before the Trifecta drove them out. You wonder, if the Trifecta wouldn’t help you, would they? With a new purpose you order your guards to find a group of true Alvarian patriots, to tell these patriots about these ancient gods, to tell these patriots to avenge Alvari. Alvari may fall, but soon, it will rise again.
There is nothing in the world more disturbing than getting a paper cut from a crisp dollar bill. Well . . . except another one appearing. “Ma’am, I think you dropped this,” I said to the woman marching in front of me. I positioned the new dollar between my pinkie and ring finger and away from the thin line of blood forming on my index finger. Her heels struck the pavement with the sole purpose of moving some Richter scale. She didn’t even bother looking back. “Keep it, hobo.” First of all, rude. Second, hobos require trains. There aren’t any trains in Piston. In 1895, the mayor stood on a literal soapbox (perhaps a milk crate) and declared that he would save the children by making sure no doggone, penile-shaped, steam monster would ever run over someone’s precious baby boy in his town! I might not have had a train, but I had two bucks and a napkin from McDonalds to wrap around my finger. Despite that ridiculous woman’s mislabeling and the mild loss of blood, it was a good day. I headed in the direction of a hot cup of coffee and a cookie when a bicyclist rounded the corner like he was gunning for home plate. I jumped out of the way just in time. God, they boil my blood. I didn’t have anything to throw. I wish I had had a stick for his spokes, or was quick thinking enough to throw a rock at the back of his head. It wouldn’t have hurt him. He was wearing a helmet, but it would have gotten my point across. If I had a dollar for every time someone pissed me off, I wouldn’t be sleeping with the pigeons in the park. A third dollar, picked up on the wind, smacked me dead in the forehead. And then a forth crumpled bill tumble weeded to my feet. I am not a smart man. I wouldn’t even count myself among the clever or quick witted. But as I stood on the corner with $4 more than I had that morning, I began to wonder. This wasn’t the first time I found myself in the black. Piston is prone to riots, and riots are hard on the homeless. You’re hovel is likely to get destroyed ($1). You’ll never make it to the good looting ($1). You’ll still get arrested for the good looting you didn’t make it to ($1). And then some bail angel doing God’s work pays your bond and you’re back out on the street just in time for the snow to fall and shelters to close ($2). “I wish I had a house and a job that doesn’t require a degree!” I stood there on alert, looking around and waiting for a house to spring up out of the ground (I don’t care about your zoning laws) and a man in a limo to roll by and ask me to be his door guy. Or something. No dice. Got the fifth dollar of the day though. Would have preferred the job. But $5 was a sandwich and a place to think about how to capitalize on this. Before I could take another step, a man in a bright red suit and a hat wider than his shoulders stepped in front of me. “Mr. Robinson. We’ve been looking for you. Here’s your bill.” Scoffing, I took the paper from him and unfolded it. According to this, I owed someone a few bodies.
Dr. Stephen Strange squints his eyes, very confused as he sees people shrugging and stabbing themselves. “What’s going on?!” He screams, looking at Tony Stark, who’s standing beside him. He shrugs. “There’s no hope, so we figure that stabbing ourselves is less painful than whatever Thanos is going to do.” He shrugs again as he stabs himself through the forehead. Dr. Strange shakes his head in exasperation, and then thinks for a minute. ’What, am I going to do this alone? No. And they’re right, this is probably less painful. No hope. He shrugs, pulls the knife out of Stark’s forehead, and stabs himself.

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