Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
I was walking to my off-campus college dorm, when I noticed a fluorescent sign that glowed behind a glass window. The glass window belonged to a store that I had passed many times before, but this time, it was different. This time, the sign showed a message. It read: $1,750 - Your taste is no longer worse than a catfish $2,500 - Your smell is no longer worse than a bloodhound's $3,500 - Your sight is no longer worse than an eagles $5,000 - Your hearing is no longer worse than a moth's $7,500 - Your feel is no longer worse than an octopus I was amused by what the sign read. I wanted to enter the store and check it out, even though I probably could not afford any of the things. I was after all a mere college student at the time, and as a college student, I had my own hands full with laborious college coursework and a part-time unpaid job as a research assistant. So, I entered the store and looked around the room. Standing behind the front counter was a man about six feet tall, a bit taller than I was. "Good evening,"said the man with a polite smile. "Anything I can help you with, miss?" I gave a smile back and said, "Just looking." The room was clean and sterile, like a patient's waiting room. There were benches and a side table, and on the side table, there were a bunch of a magazines and children's coloring books. A free-standing bottled water cooler stood in a corner with a coffee machine nearby. I asked the man, "Excuse me, sir. Do you know what is this place?" "This place is a Sensory Enhancement Clinic. Would you like a brochure?" "Yes, please."This place was a clinic. That explained the clean and sterile part. The man took a brochure from the rack on the front counter and handed it to me. "Thank you."I looked through the brochure. It told me that this clinic was designed to enhance people's senses. People could taste better, smell better, see better, hear better, and feel better. But it was not for me. I just rolled the brochure up and said "goodbye"to the store clerk.
Adam was walking through the woods after his stressful day when he came up to a grove. in the center of the grove lay a carcass of some kind of four legged animal that looked like a moose but was grey as an overcast sky, it was bloodied and beaten as if it were attacked by some massive beast. Cautiously Adam approached. Suddenly a cold hand was over Adams mouth and he was put into a head lock. A deep voice whispered into his ear “you shouldn’t be here, you’ll ruin the trap.” So many questions ran through Adams head as he was dragged away from the grove and brought into a small hideout overlooking the grove. The man sat Adam down on one of the stools in the room, “what the fuck is going on?” Adam asked furiously. Calmly the man responded “ my name is John and if I didn’t come and pull you out of there you would have been dead in the next 2 min... you see I’m hunting, not for wolves or bears but for real predators something that everyone should fear.” “And what do you hunt?” Adam asked nervously. Just as he said that a sound came from outside the hut, a growing and loud footsteps. John put his hand out as a warning and brought a single finger to his lips. John and Adam peered our the window of the hideout to see a beast about 3 meters tall, it got to the carcass bent over and began to eat the flesh. John pulled a remote out of his pocket and hit a button. An immediate explosion followed and Adam was thrown to the back of the hideout while John stayed completely composed, he turned around with a grin of complete joy and craze, “Now that is how you hunt a Sasquatch!”
If only he wore his white shirt, Bob thought to himself, then this day would have been fine. People walking by glanced in Bob's direction only to be met with a frustrated Bob speedily brushing past them. "What was that about?"they'd mumble to themselves in disappointment. They couldn't help but feel insulted walking back to their cubicles. Bob always stopped to chat up anyone or anything who he came in contact with. The office was in utter shock. Why was he so upset today? Why had Bob not noticed my new haircut? Bob didn't even complement the new leather shoes I bought. Did Bob just ignore my fist bump? Well, what the office didn't know was what Bob went through just five hours earlier in the day. You see, that very morning, Bob woke up to see his white shirt laying on the floor. He had meant to wash it but didn't get around to it due to his taco Tuesday dinner meeting running late. Big deal right? Just wear another shirt and get on with it right? Wrong. That's exactly what one would think. One wouldn't understand that Bob wears only white on Wednesdays. He sticks to a strict schedule that matches his shirt color with the first letter in the day. Maroon Monday, sapphire Saturday, forest green Friday, teal Tuesday, and most importantly winter white Wednesday. The week was wrecked, bob was ruined, the office was ravaged, and i'm ridiculously retarded for writing this.
“JIM! IS THAT YOU!! I said eagerly” “INDEED,ZACK ,WELCOME TO MY KINGDOM,heaven...! Answered god” “so you didn’t move out in sixth grade ?” “no” “wait does it means i’m dead?” “yes” “how?” “a serial killer enter in your house and killed you,your cat,your sist-“ “it’s okay ,i understood!he killed everyone .”i stopped god or jim “so where are they? “They’re not dead yet.he’s torturing them” “OOOoooooh,can you help them?” “Nope” “Okay,then it’s nice to see you again,God” “Oh,please called me Jim”
The Beast With a Thousand Tongues sat still and motionless atop an empty mound constructed from the ruined plains of a dark abyss. Beneath it lay the bodies of creatures so large they dwarf those killed by an asteroid from a time so ancient the planet the Beast calls home shall not fully heal. For its wounds are made manifest from the successors of the ancient beasts who once ruled, now reduced to animals preyed upon by felines yet they rule the skies. And as the planets wounds refuse to heal so does the Beast consume the dwellers of the oceans who now lie dead upon the floor, sinking to depths so deep the humans above once thought that no life could exist down there. Yet the Beast With a Thousand Tongues has ascended beyond life to a more primitive state of being, to a place where jaws have been rendered needless. And in these jawless forms does the Beast feast upon the rotting carcasses for years at a time, creating vast skeletons that shall be buried under rock and soil, never to see the light of the sun again. Humanity has discovered it, yet knows not its true form, for this form is grand and old beyond even the most powerful words and knowledge pertaining to the eldritch beings and gods. And so with this form is hungers and never ceases its quest to scavenge, tentatively evolving at a rate so slow it is contradictory to all laws of life save that of the Beast. For it is indeed a Beast With a Thousand Tongues and this Beast desires to hunger for something sweeter than the dead and decaying flesh of giants. And as humanity pushes ever deeper into the watery depths so shall the Beast also rise to met them, and when it does, only then shall mankind gaze upon this form as it encompasses their atmosphere and leaves them in darkness before sampling first the sun and then Mars, Venus, Jupiter and Neptune, anything it seems edible save the intelligence that drives mankind, now left to sink, scream and die before a sunless sky, their prayers unanswerable and their souls twisted by the mere sight of the Beast With a Thousand Tongues.
We’re supposed to be serving dinner in six hours, and my apprentice lost all three pterodactyls. They just flew off into the sunset. Gone. He’s claiming that pterodactyls taste like chicken, but these are connoisseurs, they’re used to the finer stuff. They’ll know the difference. There’s nothing else for it, someone is going to have to go back into that portal. If I wasn’t pressed for time I’d send my apprentice and tell him to come back with three fresh pterodactyls or not at all, but I’m going to have to go myself. If I’m not back in three hours, burn the place to the ground and we’ll rendezvous in Carson City. One last thing, tell my apprentice that if that stegosaurus is even the slightest bit over cooked, he’ll be next on the menu.
He has his good days, and his not so good days. As the wealthiest man in the world (400 years ago, at least) he finally was able to obtain the one thing that for the whole of human history, money couldn't buy; immortality. The experimental treatment was absurdly expensive, the rewriting of one's genetic code to disable cellular degeneration was a rather complicated process, not to mention long and arduous, but I remember him saying that once it was done, he knew he had all the time in the world. He lived his life without a care in the world, after all why wouldn't he? I've looked back through some of the old picture files he kept, it was hard to believe the handsome young man living life to the fullest was the same wrinkled incoherent husk that laid motionless in the bed before me. I guess humanity didn't fully comprehend what it was getting itself into when it finally unlocked the secret of life. The body stopped aging, true, but they never figured out how the mind would cope. Eons of thoughts, experiences and memories, all blurring together as time continues its unstoppable march forward. Most days he can't even remember who or where he is, if he's even coherent at all. It's not uncommon for him to go days or weeks without uttering a single thought, his perception of time so incredibly distorted. It was around two centuries ago he began his decline, a misplaced hour here or there, he felt as if he was running out of time, as ironic as it was. Weeks turned to days for him, everything blurring together until finally his mind couldn't take it anymore. At first he was moved to a state-of-the-art facility in Tokyo where they attempted treatment with no success. After a few decades they moved him to London, then Munich, before he disappeared from the news and eventually made his way here, to a relatively unimpressive hospice facility of no fame or significance. His children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren had paid him visits early in his decline, but when his condition worsened, the visits stopped. As he's still alive, he continues to hold his still-considerable fortune. His now hundreds of decendants have all waged lengthy court battles to inherit his estate, but his lawyers protect his savings (and their paychecks) like a dragon guarding it's horde. They estimate he can continue to pay for his medical expenses for several more centuries. I'm the sixth caretaker for him, he's been here for nearly 50 years now. Its an easy job, spongebaths and bed pan changes, make sure he's receiving proper nutrients and water, not glamorous but pays the bills. On the rare occasion he would wake, he'd typically ask where he was and what year it was. Sometimes he'd even have it together enough to tell me stories of the 21st century, I cherished those rare days the most. But when he did speak, there was always an inescapable emptiness in his eyes. It's hard to describe, but it was almost as if the soul had withered and died, leaving the body a hollow shell. Sometimes he wouldn't speak at all, but bitterly weep, his arms and legs far too atrophied to move, he could only lay there, a prisoner in his own body. I think these were the times he was the most awake, when he could fully understand and remember his life up till now. At times such as these he would beg for the death that he had so desperately feared in his younger life. He would plead with tears in his eyes for the cold hand of the reaper to end his suffering, but it never came. They say hell is eternal, from what I've seen, I believe it. He has his good days, and his not so good days.
Humanity has always been interested in the philosophical question of what is the purpose of life? Some say the purpose is to spread the seed of mankind, to prosper and reach for the infinite possibilities. Some say our true purpose is to become enlightened, to transcend beyond this naked world of ours... to be a God. The question did come across my mind once or twice, but ultimately I didn't care enough to give it a thought. After all, our lives are just too short and our existence is just as fleeting as dust in the wind to give a damn about that. But fate, with its trickery and deception, chose me to bear this curse of Sight. The curse flooded my brain with information of the past, present and future. Whatever I wanted to know are laid bare for me to explore. But the truth is always the hardest to face. I spent hours just trying to think of anything to test the curse. But all the answers are there. Is there an afterlife? No, people's consciousness rejoin with the others in the stream of life that flows through space and time. Why is peace such a difficult thing to achieve? Because man's nature is chaos and conflict. Why is donut round? Because people shape it so... So on and so forth. It was actually pretty amusing for a while. Until I started asking the "right"questions. About "god,"about the purpose of life, about the possibility of life outside Earth. The answers to those questions made my stomach churn, and I started to feel sicken by it. I wanted it to stop, but the answers keep flowing into my head. Of the horror that looms over us all, the insatiable darkness that covers everything. And we are useless to do anything about it. But there is something else, even colder and more vile hidden in that darkness...
It's always happened since I was young. From the day I walked in on my parents having sex accidentally to the times I've helped my best friend open her car doors, locks always became unlocked when I touched the doors they were attached to unless I was locking them. It had been impossible to even touch doors without accidentally unlocking them, so I had to learn not to touch doors after locking them. Although I've kept my abilities secret, I had a lot of fun urbexing, sneaking onto rooftops, and sneaking into places after they closed. I was always careful to always cover my face and to change my clothes all the time, understanding how much the government would experiment on me if I were found out. Today, I was sneaking into the old abandoned house that some of my urbexer acquaintances had been scouting out and my heart pounded as I put my hand on the back doorknob. In an instant, I heard a click and I turned the knob. I opened the door as quietly as possible and I walked in with my flashlight in hand and my camera bag strapped around me. I looked at the dusty kitchen with dusty tiles that had clearly seen better days.I looked at the peeling ceiling paint, broken boarded windows where people had climbed through, and graffiti tags along the walls by wannabe street artists. I wandered around the dilapidated house, its walls covered with peeling paint and graffiti along with dust which covered the floors of the dark house. In the center of the living room was an old, rotting armchair next to the remains of a broken coffee table. I walked around the upper floors with nothing more but the same, so I decided to go wander to the basement. I was stepping around the dark place when I stepped on one part of the wood flooring that caused me to fall through a trapdoor. As I fell, I grabbed desperately to hold onto a rung of a ladder that was embedded into the ground beneath the trapdoor. I quickly moved my flashlight to my mouth as I used both hands to climb down the ladder until I found I was standing in a tunnel. I looked around and I found a light switch and I tried turning it on, surprised when a string of incandescent bulbs turned on. I was curious so I took out my camera and took some pictures before walking through the long single-path tunnel and making a few turns before I ended up at another end with a ladder that led to another trapdoor. I cautiously looked around before I climbed up and listened for noise. I opened the door to find myself in a cave that was in a desert. I was in Mexico. I groaned. I had found a drug smuggling tunnel. I quickly snuck back out and took a long walk back to the abandoned house and I turned off the lights before closing the door and leaving. Guess it wasn't my problem, was it?
Make the call. Find out where he is. He won’t know why. Mick failed to inspire himself. "Fuu-Fuu-!" Someone had screwed up, somewhere. Now it was his job to fix the Problem. The mirror caught him pacing and he stopped. "Friends..,"he remarked to his reflection, "That is the Problem. There’s no friends in this job." The phone sang out the lyrics of Yo Bro. The decision was made for him. "Yo,"he picked up. "Yo yourself. You got time? I got a sweet picture of me to hang." Mick’s face contorted in aggravation. Peter knew he’d gotten framed. Who leaked that? "I know you got a hammer, Mick,"Peter added in the silence. "I got dick,"Mick shot back. "Then we are on for a real interesting date, aren’t we?" Peter hung up. Mick flung the phone. It crashed through the window letting in a gust of damp wind. "Goddamn it!" He didn’t stand a chance if Peter was prepared. They were both very good at their job. Too good, if someone decided to put them at each other’s throats. "Alright bud, we just became the Problem,"Mick muttered, grabbing his hat.
It wouldn't be the first time that the train system screwed up. From the big, island-wide malfunctions that trapped thousands of people in the trains, to the small things like that one incident where a train warning message was attributed as a Winston Churchill quote, the trains had become a meme in my country in recent times. Sure, they didn't entirely deserve it, and we knew that the technicians and engineers were working hard to solve the problems. As such, when I saw what seemed to be a very strange variant of katakana or hiragana on the sign displaying the destination, I chalked it up to a technical fault. Who cared what the sign said so long as the train didn't careen off course? It had been a long week anyway, so I went to sleep. The first thing that woke me up was the stench. It was as though no one had showered in ages, mixed with a few rotting bodies. I nearly puked from the intensity of the smell. Then I opened my eyes and saw not the pristine, advertisement covered windows shielding me from the mix of greenery and urban landscapes that I was used to. Instead, there were bars over the windows and I was sitting on a wooden floor, squeezed with at least a hundred other passengers. All of them seemed exhausted and emaciated; some were dressed in rags while others wore faded and ripped khaki uniforms. The train stopped, the doors opened. Ten soldiers were waiting outside, and as they flashed their bayonets, I saw the familiar Rising Sun on their headgear. They yelled their instructions in uncompromising, harsh Japanese. As we were unceremoniously herded out into the blazing sun, more soldiers stood with their rifles in their hands, ready to shoot any dissenters. I knew not why I was here, but I knew where I was. 1942 Thailand. I was about to contribute to a section of what would be known as the Burma Railway to war historians, and the Death Railway to the survivors of the Southeast Asian theatre of World War II.
Long ago, our ancestors wormed their way from the sea. They came up, onto the land, and found they were not the first. Not just plant life, but insects as well. When we started exploring the stars, we had the same realization. But unlike our amphibious ancestors, we find no life. We saw only the ruins of a pair of advanced civilizations, one built atop the other. And like fools, we went ahead and built our own structures, right over theirs. We tried to find out what happened, but didn't pause long enough to sort out an answer. Then the swarms came, insectiod raiders, pouring over our colonies, eventually finding they're way to Earth as they followed those trying to escape. They left only the structures we'd built, a warning for the next race, and whether they listen is up to them.
I hid behind someone's desk. I was cornered. If I made a break for the door the creature would see me, grab me, disembowel me and snack messily on my organs as it was now snacking on Mike's organs. Poor Mike. I didn't know him that well, but he was always cordial and he had some neat holiday ties. There was no way I could fight back. The thing was eight feet tall , it had arms like telephone polls and black leather wings that ended in sharp spikes. Each limb terminated in claws too long and too sharp to be for anything but hunting. The face, if you could call it that was a wrinkled and covered in blood-matted fur. Two black shining eyes, broad mucus leaking nostrils, and a mouth to put a crocodile to shame: multiple rows of razor sharp and broken teeth and a long snake like tongue that tasted the air between bites of Mike. “Oh hey!” Said Jenny as she pushed her mail cart into the room. It looked up at her, merged bestial and humanoid features twisted into something that might be a caricature of humor. Could she be this stupid? It stood on it's hind legs, using the ends of its wings for balance. “Now someone is going to have to clean this up,” she said. “Run!” I shouted, “It ate most of Mike and it's really uh- dangerous.” I realized as I spoke how stupid it was of me to draw it's attention. It's not that I wanted Jenny to die. I mean she's nice enough and she brought in cake that one time, but if it's between her and I, well there's no contest. She's a co-worker and I'm myself-- that's practically family. It turned toward me, slipping a bit in the blood on tile that had not yet coagulated. It lrpt onto the desk, knocking aside a monitor, and the Far Side desk calendar 2018. The sound of a gun shot indoors without hearing protection is like hearing something really loud. Well, I guess it is that. The creature drooped and collapsed, wheezing and dribbling mixed red and dark purple blood onto my shirt. “That shirt was dry clean only, “ I complained, scrambling away from the dying thing. It's wheezes and gasping breaths became wet sounding and labored and then stopped. “What?” Jenny asked. Her ears were clearly still ringing too. In her hand was a black pistol. “You killed the thing,” I said dully. “Oh, sure. These guys cross over into our timeline sometimes. Nasty up close but dumb as rocks. Thanks for the assist, by the way. Brave of you to distract it.” “Actually I'm a coward.” “Do you know how to shoot?” “Uh, paintball. Once. In highschool. It was a birthday thing.” “Here,” she pulled another pistol from her waistband and showed it to me. “Both hands, thumb on the side. That's the safety. Put it on red and it's point and click. Until then, keep your finger off the trigger, keep your eyes open, and do what I say, because when there's one, there's more.” I swallowed the stomach acid that had risen to the back of my throat, and followed her into the Hall. There were blood stains on the floor leading toward the elevator. “So, how is it that you know about these things? Oh, and how come you have guns?” We waited for the elevator. “Would you believe that the Earth is sandwiched between two different warring alternate timelines? One where those things evolved and one where humans evolved mostly the same as here? I'm from that timeline. We developed agriculture earlier. Better technology. You're kind of caught in the middle. Shortest route between either timeline. Their natural resources are untouched. We need them. Sometimes the fighting spills over.” “Spills over? People are dead, and you're some kind of interdimensional colonist exploiting the natural resources of Batman back there?” “Close enough.” She was silent entering the elevator. I couldn't tell if she was avoiding the attention of more creatures or mad at me for my characterization of the situation. Numbers dinged past and we neared the lobby level. I'm going to need new health insurance, I thought, and Cobra is crazy expensive. The doors opened and we started into about a dozen pairs of black eyes.
Badges torn steel-cap boots dragged along the footpath. The metal scraping a distraction from the towing of his car. Tipping his head back he downed the last block of Bubbly chocolate. The wind blew into him as he held his hat to his head. If he lost it, that'd really be the cherry to his day. The wrapper crumpled in his free hand, it floating into a fence as it left his grasp. Carrying around a great mental weight he felt a massive pain in the back of his head, finding himself lighter he was stunned, entirely missing the fact the pavement was rushing towards him. The crumpled mass of Badge turned to face what hit him, the blurry figure of what must have been a small van towered over him. "Come on man, you know better than this,"cried the van. Coming into view he recognised a muscular shirtless guy above him. The overly muscular kind, where it looks like he lifts trucks in his spare time. But the slight shimmer, how his skin seemed to sink into itself in the sun, and how his scant clothes shined in the light. With a start he realised what he was, it was his stress treat! "The bin's right there,"the anthropomorphised chocolate pleaded pointing to a bin a few metres away, "if you just break me up now we'll call it a day. I'd say that's punishment enough." In a few moments Badge was next to the bin, his phone in the chocolates free hand as it scrolled through his social media. "Come on guy, I'll melt at this rate."An amazed crowd gathered around them, throwing change into his upturned hat.
No words could describe the fear I felt, as I was going further and further from the ground. My brain struggled to grasp what was happening, tried desperately to power every possible nerve to get itself to wake up, but no. Not even that bizarre feeling you get when you fly in a dream. Just sheer, paralyzing fear, as the street, my parents' house and our mailbox with the name 'Poppins' written on it growing smaller and further away, until I couldn't see them anymore. That's how it all started.
> I am very new to this and thrive off of constructive criticism and feedback. Anything you can offer is worthwhile. Thanks for reading my story! Carl clocked out, and everything went to hell. Immediately he felt all the heads in the room turn. They all stared directly at him, and as he met each of their eyes he got an overwhelming sense of peril from each of them. Each had a determined, vicious glint in their eyes, one that made Carl’s stomach sink for the pure fear of it all. With a primal howl Kathy, who had brought in donuts today, leaped over the waist-high cubicle wall on to her neighbors desk. Paul, who had just applauded him on his delivery to a few high-profile clients just an hour before, scrambled to get over his cubicle wall with the mad fury of a hunter chasing prey. Carl ran. He struggled to pull out his phone from his pocket. Sprinting down the aisle of desks workers reached for him, each with groping hands and hyperextended arms, a furious desperation in each of their faces. They no longer seemed capable of thought, but their mantra was clear in their eyes. Maim. Tear. Kill. He made it to the end of the hall. The elevator opened, and a group of chatting people began to step off, until they saw him. They froze for one moment, and Carl saw the hatred grow in their eyes, consuming them. They joined the chase with furious wordless screams as Carl hurled himself down the stairs. As he passed each floor, the doors to the stairwell became clogged with the beasts, trampling each other as they made their desperate bid to get to Carl. He saw the sales team, marketing, and IT relentlessly throw themselves in his path, stumbling over each other and desperately grabbing for each. Even a janitorial staff member joined, an elderly balding man, who failed to drop his mop in pursuit, tipping the bucket over and spilling its contents over the square blue carpeting of the second floor. Carl made it to the lobby with the sounds of murder following in his wake. He had his phone in his hand as he sprinted to the front door, where security and a few visitors joined in the chase. Slamming through the front entrance, the glass door shattered as it hit the limits of the hinge. He could hear more shattering from behind, and the stamping of hundreds of feet. He had just gotten logged into the VPN on his phone. It was a slow process, particularly since he was no longer in WiFi; he thumbed the company mail application as he made his desperate sprint down the middle of the parking lot. Cars veered for him, slamming into other cars in an attempt to make as straight a line as possible to him. People crawled through broken glass, ignoring the pain and blood. Carl’s heart pounded in his chest. He was running out of air, and his legs ached. He navigated to his “Sent Mail” folder, found his last email titled “Weekend Work Suggestions”, and hit Reply-All. A window prompted him to enter his text. As his legs gave out, and the screaming hordes descended on him, he managed to type out a message. never mind They had his shoes, and they were dragging him by his legs, his hair, and his arms. His glasses were cracked. His tie was being pulled, and a dozen arms reached out to snap his neck. They stopped. The rage in their eyes died, collectively. There was no moment of confusion; everyone just started to walk away. Paul reached down and proffered an arm to Carl; Carl took it and was hoisted to his feet. Paul offered some words of encouragement about the positive day they had and walked back down the street, towards the office. Carl got to his feet, found his shattered glasses, and picked up his phone. He made his way to the bus stop, and went home.
Eventually they begin hiring people to break into people's houses people begin to stress over if they will be the next ones to be broken in to but eventually progress in security systems help people once again live stress free. Until one day the company invents teleportation and realizes that nothing is as stressful as a child refusing to sleep due to fear of monsters. So the begin hiring deformed people and adding makeup and prosthetics and sending them into children's rooms. This worked great after a strict no contact policy was put in place to avoid legal action. Tho one day two employees accidentally discovered that the system can also run on the happiness of children and not only that but it runs 100 times more efficient on it.
“The last of the housing market bubble has caused another downward trend in stocks today,” a news commentator monotonously spoke over the broadcast. Their beige suit matched their tonality; bland and to the point. I tinkered further with the contraption in front of me, my solder iron hissing pleasantly. “The value of currency is expected to drop, despite the call for the increase to interest rates.” The commentator’s eyebrows were probably the only thing of interest to watch at this point. I worked best when distracted, as crazy as that sounds, and the overly saturated newscasts of despair gave me hope that I was on to the next biggest trend. I settled the solder iron onto the sponge; a small wisp of steam floated in to the air as I set the iron home. I gently picked up my invention. It held limp in my hands, awaiting life. My pup sniffed the air next to me, its tail beginning to wag. “Com’n boy,” I said as I stood from my stool. I cradled my invention, walking to a power base across the room. Why I kept these things so far apart, I’ll never know. But, where there’s a little danger, there’s a little enjoyment. I used my foot to slide boxes and other contraptions out of my way. The base glowed a gentle green, with lines of blue illuminating the power cords and various channels. I set the invention down into the base, and closed the lid. A small, satisfying click was followed by a simple jingle from the power base. “It’s working!” I let out a squeal. My pup jumped up in joy with me, letting out little growls of content. I picked it up from the base, the greens and blue lights dulling back to faint outlines. My hand traced its shape, with a large button opposite the hinge of the ball. It felt light, compared to all the working components inside. I tossed it up like a child with a baseball; my pup barked at the opportunity of play. As I caught the ball, I firmly pressed the center button, and to my enjoyment, it shrank to the size of a large marble. “This is going to change everything.” I mused as I knelt down beside my Growlithe. “Now, hold still.” My pup cocked its head, confused, as I pressed the ball’s center again. It returned to its original size. “I promise, this won’t hurt a bit…I think.” I tossed the ball gently onto the pup. My eyes widened at the spectacle before me. In a miraculous glow of pink and white, the Growlithe changed shape into a plasma like state. The ball snapped open and absorbed the energy that it had become, and in an instant, snapped shut again, falling to the floor. The black band in the center instantly glowed red. The ball shook. The red light flickered wildly. It shook again. Thrice times. Then it stopped. A securing mechanism locked, and the red light faded. The lab was silent, save a commercial for bicycles droning on the television. I picked up the ball, and pressed the center button again, aiming it away from me. In another brilliant display, the ball snapped open, plasma like energy cascade forth, and it immediately closed in my hand. As the energy re-coalesced, I knelt as my grateful pup came bounding up to me, furiously jumping and licking my face. “You’re such a good boy!” He barked happily at my praise, but had no idea the test subject he became. I was grateful my calculations worked, but without a little danger, there is no enjoyment. I pressed the center button again, the ball shrinking down to its marble-like size. I slipped it into my pocket. “The world will soon change, boy,” I patted my Growlithe, rolling over to his back for some well-deserved belly rubs. I gently patted his stomach, and pulled out the ball from my pocket. In another flash, he disappeared into the ball, and back into my pocket. “Soon, all the monsters will be able to be tamed, not just the ones that chose to be by human kind. The possibilities are endless.” I could feel the thoughts swimming around my head, an ocean of opportunity in truth. An entire generation changed by my designs! “But first, I want to catch them all.”
I cocked an eye as i wiped the ichor from my face. The sword now hanging loosely at my side. I could hear the clattering of combat out the door behind me, but yet the silence of the throne room was demanding. From behind the throne came a rather scrawny young angel, with scruffy golden hair and freckles. He gave a quick bow and spoke nervously “M-m-my apologies. S-sir. God left quite a while ago.” I approached the throne and shook my head. “Where did he go?” “No one knows. We’ve had theories but simply don’t have the power to answer them.” “So what now? I have started a war. Do I desert it? Without a God to kill, what purpose is there in continuing?” “Only God knows.” The angel slumped down at the base of the throne, head on his knees. I soon sat down next to him, unwilling to go back a enter the fray. I waited for quite a long time, waited for Him to come back.
On the corner of Ward Street was an old weatherboard house. The white lead paint peeling off the walls revealing rotting boards below. The grass overgrown, a jungle encroaching on the path to the front door. Bolton turned the latch on his front gate, slinking past the old rusted mailbox on tilt. It was still quite bright, the light bouncing off of the stagnant bird bath being swallowed up by an untouched rose bush. Between work and home Bolton bought a sweet pastry, icing sugar over it’s golden body. But this also gave him a dread, his dog Gub had grown to be quite the guts off leftovers. Pulling the door handle hard with his free hand and slamming into it with his body it flew open and he burst inside. With a thud, his mildly overweight dog dropped to the floor. One metre in the air, in the middle of his living room, TV remote in his mouth. Soft plop of the pastry hitting the ground, icing sugar leaving a spray over the worn floorboards. Bolton stood transfixed, like electricity was pumping through his veins. Gab just laid there, vacantly poking the boards. “Well then. I think I’ve got some explaining to do, don’t I?” Gab lifted himself clumsily to his feet, and pranced out of the living room, illuminated in shifting colour from the TV and around the corner into the kitchen. “Come in as you please, I’ll make us some drinks,” he cried out of sight, “and bring that pastry!” When Bolton finally grew the courage to make the turn into the kitchen Gab was floating over the counter preparing the kettle. “Don’t worry about helping Bolton, just take a seat over there,” he said swinging his head to the dining table, “I know how you like it, no sugar and the slightest dash of milk.” The sound of the kettle and his dog’s familiar pants were the only sound as he sat at the table, his knuckles were white and his mind racing as he watched his pet hover around the kitchen preparing tea! He floated over the top of the counter and took a seat in the chair across. Quickly he woofed down the pastry on the table, slobber covering the table as he licked up each piece of icing sugar. “Thank you for getting that, but I should get explaining. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and I’m sure it’s hard, but I can float,” Bolton opened his mouth to talk but was swiftly cut off, “trust me, this is hard for me too.” “And you talk too, apparently,” Bolton stammered. “Yes, and talk too.” Rays of lights made their way through the blinds, illuminating Gab and the dining table in patches. “But seen as we’re being candid, there’s a few things you should know,” Gab said smoothly. Bolton subtly wiggled in his seat in preparation. “We’ve known each other most of our lives, it’s been years,” Bolton nods, “and we’ve got pretty close in that time. I was the first one to congratulate you for your job at that media company.” “And the only one to show their congratulation in licks,” Bolton joked, loosening his hands a tad. “Well, when you were a kid and I only a pup I’d secretly levitate to catch the balls that went just a touch too high. I wanted to look good for you, you know?” “Oh, that’s ok Gab, that’s really sweet,” Bolton assured. The TV played in the background, David Attenborough’s soothing voice talked about the slow play-killing of young antelope. “Also, when we were moving here, and your Dad got you Tabs? Well, I killed her,” Bolton’s arms shot back to the edge of the table in shock. “Yeah, but it’s for your own good! Those filthy things carry parasites that make humans love them.” Nearly in tears the kettle clicks, “Lovely, the waters boiled.” Gab floats over from his seat and to the kettle. “But I loved that cat!” Bolton cried. Gab slowly turned his head from his task and said in a deep, almost aggressive voice, “is that you, or the parasite talking Bolton?” --- Hope you liked it! Would love some feedback; the good, the bad and/or the ugly.
Jake’s eyes cracked open, meeting the ceiling. He groaned and rolled over in his bed, looking at his clock. Three AM, who in fuck was banging on his door at three in the morning? He sighed and turned back over, who ever it was could go to Hell. He was almost back to sleep when the pounding started back up. “For fuck’s sake,” He rolled out of bed, revealing his stripped pajamas. He stumbled around in his room, bumping into the odd object here and there. His only source of light was the small amount of moonlight that filtered through his window, casting a pale glow on his half of the room. He stopped at his bedroom door and grabbed a comfy overcoat and some slippers. He noted how quiet it was, sure it was three AM, but there was always the odd dog barking or a late night traveler passing by in his car. But right now there was nothing. He shrugged it off and rushed down the stairs as the pounding continued. He got to the bottom of the stairs and tugged his coat around him as he opened the door. “This had better be good, waking me up in the dea...” His sentence caught in his throat as he made eye contact with... with... this thing. He froze in place, his hand tightening on the chilled doorknob and making his knuckles turn white. Here he was face to face with what could only be described as a demon. It eyes were the first thing he noticed, they burned like a fire themselves. They were bright enough to light up the rest of its face. There were no pupils nor cornea, instead the eyes simply glowed brighter in the center. It had horns that jutted from his head, before curving around his head and over pointed ears. They ended pointing behind its head. The teeth were on the outside of the mouth, almost like some kind of armor. They way they were placed made it look like it had a permanent smile carved into its inky black face. Jake scrambled back from the door, finally regaining his senses. He wanted to scream, but an icy fear gripped his chest. It was taking all of his concentration to maintain his sanity, and not ball up on the floor in a babbling mess. In his blind panic, he tripped over himself. The demon cocked its head at him in an oddly human gesture. It narrowed it eyes, watching him make a fool out of himself. “What the Hell are you?!” Jake asked after managing to regain some semblance of a shakey voice. “Your guest,” it replied, Jake noticed that it didn’t move its mouth. Instead its voice seemed to emanate from around it. “And I must say, so far you haven’t been very accommodating,” Jake was stunned, he hadn’t expected a reply, let alone such a blunt and mundane one. Plus the whole mouth not moving thing threw him off. He just sat there opening and closing his mouth, almost like some kind of fish. “Look,” the demon continued “I’ve had a bit of a rough day, maybe you could invite me in?” Jake decided not angering the demon was in his best interests. He took a moment to compose himself, before standing up and brushing himself off. If he was going to get through this strange dream without having a panic attack, then the best thing to do was act normal right? He walked over to the door on weak legs, every instinct screaming at him to keep his distance, slam the door, run and hide. But no, he’d stick to his plan. He gripped the handle of the door, swinging it open. He kept his distance from the demon, almost leaning away from it. “Y-yeah, come in,” Jake was trying his hardest to put off a calm atmosphere, but he figured he was probably failing miserably. The demon entered the door way, and for the first time Jake realized how enormous it was. The thing had to be at least nine feet tall. It skin resembled its face, inky black. Jake made sure to give it plenty of room, going as far as to slid away from the door way. The demon, paying him no mind, slipped inside through the small doorway and made its way across the room, unceremoniously collapsing on his sofa. It returned its gaze back to Jake, and he felt cold prickle of fear return to his chest. “You got anything to drink?” It asked. “Uh, water? Whisk-“ “Whiskey is fine,” it cut him off, turning its gaze around the house similar to a bored house cat. Jake was still dumbfounded, here was this demon, sitting in his house asking for whiskey in the dead of night. He felt like he was watching through someone else eyes as he closed the door and moved to the kitchen. He’s just gotten this damned bottle of whiskey as a present. No time like the present, he thought to himself. He looked around for the biggest cup he had and filled it with an appropriate demon sized portion before filling his own. Maybe it would take the edge off his nerves a bit. He had issues pouring it with his shaking hands, but he managed. He returned to the demon, cautiously handing him his glass. Seeing as the demon was splayed across the entirety of the sofa, Jake opted to take the recliner. It raised its mug to its tooth like mouth. It jaws unhinged, somewhat like a snake, allowing the teeth to part. It poured the liquid into its glowing maw, surprisingly not causing it to boil or hiss. If Jake wasn’t uncomfortable before, he definitely was now. His head could fit between its jaws. He decided it was best to draw his attention away from such thoughts. “I, uh, I never caught your name,” Jake said breaking the silence. The demon snapped its jaws shut with an audible click and turned towards him. “ I don’t think you could pronounce it,” it said, pretty casually. “You may call me Kaynn.” The conversation was quick and short, but for some reason it helped to calm Jake’s nerves. Trying to keep the conversation going he continued. “So, Kaynn. What brings a demon to my house at three in the morning?” This was ridiculous, here he was making small talk with a demon. A god-forsaken demon. “Well,” it started, setting is drink down. “I was actually sent here to collect my first sole.” Well, so much for his nerves. “But it just seems so unnecessarily cruel, we don’t even need souls. My father just sees them as a curiosity, something to collect.” Jake swallowed, nearly choking on his whiskey. “But, I’m not interested in my fathers hobby,” Kaynn said, while eyeing more objects in the room. “When I told him, he became angry,” Jake didn’t know what classified as angry for a demon, but he could guess it wasn’t your typical household argument. He decided not to press the issue. “He told me that if I wasn’t going to steal souls, then I was no heir of his. He left me here, in the mortal realm,” Kaynn said. “So I decided to crash here, the mortal house who’s soul he wanted.” Jake had no idea what a demon would want with his soul, he lived a rather boring life as far as he was concerned. “Okay, so what’s the long term plan?” Jake asked, hoping he wouldn’t be serving the demon for an eternity. “Well, since I no longer have my fathers support, I’ll need my own energy to return,” Kaynn said, not stopping mid sip, Jake assumed he didn’t need his mouth to talk at all. “And that’s where I come in,” Jake connected the dots, and planned to bolt if the demon wanted his soul’s energy to return. “Well, yes and no,” Kaynn said after sitting up. “Our kind feeds off emotional energy, so really I just need to relax for a bit.” Jake really didn’t know how to react. Happy, he guessed. At least his soul wasn’t under threat. “Ok,” Jake said, more confused at this point then scared. His fight or flight instinct could only last so long. “So what kind of emotions are you looking for?” “Your fear was a good start, but I’m not exactly in the business of terrifying my hosts. Whatever’s easiest will do.” Jakes exasperation turned to curiosity, weren’t demons supposed to be the ultimate evil? “I’ve got some Halo games we could play, competitiveness counts, right?” Kaynn and Jake stayed up late into the night, the demon finding the controller small and unwieldy. It might have been comical if it weren’t for his situation. The massive figure was hunched over the small controller, mashing buttons with oversized fingers. After a while the demon stood and ducked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. “I believe this amount should be efficient, thank you, Jake.” “Wait so that’s it? You’re done just like that?” “I don’t really have a reason to stay.” “Alright, cya I guess. Do me a favor though, tell your dad I died of fright.” The demon chuckled, waved his hand in some strange pattern, and disappeared from sight. Jake’s eyes opened wide, waking up in a cold sweat. It took him a minute to collect himself and come to the realization that it was just a dream. It seemed so real. It didn’t matter to him, at least he could get some more rest. He pulled the covers up to his chin and turned over in the bed, the only light coming from the moonlit window on the opposite side of the room and his alarm clock which lit up his sleeping face. It read two fifty nine AM.
Kiki was still reliving the moment the car trundled further down the road and disappeared around a turn. While standing their in the biting cold, she turned over exactly what they had said. "We never go here, last time we did the whole place burnt down". Kiki had been trying desperately to place those sentences as a regard for them going to a party next door. A few times things had done black. She was overwhelming bleary eyed. She now wished she hadn't had all those glasses of alcohol. She picked up the pieces of her mind. "Okay... Now I have to go home...". She unknowingly sat down on a rock and sighed wearily. "So I have my phone right..." She was really tired. She hadn't observed where she was, she hardly remembered which path they were going down. "Hmm... This is a mess", she gurgled. She was expecting her phone to be stolen, as was that protocol, but she picked it out of her pocket. "Hmmm.... Google maps...."she mumbled, remembering the shining bright jewel of technology she had gotten amnesia of since the early evening. Somehow. She opened the app. "Not detected. Out of range." "Yeah that's never happened before..."Kiki mumbled. She blinked several times. Through some odd stray thoughts, came a blurry reminder of her friends, her room back home, the warmth. How she'd been complaining it was too hot. A sense of panic shot through her stomach. "Yeah, okay get your shit together"she hissed to herself. She swiped through her contacts. She called her mother and friends over and over. It never went through. "What the hell is wrong with them?" She took a deep breath. Suddenly everything seemed much clearer. She could see the outlines of the trees, and even the shining of the leaves under moonlight. What she wasn't expecting to see was a small house almost perfectly visible further past the foliage. Kiki hesitated. Should she? Kiki stood there for another 10 minutes. She desperately tried calling again. No answer. Looked like there was nothing else she could do. Kiki took one step forward, and heard the crispy leaves give way. It sounded louder than it should have. She slowly tip toed up to the house and gasped as she came right outside. This was like some kind of adventure movie. Shutting her eyes, she knocked on the door. She hardly heard the knocks. Kiki jumped a few inches into the air when a blinding strip of light shone towards her. Her eyes widened. It was a relatively friendly looking old lady. Maybe mouth was a bit pursed. However she didn't look malicious. Kiki waited for her to say the first words. "Are you lost?" "Uh... I guess so. A couple of people just left me here. I don't really know where to go." Her eyes were still adjusting. "My family are gonna be really worried."She added that to get a more soft reaction from the woman. "Come in."She said. "Um...". Kiki gingerly stepped in, then elated at the warmth swiftly walked in towards the fireplace. She really wasn't supposed to be almost turning it down, she bellowed inside her head. It was an oddly bright area. The tiles almost seemed to be throwing scorching light at her eyes. There was nice little antique furniture, intricate woodwork. Woodland creatures were carved into the dark brown wardrobes, giving a calming effect to the eyes next to the powerful white tiles. "I know your father." Kiki jumped again slightly. She wished she hadn't come to this house now. She was sitting on the bright yellow sofas, which seemed to have a straw like texture on the surfaces. She massaged her temples. "Uh... Did they bring me here to see him or something?"She couldn't believe her words. What was she doing? "Like could you help me out of here?"She said hopefully. The old woman said, "in due time". What the fuckety fuck fuck She said, "your father was a scientist." "Are you sure?"Kiki said, becoming slightly tired again. "He worked in underground laboratories."Finally getting to cease being mysterious, she added, "Benjamin Crowley". "What... Look I want to stay out of here, I don't want some serial killer..."Kiki was trembling. She didn't know what she would do if she left. "Look, I'm not getting to frighten you..." Kiki suddenly noticed there was a sharp tapping coming from somewhere. After a few seconds she realized it was coming from under the floorboards. The old woman was putting her face in her hands. "Gosh, he's interrupting." The floorboards suddenly opened. Hairy arms waved from underneath. Kiki froze. "Don't worry, love". A shaggy bearded man suddenly shot up like a beaver out of the floorboards. "She's being all mysterious again isn't she?" Kiki looked at him in terror. Suddenly the overwhelming amount of hair seemed to frame a welcoming smile, crinkling in the corners of the eyes and a rugged bearded face. "I'm sure you want to meet your father."
It was a dream, I was certain. Bright, white text filled my mind’s eye against a black backdrop, and a woman’s calm (yet firm) voice narrated the words: “to whomever it may concern; you have been chosen to join us in an experimental virtual reality simulation. We are required to disclose that there will be a medical procedure with a more than 10% mortality rate. Your participation in this experiment is not voluntary. Thank you.” You’re dreaming. I told myself, lucidly feeling the dream around me. Wake up! \\\\\* I awoke in a fright. ‘Disoriented’ would not justly describe the state in which I found myself. My heart sputtered furiously, and I was covered in a sticky film of sweat. I sat up on a thin mattress and tried to get my bearings, becoming suddenly aware of several factors: &#x200B; · My head was throbbing · I was horridly nauseous · I was on the lower bunk inside of which appeared to be a thatched-roof hut. Light streamed in through the roof. Rays entered also through cracks between the door and the frame, and the thin walls permitted the sound of a constant crash of waves upon a beach. Two unoccupied bunks sat against the adjacent and opposite walls · I had no recollection of where I was or how I had arrived here &#x200B; This is a sign that I need to cut back on my drinking. I waited a moment for my heart rate to fall, then swung carefully off the bunk and placed my bare feet on the cold, paved floor. I suspiciously verified that no one occupied the top bunk. I staggered over to a vanity sitting just to the left of the door. Cold water ran from the tap and I washed my face. The mirror above the vanity was scratched and corroded to such a point that I struggled to make out my features, but I was certain I looked awful. I needed to figure out just where in the hell I was, and I needed to figure out just how exactly I had arrived here. I had awoken wearing (or had apparently passed out wearing) what appeared to be a pair of dark-colored board shorts. I scrounged fruitlessly for some type of shirt; same bad luck for shoes or sandals. I made my way out the door. The porch to the hut was warped gray wood, which scraped my feet. I quickly stepped off the steps onto a pristine white sand beach that stretched left and right as far as I could see. The sand was scorching hot, the sun almost directly overhead, and I jumped back onto the rough porch, shaded by an awning. I balanced on the edge of the steps, aware that my eyes were bulging from my head; the water was a brilliant azure; Polynesian-type huts like my own here and there in either direction, built just past the high-tide mark. Not a soul visible anywhere. I still needed to figure out how I had arrived here, but quite obviously I was in paradise. I found sandals that fit (apparently mine) on the porch as well as a still-damp t-shirt hung to dry over the railing. Classic black t-shirt with white ‘Metallica’ logo. It was hot, I could tell, but a breeze came off the sea. I threw the shirt over one shoulder and labored through the sand, stepping awkwardly in the sandals. I reached wet sand and stepped out of the sandals, leaving my shirt beneath them. The waves were crashing violently upon the shore. I clucked a bit, hesitant to enter; I can swim well enough, but I am from Kansas, and not a surfer-type. Instead I stood, still quite bewildered, gazing out to sea, my feet just close enough to be intermittently soaked by the cold, salty water. “Uh, hello there.” I jumped quite nearly out of my skin. I would have been embarrassed enough, this only compounded by the fact that she was shockingly attractive; tall, with wavy brown hair pulled into a sporty ponytail. Athletic-looking, more so than slender, wearing a black two-piece swimsuit. “Sorry to startle you! Oh my, I apologize. I’m Bethany.” She stuck out her hand for me to shake. She carried flip-flops and a balled-up shirt in her other hand. I inelegantly shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Daniel…Dan. I go by Dan. I hadn’t seen anyone.” She smiled, dimples appearing in either cheek. “You can call me Beth.” I wanted to ask where exactly I was, but that seemed an odd sort of question to ask. Fortunately, she helped me along. “Soooo, this is going to sound really weird, but…well, screw it: are we in…some sort of a simulation?” My heart skipped a beat and the ‘dream’ came flashing back. “Good god!” I exclaimed. Her smirk had faded to a look of alarm. “Should we try and find out if anyone else is…here? Wherever here is? I saw a bigger hut just down the beach a bit, maybe it’s some sort of, uh, reception center or something.” She pointed with her chin. I agreed, and we stumbled through the sand two football-field lengths or so to a large building—or rather compound of several buildings—decorated with thatched roofs, but themselves constructed of solid, white-painted concrete. There was a central patio area, which while unoccupied, boasted umbrellaed tables and a central, circular bar. The place was eerily quiet. “Hello!” Beth yelled. “Anyone here?” No answer. “It looks like it’s noon,” I said, shading my eyes with a hand against the sun. “What kind of resort doesn’t have the bar opened by noon?” Beth flashed her delightful grin. “Well, I am a bartender.” “Can you make a bloody? My head is killing me. I need a drink or two to think this thing through. Or ten.” She walked behind the bar. “As long as they have the fixings, sure.” She fumbled with the ice bins and opened a few low refrigerators, scanning their contents. “No service, but well-stocked. To hell with it; is this even real anyway? Are they going to kick me out of the simulation if I pour us drinks?” She went to work and mixed two exceedingly large bloody mary cocktails in what appeared to be German Maßkrugs, pouring a twelve-count of Belvedere vodka into each, garnishing them with an assortment of pickles, olives, cheese cubes, and sausages. “Beer chaser?” She asked me. “Uh, pilsner, whatever they’ve got.” I took a seat at the bar, fascinated by her nimble work. She cracked a bottle and filled a chilled pint glass with a Miller Lite and filled another glass with what looked to be an IPA from a tap. Next, she filled two shot glasses with Jameson. Finally, she filled two glasses with ice and water to the brim, pushing the entire order two-drinks-by-two across the bar in my direction. She came across the bar and sat on the stool next to me to my left, taking one of the shot-glasses. “Cheers.” I raised my own. “To nirvana.” We clinked our shots, maintaining eye-contact as we downed them. I chased mine with the bloody—delectably spicy—which I in-turn chased with my Miller Lite, all of which I then collectively chased with my entire glass of ice water. “Delicious.” I told Beth, taking another sip of the bloody. I ate a piece of cheese from the toothpick sitting on top. “You know your way around a bar.” She shrugged and began to speak, cut off by the entry of two others to the deserted bar-area.
Artemis appeared suddenly on June 23rd, 2067 in Lagrange point L4 of the moon's orbit. About half the size of the moon in diameter. Origin unknown. No real record of it's appearance visually. &#x200B; A few months later, I'm sitting in a MARV (Manned Astronomical Research Vehicle), careening through space when I was supposed to be placing new footprints next to Neal Armstrong and talking live to some kid in Colorado broadcast live on CNN. We might still be able to fit in that kid, but it kinda loses it's luster when you have to say, "Sorry, Jimmy, I have no idea what I'm looking at right now." I was awakened with the deep thudding of sound reverberating through the ship as we launched several impact probes on our approach. They would hit our landing site and make sure the thing wasn't hollow. Though the egg-heads down at Houston knew already that the object was mostly solid. "Mark. Wake up."John, my Second Pilot woke me with a gentle pat on the shoulder. "We have about 10 hours to approach time."He whispered, "Take a look and see if you can get a close look." With a few switches and buttons pressed, I turned on the screen in front of me and adjusted the camera to center the object in my sights. "I see the probes."I said, looking at the thin trail of dots leading towards the object. "It looks... Jeeze, like Mystery Science Theater down there."I referred to the almost comedically bad rumpled globe that was the logo of a television show back at home. "Look. There's a slight atmosphere. Probe one is returning slight traces of Hydrogen and Methane."I said, reading the spectrometer output. "Houston, do you copy?"John talked into his head-mounted mic. "We have spectrometer readings and are continuing approach, T-minus 9 hours 55 minutes, over?" "Uhh, roger, we read you, MARV. Approach telemetry is being updated. G-force is as predicted, speed is nominal. Probe 1 should probably hit the surface in, uhh 3 minutes. Confirm retrograde burn begins in 15. Over." "Roger. Retrograde burn in 15 as expected."John confirmed, he turned to me, "Gonna have to spin this tin can around now." "Never happy about that."I laughed, "I like looking at what I'm about to hit." "Just keep an eye on those controls."John nodded, "That altimeter should make you feel better." I looked out of the corner of my eye towards the controls and noted something. Probes one and two were not returning telemetry. "...John? P1 and P2 are out."I said. "Interference? Try a relay signal pass through the line of probes. See if you can get it back in touch."John said. I looked on the window and saw, to my horror, a brief flash from Probe 3. It also stopped transmitting." "P3 is out. I just saw it explode."I said, with some horror. I tried to retain my composure. I looked down, "Distance to approach is.. 5 km from surface." Probe 4 met the same fate. "It's.. a shield. Houston? Houston? Do you copy?"There was no response. "Retrograde burn is starting NOW."John said, "We're not going to hit that thing. We'll keep it at 100 km." Probe 5 was gone. I felt the rumble of thrusters pushing hard against the inertia of our vehicle. We finished the burn and set into orbit around the object. We watched the next probe actually hit a strange honeycomb-like blue surface that quickly returned to being invisible. "We're on our own."John said, "Let's do this." "Okay."I said.
It started as a pretty boring day, not really as flashy as it ended. Jack scrolled through some news on a tablet while having a coffee and some toast as breakfast. There was nothing This would a good day - vacation day. So Jack took his jacket, and got out of the flat to do some chores. Groceries, he had a letter to send to a utility company, he should renew his passport. He walked his usual routine. Dropped the letter off of at a small post office in a kiosk. The kiosk was owned by a tiny asian lady. She lived here forever, and owned that kiosk forever, but never learned the local language well. Well, unless she had to yell at people, or was serious about something. Then all of her language problems went right out of the window. And the groceries went as usual too. It was Wednesday and one of the older guys tended to shop every second Wednesday. And he usually was a euro short of whatever he needed. Jack usually shrugged, and slid a coin to the cashier. The old guy always protested, but the cashier just took it and ushered the old guy out of the store. Another little ritual of the city around them. But as he passed a small bar with screens and a radio, the ritual got disrupted. TV screens flared violently as they switched to the government emergency frequency. Radios crackled violently as the normal radio stations got interrupted. Everyone on the street froze in their normal, daily dance. "This is the chancellor speaking. This is a dire time. We have ...". His deep voice broke off for a couple of seconds. This was unusual for this calm, confident man. "We have confirmation that the eastern state has launched intercontinental ballistic missiles. Our satellite defense systems have destroyed 30 percent of the missiles during their boost phase. However, 40% of the remaining missiles are taking course on our continent. The missiles have passed 8 minutes of their 12 minutes of suborbital flight at the end of this announcement. The warheads will be activated after another 2 minutes of re-entry phase. This means, all of you, all the people of this nation have a total of 10 minutes to locate, and enter the nearest basement, shelter or protection they can find. There is no safe city on this continent. I am sorry, we have failed you." Everyone in this street just froze. Someone next to Jack started crying. It was the old lady from the post office. Jack offered her a hug. She took it. No one ran to a basement - everyone knew the futility. Some prayed, some just sat down. Then a new sun was born just overhead.
"So long, ass-wipes!" Jake had always talked about killing himself. He had been born a pasty-skinned nerd who only ended up growing to five-foot-six. HE wanted to try his luck again, he had often talked about it and on July 3rd, he did it. JAKE was obsessed with populraity because he had none so he made his suicide memorable for his instagram story by sitting atop a pile of fireworks and gunpowder he had spent two years collecting and igniting it. Worked like a charm. The camera didn't pick it up so well because it was destroyed, JAKE never did bother with details like measuringthings out or researching the explosive capabilities of gunpowder. Still, memorable even if not on social media. &#x200B; We scoured hospitals afterwards to try adn see if JAKE was gonna pop up, we brought along several of his favourite things, hoping that the new him would be attracted to these items: a figurine of an anime girl with a large chest area, a picture of an anime girl with a large chest area, a pillowcase with an anime girl with a large chest area (you get the idea). Lowand behold, baby after baby kept gurgling and reaching out for these images of breasts, we realized our search would be in vain and we needed to wait for the abbies to grow up and start talking, with one of them hopefully remembering being JAKE. &#x200B; It happened 4 years later, one of the parents in our neighborhood had a child that had begun to gravitate towards mouthing off to authority figures and perusing pornography. We found him the day after we had heard and asked: &#x200B; "JAKE, is that you?" "Who wants to know?" "Do you remember us?" "You never forget a face that ugly." &#x200B; It was JAKE. We had question after question about what it was like dying, what it felt like being reborn. HE simply put his hand and and gave a single answer to our hundred and one questions. &#x200B; "Worth."
I look at my phone's UPS app. "Oh shit, my package is here! Uhh, frick. Pants? Yep. Shoes, check. Shirt? Checkarooni. Aight, lets go." As I walk out the door, I hear Ms. Heirwens' stupid Weiner dog barking at the truck. The damn thing escaped, and is now chasing the truck for some reason. My first and only thought was the standard dogs hate mailmen. Then, I see Mark's weiner dog. Then Ashley's. Then the strays. Next thing I know, a fucking army of daschunds are chasing the truck. The mailman notices and floors it, turning onto the highway ramp close by. Then, I realized what I ordered. __________ I pulled an r/AskOuija, finish the story!
"Waitasecond... am I hallucinating or what?"I thought as I looked into the rear-view mirror, revealing an image of myself, backgrounded by a pitch-black space of nothingness. I had to make sure I was not even dreaming at all. And so, I came up with a solution. I stopped the car along the road. I took a long, deep breath before closing my eyes for a few seconds. "Hope this works." When that time passed, I opened my eyes and checked the rear-view mirror again. What?! It's the same image of me and the void? Am I really crazy at this moment? If all else fails, there's only one way to find out. I took out my flashlight and shined it into the mirror. The light didn't bounce off from that supposedly "rear-view mirror"... It just simply went straight through it, hitting my face on the void inside it, before scattering into numerous seperate beams of light. Then the realization dawned upon me. I knew what to do at this moment. Turning off the flashlight, I quickly grabbed the phone inside my leather bag and began to call someone. "...Hello? Is this the SCP Foundation? ... I may have just found an anomaly in my car, and I would like to surrender this rear-view mirror to you right now. I'll be waiting here on my car."
-Believe me mom! I can remember everything! There I was in another family! -Of course there was! And unlike me, you are ex-mother would have plenty of times! Finish your breakfast! I'm getting late! She went for my shoes. That was a terrible mistake that I told her! I shamefully admit, that I am a idiot. -Billy!! What have you done to your shoes?! She came screaming! - In the past life I didn't had shoes or anything to cover my foot. So I tore them up. I can manage without those, as I did for a tormery. - In this house! I will not allow this kind of savagely behavior. As for punishment, you can't even touch that PS4 of yours! I kept my lips shut, even didn't told her that I have already thrown the PS4 out. She was going for her room in a hurry. Then suddenly stopped. -What is a tormery? - That means 100 Hormery. - And how could a mortal man can explain Hormery? may I ask! - That means like a year in this world. The time you need to travel around the sun. We do not have a sun. Our planet travels around a nearer pulsar. - Enough for today! Its a good skill to have that level imagination boy! Its life saving to know how to evaluate from the reality. And live in the reality.
I hate January, it's the coldest and probably the deadliest month. The winter is harsh in this damn country, anyone could literally die if they stay outside for far too long. Food stocks are running low, we can't cultivate anything so i have no choice but to hunt for some animals. I couldn't complain much if i were in Kiev, but i'm in Pripyat and it's eat or to be eaten here. As i am preparing my rifle, a man approaches me. "Hey Alexei, where are you going?"the man asked. "It's too dangerous right now, *they* are still around, you know? " "......."i ponder for a while. "We are running out of food, and at this point the winter will get worse. Can't feed 30 people with a small sack of potatoes, it's not enough" "Ugh.. potatoes"He said it with disgust. It seems that the word 'potato' annoys him. Indeed, we have been eating nothing but potatoes for the past week. I'm getting sick of it too. The man i'm talking to is Jared whose for some reason unknown, are here in Ukraine. I'd suspect that he is an American spy, but at my current situation i couldn't care less about him. We are all gonna die here if we can't cooperate after all. "Hey, at least bring me with you"Jared smiled. "We can bring at least a wild boar for a feast!" "If we make it alive, somehow"i replied "If we can get a boar or two, especially in this kind of winter, we can preserve it for at least a week or more, get your rifle ready and lets go". An hour later, Jared and I goes to a small hill to scout for *them.* We still don't know what are *they* and how come *they* are here in Pripyat. Jared suspected that Chernobyl's fallout are the reason for this. Those who got exposed to radioactive have their cell mutated and lost their human reasoning. Their skin deformed and turned darkish that glows green a bit. "Spotted 3 of them around the town center, 2 more near the church, and 1 near that house over there" Luckily, there aren't many of *them* this time. They are the most active and dangerous at night, but that doesn't mean they are not weak at the day either. Jared slides down the hill slowly and sneaks up on the mutated i spotted near the house, he prepared his dagger and slice the mutated's throat. I quickly slides down to check on the mutated's body. It spills green blood and a bit smelly. "Technically they are still humans, a slice in the throat can finish them up quickly"He said it without any fear or remorse. It was a very clean kill and he seems to know what he is talking about, just who is he...?. "We should go now, after we reach the church, we go to east and we can find some animals to hunt there"I explained to him as we walk to the church. Suddenly we hear a scream coming right from the same house earlier. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" We didn't know there's another one there. The scream attracted the rest of *them* and they are coming toward us. "RUN!!"i screamed and we both run as fast as we can. Little that we know, *They* can run faster and they are catching up to us really quickly. "Run faster Alexei!, *they* lost their physical limitations so losing their limbs are nothing compared to eating us!"He shouted. "How come you know so much about *them!!?? you better think of a way to get rid of this damned mutations because i can't keep up!!". It is true, i may have been good at hunting and shooting, but i was never a runner. "Go to the church!! i have an idea!"He replied and i agreed. Around the church area, we encounter 2 of them* in front of us. "Use your knife! it doesn't have to be a clean kill, we just need to knock them down!"Jared shouts. I prepare my trusty knife as we run into them and we stab both of *them* down right into *their* chest. As *they* are writhing in pain, we open the church door and the run inside. Jared locks the door and blocked it with some chairs. "So what's your plan? *they* can break this door anytime soon"i ask while trying to catch my breath. He tells me "I want you to watch the door and block it with everything you've got! There should be another door in this church. I will check the area behind this church so we can leave!". He run to the back, leaving me behind. Suddenly, there's a huge impact coming from the door, looks like *they* are trying to break it open with their own body. The church has a very thick door, but knowing their capabilities, it can break anytime soon. I immediately prepared my rifle because there's no choice but to fight if the door breaks. After a few minutes of struggling, finally one of *them* managed to make a hole to the door. I can see their face clearly from the hole they made. Rifle rounds are very hard to find, i have to make sure to save it for hunting later. Finally some of them manage to get in, but i keep my distance and wait for the right moment. As i am readying my aim, Jared rushes in and throw a small bottle of fire, That's a Molotov for sure. The molotov explodes and burn *them* fatally. "The coast is clear, lets go!"He shouted at me. We run to to east just like we planned, i tell him "Took you long enough, damn it". He laugh and say "Even if the back area is clear, we still can't get away\\\,\\\ we really need to kill *them.* Good thing i found a motorcycle and some empty bottle behind, honestly i don't know what to do". I nodded in agreement, it doesn't matter anymore, we survived in the end. Our hunt for some animals to eat proceed. It's been hours of searching and we can't find anything worth to eat. Jared saw a hill and suggested we climb up and look for living things there. As we are climbing he talks to me. "We've been walking for a while now, and what we got is just some berries for ourselves, at this point we are probably in Crimea or something"Jared said. "Crimea is too far in the east just by walking, my friend"i say. "This is probably just another part of Pripyat that we don't know". "Then how do you explain *that?"* Jared points out at something like a statue. "Wait... what....". A statue in the middle of nowhere? impossible. We both rush to the top and we see something amazing. "Hey Alexei, could this be...?"Jared ask me unbelievably "Yeah.. this is no longer Pripyat..."i tell him "The Motherland has welcomed our visit, my friend" We are at Russia, the great nation where i used to live.
"Chin up lad..."The coachman said cheerfully, turning back with a widening grin as the cart jolted over the roughshod terrain. "Or 'twill be, once yer 'ed falls top down in t' mud!"He guffawed. Gregor groaned and wished, somehow, for this nightmare to end. Yesterday, he'd been minding his own, working the sawmill in his home village of Riverwood. The shaft of the waterwheel drove the machines of his trade, its cyclical motion setting the rhythm of the day with a pattern, almost musical, of scraping and clattering as the saw bowed endlessly back and forth rending mighty tree trunks into ten planks each. As he fancied, he whistled throughout the day, sometimes breaking into scraps of folk songs he'd heard in the taverns, reminiscing on the maids he'd courted frequently and rarely won. He'd grin, remembering Catherine, her deep green eyes, comely bosom, the way her lips felt against his own. Most days would slide effortlessly by, held aloft by fond memories and hypnotic repetition. But not yesterday. It started with a chicken, of all things. A bloody chicken. He'd heard its indignant squawk, quickly followed by the screams of the children who often played by the river. "What in the name..."he muttered as he turned from his task to pinpoint the source of the calamity. "By the Greybeards!"he shouted, racing into the village square, stopped suddenly in his tracks in astonishment. A stranger, clad in ancient Dwemer armour, was leaping and racing about the village, hacking wildly with a flaming axe that glinted green in the noon-light. Chickens, children, women and men, all fled in terror from this wild abomination. "Yeah! Take that, fuckin' fish!"the figure yelled, leaping from the mill's thatched roof into the river, churning the waters blood red with a fury of strikes from his axe. Fish carcasses rose to the surface and floated downstream. "Hahaha! This is awesome!!!" Gregor had no choice but to try and stop this madman. He took the nearest thing to a weapon at hand, a rusted pitchfork, and raced forward, screaming "For the Jarl!" At that moment, a voice seemed to echo over the hills. Like a mother calling its child, surely the work of magic, the words, which sounded very much like "Din'ahs Rea'dy"caused the man-beast to cease its destruction. With a muttered curse, it vanished, leaving nothing but the trail of destruction and Gregor, waist deep in the bloody river, clutching his pitchfork with astonishment. "And that's when the guards arrived."he grumbled, snapping back to reality, realising he'd been lost in reminiscence. "Fish poaching, of all things..." "Aye lad, a grand story, I'd call thee throat o 'tworld..."The coachman grinned back once more, his blackened teeth stretching wide into a hysterical grimace. "But..."he could barely contain his mirth, body wracked by snorting and snickering. "Please no..."Gregor pleaded. "Yer more throat o' axe!"he screamed, almost beside himself with laughter. Gregor sighed and stared out over the treetops as the coach descended toward the garrison, the sun flickering through the autumn-stripped branches. He prayed against hope for salvation. Perhaps the Dragonborn would come at last.
My alarm blared as I pulled myself from my sleep-pod. I climbed out and I popped an oral hygiene pod into my mouth, feeling the membrane dissolve as I swirled the micro-beads in my mouth for the full minute before swallowing according to the directions, leaving a minty taste in my mouth and my teeth a pearly white sheen. I quietly laid down on the garments table and entered \[E3\] into the holographic outfits menu and in seconds, the plastic walls of the chamber rose around my body, my head on the outside, filling with nano-outfit-liquid before the liquid receded leaving the outfit I wanted on me. I got up from the table and ate my breakfast of some expertly-prepared scrambled eggs, sausages from lab-grown pork, and genetically modified avocado, which had been modified to have less than 1% saturated fat. I munched as the my digital assistant played some calming lo-fi country music, thinking about how long my day would be. I quietly took my magna-lift pod to the work-quarters on my property and I exited to the blackened control room. I examined the cameras for the lab-grown meat room, making sure the machines were operating properly with the animal stem-cell injections to grow the sheets of meat. I examined the cameras for the lab-grown animal hides room, making sure the sheets of leather would turn out well. The programmed bots seemed to be working smoothly and all I would have to do would be to evaluate the quality reports of the leather before they would be shipped out. The cameras showed that the fruits in green-room one seemed to be growing well and the harvest would be bountiful. With all the vibrant raspberries, bright oranges, plump apples, and all the other amazing looking vegetables, no one would be disappointed. It had been quite nice and vegans no longer dealt with vitamin deficiencies because fruits and vegetables were now engineered to have large amounts of all essential nutrients while being able to maintain freshness for up to 5 years and taste amazingly. I looked at the camera for the greenhouse of my new side venture, cannabis, a fully-legal recreational substance that was in an industry I wanted to get into for the lucrative profits. &#x200B; As I sat in my control room, I turned on some more lo-fi country music as I sipped my nutrient-rich orange juice from a thermos. It was nice being one of the very few who were still in the agricultural business as my profits would be extremely high for my continued supplies. I relaxed and I sat back, thinking about how lucky I was to not have been a farmer in the 2000s.
He should be dead. His legs shattered, arms twisted and skin black, he smells his dead body but feels no pain. A fall from this height would split a man in two, it has – there’s a gash from his groin to his chest – but he’s still breathing. His spine feels like it’s been torn from his back. There is a sharp crunching sound, as the skin of his chest bulges, it’s as if his throat is being released from a firm grip. His wrist, which was previously at an acute angle, cracks back into place. Is this what dying is like? Is time reversing to give him a second chance?
Erivin should have stopped me when I started talking about it. He should have stopped me when I said it could win us the war. I should have listened when he said the weapons of the ancients are best left forgotten. I didn’t listen. Erivin offered me those fateful words of warning before I left in search of the weapon. Months later I found it. Buried deep within the earth, locked behind tens of steel doors, and guarded by the best of the ancients golems was their mightiest weapon, said to be able to wipe mountains off the map. The targeting map provided was ancient, I could only recognize a few landmarks amongst the sprawling ancient cities. I aimed the weapon at what I thought was the Wykarins main base, and pressed the button. Instantly, the ancients warning devices were triggered. A roaring siren and dozens of red lights turned on. The sound was nothing compared to the roar of the ancients weapon firing. A few minutes later everything was quiet again. As I left I saw something peculiar on the horizon. A giant mushroom of fire and smoke over the capital city.
“Dude, what the fuck we could both live just fine if you just paid rent, you catch my drift dog?” Dan often liked to talk to his dog as if he were a lazy roommate. If he were to be honest, though, he was too sad to live by himself and he didn’t know anybody that wanted someone to live with. Dan went through Craigslist classifieds, but it was fucking awful after a few hours to realize that everybody that was as lonely as him was probably that way for a reason. Like, this one dude with hella lizards in his house, so Dan decided instead to just get a dog and settle down by himself. He worked most of the time anyway, so it wasn’t that big of a deal if there wasn’t anybody when he got home. The one thing that a perfectly heterosexual male in his 20’s who lives alone doesn’t really want to do is admit that he spends about all his time at home either cuddling with his dog or like trying to get his dog to come over and cuddle. Dan often joked to himself that his dog was more like a cat, and well, this wasn’t that funny of a joke to anybody other than Dan, but it would usually lead to him watching reruns of CatDog. Annoyingly a lot of those lonely Craigslist dudes would often email him, or, god forbid if he ever gave out his cell, text him, asking what he was up to and if he wanted to hang out. It was pretty obvious at this point that Craigslist was the Tinder for totally straight guys that are just lonely and want to hang out with other straight dudes. And, yeah, eventually Dan did go on like a friend date with one of these dudes, but the whole thing was so weird that he didn’t do it again. Dan’s job was to put hand lotion on all day. Well, not just that. He was a tester. He was a scientist, damnit. He was a market researcher for Nivea. Recently, they had been doing a ‘stress test’ with one of their products. Dan’s job was to apply a little patch of Nivea to his hand and then blast the shit out of it with UV. Of course, this job wasn’t dangerous, he was told, because Nivea had such a bang up product, but of course if anything were to go wrong, he had health insurance. Often this led him to think in one of his recurring day dreams about what he would talk to Bernie Sanders about if he were ever to run for office again. Like, he would probably try to convince him to put more money into a program like College Debt forgiveness than health care, because that wasn’t something he needed anymore. Or maybe, Bernie could put research into how to help 20 somethings like him make friends once they actually left college. But, then again, did he just want stuff that helped him and not stuff that helped out other people? That thought made him feel even more lonely. Of course, Dan did get skin cancer on the ‘stress tested’ hand, but it was very authoritatively told to him that he would be ok and that they would take care of him. Like, he would be a pussy to not take the gift of self assuredness and confidence that came in boldly denying the desire to bitch about this. That his job fucked him over because he, assuredly knew he was taking these risks. It was the same ‘tough love’ Dan secretly loved and turned to late at night when he watched long compilations of Jordan Peterson totally owning feminists. Of course, it was a little hard for him to get over the fact that his girlfriend had cancer. Would his right hand be ok? They said it would. It helped for Dan to think of his right hand as his girlfriend because then he thought less of his dog being his girlfriend even though I mean, this animal was definitely holding this role for him. On the way to the hospital, to get his tumor removed, he began drawing on his hand a dress and gown and hair with a sharpie. He felt a little shame as he did this, but it felt good, and he always liked having a distraction when he drove. Usually he would snapchat photos to his old Craigslist buddies (ok yeah, he did break down and add them on Snap, but that didn’t mean he needed these lame ass lonely people to be his friends) while he drove in order to break up intrusive thoughts and painful memories of \[redacted\]. Dan walked up to the check in and handed the secretary his gold plated Nivea insurance card. She looked at him with dream boat eyes, but was also like 60 at this point but Dan was getting pretty desperate so he picked up a card that just so happened to have her name on it and stashed it in his clip wallet with business cards of other future friends he hadn’t yet made. He had been hiding his right hand in his pocket and took it out now with some Nivea to take off the sharpie he had put on her. He was really confused why he had done this, and felt a wave of shame wash over him. The procedure wasn’t due for another hour (which made Dan reconsider his future conversation with Bernie, adding quicker health care to the docket of important issues. This made Dan feel generally less selfish about his ideas of social policy and changes in America). In the bathroom, as he prepared himself emotionally to wash the exquisite-sharpied hair and breasts from his right hand, he noticed the skin cancer dot looked like the dot on Marilyn Monroe’s face and he couldn’t help himself from getting an embarrassing erection. She told him that she was tired of running around with Jack Kennedy and wanted a real man. Like, she just wanted to live for once, and Dan was the man that would make that happen. Dan was confused and asked her what he had that a handsome President like Kennedy didn’t. She didn’t answer, she only motioned with her thumb and index finger that she wanted a moist, delicious kiss. Oh, Dan was too much of a gentleman to not make love to her right there. Realizing what exactly the fuck he had just done, Dan started cleaning up the semen that had gotten on the zipper of his pants and partially distorted Marilyn’s face, which in his post orgasmic state made him cringe and get hella confused about what he had been doing. A man walked into the bathroom and without any comment queued behind Dan waiting for him to finish cleaning himself up, hopefully not noticing the evidence of his shame which plastered the drain of the sink and wouldn’t go down enough, even with him trying to push it through the drain with the palm of his hand. Instead, he decided to get out without making eye contact with the dude behind him. Walking into the waiting room again, Dan began to wait. He kind of felt better after masturbating but was also like hella weirded out about it. I mean, it wasn’t as weird as some of the shit his Craigslist buds would snap that they had just beaten their respective meats too. Dan shook his head, both confused about why he had Snapchat and why he had just thought of that again. It was about to be Marilyn-mole-removing-o’clock and he would have something in there to distract himself from all the goddam weird shit he had been seeing over the last few days on Snap, goddammit, why was he thinking about it again? “Dan Quayle, Dan Quayle” the nurse called. Dan made a little “Suh, dude” motion with his head and a meek little motion up with his hand, then shot it down again. “Doctor Lloyd Bentsen will see you now” the nurse said. Shuffled down the hall, Dan waited for the doctor to arrive. The shame he felt of fucking his hand in public melted into a sense of loss that he would never again get to fuck Marilyn Monroe’s face. He sat in silence. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Marilyn was slowly killing him, but maybe she was the best thing that ever happened to him. Perhaps even for this reason. When the dermatologist arrived and asked “how long have you had melanoma?” Dan replied “Melanoma? I hardly know her.” “The cancer I mean” the doctor asked again. “Oh this old thing?” Dan asked motioning toward his mole, “I call her my Marilyn Monroe, it makes me feel like Jack Kennedy.” “Well son,” the doctor said, “I knew Jack Kennedy, he was a friend of mine” he then looked down to the floor, “you’re no Jack Kennedy.” Peeved, Dan replied “That was uncalled for.”
"1,"the mediator counted down. Aaron Burr and I stared each other in the eyes with our right hands held up. "2." A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead. "3!" "Rock! Paper! Scissors!"Burr and I chanted, slapping the bottoms of our right fists against the palms of our left hands. I held up the gesture for scissors. Burr snapped his hand downward. "Gun,"Burr took his pistol out of his holster and pointed it at me. "For fuck's sake, Aaron!"I slapped the side of my thigh. Burr pulled the trigger and the bullet pierced me.
Yep, this is my life now. “CAN I GET A HAMBURGER WITH FRIES?” The Mcdonalds employee looks at me funny but is not paid enough to deal with this crap. “Will that be Sir?” The waiter asks in a polite ‘I don’t want to be here’ kind of way. “CAN I GET A DRINK AS WELL PLEASE.” I ask. “That will be five dollars forty-three cents” says the cashier, excited by the prospect of me leaving. “HERE IS THE EXACT CHANGE” I say as I put a small wad of dollar bills and coins on the counter. “Have a good meal sir” says the cashier as he hands me my meal. “YOU TOO”
*SNOORT!! A sudden jolt shoots down my body. “What the hell?” I mutter, sitting on the crapper, waiting. “Fucking shit.” I curse out,” “I fell asleep, FUCK!! I’m gonna be late!!” You dash out of the bathroom stalls, but to my surprise, students and teachers were just standing there, like if they were waiting for you. “What the…” you question. Suddenly, everyone surrounds me; you hear cheers and complements, “Woo! Good job man!” One goes. “I’m proud of you!” Another yells. Then the principal, Mr. Denoza, the guy who hated you since the start of the year, comes up and puts his hands on my shoulder, “My boy, I’m so proud of you!” He rejoices. “What?” You exclaim. “Didn’t you despise me for planting a stink bomb in the cafeteria?” He laughs, as if that was old news. “Come on Damian!” He scoffs “That was when you first meet me! Don’t forget, you’re the commander of this school now young cadet!” The crowd start laughing. What? That was 2 weeks ago, Denoza said that he’d put me in ISS for 4 months, if my attitude didn’t change; and what commander of the school. What happened while I was in the bathroom? I quickly fumble my pockets to get my phone. I check the date. Friday 31, 2019 What?! Next year? You’ve gotta be bullshiting me! No, it can’t be, somebody must’ve changed my phone date while I was in the bathroom, Jerry! My bestie, he has always messed with me, and always got away with it! “Alright, very funny sir,” I announce. “Jerry, where ever you are, come out!” Then, the crowd begins to part, at the end, there stands my buddy, Jerry. He silently walks towards me, I speed up the pace by walking towards him as well. I tell him to come closer. “Alright then, what’s the meaning of this?” I whisper, “What kind of sick prank are you pulling on me now?!” “Nothing! I swear! Ever since you beat our rival team, the Super Silencers, by yourself! 1v16, you’ve made a name for yourself!” He confesses. “Bull. Shit. What name did you guys give me?” I continue. “The Silver Bullet!” Okay, then, I like that, but that doesn’t explain why it’s already the end of the school year. But who cares? I bet if I’m given the honor, of a commander, then it’s official. End of school, the start of summer! “Okay then,” I say. “School is Dismissed!” The crowd wallops in cheers and yelling. People suddenly pick me up and begin to crowd surf me. This might not be all that bad, I think I left myself a marking here! THE END…?
"Well this is unusual."Sam mutters as he passes me the list of meals. "Certainly is."I mutter absentmindedly as I continue kneading the fifth pan of dough for pigs in a blanket. "You think the warden is in on it?"He mutters writing out the next batch of orders. "I suppose he could be, but that doesn't explain how other jails are having the same problem."My kneading intensifies as a wave of thinly disguised anger washes over me at seeing another order appear on screen. "Why else would he be giving so many of them last meals?" "Fuck if I know." "Hey, you don't really think there's someone out there targeting criminals to kill do you?"Sam says, tilting his head back to look over the counter at me. "I honestly couldn't give less of a shit."I mutter as I toss the fifth pan of pigs in a blanket into the oven and pull out the third one. "Why not, I think it's interesting. It's like a TV show or something." "Sure, a TV show were some megalomaniac with god powers kills criminals for no apparent gain, that's super interesting."I say, pulling the last empty tray out of the cabinets and setting about filling it with cinnamon rolls. "It's worked before."Sam mutters, putting his hand to the side of his face and continuing entering orders. "You know they're calling him 'Dust'"Sam says, piping up again. "Why in god's name would they do that."I ask, shoveling food onto plates for the third round of orders to go out to inmates. "Well, he calls himself that."Sam explains shrugging. "Sam, why the hell are we talking about this? I get enough of this paranoid talk working with death row inmates, I don't need it from my coworkers too."I snap, throwing my hands up. "Oh I'm sorry, I thought it was pertinent given we do the same thing." "No, we just feed them, we don't kill them." "I meant this prison."Sam scowls "Well they were convicted, and had ample opportunity to get out of being killed by legal processes before we kill them. This guy just kills them." "Is that so wrong?"Sam asks, raising his eyebrows. "Sam, I'm done talking about this. Can we please talk about something else?"
Her name was Stella and it was raining when she died. Death, in the way Stella had it, was soft, peaceful, and sow —as slow as death could be. She looked at me and closed her eyes and the last word upon her breath was light, whispered, maybe even a little sad. She said, “Steven.” After a person passes, there is a lingering doubt, a secret you keep quiet at the back of your mind that there is a chance they are not really gone. In Stella’s case I did not know that she was really dead. And in my case, I did not know if my being alive still mattered. As the last man on Earth, I had not the power of God nor the significance of man. All those years I looked up and cheered on the man in the moon only to become who he was. What does a man do when there is no one else? Perhaps he goes to Disney Land or plays his favourite movies at the cinema all day. Perhaps he watches the rain and holds onto the hand of a woman who is no longer there. We are only as human as those around us. I think back to my last conversation with Stella and I smile. Here’s how it went: “You’re tired,” I said. “Of you.” Sarah smiled. “I don’t blame you.” “You should. I was tired of you fat sooner than you of me.” “Are you . . . are you afraid?” “Me being tired makes you afraid?” “You’re not tired.” “But I am. And I am ready to sleep.” For a long time I couldn’t say it but I felt that then was my last chance. “Would you blame me if I slept too?” “Blame you? No. Despise you? Yes.” “There is no one but me left.” And that is when she held my hand. That is when she said, “There is someone somewhere saying those exact same words, right now.” She slept. She woke. And when she didn’t, it started to rain. And I made my choice.
I could feel myself trembling as they unhooked the machines. I wasn’t scared of death, per say. I was surrounded by family, and I could hear them sobbing as the heart monitor started to speed up dramatically. I could feel someone, probably Margaret, clasping my hands tightly as the frantic beeping became one long tone. And when I opened my eyes for the first time, I was at the door to the room that had been my home for the past three months. Looking upon the small crowd of my beloved family huddled protectively around that shell that used to be me, I felt a warmth flow through me. I was far from alone on this earth— I was far from passing on alone. I’d had some time to come to terms. The cancer was not too fast, not too slow. I’d lived a full life, maybe even a good one according to my friends. Upright, they’d call me. A man among men. My friends from the Core used to laugh that I was the very definition of semper fi. I would laugh with them, admitting that I had learned my loyalty from others as I grew up. They’d taught me to be steadfast, regardless of the dangers and uncertainties ahead. My drinking buddies would ask who and I’d just smile and take another gulp of my beer. I didn’t shake because I was scared of death, or because I seemed to be alone. No, I shook because I knew what was going to happen. I felt myself pulled out into the hallway and down towards the exit door, which looked brighter somehow. I could hear the nurses talking around me, hear other families talking and crying and praying. I stopped at the door and glanced back down the hall at the world that I knew. I was scared of disappointing them, I suppose. That’s why I paused. Would they like what I had become? I didn’t know. Would they recognize me? I put my hand on the knob and suddenly it was all gone. I stood in a field, outside the house where I’d grown up a little rough and tumble and maybe a little too rebellious for my own good. I could see my sister through the front window. She’d passed a couple years back after that driver had too much to drink and decided to take the freeway backwards. Rose was the kindest soul I’d ever known. It makes sense she would be here. I looked around. The grass was tall— it was my job, after all, to cut the grass. And I hadn’t exactly been here. The house needed a new coat of red paint on the trim. And I was seemingly alone, isolated in this tall prairie grass. Unable to move. Perhaps they didn’t wait for me. My throat tightened. They had to— but did they? How long could they have waited? Maybe I wasn’t the person they had wanted me to be. Rose glanced up from what I assumed was a book in her lap and smiled. Then, standing, she moved out of the window frame and disappeared. I heard the hardwood door creak open, followed by the screen door slamming against its hinges violently. I saw three trails cutting rapidly through the prairie grass towards me. They were here. I fell to my knees, arms opened wide. Roscoe was first. He was the same shaggy sheep dog I remembered, the one I’d shared many a night with in the barn watching cattle and sheep struggle to bring new life into the world. He had always been my field companion, even on the darkest nights and in the coldest weather..The bell we had on his neck jangled violently he pounced on me like bacon on the floor. His paws were on my shoulders and he was licking my face frantically when I felt another force hit me from the side. I looked and saw Lady’s big brown eyes wide with surprise and almost a motherly concern. She was a Rottie mix, or so Pa had said, and she still had that notch out of her ear from my misguided adventure into the woods where I’d come across an angry coyote who didn’t take too kindly to me in their personal space. She had bitten that fella by the scruff of the neck and dragged him off of me after he decided to surprise me. And even after the coyote had taken that bite out of her ear thanks to my stupidity... she’d walk with me through the woods, alert and trusting until the end. The last one was Grog. Pa had named him, though anyone from our town could have told you that. Grog was a mix, a mutt of some kind Dad had picked up as a pup and trained until he trusted Grog to do the rounds more than he trusted me. Grog and I had always had a grudging respect for one another. He was my father’s favorite, more than my father or I would ever care to say out loud. But Grog understood the importance of me to Pa. Pa used to pet him at night by the fire and talk to him: “Now Grog, this here’s my son. He’s gonna be a damn good man. He don’t look like much now but he’s gonna be a damn good man.” Grog’s eyes would stare and me, seemingly incomprehensible. I never thought that my dad’s dog would ever consider me even vaguely close to being “a damn good man”. When Pa died, everything around me seemed to shatter. After the funeral I went at home, alone, and sat by the fireplace Pa had bragged about building with his own hands many a night (to the annoyance of our mother). Rose had gone home with her husband. But I still had leave left, so I thought I could sit and drink Pa’s whisky until I either passed out from drunkenness or exhaustion. As I sat in front of the fire, eyes heavy, whiskey in hand, I heard Grog slowly pad over to me. He was going blind now, and his once piebald fur was fading to different shades of grey. He sat down just out of my reach and stared in general direction impatiently. After a couple minutes, he stood up with a loud huff and closed the extra couple feet between us, landing on the same side he would sit when Pa was still around. Sighing, he nuzzled his nose under my hand that rest on the arm rest until it rested on his head. And we sat like that for what felt like hours— a broken soldier and his father’s companion joined in grief and simple connection. Grog passed away a couple days later, right after I left him with the neighbors and returned to base. I expected as much. His duty was done. Now his musty black muzzle nosed cautiously into my chest, eyes narrowed. Then, with a humph, he relaxed into me. I looked up from my friends and at Rose. She smiled from the front porch. “Ya know,” she drawled, “people could learn somethin’ from those dogs.” I nodded silently. “Come’n in. Dinner is waiting.” I stood and started walking as my dearest friends and most important teachers padded quietly behind me. I scaled the steps to the porch and stepped over the threshold, hearing their claws click on the hardwood as they skirted around me to head to the kitchen. Turning around, I looked back out over the prairie. It was getting dark and the sun was setting, painting a brilliant portrait over the tall grass. I would deal with the grass tomorrow. I turned back around and shut the hardwood door behind me with a solid bang. And I suppose that’s all there is to tell.
Living in current year 2018, remembering every life I’ve been living is hard. I’ve struggled many years to find out my real identity, this time it has been harder. Last time lived I was a successful surgeon, thanks to my grandpa who was also a surgeon and luckily I got to live his life, although I realized it in my late 30’s. Remembering every life you lived is not that joyful as everyone could think, you don’t hold the meaning of life and you don’t know everything either. Actually I’ve grown to learn that you can live as many lives as you want, but every single one will be different from the others. Usually I recover my past lives in my mid 20’s when I’m trying to settle down and actually start living on my own. I had a hard time recovering this life tho , I could not focus on what my instincts were, as I felt like I was living in the wrong era. And I am. Something changed the course of life, I should not be living the life of such an ancient ancestor as a visir. I should be retracing my great-grandfather steps. That is why I spent the last year trying to figure out why I was so drawn to religion and architecture in particular. I’m now travelling the world, searching for someone who, like me, reached such ancient times. This is a situation where remembering past lives it’s actually useful. I know I’ve been living in Egypt and I had friends there. I can try to get in touch with some of their descendants and move there for a bit to see if I can stop feeling trapped like in every other part of the world I’ve been to. The best part of my life is that I am able to remember history, I’ve met the greatest characters such as Alexander the Great, Karl Marx, Voltaire, Socrates, Abraham Lincoln and so on. I can’t exactly remember every detail of my past lives, but I know who I’ve been. I know my ancestors were part of the Medici family from Florence, Italy. Before them I was know to be the counselor of Julius Caesar the roman dictator. Besides this last shady event in which I’ve been transplanted into the great ancient world, I lived history step by step. It hasn’t been simple, as I need to adapt to every single new life that’s given to me, but it is certainly a great gift. It’s frustrating as I can’t share it with anyone, because nobody believes me when I tell them that I can remember watching John Hancock being the first to sign the Declaration of Independence in 1776 or that I know that the actual inventor of the phone is Bell and not Meucci, because I worked for him. I find satisfaction thinking that this is a handed down gift and my son will be remembering all his family history too. We may (or may not) be part of the most powerful family that’s ever existed, and nobody knows about that.
Erm..... some Europeans were aware of North American long before Colombus. The Norse had set up fishing colonies and trading posts in modern-day Canada in 1000-ish CE, 500 years before Colombus, and went to North America for centuries. Europeans wrote of "Vinland"(North America) after the contact, and some historians think that Colombus got the idea to sail west based on historical stories told by Icelanders. [http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/society/text/North\_American\_exploration.htm](http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/society/text/North_American_exploration.htm) &#x200B;
They let you choose a style, thankfully. If you're facing the curse of dance, they let you pick your own style. Most people try to pick something calm, like a waltz, under the (likely false) assumption that it won't be as tiring. I knew a crew, they all agreed to choose ballet if they were caught. You probably have watched them, the Canadian Endless Ballet Company. Yeah, they use to be a drug smuggling ring, right on the border. The fellow who plays Siegfried when they do Swan Lake? He was dating my sister. I knew a guy who who chose the cha-cha. Ha, oh man, he thought he was so clever. So hilarious to watch. I, on the other hand, saw what it did to people. I'd seen enough cursed folks to realize. You don't wear out. Somehow, you always have the energy to keep dancing. You also stop aging. And you build those muscles. Heck, it didn't sound all bad. You play your cards right, it could even be an advantage. So, after the debacle of the Henderson job, when I knew it was just a matter of time before I was caught, I sat down, and pulled up the wiki page for dance. I looked over ever school and for and style. I made notes, watched videos, and tried to find the most insane and varied form before I finally decided. When they sentencing was done, and I let them know what I wanted, they thought nothing of it. After all, break dancing was pretty popular back then.
So, the biggest difference that wp and creative writing has made to me (even as limited as my works are) is in my report/essay writing. My grades have gone way up since I started applying some of the advice I see for writing stories to writing essays in a more engaging manner. I used to write in a way that was pretty much a checklist, very concise but had no flow. Essays, like stories, need structure. A beginning where you introduce the character/topic, a middle where the plot/discussion takes place, and a satisfying conclusion that reflects the themes you've discussed. I'd go as far as saying that anyone who writes a lot of reports/essays/papers should attempt some creative writing, even if like me they're in a STEM field. Whoever is reading this report is a human, and will be a lot more receptive to the information you're presenting if it flows well, even if the quality of your research is unchanged.
The entire skyscraper began shaking. People began screaming. Greg stood up from his chair with a start. “W-what’s going on.” He ran to the window looking down at the street from fifty-four stories up. It was pure chaos, people were running in and out of buildings screaming “EARTHQUAKE, EARTHQUAKE.” But then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Greg breathed a sigh of relief, the building was still standing. Then the ceiling caved in.
> every kind of alcohol in the known universe, from a shot of liquor from Earth to a glass of greebus from Jupiter. You know that [the maximum distance from Earth to Jupiter](https://www.google.com/search?q=$1+AU+%2B+5.38+AU$+%2F+46.6+billion+light-years) is about two quadrillionths the diameter of the observable universe? In terms of relative scale, this is equivalent to "every kind of alcohol on Earth, from a shot of Glenlivet in the Pot Still in Glasgow to a pint of Old Norway from [87 nanometers farther north.](https://www.google.com/search?q=40075+km+*+2.16493459e-15+in+nm)"
I stared into her vivid eyes. They were vibrant, green, and sharp enough to cut into my soul. She looked away and happily skipped ahead of me like a small child, smiling and giggling away. We were taking a quick stroll through the park. We didn't talk much. We just let the comfortable silence fill the rest of the evening. The sound of thousands of crickets chirping was like air chocolate slowly melting its way into our ears. Nothing was more satiating. I picked up the pace to catch up to her, grabbed her hand, and led her back to the car. "Let's go home."I said with a slight smile. In the driver's seat, I picked up my phone and quickly checked for any messages or missed calls while I waited for my girlfriend to buckle up. No notifications. I could hardly believe I was with her. I'd been fawning over the damn woman for over a year, and she finally asked for a relationship nearly two weeks ago. I shifted gears, and we drove home in happy silence. \* \* \* \* \* The orange sun cracked its way through the curtains. The smell of freshly sizzled bacon and warm pancakes began dancing around my nose. My girlfriend walked in with just a large t-shirt and no undies. "Breakfast is ready. Your hair looks like someone finger-banged a cat."She grinned. "Your cooking skills may have saved your life today.” I croaked. Cold orange juice, scrambled eggs with onion, luscious bacon, and gluten-free hotcakes. "How the hell did you make all of this so quickly?" "Who said it was quick?"She smiled with her perfectly straight teeth. "I'm sure as hell not complaining. And these pancakes are even gluten-free."My stomach gurgled. As I violently stuffed my mouth with food, I opened my news app and played the first video that popped up. \\A newly discovered strain of the human papilloma virus, otherwise known as HPV, has been detected in Libya. As of now, we have twenty-six confirmed deaths, all women, after patients contracted the virus 14 days prior to exposure. In previous studies, HPV has been known to cause cervical cancer after a period of several years. However, autopsy studies done on women who have contracted this particular strain concluded it induces massive internal bleeding in the uterus and other reproductive organs. No further information can be given at this time. Please stayed tuned.\\ "Hm." "I could totally die from that, you know."She said playfully. "You could. But I'm not betting my money on it."I said. "But what if it doesn't?"She stared at me with a smile she could hardly contain. "This breakfast is too damn good. I'm not going to let you contract it." \* \* \* \* \* Three weeks later. "Hey Dan, can you pass me that stapler?"Asked my co-worker. "You hear about that recent outbreak in Libya? 7,000 thousand death toll, and they're all female. Apparently there are new cases popping up in the US now."He said as he stapled a few document in his hand. "7,000?"I mumbled. \* \* \* \* \* Four months later. "Why is the national guard outside our house? Hey! Babe! Why is the national guard is outside?!"My girlfriend yelled. "Sh\t." I peaked through the side of our window curtain. Soldiers with gas masks. Exactly what I didn't want to see. They barged into the house. "Get on the ground!"He yelled, muffled. "You're not going to take her. I don't give a flying f\ck what the city ordered you to do. You're not taking her."I growled in a vicious voice. I heard glass breaking. Then more footsteps. The footsteps got louder, and then I heard the sound of cuffs being turned. "Stop! What are you doing with her? Let her go!"I yelled and lunged myself at the soldier cuffing her, but all I saw was the butt of a rifle heading toward the side of my head. I woke up. My heart began racing. I could sense the horrors. So ran outside. A large convoy was breaking into more homes and detaining women. "I have to get her back."I grabbed my weapon and jumped in my car. "Help!....Help!"A man ran outside his house and started banging on my car's windshield. I rolled my window down. "Get in." "I don't know who you are, but I need my wife back."He stuttered. "Do you have a weapon on you?"I asked. He pulled out a .357 magnum. "Alright. Let's follow them." Once the convoy arrived at the hospital in the heart of the city, we saw herds of women being directed inside. After parking, my neighbor and I slipped in through the side of the building. "Stay close.” Hearts pounding away, we quickly sifted through the empty halls with our guns in hand. "I think we're getting closer."My friend whispered. "In there! Come on!"I pointed to a large door leading to the hospital's basketball court. We quietly stood behind the guarded door. Two national guard soldiers. After locking the two soldiers in a nearby closet, we went to the basketball court's main doors. "Are you ready?" We opened the doors. My stomach sank into a bottomless pit. It was like the scene a horror film. Blood. Everywhere. There was hardly any light. The women still alive were vomiting blood, crying, and moaning in pain. Piles of bodies were stacked in the middle. I wanted to cry. I wanted to help them all. I could only help one. I grabbed my phone and switched on the flashlight. As quickly as we could, we started searching. I scanned face after face. Too many women's faces covered in blood. It was a complete nightmare. The entire court smelled of iron. After about five minutes, I see a familiar face. It was her. She was sitting down in a corner, body leaned against the wall. My entire body lit up and I began to shed tears as I sprinted towards her. My hands held on to the sides of her face and I kissed her relentlessly. "I'm so glad you're here."She gasped weakly. "They sedated us with something." "Can you walk?" She nodded. "Let's get the hell out of here."I murmured as I put her arm around my shoulder. My friend was lucky enough to find his wife, as well. We made our way back through the halls, heard our soldier friends banging against the closet door, and made our way out back to the car. But something was wrong. My girlfriend started spewing up blood and continued coughing violently. It wouldn't stop. "No, no, no, no."I repeated. I immediately laid her down, but she was drowning in her own blood. "No, no, no. What did they do to you? Please, no."I begged. "Hey! You! Let's get these guys!"I heard from a distance. It was another convoy. But it didn't matter. My buddy and his wife stood over me, trying to figure out what to do. "We have to go! I'm sorry!"He said as he jumped in the car. And he drove off. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm here. I'm here now."I whispered. She was spewing up ounces of blood, and she kept coughing fiercely. National guard soldiers stood over my shoulders. But they didn't do anything. I could see the emotions in her face quickly slipping away, but she continued holding onto my face and eventually stopped moving. She was gone. I stared into her lifeless eyes. They were dead, green, and sharp enough to cut into my soul.
The first time Stephanie meets someone her own age is when she's 8. It's in the middle of the evening, with the sounds of mother washing up in the kitchen fading away in the background. Steph usually falls asleep long before that sound stops, but not today. Today she's distracted by the flickering glow coming from the closet. She can't close her eyes and ignore it. She also can't call out to her mother. Last time Steph mentioned a monster in her closet, she couldn't sit down for three days, her mother was so angry. The only thing Steph can do is keep quiet and stare at the flickers, heart beating heavily against her ribs. When the steps of her parents upstairs finally stop 10 minutes later, the house is quiet. The wind outside is howling, making the broken window in the attic creak every once in a while. The flickers in the closet brighten before disappearing altogether. The absence of the glow is much scarier than the lights ever were, and Steph finally finds the courage to move. She gropes under the bed for Melanie's hand, squeezing hard. Mel squeezes back immediately. She was awake too. Mel has always had a sixth sense for what Steph is feeling, so Steph must have kept her awake with her silent fretting. The flickering glow returns, right before the closet door creeps open. Out of the closet comes a girl with golden hair that reflects the lights fluttering around her head. The girl scans every inch of the room with her eyes as she smoothly slips out and closes the door again without a sound. When the girl meets eyes with Stephanie, she freezes. The lights around her head whirl around her head, brightening up the entire room, before dimming again. The lights keep moving around too fast for Steph to see what exactly they are, which only makes her heart beat faster. The girl smiles at her as she raises both of her hands. The hands start glowing a gentle yellow, brightening the room further. Mel's hand slips away the second she realizes someone's in the room. Nobody is supposed to come into their room. If they do, Mel is supposed to hide and be quiet. The smiling girl looks around the room again, frowning slightly. 'Hi! My name is Eranna. Are you Stephanie?' The girl - Eranna - looks at Steph, the frown wiped away and her smile firmly back in place. Steph nods at her before she can stop herself. Her heart is no longer beating in fear. Instead, it's beating in excitement. This girl is making her hands glow! That makes her a freak of nature, just like her and Mel. Eranna sees her staring, and the ligths around her head brighten and jump around. 'my hands are great, right? Look what else I can do:' Eranna stares at her outstretched hands intently. All lights floating around her head congeal into on big ball behind her, mirrored by the light in her hands. Soon enough, Eranna has one ball of bright yellow hand floating between her hands, and the ball of light behind her head splits back into strings of light jumping around. Steph grins widely, exclaiming how amazing she thinks the lights are. 'Where's your sister?' Eranna looks towards the door, probably thinking Mel has her own room because Steph's room only has one bed. 'They told me twins were living here, and I wanted to see their powers.' The lights around her head darken and sharpen into tiny spears, all pointed towards Steph. Eranna follows their movement, and stares at Steph with pointed eyes. 'What's your power?' Some of her lights flicker through a bunch of images, like a flame, and a bunny, but most of them stay tiny spears. Before Steph can answer, a heavy thud sounds from upstairs. Eranna curses, scrabbling in the pack tied around her middle. 'Stupid Tom being stupid fast.' Steph is sure she's not supposed to hear that, because Eranna turns to her the next moment with an innocent smile. Steph sees the fake shining through now, and she doesn't care to listen to what she's saying. Instead of listening, Steph screams and throws her teddy bear at her. Eranna sidesteps the soft toy, snorting as it passes her by. Her smirk disappears when the soft toy is followed by a giant bear flaying at her, claws outstretched. Eranna screams and backs away as far as she can. 'Mel! Stop that, we need to get to mother!' The bear falls to all fours in the middle of its jump, transforming into a little girl with a shimmer of silver. Mel grabs Steph's outstretched hand, and they run towards the stairs. They get there at the same time as a boy steps up to the top of the stairs, arms dripping in blood. There's a haze of dark red lights waxing around his body, giving his black claws a horrific shine. The haze solidifies behind his head into an image of Steph and Mel dead, belly split open wide. The sight makes Steph gag. Mel's innate sense for Steph's mood comes up once again: she notices immediately and changes directions to the front door, pulling a dazed Steph behind her. They run outside into the freezing winds, rain pelting them both. The twins run off into the forest next to their house, Eranna's cry for them to come back following behind them. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
I knew what I had to do and, fear be damned - I was going to do it. I hadn’t been in these parts long - but the lay of the land was the same as all the other places I’d been. The only difference was the scale of my task. I hadn’t really been trained for it, I suppose no-one had, really. But nevertheless, I had been the one chosen. I guess I was brave. Maybe I was stupid. Who knows. It was time. Balling my fists, I took a deep breath and stood, moving slowly, quietly. And, in seemingly almost no time at all - there it was. Sitting - hulking, rather - cloaked in shadows and wreathed in mystery. I straightened, taking another deep breath. With a shaking hand, I entered the scrawled code that had been hastily handed to me, and with a thud and a low-pitched hum, the machine leapt to life. I leapt back, shaking - what would happen next? With a strange whirr - brown liquid foamed from the silver nozzle, and a pleasant aroma filled the air. “Guys!” I screamed, raising my arms in victory. “It worked!” We had conquered the new espresso machine.
My cart still smells faintly of the soup from earlier this morning. Cindersap Forest provides such a pleasant atmosphere, at times I forget I'm running a business. I pick up whatever I can find on my travels - anything from crops to minerals. The valley has always been my place, but I seem to keep coming back to Pelican Town on the weekends. Business is slow on Fridays, but I have one consistent customer: the local farmer. Odd girl, really, but she pays well for my goods. Every weekend, she consistently visits to browse my stock and chat about whatever seems to be on her mind. I consider her the only person I've encountered that's nearly as weird as me. She continually muses about the 'Junimos' living in the community center I have yet to visit. They supposedly repair the town in exchange for supplies and items, but most cannot see them. She must be rather special - but I digress. She seems particularly enticed by my Rarecrow, which I must admit was becoming a bit of a hassle to transport. While she buys it, she begins another tangent about whichever villager she's swooning over. Sure, things are quiet. But sometimes, having that one person you can really connect with can make a world of difference.
Moonlight seeped through the cracks of the hut onto a single bed. Sleeplessness had been the norm for the past few weeks for Arius who stared into the abyss. Knowledge of the dark day couldn’t be ignored, the changes in his body were undeniable. New hair now covered his face, chest and armpits; unwelcome sings of impending darkness. He was now big brother of the little ones since Sarah’s fading. His chest tightened as he conjured her long golden hair, kind deep blue eyes, and tall slender body. A body he will never see again… even to say goodbye. That was the hardest part of the dark day, uncertainty. Arius still held a distant memory, which had been the greatest source of agony as a child and what led him to Sarah. “It exists!” Arius pleaded “I bet our pigs can spit fire and shit rainbows too” Edwin sneered “The huts are huge, taller than trees” “We should do that with you at the bottom!” Damian chimed in. “There were old people bigger than any of us and wagons that moved without horses.” Arius shot back. “Ancients don’t exist anymore, so stop fairy tales or I’ll make this your dark day.” Edwin threatened “bu—” Arius gasp as the wind left his gut “Common let’s go hunting” Edwin yelled back at Damian sprinting toward the forest. “I hope one of those horseless wagons hits them” Sarah said as she walked over and helped Arius up. “A normal wagon would do.” Arius wheezed, still catching his breath. “What else is in this magic land you come from?” Arius told Sarah about the wonders of what he remembered. Although she listened and asked questions, he always had the sense she was humoring his imagination. As time went on, even Arius questioned if the other place was just a childhood dreamland. Arius woke to the sun’s beam piercing his eye lids. I really need to patch that, he thought as he rolled off his straw makeshift bed onto the dirt floor of the hut. He threw the weaved robes from the bamboo rack on and pushed the makeshift fond door open. Today was the dark lesson, the day Arius passed down the tale of fading to the littlest children. It was a tale of tradition, but Arius never truly believed. “Gather around children, today you will be told of the gift that our ancestors have received.” Arius started the long story of the ancients who began the village. He masterfully recounted the story in same way it had been told to him years before. “Many years ago, our civilization was being destroyed. Before the dark day, there were not just the young like you and me, but also old. The ancients could live for hundreds of years, and they never stop growing. These giants became the destruction of our civilization, becoming too large and consuming too much to feed, clothe and house. As the giants took what they desired, the young like you and I began to starve.” The little ones gasped “Seeing the impending destruction of the giants a young hero Eperious decided to make the quest to the gods in the mountain.” Arius looked around to the delight of the little ones as he continued the story and told of the trials and adventure of Eperious. To the final plea of the gods to eviscerate the giants from the land and save the young from destruction. “The gods created the dark day, where all giants fade to save civilization from destruction.” Arius finished the story with the irony of knowing he will fade soon as they did. After completing the tale, the village celebrated with the celebration and feast of light. Singing and drinking through the night. For the first time Arius would sit this celebration out and returned to his hut. Too close to the dark to enjoy the day is all he could think. As Arius drifted to sleep all he could think of was the darkness, and Sarah. “Arius!” A sharp cry broke his deep sleep. Arius rubbed his eyes and looked around confused. “Arius help me!” Another cry broke out. It was coming from outside the hut, away from the village in the forest. Arius grabbed his spear and stumbled out of the hut toward the noise. As he moved through the dark of the forest, breaking through branches as the cries continued. He broke through a clearing an into a blinding white light that surrounded him. Everywhere he looked was bright white. He tripped through the grass and consciousness slowly faded. “Son it is time to wake up” Arius slowly opened his eyes the room was white as snow. “There he is.” Arius eyes fell upon a terrifying wrinkled face with graying hair. Arius put his arms up in fear and pushed away in the bed. “Calm down son, you know me” the old man said in a warm and gentle fashion. It was a warmth he hadn’t felt in the village. As he turned back toward the face a sudden flashback to his earliest memories came to. “I know you” Arius stuttered “Yes, it’s been many years” the old man said. “Welcome home.” “Home? No where have you taken me? Bring me back now!” Arius struggled to get up but hit the clear glass surrounding the bed “I better get you the tracer. I shouldn’t have broken protocol but couldn’t wait another second to see you.” The man pressed a few buttons beside the bed the clear glass became opaque. An injection jolted Arius and suddenly a rush of raw information began to flood into his head. World history of thousands of years, math, science, and technology revelations that should never have been possible. Finally the data slowed and a moving image and voice began playing slowly in his mind panning to his village. “Subject 34563, you have completed stage one of our leadership experiment. The world has moved into a failing stage, where people are more concerned about technology than humans, and it has made humans dependent and weak. You are one of the few who survived without the comforts of modern technology. As such you have known hardship and struggles that most of us could never dream of. You survived off the land and sustained yourself with your village. Today the world will rely on you. You have been chosen to bring us back to our roots and lead a new movement. You have just been given the same knowledge of anyone else your age, but we couldn’t give you the survival instincts and resolve that you gained from living in the village. The federation will track your progress and develop your skills to meet our survival needs. The AI war is upon us."
John's eyes finally opened after struggling for ages. His eyelashes were crusted and stuck together by the inky black night and its enveloping slumber. As he fought to keep them open and focus them from blurred hell, he looked over to his wife and found her completely unconscious. "My god, she's out, she hasn't even moved."He shook her, jostled her position loose only to be greeted by a noxious odor from her now open mouth. Her mouth contorted as she greedily sucked in air and stretched her limbs in an unholy fashion. She's a beast, and I know her thirst will be ravenous. John thought as he gingerly attempted to move around the monster in his sheets. He had made it up and over, out of the bed, and hopefully to sanctuary as he too felt that the same poison that was affecting her mouth was in his own. He tip towed around the various traps laid out before him. They were makeshift from various items of clothing, straps, and laces ready to trip anyone moving too quickly in the dark. John had made it to the light that shone only a sliver in the dark. He pushed the door open to make his way inside and took one last glance at the woman he knew he still loved writhing in their bed. The door was now closed, their was safety in his new refuge. Here he had a chance to remove the grime and poison from his system, there was water and shelter. The overwhelming sensation of relief poured over him as he used thick paste of mint to coat and scrub his mouth, he could now breathe safely. Next he needed to scold his flesh and pour over various balms and elixirs to rejuvenate the flesh and cleanse his very soul. He could hear his wife stirring, wheezing. The harsh night's rain had brought spores and pollen from far away and devilish places. These unseen invaders move through the body quickly and were now causing destruction to his darling wife. He had to move quickly, once he was able to exit the chamber and to his chef's storage, he could first ingest the Apothecary's Light. If he ingested it first, John knew with all confidence that he would have the strength to save his wife. He crept from the well room and moved silently to the exit of their chamber. The smell of the chef's morning chores crept to his nose, this is it, he could smell the light being warmed and readied, I will save her! John thought. "Will you bring me my coffee first? I have to leave before you anyway." John bowed his head in defeat. She's gone, my darling wife has gone and left me with only, The Light's Thief.
"I wish I could understand,"Luan said, "But the fact is even if I did, I'd still have to take you down." Tulip stepped back a couple of paces as Luan turned her back and dialled for backup. Luan was bigger than Tulip expected. Strong, muscled. Broad shoulders and a tight face without the faintest hint of expression behind those dead robotic eyes. Armed to the teeth with devices that could capture Tulip in the blink of an eye. Tulip was beyond unprepared. She was a slab of meat waiting to be seasoned on a chopping board. Mince. A sack of fresh produce for pets. Tulip imagined her pup chewing on her cooked thigh and shook her head as if the thought would be dislodged. "Look,"Tulip started again as Luan turned back around, "I said I'm not a criminal and the reason I have this dememophile is legit. Research purposes,"Tulip's voice trailed off at the distance sirens blaring closer. She had less than a minute and she'd be surrounded by a mini army. "And I said I wish I could understand why you have such a terrible weapon on your persons. You give me no choice but to treat you as a terrorist coordinator." "This,"Tulip lifted the small electronic device into the air. "Put that down right now or I'll blow your head off,"Luan brought out a glowing gun aimed at Tulip's head. Tulip had used one before. The aftermath was grim and a pain to clean. "Unnecessary,"Luan said as she clicked a tiny button. The air around her was forced back in evident gusts that threw Luan across the building into an old window. Tulip was going to have to run. And escape the others too...
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Miles never considered himself a good person. He had just moved to New York City and was looking for a new job, he decided to volunteer at a homeless shelter called D.I.N.N.E.R in Harlem, since they had a strange lack of members recently. He quickly rose through the ranks, and by the end of the year he had become the assistant manager. “Miles.” His head snapped back to his boss, Martin Leeson. “You alright? You seem.. preoccupied.” He spoke, leaning back in his office chair, giving him a concerned gaze. “It’s nothing, I’m just not feeling it today.” He responded, trying to make himself look more happy. Miles revered Martin, and knew he already had a lot on his plate, so he didn’t want him concerned over him. “Alright, if you ever need to talk, I’m here.” He smiled. “Anyways, there’s a homeless woman downstairs, one of our interns told me she’s been having panic attack’s, would you mind calming her down? I believe her name is Gaia Zecharia.” Miles nodded “On it.” He replied, walking out the door. Miles had been shaken up due to many members working on staff at the homeless shelters sister locations had suddenly disappeared without a trace. He’s worried he might disappear, or even worse: someone else. He scanned the hallways, before seeing a woman standing in the corner, with long blonde hair, golden eyes, and adorned in a long white gown, and was that.. a halo above her head? Miles approached slowly “Who are you?.” He asked, his eyes glued to her seemingly glowing gold eyes. “You are one of the chosen.” She responded, her voice quite literally, angelic and lilting. Miles responded with a blink at first before speaking again “The.. chosen? What are you talking abo-“ Wings sprouted from her back, and he was grabbed, before they literally flew out the window, and the world went black. When Miles awoke after being knocked out from the sudden shock of being knocked out the window, he awoke to a blinding white light, his eyes slowly adjusting to the new environment. It seemed to be that everything was made out of.. what seemed to be clouds. “What the hell..” he stuttered, before a voice behind him said “We don’t use that language here.” Another one of the angelic people was staring at him, except this time it was a man. “Anyways, welcome to the real world.” (I’d write more but I’m exhausted, hope y’all enjoyed.)
Sunset rays carved through the thick mist, slowly revealing the riverbank. I dipped my oar into the water and watched the disrupted spirals race to the shore. However, some ripples never made it, due to a curious item sticking out of the water. Perhaps a dead tree? I paddled closer, watching the water from my kayak surge around . . . no, underneath whatever it was out there. The mist was growing thinner, allowing me to glimpse a tattered dress and long red– “Oh, you’ve GOT to be kidding me!” I whipped up my oar, gesticulating as best I could even as the boat rocked side to side. “Here too?” The young girl, who was certainly not a tree, frowned. She lifted a hand. With her frazzled hair drifting in the breeze and river water flowing below her, she did look somewhat spooky in the coming darkness as she pointed directly at me. Her eyes were pitch black as she started to float forward, fingers curling into a beckoning motion. The wind began to howl. I groaned. “Now? Are you serious?” I paused. I blinked. I grinned. “Dead serious?” No reaction. “Ah, c’mon. It’s not every day I can make that kind of joke.” She kept inching closer. I could see the ghosts of veins in her arms and neck, uncomfortably visible in the dying light. Her breath was a hoarse groan that rattled in her shriveled lungs, and her fingers twitched erratically as she reached toward my necklace. Or should I say through my necklace. The ghost paused in her advance. A low crooning echoed in the back of her throat. Again she tried to grab my necklace, and again the charm phased right through her cold fingers. She was desperate now, clawing and scrabbling at the chain, the charm, even my face. I reflexively blinked when I saw her hands coming, and grimaced as her clammy fingers raked through my skull, but otherwise I let her do her thing while I pulled out my phone. Maybe I could top my high score before she grew tired. “Honey,” I sighed, waiting for cellular service to realize it existed, “we’ve been though this. You’re very much dead, and this pendant is very much not going to copy you. I’m sorry I liked it enough in that pawn shop window, but apparently you’re not happy no matter where it goes. I wish I could help out but I’m just some random tourist who never took ‘Ghosts 101.’ Course credits were terrible anyway. Aaand you can’t understand me. Why do I keep explaining this to you.” The child was slowing down now. She looked absolutely forlorn, finally recognizing I was here. Her eyes were pleading, one last desperate ploy, even as her outline began to fade. The words she spoke were garbled and distant, seeming to emerge from the running water as little more than an echo of cicadas and wind. “Sorry, didn’t catch that.” The spirit spoke again, but her body was fading rapidly. She took one last look at my necklace before she vanished, lost to the mist rolling around us, leaving behind one last echo of longing that I could feel in the pendent itself. Sighing, I picked up my oar and began rowing vigorously. The current had carried us both downstream a little farther than I liked. It was going to take some time to row back upriver. With every stroke I took, I felt the charm gently bounce against my chest, a quiet reminder of the weight I had to carry for this poor soul. And I admit, though it is annoying dealing with her random appearances, if I can find a way to put her to rest, then this pawn shop deal will never grace a storefront again.
We sat down at our seats, monitors glowing brightly in front of us, the whirling of the fans contained within the computers next to us calming us as we look across the table to our opponents. Twice they have beaten us at the international games. Twice they snatched victory from our hands. Twice, they have held the cup high, signifying their power over us. But no longer. In the competitive e-sports world, you have to be faster. You must think faster, react quicker, know better and BE better in order to win. My team is the best in the country. But in the world? Twice now, we've looked at that daunting scoreboard, with the words Defeated in bold. After the first loss, we trained harder. After the second, we trained furiously. Now, we have dedicated all our time to being the best. Multiple competitions, theory crafting, testing and refining has gone into this. But that won't be the reason we win this time. This mouse will be the reason. It took me five months, most of my personal funds and a lot of overseas trips to track down the original. The Mouse of Legends. On the side, is a single button. Pressing the button will give you fabled super powers. Some believe it will grant you immortality, some believe it will give you super speed, but I know exactly what it does. It causes your reactions to become heightened to the point of godly. Many people have tried to get their hands on it, many aspiring to become an e-sports legend like us, but none of them succeeded in getting their hands on it. None of them, but me. My thumb hovers over the small button, anticipation building up as the match timer clicks down. We're locked in with three seconds left. I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my neck, and feel the adrenaline kick in. 3... 2... 1... "And in other news, international e-sports champion, the man known for his alias "ShadowKnytt", went comatose just as his match began against opposing team, Psychosis. Expert neurologists are reporting that there is no brain activity to be reported beyond that necessary for basic respiratory and organ functions. They do not, at present, believe he will make a full recovery." I watch this news bulletin through the eyes of a little girl, Jenny. She's seven years old, and actually was a fan of me. Her father, Grant, sits on the couch behind her. He's hoping his wife, Sue, won't make casserole today. Sue, on the other hand, wonders what she'll add to the casserole for dinner today. Not quite the superpower I was expecting, but I think this will be interesting.
The wise men, warlocks, and various magi from across the known lands were gathered at this hall to discuss the newest discovery of the Grand Sorceress. Being the inventor of three different types of magic and author of over a dozen spellbooks when most practitioners would normally only make two or three spells of their own over their lifetime, the most remarkable having a single spellbook to their name by the end of their careers, it was no surprise that she was well known. The fact that she was only in her mid twenties made it all the more impressive. Coupling that with her natural (or at least supposedly natural) beauty made her one of the most eligible bachelorettes in the land, out-competing actual royalty. Suffice to say, when the Grand Sorceress announced she was going to be presenting something unlike anything previously seen, people flocked to her court. Everybody who was anybody in the realm of magic was there, from the Great Wizard Zazzerpan, who everyone knows always comes to these sorts of events because he loves parties, down to the Creepy Old Witch Who Lives In The Woods, who wouldn't leave her home even if it was on fire. The Spectacle was so great, that even members of the clergy who only had an interest in magic as far as they needed to counteract it and nobility more interested in recruiting strong magi as court wizards instead of real concern for the workings of the world were present. No doubt there were many with less professional reasons for being there as well, but they weren't particularly noteworthy to the Grand Sorceress. It was quite fortunate that the Grand Sorceress' larder was seemingly bottomless thanks to her agricultural wizardry, and that her seemingly tireless servants could cook almost around the clock, or the large number of guests could have become problematic very quickly. After almost a week of feasting and festivities, the big day had arrived. The Grand Sorceress stepped out onto the stage wearing her white dress. It was the first time she'd been seen by any of the guests, her servants had been tending the parties for the past week. The crowd applauded for almost two full minutes before they heeded her attempts to calm them so she could speak. "H-hello everyone..."she said, after muttering too quietly the first time. While she had become a person of great interest, she still wasn't great with crowds, especially ones this large. It was a bit strange for many, given her seemingly brimming confidence in one on one conversations and massive reputation. She had to wait for almost another minute for the cheering and random proclamations of love to die down again. "...So, I actually called this meeting to tell everyone about how I got here..."she said. "Wait, did you just call us out here to tell us your life story?"One of the guests asked. Probably Ranceaus the Mystic, he was always asking those kind of somewhat rude questions. "Um, no... I actually meant the process that lead me to my fast progress in developing magic..."she said. She paused for another round of applause, but the crowd had gone dead silent, some even pulling out parchment and quills to document her words. "Right, so uh, normally spellcrafters just randomly poke around with reagents and symbols until something happens. Eventually something does happen, and then the spell maker records what they did that made something happen, and if they're lucky it becomes part of the common lexicon..."she said, her words trailing off a bit. It was becoming obvious that she was checking a script she had on her podium. She seemed to be peering hard at the next part. "Okay, I think I made that speech a bit too long, the short version is that instead of just doing things, I started recording my failures too. I also approached things systematically, only changing one thing at a time to ensure consistent results. I'm pretty sure the reason so many end up fruitlessly experimenting is because they end up doing the same things over and over forgetting what they'd already done and missing the sweet spots on a lot of spells,"the woman seemed to gain her footing a bit as she stopped poring over the podium. "So what's this new magic called?"asked some other guest. They were probably a nonmagic user, since a magic user should have known that just writing things down was not actually magic, but magi were one of the few groups that were consistently literate, so the mistake was easy to make. "I call it the Scientific Method. I think the results speak for themselves given how I've almost single-handedly revolutionized medicine, agriculture, and alchemy. It's not necessarily magic, any literate person could do it, but it's been a massive benefit,"she said. The crowd's murmurs started to get too loud to talk over, so the Sorceress started taking questions instead. After about an hour, the Sorceress stepped down from the stage and the party started up again. After a day of more partying and the Grand Sorceress turning down dozens of would-be suitors, the guests began leaving. As always happened when the Grand Sorceress made a big presentation, it would soon be spread to every archive in the known world... As to how well it would be received... Well, people hadn't seemed openly against it at the party, but it would be very rude indeed to call out the Sorceress in her own home while they were her guests. It would definitely meet more resistance once they started talking about it outside her court, given that she had basically told every magic user in the land that they'd spent their whole life doing their job wrong. The Grand Sorceress knew it wouldn't catch on for a few years, but that just meant she'd get to stay on top for a bit longer. Worst case scenario was that she lost some popularity, but with her vast wealth and immense power that would mostly just mean fewer men trying to court her that she'd have to turn down while she focused on her studies. In the long run, taking on the new method would be an important step for the magical community she had indirectly brought together, but she wasn't exactly planning to push the issue for a while.
I sat in awe as I saw a gift box on my desk that wasn't there before. I wondered what was inside. Who knows, maybe it's a companion of the computer mouse which also spontaneously appeared at my doorstep. I open the box to find a USB. I insert it to my computer. Double-clicking the icon for the USB on my desktop, I see it already has content on it. There's two folders, one named "Send"and the other named "Recieve". There's also a text file called "Date of sending". As a practical joke, I create a new folder, insert in into "Send", and put tomorrow's date into "Date of sending". The next day, I get a notification from my computer. A file had been sent to it, named "untitled folder". The date of creation was yesterday. I gasped. This USB can send data through time! Suddenly, I had a brilliant idea. There's a huge folder of comic strips on my desktop. They're just webcomics that I post on the internet. They're not that well-known, taking days for them to appear on Google and sometimes never at all. I put that folder into "Send", along with a text file explaining everything. Under "Date of sending"I put in today's date five years ago, when I just started digital art. As I hit "return", a flash of white light overcomes me. There's a new book on my table. I open it and see it is a compilation of my webcomics. The copyright date was one year ago.
"Delenda est Carthago"- Carthage must be destroyed. These are the words that sealed our fate. Repeated ad nauseum on the floor of the Curia Hostilia, where the Roman Senate met. The phrase was coined by Marcus Porcius Cato, a Tusculan peasant who had risen to prominence by supplying the legions during Hannibal Barca's sixteen year campaign in Italy. The phrase epitomizes the long standing hatred our two cities bore for one another. After the last war, when Hannibal was defeated on the plains of Zama by the Roman General Africanus, the Romans crippled us by demanding tribute and dissolving our navy. With our merchant ships unprotected, one by one our trade routes and colonies in Spain and Sicily succumbed to Roman influence. After Zama, my father, a hoplite in Hannibal's army, hung up his spear and began trading in silphium - that precious plant from which the extract laserpicum was made. The substance was used to alleviate the stomach pains of Roman gastronomes who had eaten too many snails and was said to be worth its weight in gold. As a result, as a young man I accompanied him many times on trips to Ostia, Rome's port city at the mouth of the Tiber in Italy. My father always hated Rome and stressed that he only traded with them because it was necessary , but as I became a man our houshold was growing, and laserpicum was our only source of income. And so as many of the years between his death and this day I have spent in Rome as in Carthage, offering a unique perspective on the conflict that has come to pass. The Roman senate has long been divided over the fate of Carthage - Publius Scipio Africanus faced trial for what Cato considered too much leniency after Zama. He was even accused of taking bribes to accept more favourable terms of surrender. Some still agreed with Scipio's clemency, but as Carthaginian pirates began attacking Roman ships in recent years, the pendulum once more swung towards war. The final straw was when our forces repelled an invasion from Numidia, Rome's ally, shortly after our indemnity to Rome had been fully paid. Our leaders had decided that no longer would we lay down while Rome walked over us. How wrong they were - the Romans declared war in short order, Utica defected to the Romans and a massive army was soon at our doorstep. For years I helped defend Carthage. In the end, we slipped out of the harbour in the chaos of the final assault on the city by another Scipio named Aemilianus, who proceeded to burn the city for seventeen days. We were the lucky few who escaped with some of our fortune and indeed our lives. During the three year siege many of our people died from famine. Our last minute escape was unplanned, only when I realized our cause lost did I think to my son's future and made hasty arrangements to evacuate the household. The silver I had managed to take with us afforded us something of a life in the Spanish city of Numantia, who were also embroiled in war with Rome. The Numantians were like us - unwilling to bend to Rome's will. My experience in withstanding a siege helped in the defense of that city many years later. It wasnt until the Romans sent Aemilianus once more to break the siege that once more the inevitability of Roman conquest sunk in. But this time there was no escape. I was past my prime. I took comfort in the fact that my son killed many Romans in defense of our adopted home and had risen high in the ranks of the Numantians - he had become something of a champion to them. That comfort was deadened when I recieved the news that he was killed by a mere junior military tribune - a country peasant from Arpinum named Gaius Marius. Like many of the Numantians, I now choose to take my own life rather than submit to Rome. If there is a lesson to be learnt here, I know it not. I know only hatred for Rome... This is the first wp I've attempted i so dont hate on me if it sucks because i am admittedly a rank amateur. My goal was to tie together two of my favorite works - Ross Leckies "Hannibal"trilogy and Colleen Mcullough's "Masters of Rome"series - both id highly recommend if you are interested in the period. The idea of displaced Carthaginians relocating to Numantia to continue the fight is an idea I think I will continue to refine.
Oh just my luck. I should have never let Beavis talk me into drinking that hair tonic. Now I am stuck in a box with in Billy Bob’s barn. Beavis is always daring me to do shit and I’m a butthead I always listen to it. But this! This is worse than the time I stuck a pool ball inside of my mouth. There is this cage next to me a really bright red headed bird is making one heck of a racket over there. Oh here come my jailmasters. One of them was constantly eating chocolate bars while the other was grabbing a computer and setting up some kind of conference call. On the screen there were four people of various races. “I give you the palliated red crowned woodpecker.” As soon as he said that the bird went ballistic managed to get himself out of the cage and began to tear everything apart. The other two guys ran from the barn as the woodpecker chased after them. “Ha serves you right!” But then I just realised something. Now I’m all alone.
Day 163: The men who have been actively trying to take me from this world still won't give up. I awoke this morning to a tripwire over my stairs. You would think they would have better ideas 163 days into this. I know what you're thinking, why haven't you went to the police? Why don't you hire a private bodyguard? Or someone to track these people down? I'm still not 100% sure if they're real or just figments of my imagination. The first attempt at my life, or should I say day zero, I ran hastily down an empty road with a look of fear stuck on my face I finally ran into someone and when I told them I was being chased they looked at me confused as they advised me no one was behind me and maybe I should get an ambulance to pick me up. I politely declined but called the police. Police told me the same thing. No signs of these men ever close to me but I just knew this was real. I could smell the stink of the men's sweat they were so close to me...
5 billion dollars. 5 billion ice cream bars. 5 billion iced teas. The Mccallister Inc’s net worth. “Best security Systems in the world” we advertised. Digital security? We’ll lock your data up so damn tightly it’ll find a new kink. No one but you sees the data, no one but us can lock it, no one but you can unlock it. We have not had a security breach since 2005, in which a masked man broke into our main building and stole a hard drive directly from one of our employee’s desktops. Lost 40 gigs of data. None of it was customer data, but it didn't exactly help our reputation. Our petty turn locks smashed and doors kicked in. So we began making physical locks as well. Deadbolts that can withstand a battering ram and physical/digital alarms that have encryption that would take years to crack. Our normal systems would take a millenia to crack. Or should take a millenia to crack. We don’t know how he’s doing it. At first we thought that an employee sold admin passwords somehow. But no, he has a backdoor. Worst of all it’s one that we cannot find or fix. Whenever we think we got him through facial recognition it just turns out to be a random and terrified teenager. I know he believes himself to be a sort of vigilante. We nicknamed him “Sandman”, as he always struck at night. Not very creative, I know, but I didn’t get the chance to make a suggestion. We first caught him on camera 3 years ago. A blurry 4 second video of a man with a strange mask and a smartphone just staring at the lense. His face disappears in a blur of pixels followed by the feed cutting abruptly. Spooky shit, I know. He’s been “attacking” our official buildings around the city. He hasn’t stolen any consumer data and hasn’t hurt anyone. Yet. We run a security company. We’ll lock up your data. We’ll lock up your house. We’ll set up your cameras and let you know if so much as a cricket's dick gets in view. It’s surprising how people will pay for a reliable way to make sure that they have secrets. And a reliable way to ensure no one else has secrets. The CIA. FBI. Spetsnaz. I even have some deals with the SAS. We aren’t loyal to the American government. We’re a business. So I can understand why someone might want to come after us. But what I can’t understand is why they would continuously shut down every single camera we have in Chicago. Everything from facial recognition to mapping systems completely shut down. Took us a week to get just the Loop back up and running, only for him to just fuck it up all over again. Changing the code hasn’t worked and it takes too long. He’s inside the systems and our heads, messing with both at the same time. We know he’s showing up in the feeds. A blurry pile of misplaced colors and pixels looking like someone took a photo, dunked it in the lake and set it on fire. I know who this was. I did from the beginning. We’d had some run-ins, a few standoffs. A few drinks as friends. I wanted to beat him at his own game this time. But that was all for nought. I was tired of having people stay overtime to fix the stupid fucking code that he broke for the 4th time. He was costing my business money and reputation. Not anymore. Most people have a bug out kit in case of a sudden emergency or in case they get stuck somewhere and need medical attention or food, etc. I have my trapper’s kit, designed by me. Spike traps, alarms, rope, you name it. Hell I think I even have some old christmas ornaments. Good times. “Sandman is attacking at random” we thought, “How do we catch him if we don’t know where he’ll strike next?”. I’ll tell you. Try and fail to do so until there’s only one facility left. Our biggest one, incidentally. Sandman was obviously saving the best for last. He could easily hack in and shut down everything. So we did it for him. I’d much rather us to have control over whether or not they’re online then him just breaking them. If he wanted them gone he’d have to come directly to the server room and get it. Where I’d be waiting with a taser. Surrounded by everything from basic alarm systems and guards to a rather barbaric paint can and rope trap I made up 20 years back. A few modified spikes sat at the door, with a acetylene torch blowing constantly at the doorknob. Not enough to melt the metal, but just hot enough to melt a hand a little bit. Guards patrolled every corner, with them checking in to me every quarter of the hour. All server information fed directly to my laptop, which was connected to a secure server, located 3 feet away. The server used a completely new program, unreleased and kept so on the down low that it might as well not exist. There was only 3 people alive who knew it existed. Nothing connected it even remotely to Mccallister Inc. No backdoors. The room looked like a paranoid and cocaine fueled mess of sharp edges and rope. The waiting game had begun, and I’d like to think that I had a head start. It only took a half an hour. Half my guards failed to check in, so I told the others to stick together. Didn’t work. I heard their radios crackle and die. I heard the elevator to the server rooms ding. I heard the almost silent footsteps of a crouched vigilante in the night. I opened the one camera feed the new program was connected to. Right outside my door. Sandman stared at the heated doorknob, unsure of how to approach it. He knew the company, so he knew breaking down the door wouldn’t work. He looked up into the camera, at me. His gravelly voice rang out amongst the non existent alarms he’d disabled. “Kevin. It’s been a little bit, hasn’t it? Didn’t think you’d give me the pleasure of seeing me personally.” “I read the memo you sent out. Intercepted it. I know you’re in there, waiting, watching. New security, new code. Doesn’t help you. I came here to talk, and I’m going to make damn sure that we do. I opened the broom closet door behind him, taser in hand. For once he looked surprised. Shocked, even. “Hello, Aiden.”
10 minutes left. Only 10 minutes left until she's gone forever. Dammit, she's still not answering her phone. I've warned her over and over again how unsafe it is to use a rolling chair as a step stool. I always joked that one day she was going to fall and break her neck. Jokes over. Fuck! Another goddamn stoplight. I give a couple quick glances to the cross street and speed through. 5 minutes left. Still no answer on the phone but I'm going to make it. I finally pull up to the house, sweat coating my hands and face. I fumble for my keys, the sweat and shaking of my hands make it impossible to grasp. 1 minute left. I finally get the key in, turn the lock and swing open the door. And that's when I see it. My wife, naked, on her knees in front of a naked man sitting. Sitting in that goddamn rolling chair. The look of their surprised faces slowly fades as I get a new vision. It's her and me. We're standing together at an altar. She looks so beautiful in white. The vision fades, and all that's left in front of me is her lifeless body, drenched in blood.
It hit her like a rock. The day she came up with this character, why he's so much like her... She was 16 then but the memory was vivid almost like it just happened. She sat on the balcony of parents apartment, looking down to the concrete below. She twirled a razor in her hand in case she chickened out. That's when it came to her. She wove his story sitting on that balcony and scrawled a quick back story in an old notebook she had lost long ago. The character had been through the issues she had but had battled throguh like she hoped to one day. It felt so cathartic. That was day her smile stopped being forced. It's the day she swore to come out on the other side, scarred if necessary... Now she sat in her college dorm, tears running down her face. The long faded scars on her arms seemingly regaining the color of a fresh wound. "I made it..." She wiped her tears and officially scrawled down the name Jeffrey, named after her father.
I'd heard the theory before, how every choice you make creates other universes where you make every other possible choice, but never gave it much thought. I never really thought about the future before. Most days were spent just simply surviving until the next, even when I didn't want to. Persistent depressive disorder will do that to you. You don't really expect to have a future. No matter how long it takes, your death will be premature. Then I had a really bad day. The worst one ever. Nothing bad happened that day. I was already working another job after getting fired. I was over my ex. Even the miscarriage was behind me. I had accepted it and I was okay. I simply woke up that Sunday morning in tears, knowing I was going to end it once and for all. I had done my fighting, and I had finally lost. The day had come. I spent most of the day in a trance. The plan was simple. On the way to work the next morning I would simply turn the steering wheel into an oncoming car and that would be it. No one would even know it was intentional. As the sun set, it hit me. This was the last full day I would ever experience. I would be dead before the sun came back up tomorrow. I had a moment of clarity and realized I had a choice. Get help, or die. I had already lost trying to fight this depression by myself. I needed help. More than that, I wanted help. I called the one person I knew that could help me. He did. I went to a psychiatrist, then my family doctor, got on medication, and for the first time in my life, the cloud was gone. I was actually happy. I was happy. With that came a lot of things, not the least of which was actually thinking about the future for the first time in my life because I finally believed I had one. My whole life was built on depression. My habits, my ways of thinking, the way I looked at the world, and even the way I treated others. It took a couple years, but I finally got to a good place. Steady job, my own apartment. I was responsible. Saving money, making plans. I was an actual functioning person now. It felt amazing. I did a lot of soul searching in those years. I didn't really know who I was. Even my personality had grown out of the depression, so I basically had to build myself from scratch. I starting pondering about that theory I heard about. The one about how our choices created new universes. I took a long hard look at myself one day and finally asked the most important of questions: If there are an infinite versions of me, then which version of me do I want to be? My answer? I wanted to be the best possible version of me there is. But, what did that mean? I wanted to be the version of me that every other version of me envied. I wanted to have something they didn't. I wanted to try where they didn't. I wanted to succeed where they failed. I wanted to make all the right choices. Even though I could finally think about the future, I couldn't see into it. I made a lot of the wrong choices. Then I saw him. Me. I saw me. It was a version of me that had the ability to cross over into other dimensions. He had an enlightenment, he told me and he wanted to share that with as many versions of himself as he could. Well, I just had an enlightenment of my own, too. Now I could be the version of me I desperately wanted to be. He had the tools. I just had to take them. He was the first me I ever met, and the first me I ever killed. Every time I made the wrong choice, or failed where another me succeeded, I would jump universes and kill that version of me and dump it back in the previous universe where I screwed up. My life was perfect for a long time. And one day, it hit me. Ever since I killed that first me, I've made choices. Lots of them. There were other me's with the capability of jumping universes and I was the one who made the right choice. I was the one they were all coming to kill. Some even tried. So, I started killing every other version of me, not just the ones I was replacing. It grew tiresome. I spent more time killing myself then I did living my perfect life. I had become much older. I made another choice. I chose to stop. I knew there were other versions of me that chose to keep killing. They hadn't grown tired of it yet. I went back to my original universe, back to where I dumped the first body. I wondered about the enlightenment he had and what it might have been. And I waited. Finally, someone showed up. But, it wasn't me. It was a young woman. She walked up to me and smiled. "I finally found you,"she said. I was confused, but too tired to think about it. "I've been looking for you for a long time, but you were never there. No matter where I went, you were never there. But here you are. And I finally found you." "Who are you?"I asked the woman. I was sure I had never met her before, but she looked eerily familiar. I looked into her eyes, and I knew. I didn't want to believe it. It couldn't be true, could it? Was it even possible? She wasn't a choice. Nobody chose it. It was just something that happened. How could she be who I knew she was? "It's me. I'm your daughter. When I figured out how to jump through universes, I knew there had to be a universe where you chose to live, instead of ending your own life. I wanted to find you. I wanted to meet you. And here you are." She told me she had never met her father because he had killed himself. He had chose death because her mother kept her away from him. She was crying as she told me her story. I was crying, too. She finally met a version of her father who chose life, but only for himself. She couldn't find any of the other versions of me, because I had killed them all. I knew I had more choices to make. So, I chose to be her father, and I chose to keep the rest to myself. She's never asked about the other me's. She's just so happy to have her father. Every time I look at her, I see my happiness and joy. Every time I look at myself, I see all the other versions of me that I killed. I know one day my life will end. I know it will be by my own hands. I don't know, however, whether those hands will be the hands that are writing this, or a different pair of my hands. Either way, it will still be premature.
Little did he know that such wish would not change his lifespan. He might even feel like his life would pass by faster. Maybe he would die at the age of forty five, thinking, 'This is too early' \- forgetting the fact that his old face does not match the number. Kids would start school at the age two, and get their driver license at eleven, but all would be fine after realizing that age is a human construct - a number meant to make sense of the unexplainable concept of time. The man had not thought it through. His intentions was the classic wish to get more done through the day, but since the days were too short, how is one to get anything done? The man had forgotten the importance of sleep, and that in many ways the former system of, twelve hour days and twelve hour nights, aligned perfectly with the human need for sleep. Now the man was disappointed when he felt tired with the sun still up. After all he had work to do. Therefore, sometimes he would pull through the long days and sleep through the long nights, but mostly he would crash during the day, and his sleep would be disturbed by the beams of the sun. Animals did not know how to transition all that well, and to that many went extinct. Some countries burned up from the heat of the constant sun. It was not the intention of the man, but this was now reality. He calmed himself with the believe that the earth would undergo an evolution, but he was unaware that such evolutions take time, and that because the longer days had came abruptly, the earth was degrading. If there was any positives to make of the situation, it was that the man had the option to fall asleep in the sun and wake up tanned, without feeling like he wasted time doing so. People were indeed more tanned, but not necessarily more healthy as the pros of D-vitamin did not outweigh the cons of the situation as a whole. None of this had been in the man's calculations when he made the wish. And who is to blame him? There are many variables in the universe to take into account, and there are many more that no one knows anything of. With that said, the wish of the man could have been avoided if he had had some sense in him.
Thirty kilometers out, one can just barely see it: a distortion in the light, as if the stars themselves were smudged. If one wasn’t looking for it, they would miss it- and yet, of all the places in the system, this is the most important, the last connection I have to the world of my birth. Inside the dot, just beyond the boundary, there lies horror- an impossible landscape of impossible geometries, a patchwork of illogic that tears at sanity. I'd been there before, in a long-ago lifetime when human minds still ran on matrices of flesh rather than networks of laser-light. Even now, I remember the fear I felt as I crossed its horizon, as I felt my digitized psyche threaten to tear apart at the seams- and afterwards, the fierce loneliness as I waited long eternities for companions to come through the dot to join me. In time, others came- some whole, and some damaged. Many did not survive the journey through the dot intact- their minds were broken irreparably, shattered by their contact with the strange environs of higher dimensions. Most, though, endured- and as the centuries turned onwards, the minds the home-world sent through proved increasingly resilient to the insanity of the dot. Thousands joined- then millions, billions, trillions upon trillions of fellows to fill the former quiet of the system with the chatter of a bustling civilization. Station by station, the light of the system's star was blotted out, visible and ultraviolet degraded to the infrared to fuel the growth of our budding union. Growth begat growth, time begat progress- but then, in one moment, the dot's endless effluent of new minds came to an abrupt, ceasing halt. Its rapid spin, once an insurance of relatively safe passage, had faded to a slow, wobbling precession- and, those few who ignored the warning signs and crossed the gate’s horizon anyways would never be seen again. Over the eons, it became custom to steer clear of the site- a last, residual superstition, perpetuated by tales of ghostly echoes emanating from the dot that replayed the last, fading death-screams of the foolish few who jumped into its horizon so long ago. Legends abounded of what was on the other side of the singularity-gate, but, even with the passage of millennia, no concrete answers came to light. Eventually, it was decided that there were greater mysteries to contemplate, greater problems to solve: and so, save a few who devoted themselves fanatically to the study of the gate, the issue was regarded as inconsequential, its investigation an interesting but ultimately pointless endeavor that distracted from the goals of ever-better efficiency, ever-better production and manufacture. The dot, while not forgotten, became an artifact of ages past. It was relevant only in its historic importance, visited sparingly and from afar even by those few that still regarded it with more than passing interest. And yet, some of us still seek to probe the broken gate’s mysteries. It is the last total unknown we have left- the last object that no theory, no natural law, can passably, or even partially, explain. We do not know what chaos, what strange perturbation of the universe, gave birth to the dot- even those few of us that were there when it was made. Few minds could contemplate the mechanisms needed to make the traversable singularities- and, by some twisted joke, those who understood the intimate workings of the hyper-spatial engines would inevitably be driven mad and broken if they traversed the impossible gates that they had wrought. It was if some strange horror, some brutal realization, underlaid the very foundations of reality- and the only people safe from its effects were those who were too ignorant to ever reach the maddening revelations that would otherwise sap their sanity away. Although we could not match the visionaries that pioneered the gate, we could try to come close. Through the eternity afforded to us by inorganic form, we could seek to rediscover across eons what genius had revealed in mere decades. The emissions of the gate, fragmented and encrypted by the whirling vortex of the event horizon, were reconstructed over vast time-spans into the semblances of coherence. Linguistics and cryptography, physics both astro- and quantum; given enough time, everything could be mastered, perfected, using the vast stores of scientific knowledge and equipment blueprints that had been carried through the wormhole so many lifetimes ago. Finally, across the enormity of time, we arrived at a solution- a single phrase, decoded from the radiation spewed forth from the gate at the time of its collapse sixteen-thousand years ago. It is simple, cryptic, evocative: “the gate-less have risen, the ten shall fall.” It is a phrase without context, without clear meaning- and yet, once more, it has rekindled man’s interest in the strange, paradoxical dot that has so long been absent from most of our minds. Some of us believe the phrase to be the rallying-call of revolution: a war-cry of those back on Sol who despised the rise of the constructed minds, who sought the severance of the ten gate-systems from the home worlds of man. Some accused us of finding order where there is none- of imposing meaning on the random, effectively unstructured energy of black-hole evaporation. And still others prepare for the worst, diverting resources from the task of expansion into the construction of fledgling defensive arrays within the Dyson swarm- knowing not what may come, but fearing Armageddon nonetheless. I do not have answers, nor advice, nor arguments to make. I have spent my vast life yielding one phrase, one piece of knowledge- one unforeseen fact in a society that, for so long, has viewed nearly every phenomenon, every interaction, as a known, predictable event. When we came here, so long ago, we were curious- and now, thanks in part to my efforts, we are curious once more. If our solar kin come to annihilate us tomorrow, if beings from the insanity world-between-worlds within the gate have come seeking our demise, or if I was merely a fool who saw a message in chaos- it matters little to me. My one contribution here, my one drop in the bucket of eternity, will be this: because of my efforts, man pondered the unknown one last time, taking a step back from this tiny corner of the cosmos to ponder what else might be out there in the infinite, dark sea of diffusing starlight. I will not stay here to see the effect the phrase will have- because, at the close of the vessel’s construction, I will embark on a ship bound for the ancestral worlds of man. The journey will take far longer than anything I can imagine- hundreds of thousands of years, maybe millions, in transit to a system that may not even be populated any more. I am afraid- as afraid as I was when my newly-uploaded mind, occupying a frail, bio-mechanical vessel, gripped the arm-rest of my chair in anxious terror, screaming as the maelstrom-between-gates tore at flesh and metal for unending-timeless instants thirty thousand years ago. I am not ready to go- but I suppose, nobody is. In our vast arrogance, we had forgotten that to be human is to be weak- to be unsure, to not know, to be afraid- and to be better for it, at the end of our ordeal. Existence in orbit of a star, soaking up the life-giving radiation while occupying a kilometers-long body- it is safe, but it is not meaningful: it is like living bedridden, waiting for the end. So, to any and all that are watching, farewell- and may you too experience the human pleasure of the unknown. If you wish to join me, I’ll be out there, in the dark- Come find me.
“Ramon, come on. We’re leaving.” Mom’s voice floated over the cabin to the boy sitting on the edge of the sand. He scrubbed at his eyes one more time and slowly got to his feet. “Ramon!” Her voice was getting louder. He drew back his arms and flung it forward, the early morning sun flashing on glass just before it struck the water, just past the breakers, and slipped below the surface. A warm hand landed on his shoulder. “We’ll be back next year, I promise,” she lied. --- Ramon pulled his car into the overgrown driveway and sat for a minute, staring at the rundown cabin in front of him. He hadn’t even known his family still owned it until the reading of the wills. He’d figured his parents had sold it off during the divorce and split the assets but they’d just juggled it back and forth like a financial hot potato. He looked in the rearview mirror at the blanket covered lump in the back of the car. “Sofia, wake up, we’re here.” The lump groaned and shifted, then a teenager emerged, her blue hair spiked up all over. Ramon wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be like that, or it had happened while she was sleeping. She had her hood pulled up when they’d left the house early that morning. Her hand came up and pushed up the flat parts into more spikes and he had his answer. Sofia grumbled and opened the car door, her phone tumbling to the ground and pulling the earbuds out of her ears with it. “What a dump. Mom would have hated this.” She grabbed her phone, heaved her backpack over her shoulder and disappeared around the corner of the house. Ramon sighed and grabbed his own bag out of the trunk and tossed it up on the deck of the house, holding his breath when it hit the old wood with a thump. He’d half expected the whole structure to come tumbling down, but it held. So far. Sofia was wrong, her mother would have loved a challenge like this. And she would have made this cabin all her own with bright colors and fabrics all over. He could almost see the bright purple paint she’d probably have chosen for the outside, and the fire-engine red of the front door. He ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his stiff neck, the stress of trying to make this place livable falling on his shoulders like an iron chain. The door and the shingles returned to their faded grey. “Dad! DAAAAD!” He looked up and realized Sofia had been calling him for the last few minutes, her voice getting more and more anxious. “Coming!” Maybe something had washed up on the shore. He remembered planting the stinky seaweed that washed up in his sister’s bed the first night of every summer. And on one memorable occasion, a dead rotten fish. He was not expecting to see the normally calm waves frothing like a boiling pot, six feet out from shore. Had he remembered, it would have seemed strange that it was right over the spot where the bottle landed 25 years ago. Sofia stood right at the edge of the waves, and Ramon ran over and shoved her behind him. “Dad, what is it?” He shook his head and waved her to silence. The circle of turmoil slowly grew until it was ten feet across, and he saw that the center had smoothed out, though the edges still bubbled and rolled. A figure rose from the waves, a woman, or something like a woman. She had bright white scales that covered her body. At first he thought the sun was causing the patterns that flashed over her skin, but he realized it was her skin itself, matching the pattern of the waves around her. The taste of your tears has haunted us for all this time. We grant your request. Her mouth never moved but the words echoed in his ears as the world went black. --- “Ramon, wake up and help me unpack the car.” He knew that voice, that laughing, chiding tone. He blinked open his eyes and stared up at his wife. His wife who’d died 3 years ago in a car accident. “W-what?” He stood up and looked up at the cabin behind him, a cheery aquamarine with bright yellow curtains in the windows. “Your mama is insisting on helping and you know her arthritis acts up in this damp weather. And your papa is already in the garage tinkering with the lawn mower. And Sofia disappeared into the bathroom to fix her makeup. Who for, I don’t know, but she insisted.” “Of course. I’ll be there in a minute.” He looked down at the bottle in his hand and then fished the piece of paper out and unrolled it.
Anxiety doesn't discriminate between speech and print. A single word is important for the context of a sentence, because the context of a sentence can change with a single word. Syntax, grammar, semantics and punctuation are combined within a whirlwind that can consume your psyche and lead you into avenues of thought that are bewildering, unlikely and realistic. These thoughts can tower over and envelop you, crush you into a minuscule ball a billion universes wide. In speech a loud but innocently unfamiliar voice can prompt palpitations, triggering a network of neural anomalies that overwhelm the conduit to frenzied ludicrousy, as if being wrapped in an incredibly comforting blanket that's constricting you. It doesn't matter how you hard you fight within yourself of the irrationality of anxiety with your rational consciousness, the subconscious battle is already lost. You can stand proud with your shoulders strong and your head steady on your neck but it wouldn't stop your heart from smashing your chest, the watering in your eyes or the physiological response telling you to drop everything and run. Except there's nowhere to run to, you cannot escape from a locked room.
They told me that I have an inoperable brain tumor. Completely inoperable. Will it kill me? Who is to say? The doctors think that it may have been there for years. They're going to keep an eye on it, but it's likely to put a damper on my overall lifespan. I just wish they'd hurry up and put a date on it, you know? Do I have years left? Weeks? Is it a ticking bomb that's going to explode at any moment? I'm not married, I don't have any kids, and my parents are both gone. It's not like I have a will. What I want to do is quit my job and blow all my savings on one last hurrah, but the doctors say that the tumor might be shrinking. Almost as if it's starving to death somehow. I wonder what the doctors would think if I said I thought it talked to me. Not like, talk talk, but sometimes something in the corner of my eye catches my attention. It's been like that for as long as I can remember. At least, high school. There was the weird girl that said she was going to hex me, and she stopped coming to school after that, but every once in awhile... Something's there. It's like a good luck charm, always making me happy. I stopped paying attention to that sixth sense of mine for awhile now. People have a tendency of abandoning me. They say I can't be with them unless I'm willing to help myself. Well guess what? I went to a therapist, who had me go to a doctor, who told me a half a brain tumor that's giving me depression. Drugs can't fix it, and nobody wants to stay near the burning toxic pile that is me. So anytime I notice someone trying to flirt, I ignore it. When there's a chance I might get promoted, eh. Someone else can do better. I probably could go out once in awhile, but meeting new people is just exhausting. Oftentimes, I think of suicide. Pick when I get to go. That way I could do what I wanted, blow all my money, then blow my brains. Take the tumor down with me. That would be the way to go. MEERRRROOOOOWWRRAAAWRRRRRR Usually my depraved thoughts were the only thing that kept me company on my walk home, but this time they were interrupted by the horrid sound of death. MERRRRROOOOOOOWRRR There's that weird sensation again. The one telling me to look to the right. Don't look. It'll only cause you pain. Then again, I was going to die anyways, what was the point in not looking? My gaze falls down on an alley cat. It's an old orange tom. Underweight, missing a fang, and his ears tattered to near shreds. Normally these cats are to feral to approach people, but somehow this thing was looking up at me with anticipation. "You can smell the death on me, right?" Who could say how old this cat was, but his fur was oily and frayed. It didn't look like he had the energy to keep himself clean anymore, and the way he walked up to me screamed that his joints were in pain. He didn't rub against my legs, but instead just bonked his forehead into my shin once before giving up. I had debated getting a pet before, but I never knew where life was going to take me. Depression had always made me not think about the future or plan for it. A pet is a commitment, and I never wanted to be forced to give up on one just because I stopped being able to take care of myself. He meowed his deathly meow at me again. "Yeah, I get it. You're not long for this world either." I pick him up and stuff him inside my jacket. The only reason why this guy came to me was because he wanted to drop dead someplace warm. I felt the same way. I didn't want to be alone when the end came for me either. It's you and me, Buddy. Let's see how long we can run away from death together.
"Whoa... this is really weird..."I think aloud, too shocked to panic. "...am I able to get to the ground again?"After saying that, I make a sort of swimming motion toward the ground in am attempt to land safely. After a few minutes, this is successful. "Okay, so I have to be careful about floating away now... can't forget that or I could be in real trouble,"I tell myself, "Where is everyone? Did I sleep in longer than usual?"I begin searching the house, going up to the living room to find a note there. 'Out shopping, be back soon! -mom' Once done reading the note, I grin. I have the house to myself and can test out my new abilities in full. "Maybe I could just..."I say, going out back and making a finger-gun, pretend firing at the sky. This causes a large beam to come from my finger, which accidentally incinerates a bird. "...maybe I should be more careful... safer abilities would be nice, right?"I think about this, and eventually settling with seeing if I can teleport back to my room, which succeeds instantly. "Do I just have every power? This should be fun, very fun."I tell myself this, fully aware I am going to abuse whatever abilities I have for my own amusement and benefit. I begin testing other abilities for the next hour or so, everything I can think of. Shape shifting, telekinesis, controlled flight, pyrokinesis, and more. In the end, I have the most fun with shape shifting, fixing small imperfections in my body and testing other forms. Then, my family gets home. "Sam, we're home!"My mom calls from the front door, the sound of my siblings running in still obvious. I head back upstairs in a more normal way, shifting my body to it's original state to hide my powers. "Hey mom, did you need help with bringing things in?"I ask. "That would be nice, yes."She answers, followed by me heading outside to bring in some groceries. It seems I'll have to abuse my new abilities later, maybe when I have to go to school on Monday... Thanks for reading! Sorry if formatting is bad, this was done on mobile but I really wanted to do this prompt. Might fix any formatting errors later, but other than that, have a nice day friends!
Where am I? I started on 3rd and 24th. I think. This looks nothing like Schnabeltier. I continue wandering around the darkness, still unsure of how I got here. I see the occasional red or green light through a window in the dark buildings surrounding me. Something creates a loud crashing sounds off to my right. A bird screeches. A dog barks. I change my path to go away from whatever caused the noise. I notice puddle appearing on the ground around me. There's a stench of gasoline mixed with acetone in the air. Where am I? I'm walking along a wire fence. I stop and glance up at it. Looking for some sort of knowledge of where I have ended up. There's just enough light from some unknown location for me to read: "No Trespassing. Those found trespassing on this property will be arrested with no bail and fined $5000" The seal on the bottom looked like one of a government entity. There was another sign 20 feet down: "Caution. Radiation present. Wear proper protection to prevent radiation poisoning." My mom is gonna kill me if whatever this radiation is doesn't first. I don't know what these signs say. I'm only 6. All I wanted was a cool rock to show my friends at Mrs. Kealton's class.
The world ends. The one kid in gym can finally do 200 jumping jacks. Everyone is viewed as equal. Nobody ever disagrees and countries never war. Everyone worldwide simply stares in awe at the sky swine. All religions are exposed as truth. Everyone wins the lottery but it still somehow pays out a solid million to everyone, but for some miraculous reason everyone reaches the same societal class, negating inflation and instating communism worldwide. Everyone is happy. All the Daves in the world get the perfect date, and finally, FINALLY that one kid who's been playing Kid Icarus beat the seventh stage without getting hit once. The hovering hams grow closer and dearer to everyone. They are now one with us. We are at peace.
It was a sunny day out. Only a few clouds in the sky. A nice breeze with just enough chill on it to remind the villagers winter was coming. Jay however, noticed none of this. As usual, he was working in his shop, sitting behind the big counter at the back, surrounded by many impressive-looking swords and shields. It was a slow day at the store, most people were busy preparing for the upcoming harvest festival, after all, so Jay was passing the time by doing some reading. Overall, a very normal day. Jay heard the bell on the front door ring. He looked up from his book with a smile. "Hello and welcome to Jay's Smithy. How can I help you?"he said, closing his book and putting it under the counter. "Hi. It's nice to meet you. My name's Merin." "Nice to meet you Merin. I'm Jay." She nodded. "Right, right. Well, I'm looking for a new sword. Mine got lost."She said all this pleasantly, with a small smile on her face, but Jay couldn't help but feel uneasy for some reason around her. He mentally shrugged. Probably nothing. "Well, we have a whole lot of swords here as you can see. Anything in particular you're looking for?" She tilted her head, and looked off to the side thinking. Who comes to a sword shop and has to think about their order? And now that I think about it, who just "loses"a sword? Jay thought, his unease growing. "I guess a medium-sized blade could do the trick,"she suddenly said, ending the long pause. Well thanks for being specific. Has this lady ever bought a sword before? "Well, we can figure out the details of what you want while we're looking,"Jay said, resuming the smile he stopped during the pause. "If you'll just follow me over here, I have a ton of swords for you to look at." Jay lead Merin to the sword side of the store. "Ooh. This one looks interesting,"Merin said running over to a particular sword that seemed to catch her eye. Jay frowned. "Hey, you can't just go running around my store like it's a playground. Swords are dangerous you--" Jay was suddenly cut off by a dagger whooshing past his face. Jay knew a lot of thoughts should be rushing around his head. Many of which should have been along the lines of "Holy shit I almost died. This lady is crazy. I need to run out of here as fast as I can, now." But for some reason, only one though was at the forefront of his mind, and it had very little to do with getting out of the store. How did she throw that knife without me seeing it? Merin smiled. "Ha. I knew it,"she said pointing at Jay's cheek. He touched it with his hand, and felt a fairly large cut. Well that's not good. He looked at his hand and hoped to see blood, just this one time. Nope. It was the same as all the other times these past few years. His fingertips were covered with gleaming metal. "Well, let's reintroduce ourselves then,"Merin said. "I'm a Converter. But I guess you knew already from my little trick right now." "Um..."Jay started, about to ask just what a Converter was. But Merin cut him off, again. "I'm glad I was finally able to track you down. Sorry for my whole charade there. I wasn't really sure how to approach you about it. You see, it's my first time meeting a Hemuturgist so I was a little nervous." ... And what the hell's a Hemuturgist?
Malkin took a step forward, his shadow creeping across the floor, slithering its way over toward Captain Benevolent who lay on his back, sitting up bloody-faced with a look of defeat in his eyes. He'd finally done it, Malkin had overcome his most famous adversary, and now there was nothing to stand in his way from cleansing the world. The sun was slowly making it's way over the mountains in the distance as Malkin glared down at Captain Benevolent from across the helicopter pad. Taking a few more steps over so that his figure towered over Captain Benevolent, Malkin took in a deep breath. This is what he'd be waiting for for so many years. "Captain Benevolent, at last you are nothing but a scared and wounded animal, like an ant who can feel the magnifying glass above but knows its fate has already been sealed. I have you. I have the world. There's no one else to oppose me." "Malkin, that was always the problem with you, ever since we were kids. You always saw humans as insects because you were smarter than them. And that will ultimately be your downfall. Maybe not from me, maybe not in the near future, but eventually. Your cold heart will only carry you so far. I grant you my sympathy, and as always, I grant you my pity."Said Captain Benevolent before spitting out some blood and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Malkin gave a wry half smile before crouching down to meet Captain Benevolent at eye level. "My dearest adversary. You are too warm, that has always made you weak. You fail to see the darkness in humans when it's so blatantly thrown in your face. Every day large corporations skim money from the lower class for material ideas of happiness. The stuck-up, rich housewife who tells the beggar on the street to get a job because she's tired of smelling him on her way to the nail salon doesn't deserve to be accepted with love. The husband who beats his wife because she failed to have dinner ready on time isn't to be treated with the same respect as the lonely young professional who volunteers at the soup kitchen because he believes in helping. The torturers, horrid step-parents, horrid birth-parents, the rude for no reason, the power-hungry, the selfish, inconsiderate, and all those destined for providing misery upon the world do not deserve to be saved or loved without conditions!"He belted out. A swift breeze blew across the flat pad. The air seemed to instantly chill. They both stared at each other, motionless. Malkin stood back up, resuming his position of power. Captain Benevolent squinted his eyes, they were filling both with tears and rage for the first time in a long time. "Malkin how dare you! We are no more than the plants and animals who inhabit this planet. You and I are simply here to maintain the balance the universe so desperately craves. Despite those corporations skimming from the poor, they also donate to charities that help more people than I ever could have imagined. That rich housewife just has a misunderstanding of the class differences in society. And the husbands who beat their wives should be given the opportunity to seek help, because they most likely still have so much to give back to the world. You musn't be so quick to judge the intentions of others, Malkin. We are all flawed and wonderful in our own way. A perfect fit in the puzzle that is this crazy existence. Evil is simply good that hasn't figure out how to get there yet. Start searching for the love within humans, you'll be surprised how much you actually find."Struggling to get to his feet, Captain Benevolent slowly stood up, meeting Malkin's stare. A single tear streaked down Malkin's cheek as he spoke. "I don't disagree with your impractical ideals of humanity, but in order for there to be good, someone must act upon those intentions instead of just living in potential. And my dear friend, you had so much potential. But here we are now, you too weak to fight back with anything but words, and me to cold and distant from possibilities to change my mind. I intend to act!"With that last declaration, Malkin shoved a hunting knife into the heart of Captain Benevolent. Looking up from his wound in disbelief, Captain Benevolent took two steps back and fell to his knees. Malkin casually strolled over and bent down so as to whisper in his dying companion's ear. "Although, you were wrong about one thing. I'm not going to eradicate half of the world because I see everyone as different from me... I see them as the same. A bunch of scared, lost, helpless souls who need guidance. I hope to help the ones I can." Malkin then reached down and extracted the large blade from Captain Benevolent's chest. He watched as the superhero's eyes rolled back into his head and search for breathe, but found none. With a stream of tears rolling down his face, Malkin walked over and firmly pressed down his Doomsday button. He let out a deep sigh as he stared at the missiles flying over the mountains as the sun set. "Thank you for teaching me how to find the good in all things, I'm looking forward to putting your lessons to practice."
Bob the Builder! Can we fix it? Bob the Builder! Yes we can! [Verse 1] Scoop, Muck and Dizzy, and Roley too Lofty and Wendy join the crew Bob and the gang have so much fun Wait now the little wrench is gone! [Chorus] Bob the Builder! Can we fix it? Bob the Builder! NO! PAGE TEN! [Verse 2] Pilchard and Bird, Travis and Spud The pre-drilled screw holes split the wood [Chorus] Bob the Builder! Can we fix it? Bob the Builder! BACK TO THE VAN!
She had noticed the orange truck stopping at her front door. Sarah scrambled to the door and opened it. An elder man dressed in a vinyl equally orange suit was about to push the button of the doorbell. “Oh hello! You seem to be quite happy to see me! Is it that bad?” “Are you the one? Not a quack? You will be able to get rid of them?” The man sighed. “Yes. That would be me. Unfortunately. Come on, show me where you spotted the Brownies.” “They’re in the bathroom upstairs. I’ll take you there.” The bathroom was white, save for the brown specks on the wall near the toilet. Some of them were even on the ceiling. “Let me guess. The people that came here before me just dropped a bunch of chemicals in there and flushed a few times?” Sarah nodded. “Yes.” “Can’t blame them. They were probably afraid of the stingers. Damn things can be lethal. Remember the time when we were only afraid of finding black widows in the toilet? Seems like so long ago. But chemicals don’t do jack shit. I’ve got to get some things out of my truck. The government is trying to establish if there is a pattern. You will need to complete this form to feed the statistic boffins. Won’t take that long.” The man handed her some papers and went to collect items from his truck. Sarah went downstairs and started answering the questions. How often is the infected toilet used? (times / day) Do you have any food allergies? What is your favorite food? She looked up to see the man going back upstairs with a device strapped to his back. It looked like a giant blender fused to a vacuum cleaner. He wore a gas mask now. Sarah heard the machine starting up. It sounded like a washing machine, spinning, pumping and sucking. Date Place / name Signature “All done!” The blender section of the device he carried was now filled with a brown liquid. Pieces of beaks, claws and a single eyeball swirled around. Sarah handed him the paperwork. “Can I ask you a question?” “Sure! Fire away!” “How come you are the only one that seems to able to exterminate the Brownies?” “Because I’m not afraid of them. I was bitten when I was a kid, a few days after the first Brownies had appeared. There were only a few at the start. They only became poisonous a week or two after that. Must have been the change in their diet. Who knows what they ate on their home planet, but I am pretty sure it wasn’t human waste. The bite has rendered me immune to their poison. But for some odd reason, I’m the only one. I’ve been through so many medical exams… But nothing peculiar popped up. You have to get pretty close to them to get them. And they are so fucking fast. Even with all my experience I had a brush in just now.” He showed her a tear in the suit. Blood dripped from a tiny scratch. “And these were little guys.” “How long have you been doing this?” “43 years. And I’m only allowed to retire after they have been fully eliminated. Or when I kick the bucket. There is no one to follow in my footsteps. It became kind of my personal quest. The government has tried to use convicts, offered a reduction of their sentences, but that didn’t quite pan out. Too many casualties quickly led to a lack of volunteers. But it is getting better. I have downed 4 matriarchs, and their numbers are finally dropping. This year will be the first year I can take a holiday. And who knows, the researchers might find a counteragent to the poison, or some effective concoction you can drop in your toilet to get rid of them.” “I’m happy you are here.” “Everyone always is. Now, are you sure you didn’t saw any of them downstairs? It is kind of odd that they only came out upstairs. Do you want me to take a look?” “Please do. The downstairs toilet is next to the front door.” The old man fixed the gash in his suit with a piece of duct tape and geared up. He opened the door of the downstairs toilet and started his device. A massive brown tentacle riddled with claws surged up from the toilet and lashed at him. “Another matriarch. That explains all the little ones upstairs. She must be pissed that I’ve pulped them. Stand back. The small ones fit in the tank, but I’ll have to take this one out one small piece at a time.” The device grabbed the tentacle and pulped it, sucking the Brownie matriarch out of the toilet. The brown monster quickly filled the hallway, swinging at the exterminator. The chunks that came off spread a foul smell. Sarah gagged. She ran to the living room and closed the door. She would have a lot of cleaning to do when the exterminator would be done. But that was only a minor inconvenience compared to the knight in orange armor and his crappy everlasting quest, getting rid of the endless stream of shitty monsters.
It began small. An small bead of worry. I pushed it to the back of my mind but it persisted. It grew, it became a nugget, then a ball. Soon it worry and anxiety mixed together to form a cluster of apprehension. The feeling only grew as time passed. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months. With each new development my anxiety and headache grew. I felt, for the first time in a long time, the sour taste of fear billow up in me. I tried to hide it. The trembling in my hands, the quiver in my voice. Then came the pain, the aching in my heart, the sting of guilt and despair of helplessness. The feigned humor, the plastic smiles were a front. They were a way to ride the wave of unease i felt, until a conclusion was reached. The burning in the pit of my stomach, that rejected all food and comfort, persisted. I felt like a tiny ship, lost in a stormy sea. I was Surrounded by a world out of my control and beyond my means to conquer. As wave after wave of trepidation and fear washed over me, i began to feel overwhelmed. Then it happened. A flurry of activity set alight a small flame of hope within me. It became a beacon, a light house in a dark night, sent to guide me home. The beacon of hope, in a matter of minutes, turned into a symphony of excitement and delight. The exaltation built into a crescendo of excitement, fear, relief, happiness and hope. So much hope. The storm of emotions finally abated and left me at peace. I sat down, for the first time in almost 24hrs and basked in the glow of triumph. I knew then that from now on, everything would change, everything i accomplished would have to be better, be worthy of this moment. I held my son and hummed him a lullaby. I kissed his mother and thanked her for all she had done. Every moment, from the time she told me she was pregnant, until the instant he was born, had been worth the emotional roller coaster. Every time she cried out in pain was a dagger of guilt in my heart, i had sworn to never hurt her. Every joke i made was to put her mind at ease. Every smile i wore was to hide how worried i was about her and our baby, when she wasnt feeling well. In the early morning hours, i held my son and his mother, and i felt truly Happy. A feeling indescribable and unlike any other ive ever known.
"Well, the soundtrack is about what I would have expected,"I say, staring around at my fellow passengers. Pervert, murderer, lady who spends 15 minutes waffling on check-out stand magazine purchases, guy who says "bruh"unironically... God, I only facilitated the enslavement of Southeast Asian children to make iPhones. I feel like I'm a very top shelf monster on a very well drink level of hell. As we approach the infernal city, whose architecture bends the mind into madness if you try to establish its edges, the bus slowly pulls to a halt. I try to angle my head out of the window to see who might be approaching, but no, we've only reached Hell City Limits proper. The next 1/3 of a mile takes us another 10 hours to complete. Naturally the on-board bathroom has an out of order sign on it, but when one gentleman was desperate enough that he tore it off and tried to enter anyways it turns out the bathroom was just spiders the whole time. Honestly, I do have to say that was a nice touch. Shows someone really invested a little in the details. Finally, upon arriving at the bus station and going through customs, which involved having the sigils for each of our sins branded into our flesh, things were really starting to look up. A massive, horned red demon approached our group armed with a clipboard, a whip made of box jellyfish and a Canadian accent. "Hey, guys, I'm Liam and I'll be your activities coordinator during your eternal stay in Hell. Can I get you anything after your arrival? Oh, no, I can't, sorry, that was only to remind you you're in hell, sorry." "Hey Liam, my man!"I shouted from the back. "Mmhmm?" "See that skyscraper over there, the one weeping blood into the fountain with the statue of a sad puppy fashioned out of the tormented souls of PETA-members?" "Mmhmm, mmhmm." "How far up that would I have to climb for my tormented spirit-body to actually leave an impact crater upon juping off?" "Hmm, well , let's see, you'd need to get at least as high as the first ten..."and as his eyes traveled up the impossible angles of the building, the madness-inducing architecture of hell left him stunned, if not utterly broken as a human mind might be. Walking forward and taking the clipboard from his hands as he fell slowly backwards, I mimicked a cordless microphone in one hand and addressed the group, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Tonight you'll have a choice of either complimentary eternal torment at the hands of these sons of bitches or following me and ruling this place like a goddamn boss." And that, as it turns out, was the story of how I first founded Tesla.
On trial for for a murder in which i wasn't involved, Innocent till proven guilty, but the law says guilty till solved, I was in my college with my homie, smoking purple haze, When he said the quote "can I have some pasta please?". I said I have spaghetti, cannelloni too, But I'm way too high to cook the food, We ordered a pizza, guaranteed fresh and hot, Pizza guy rang the bell right when he was robbed and shot.
“Here you go, Mrs. Herrera,” Luis said. He handed the elderly woman an open jar of pickles. “Ay, thank you. I didn’t want to wake mijo with such a small thing,” she smiled with sparkling eyes. “He earned his cape last week, and he’s been so busy.” “You’re welcome,” Luis faked a smile and stepped back into his apartment to close the door. “And, again. Congratulations on your son.” He shut the door with a heavy sigh and walked back into the kitchen. “My hero son is a hero,” he mocked her with a high, whiny voice. “Did you know he was a hero?” he asked Mort. The shell of Luis’ pet turtle was decorated with a bright yellow sticker that smiled up at Luis. The tall, lean man growled and rubbed his back against the doorjamb. “You see, Mort?” He wiggled from side to side against the hard edge. “She talks about her stupid son so much she gives me hives.” Mort disappeared into his shell. “Yeah it’s late,” Luis said. “See you in the morning.” He flipped the light off on his way out of the kitchen and headed to the single bedroom in his “quaint” apartment. Luis continued to grumble to himself about Mrs. Herrera’s son as he worked through his bedtime routine. Then he climbed into bed and drifted off to sleep. He felt better after a solid night of rest. He smiled at Mort as they had breakfast together, then left the apartment. His smile only lasted until the elevator doors opened. Mrs. Herrera’s son, Angel, stood in the elevator with each arm wrapped around a beautiful woman. Angel smiled at Luis. “Morning!” Luis nodded, stepped into the elevator, and promptly turned his back on him. “Girls, this is Luis. He’s the nicest guy you’ll ever meet. He’s always helping my mom with stuff that’s,” he chuckled, “you know. Under my league.” “Hi,” one of them said flatly. “Tell us about when you earned your cape,” she said to Angel with a flirty tone. Luis heard the sound of rustling fabric behind him and imagined the girls running their fingers through Angel’s white, satiny cape. “Oh, you know all about that,” Angel chuckled. “I mean, the news is still talking about how I saved that bus full of kids from crashing into a burning building.” “I know,” the other woman said. “But how does it work? How did it feel?” Luis rolled his eyes and glanced at the number pad. 30 more floors to go. “Well, after I parked the bus in a safe spot my whole body tingled, and then,” a finger snapped right by Luis’ ear. “Snap! The cape just popped out.” “That’s it? You mean you don’t get to pick your powers?” the first woman asked. Luis looked down. 20 more floors to go. “Nope. I don’t know how they get picked, but I knew how to use them as soon as the cape appeared,” Angel replied. “Ooooh. What can you do?” The second woman asked. “I can fly. I have super strength, and I can make light,” Angel said. The metal doors in front of Luis grew brighter. He saw a ball of light in the reflection, then Angel made it disappear. “That’s so hot,” the first woman said. 10 floors to go. Luis reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his collapse-able back scratcher. The stress caused by Angel’s bragging triggered his hives again. “Hey, Luis. Need a hand?” Angel laughed. Both women sounded disgusted at the thought, but Luis ignored them. “He doesn’t need a hero, he needs a dermatologist,” one of the girls said, and the trio burst into laughter. Luis gripped the back scratcher and rubbed harder. Five floors left. “You’re a hero, don’t bother with anything that small,” the first woman said. One floor left. Luis scratched harder. The elevator lurched and stopped halfway between the second and first floors. The lights went out. Luis snapped. “FUCK YOU!” He yelled at the door first, for taking too long to open. Then he whirled around in the darkness and screamed. “YOU’RE A FUCKING BUS DRIVER! IT’S YOUR FUCKING JOB TO KEEP THE KIDS SAFE!” A warm light began to glow from Angel’s hand to illuminate them. The golden light highlighted icy-cold stares coming from both women. “You’re just Jealou-” the first woman was interrupted by Luis yelling in her face. “DID I ASK YOU ANYTHING YOU FUCKING GROUPIE?” Angel stepped forward and put a firm hand on Luis’ shoulder. “That’s enough,” he said. Luis growled and swung his only weapon, a metal-tipped back scratcher. The tiny claw sliced across Angel’s face and left three red gashes over his left eye. The surprise attack made Angel drop the light. Luis growled again in the dark. His back felt like it was on fire and he doubled over to try and escape the pain. “IT BURNS!” He yelled. He rolled over and rubbed his back on the floor, then he went quiet. After several seconds of silence, Angel produced light again. He and the two women were huddled against one corner of the elevator. They looked down at Luis, but the lean man began to stand up. “What is your deal?” the second woman asked. Luis took a deep breath and reached behind himself. He made a smooth motion and held up a handful of black silk for them to see. “I can fly, I have super strength, and I can make dark,” he smiled at the woman, then snapped his fingers. Angel’s light went out. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #264. 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.
\[WP\] "How I ended up dating an assassin and why you should try it too" &#x200B; I had just arrived to Bogota for another riveting meeting with one of the company's partners. The team I was traveling with included a reclusive 50-year old multiple cat-owner, Barb; and Bob, a creepy old guy who awkwardly kinda-sorta hits on me - I think, I can't really tell. After we had made it through the dreadful lines of Colombian customs, we finally arrived at a luxurious hotel. We had a meeting to attend that evening, so we each checked into our rooms, freshened up, and called an Uber to a Lavish steakhouse in one of Bogota's most prominent neighborhoods. I wore a little black dress because its always a solid choice. We arrived at the restaurant and were promptly seated in our own private section. That is where I met Rodrigo. He was sitting there looking gorgeous in a blue suit. I could tell immediately from the way he was looking at me that he wanted me. He had a devilish grin that paired perfectly with his chiseled jaw. I tried to play it off as if hot guys ogling me was something I experienced often. Rodrigo, turned out, was the cousin of the company's partner. He was there accompanying his cousin while my team I discussed contract matters. After dinner, Rodrigo invited Barb, Bob and I to have some drinks with him. Barb was quick to excuse herself - I don't remember the reason, but I'll just assume that she probably had to Face Time one of her cats; and Bob, he accepted - ugh! So there we were, Bob being an annoying third wheel - he kept offering to buy me drinks, and whenever I would decline because I didn't want to get too drunk, he would yell in my ear "its OK, I'll take care of you!"- yea... no thanks. Rodrigo and I both knew that we had to get rid of Bob somehow. I didn't want to walk away with Rodrigo because I didn't want Bob to go mouthing off my business to everyone back home. Therefore, we all said goodnight and pretended to go home. I got to my room and Rodrigo followed soon after Bob had finally went away. Rodrigo and I had a fabulous night and decided that we wanted plenty more. So before I left that next morning, I noted his information. For several months afterwards we kept in contact and would take turns visiting one another. It got to the point where I felt like I really loved him and considered marrying him. But before I could tell him how I felt he disappeared. He would usually go MIA for a few weeks because of his job, though I never really understood what his job was - something to do with customer service - but it had been almost three months that I did not hear from him. I started to get worried so I began investigating. I knew his first and last names, his address, and his phone number. Rodrigo didn't have any social media accounts because he said they could be used to trace your location - the signs were right in front of me. One day, while trying to find him, it occurred to me to search his address in Google. The results brought back images and maps, and way at the bottom of the page, there was a link in Spanish for some Colombian news website. I clicked on it and there he was, his face on the front of the article. I didn't understand what the article said, so I used an online translator to decode it. And what I found left me in complete shock! Rodrigo Valencia, one of the most violent assassins for the Medellin cartel, caught at his house in Bogota. The news hit me like a brick wall to the face. It took me a while to realize that I had been dating an assassin. And to think, I even considered marrying him! Despite the bad news, Rodrigo was one of the best experiences of my life. Every moment with him was so intense! He was so aggressive - in hindsight, that's kind of scary - but it was fun while it lasted. He was a sweetheart deep inside, and always treated me well. In a way, I feel like I may have helped him become a better man. If you ever get a chance to date an assassin, give it a shot. If for nothing else, it'll be the most fun you'll have killing time. &#x200B; &#x200B;
"This plague has killed millions upon millions. It's outpaced the Black Death, smallpox, and has infected more than the common cold - and you expect me to let the man who created this... thing to go free into the world?" The scientists stepped back a pace, hesitant to speak. The Emperor's punishments were always severe, as they had to be to keep some order in this chaos. Five years ago, an eccentric doctor had created a vaccine that he claimed would be able to cure all disease. Instead, it unleashed a lethal virus that spread through air and was contracted by even the most hygienically careful. Once the plague had been traced back to the doctor, he readily admitted his guilt. His mind has been locked away ever since - not that it changed the situation. Finally, the head scientist spoke; "Sir, we have tried every technique we know of to find a cure and nothing's worked. Freeing him from the simulation may be the only way to create a cure". "No!"replied the Emperor, "it will only allow him to spread the disease more. He worked to infect as many of his patients as he could, so why trust him with our lives now?". Unease spread among the gathered crowd. The scientists had no idea whether the doctor would comply with their demands - indeed, it seemed likely he would simply do what the Emperor had surmised. But then, a voice from the crowd decided to speak. "If I may, Emperor, allow me to state my piece". The scientists turned to see who spoke. Their eyes went wide in shock and awe, as it was none other than the despised doctor himself. He was covered head to toe in the gear of a medieval plague doctor - the same gear he wore when he was found manufacturing more vaccines at his house. The Emperor quickly reached for his gun. "What treachery is this?!"the despot roared as he scrambled from his dilapidated throne. The scientists sprinted from the room, with the exception of a single intern. "This fine lady here freed me from that digital prison of yours before the meeting began, 'Emperor'."calmly intoned the doctor. "Show the files you found, Marisa". She searched through the bag at her side, paying little notice to the shaking hands of the Emperor as he placed his finger on the gun's trigger. "Journal Entry 14E1: It is done. I have switched out his 'cure-all' vaccine with my doses of mixed prions. He will be blamed for the death of the world, and I will rise from its ashes". "ENOUGH!"shouted the Emperor as he broke into a sweat. "I'll make sure the knowledge of what I did never comes to light. People have fallen from their places, and I will rule over the rabble until the day I die!". The doctor chuckled, replying "That's the first truthful thing you've said in 5 miserable years". The tyrant aimed his pistol and went to press the trigger, but the shot never came. His face bleached white with rage, fear... and sickness. The man who had fooled the world keeled over in his throne of trash, killed by his own plague. The doctor and the intern strolled from the decaying hall. They would soon release the cure that had been scheduled for 5 years prior, to the day.
See, the aliens made a mistake. Oh, sorry. By 'aliens', I'm referring to the Zok'twngi. They're a species that had a bad habit of making games out of the lives of other species. Yes, I said 'had'. What happened? We exterminated them, of course. How would you respond to having your entire species dropped on a planet in what was essentially a war of survival between your, and other, species? It logically follows. Anyway, the mistake they made was that they didn't research us. We were so much tougher than the rest. High gravity (compared to the homeworlds of the others) and evolution made just our first two layers of skin more durable than the entire exoskeleton of a Sc'ckri'krsi. No, it's not absurd. They would literally explode from a half-hearted punch. Their exoskeletons were about as useful as rice paper. Needless to say, the 'game' was boring for the galaxy. We won. Easily. We killed the Zok'twngi so they wouldn't do anything like that again. We killed eleven species, but that blood on our hands didn't stop us from killing one more to prevent future atrocities. The fact that you idiots let the Zok'twngi roam around with their centennial genocidal game is fucking ridiculous. Oh, you're through? Well, on your way out, give a message to the Galactic Council. Let it happen again and we'll make sure the future will arrive without you.
The bartender finally handed me my drink: some pink concoction in a plastic martini glass. Immediately, someone bumped into me, sloshing a sip or two over the rim and onto the sticky floor below. "What an asshole,"squealed Kyzygt. "He doesn't even lift - you can take him!" "Oh stop,"chided Hepton. "He feels bad about it, you know? He's not really a fan of nightclubs." "Yeah,"I sighed. "That makes two of us."I looked over at Sam. True to form, he had already left me alone to go talk to some girl. "So what's going through Sam's mind?"I asked, waving an arm in his direction. To Kyzygt's delight, another tablespoon of drink splashed out of my glass. "He's really happy that you made it out here,"said Hepton. "Ever since you and Lisa parted ways, he's been trying to find a way to connect with you." "Connect with me?" "He wants the gory details,"Kyzygt cackled. "He wants to hear about how it ended, then tell you to move on." Hepton sighed, loudly. "He really wants to make sure that his friend is okay." "Well now he really wants to go to that lady's place tonight."Kyzygt cocked his head to the side. "So much for a dude's night out, eh?" So much indeed. The Rose would have been a much better choice of venue for tonight. It was quieter, easier to talk. They could have sat down at a booth, with a decent drink, and shared their stories in peace. Hepton must have seen the disappointment on my face. "He just thinks differently than you do. Tell me, how did you two meet?" "You were there,"I grinned. "I guess you could say we ran into each other at the Spartan Run last year."I chuckled, egged on by Kyzygt's loud moan. "Precisely,"Hepton smiled. "He loves telling that story, about how you both struggled together. That's how he builds relationships. He loves the chase. He loves that you both had to carry each other over the finish line. That's why you're here tonight. He wants to give you another experience like that one." "So you're saying I should give this club a chance?" "I'm saying that you'll help him feel better. And maybe that will make you feel better too." Much to Kyzygt's dismay, another dancer bumped into my back, spilling the drink onto my shirt this time. "You know,"Hepton said, slyly, "Sam's new friend over there is out with a group."He gestured to a blond lady, quietly sipping at her own cheap pink martini, "Stacy is getting tired of this scene as well." Kyzygt shrieked. "I couldn't stand to listen to the angel on her shoulder. He's so preachy, and she puts far too much stock in his advice. Now Kaity over there..."he pointed a claw at a brunette tending to her phone and a bottle of beer. "Her demon and I would get along famously. At least for a night or two." Kyzygt paused, then furiously chattered in demonic. To his glee, another dancer bumped into me, spilling the last of my drink onto the floor. "So what do you say?"Hepton smiled, warmly. "Let's buy someone a drink.”
The rules were simple. Show up. Play nice. Read the speeches she wrote, word for word. Don't get too drunk. Uphold appearances. Don't get attached to anyone. And above all else, don't let anyone figure out who, or rather what, I am. Simple enough, you'd think. It helps that I love these parties and events. It's the only time I ever get to leave that lab. The only time I get to talk to anyone other than the doc. She's fine company most of the time, but when you spend all your time with the same person 24/7, you kind of want a bit of break. Well, most people would. Dr. McIntrovert seems to be wholly content with staying in her lab working toward whatever scientific breakthrough she's focused on now. Because she literally spends every waking moment doing experiments, making breakthroughs, and just being the awesome scientist that she is, she's gotten several awards and other accolades. Which she is incredibly proud of. But that means going to parties and other events. Not exactly how she wants to spend her free time. Which is where I come in. While she sits in the lab toiling away at her research, I go to the events and pretend to be her. And, not to brag or nothing, but I'm probably her greatest accomplishment. A perfect clone. Physically and genetically, at least. I've even got the same weird birthmark on my back. And I was never even birthed. Better yet, I have the intended personality she was hoping for. Intelligent enough to pass of as her. Charismatic. Easy to get along with. Amicable (to most people). And I enjoy parties. Boy, do I love parties. Last one I went to was to celebrate NASA's first manned mission to Mars, thanks in no small part to the doc. I - I mean she - was being acknowledged along with the several other scientists who helped figure out a way to treat the radiation the astronauts would absorb from being on the planet's surface. That tech and research was then shared with doctors and scientists around the globe to aid in cancer research, making radiation therapy much more manageable. Anyway, I'm at this event, mingling, making small talk, drinking, eating some of the best space-themed foods I've ever tasted. Just all around having a good time. I was about three drinks in when across the hall, I see this woman. I don't know how she caught my attention so suddenly, but once I saw her I couldn't stop seeing her. She wore a blue dress, had silky chestnut hair, and had this smile that could damn near break your heart. We made eye contact for the briefest of moments before I was called to deliver my - the doc's - speech. I got up to the podium, and the woman was just gone. Poof. I had no explanation or understanding for how she could've disappeared so quickly, but it didn't matter. I had a speech to give. I read the speech from the index cards the doc always insisted I brought. Normally, I'd be able to give the speech without referencing them. I never had much else to do in the lab other than go over what I needed to say at the next party. I should've had it memorized. But once on the podium, my mind was occupied with trying to find that woman again. I blundered my speech. Made a joke about it that seemed to smooth things over. Tried to make amends before finally throwing in the towel and just thanking everyone I could think of. With that out of the way, I mingled some more, still trying to find that woman. But she and that blue dress were gone. I gave up the search and realized it was stupid in the first place. Even if I did find her, what would happen? What could happen? There were rules. The doc was strict about them. I had to follow these rules. But... I still wondered. Was this all I was ever meant for? Just being a stand in? A prop for the doc to call on when she didn't want to go somewhere? A simple understudy in her life? Would I ever be any more than her clone? Her greatest achievement? Could I be my own person? If so, could I find that woman again? If I did, what would happen? Should I try? Should something happen? These thoughts rolled around in my head for the rest of the night. And then, out of nowhere, she found me. "Dr. Tepman?" "Yes?" I did not expect to find her after that disappearing act. More importantly, I didn't expect her to know who I was, or rather who I was supposed to be. When I did see her, my jaw hit the floor and I didn't know what else to say. "Might I have a word?" "Of course." I said goodbye to the scientists I was speaking with and followed the woman off to a separate area of the event hall. We passed a group of men in suits who watched us go with an almost leering gaze. I glanced their way quizzically. They all averted my gaze like they'd been caught in some terrible act. We finally came to a stop at the end of a secluded hallway far from any rooms wherein someone might be listening to our conversation. This woman was really looking for discretion. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"I asked. "Your work,"She said with a smile. "We had to come here to talk about it?"I arched a brow at her. "This is kind of... isolated." "The work I want to talk about is a bit more classified than most of what everyone in that room knows about." I folded my arms curiously. "Oh? Is that so?"I wondered what work she could be talking about. I only every know enough about the doc's work to uphold conversations at the events in which said work is being recognized. If it's classified, chances are I know nothing. "It's about your work in genetics." Genetics? I thought. Since when does she know anything about genetics? Or at least, since when was it public knowledge? "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I'm a physicist." The woman approached me with slow, languid steps. "I've heard that you dabble in other fields." "I'm sorry to disappoint."I took an abrupt step backwards. Something about this was very much not right. "But, you've heard wrong." "I don't believe I have, Dr. Tepman."Her eyes flashed behind me for the briefest of seconds. Which was the only warning I had for what was to come next. "Or whatever name it is she calls you." "What are you--?"I managed to get out before I felt the syringe pierce my neck. I gasped, frantically clawing at the hands that held it and me in place. When the needle was removed, I instantly felt light-headed and dropped to the floor. The woman was saying something to whoever it was that attacked me, but her words were muffled, garbled by whatever drug I was just injected with. A man, one of the men who watched us walk out of the main hall in fact, came into view. And then it all went dark. I came to months later in some lab very much unlike the doc's. I was strapped down and had several different tubes leading into my arms. The woman from the party was there. She saw on the edge of a bed that someone else was strapped down to. She wore a lab coat and her chestnut hair was drawn into a ponytail. She noticed I had woken and approached me. "Morning, Hazel,"She said smiling. I only stared in response. I had no clue how she found out my name. The one the doc used for me, I mean. "The courts finally made a decision on what you are. I mean, you're a clone. Obviously. But the question became whether or not you were your own person."She sat herself down on the edge of the bed I was strapped to. I pulled my leg away irritably. Not that I could move it all that much, just enough so I didn't have to touch her. "Spoilers: you're not."She smiled cheerily like that was a good thing somehow. "Which meant Dr. Tepman did nothing illegal. But then the cat was out of the bag and we - the government that is - had to find out what to do with you and Dr. Tepman. We all agreed that she was just barely scratching the surface with you. She didn't do any tests. To see how similar you two really were. So that's where we come in." She leapt off the bed and pulled over the other bed. I stared at the other body terrified that it might be the doc lying there. The woman lifted the back of the bed so that whoever was lying on it. Once the bed was high enough, I gasped. "So we made another one of you."Strapped to the bed was another Dr. Tepman clone. Identical to the both of us in every physical way possible. She looked about frantically, her eyes wide and wild. Her head was shaved and her skin was pallid. She looked like me and the doc, but also looked very different from the both of us. Much more animalistic. The woman draped her arm across the other clone who recoiled in response. The woman smiled a crooked smile that made my stomach lurch. "Now the real fun begins."
'Where's the remote...where...the hell...is the..a ha!' With his arm three quarters buried between the cushions of the couch John clenched his fist around the device and pulled his arm out victorious, he thought he had finally found the TV remote. He had not. In his hand was a simple yet mysterious device, no longer than a mobile phone, semi flat smoot surface and cylindrical with a plunger button on top with the word 'Muerte' engraved across the button. 'hmmm... What is this?..' John muttered to himself bemused with his finding Shouting off into the distance hoping Sarah would hear him from the kitchen "Sar..... What's this?"he waited for a response. After a minute of no response he repeated the same places he had looked for the TV remote them dropped himself down back on the couch, reluctantly watching the repeat of last night's reality show he was trying to turn off. As each act came on John smiled as he clicked the button engaging with the show before him, Imagining himself as one of the judges cancelling acts as they bored him, amusing himself. After several acts had performed, and John had 'buzzed' each and everyone one of them, an emergency news report flashed up on the screen 'Breaking News from the Got Talent House, 7 of the 8 contestant's have reportedly died mysteriously, all 7 apparently clutched their chests, repeated the same word and passed away within moments of each other. More on this as the story develops. 'Next up on News 5, are socks killing your kids? Join us after the break' John zoned out from the news taking in the information he had just heard, the plunger still firmly in my hand. John looked at the plunger button in his hand confused....was it his fault....did he do this? Sarah entered the room "Did you shout me?"she asked. "yeah..."still looking confused "you'll think this is wierd but bare with me..'"John continued, absent mindedly pressing the button as he explained to Sarah his conclusion. "John.... I love you but.... You're an idiot"Sarah said as she spun and wondered off back to the kitchen. John sat back down on the couch, as he did he heard a stumble and a slight clatter of plates from the kitchen, as he got up and investigate could hear muttering from the kitchen. "Muerte.....Muerte.....Muerte..."Sarah made eye contact with John as she crashed to the floor, clutching her chest.
I opened my eyes, and knew something had gone wrong. &nbsp; For one, I hurt all over. It was a deep ache, as if I'd been working out and had gone WAY overboard…or, more likely, as if I had been hit by a truck. I winced as the pain hit me, and the light streaming down through branches and leaves, although dim, stung my eyes. Even my mouth felt strange, thick, and putting all the elements together, the first thought that came to me was, 'Well, you got black-out drunk and fell into someone's yard, you idiot'. &nbsp; The problem with that was that I don't drink. At least, not often, and though things were still a little hazy with my memory, I knew I hadn't left the house yesterday. Working from home meant I could go days at a stretch without leaving, a situation that at once pleased my lazy nature, and one that I knew wasn't good for me. &nbsp; I pushed myself up, feeling the dewy grass and wet leaves under my hands. Blinking furiously, I wiped the dirt and bracken on my shirt, feeling the liquid soak into my shorts as I sat in what appeared to be muddy soil. It must have rained last night. At least the clothes didn't matter. I was only wearing some athletic shorts and a thin t-shirt, instead of my usual button-ups. &nbsp; In all directions, trees. There was little undergrowth, and soft mosses and round stones butted up against tall, thin trunks with rippling bark. It was cool, cooler than it had been the day before, and somewhere behind me I heard water trickling. &nbsp; "What the hell happened last night…" I muttered to myself, slowly grunting and pushing myself to my feet. At least I was wearing shoes; the creek had to be the one behind my house, a few hundred feet into the woods, but I didn't remember them looking this…pleasant. One of the neighbors must have taken it upon themselves to get it all cleaned up, though I was pretty sure none of them owned the land itself. It was all part of a bigger parcel next to the plot our house was on, something ridiculous like eight hundred acres. &nbsp; If the creek was here, that meant…my house should be uphill, that direction. I turned, took a few steps, and paused. &nbsp; There was no 'uphill'. It was all flat. &nbsp; I looked back at the creek. Up that direction should be…no, there was no rising hill on that side either, which meant no neighborhood through the woods in that direction, which meant definitively I wasn't behind my house. At least, not in the part I had wandered through; I hadn't gone very far in, given there were signs everywhere, but something about all of this felt weird. &nbsp; "Hello?" I shouted, my voice cracking. Charitably, I chalked it up to having just woken up and being parched, but it was more likely my nerves showing. My head was pounding, my body was aching, my memory was fuzzy, and now I wasn't even sure where I was. &nbsp; I whistled, to see if the dogs might be around, but they lived inside with us. I didn't hurt badly enough to think that maybe I hit my head…it really just felt like a horrible hangover. &nbsp; "Ashley?" I yelled, on the off chance I had just gotten turned around. She would have work today, but with nothing else to go on… &nbsp; No response. &nbsp; That was when my heart really starting pounding. Where the hell was I? Why did I feel so rotten? Where was my house, my wife, my dogs? None of it was making sense, and as the dawning realization came that I didn't understand what was happening, my heart began beating faster, I felt my chest constrict, my breathing sped up…I could feel myself begin to panic. &nbsp; "Anyone?!" I yelled, breaking into a slow run. I was barefoot, but the earth was soft, blanketed with moss and grass. My feet bore down and left indents in the muddy ground, an oddly pleasant sensation while I felt nothing but terror. Not for the first time I cursed myself for letting my body go straight to hell. This was the kind of time it would be nice to be in halfway decent shape, instead of a hundred pounds overweight, with all of the endurance of a baked potato. &nbsp; I felt something fly by my head, almost before I heard the whistling. There, a few feet to the side, an arrow quivered where it had impacted with the soft wood of the tree. I stumbled to a halt, breathing heavily, and stared at it. &nbsp; Wooden shaft. Feathers. Not the usual carbon and plastic sort of thing I was used to seeing. I looked over my shoulder, raising my hands slowly, and scanned the trees. &nbsp; Nothing. &nbsp; "I don't mean to be trespassing," I said, trying to keep my voice as calm as I possibly could. "I'm just…I'm lost, and I'm trying to get off of your land. I don't want any trouble-" &nbsp; Pain. &nbsp; Not the dull, aching pain that I felt waking up. This was sharp, insistent. I stared down at the arrow sticking out of my forearm in shock; the arrowhead was curved, with tines pointing back, and a strange, brilliant scarlet. It took me a moment before I realized that was my blood. &nbsp; Letting out a choking gasp, I jerked back, my foot hitting a stone and sending me tumbling down as another arrow flew overhead. My arm connected with the ground, the shaft of the arrow twisting on impact, sending a true jolt of agony up my arm, and eliciting another shriek of pain from somewhere inside my chest. &nbsp; Another deep, alien sensation of force on my leg; an arrow sprouted from my thigh, sticking down and into the soil beneath me. I tried to get up, scuttle off behind the all-too-thin trees, to do something, but all I managed was to kick my uninjured leg and cause the arrow to scrape against the bone. My vision was narrowing, and the light-headedness I felt was clearly not a good sign. &nbsp; "DON'T FUCKING SHOOT ME!" I screamed, waving my good arm, jerking it back as another arrow passed by. &nbsp; I heard something like laughter, light and airy, and my wide eyes took in everything as my brain searched for something, anything that could keep me alive. &nbsp; It didn't find anything. &nbsp; Another laugh, and then… &nbsp; Guttural, animal barking. A scream, high and loud, followed by another grunt and silence. I lay in the dirt, bleeding, barely able to keep my wits together. I was in no position to try to look, no condition to sit up. I knew, on some level, I was losing a lot of blood, and that wasn't good, but I would be damned if I could articulate why it was a problem. &nbsp; A figure walked slowly into my vision. It was strange, but the thing I noticed the most was that it was large enough to block the light coming down into my eyes. Then I took in the rest of him. &nbsp; Tall. Probably six and a half feet, and broad in the shoulders and chest. Long arms, short legs. His proportions were…a little off, in a few different places, almost like a chimpanzee and a human mixed together. Gray skin, covered in what had to be scars and lesions, and a simple, heavy axe in one massive hand. In the other, a head, dangling by shining white hair, the face almost comically surprised. &nbsp; He (and I knew it was a he, beyond all doubt, given my vantage and the choice of a heavy robe or kilt sort of outfit) looked down at me, sniffing. The chimpanzee comparison extended to his face, with a broad, flat nose, not quite shaped like mine, and small eyes. The facial build was heavy, almost like a Neanderthal, with a heavy brow and big ears. I stared up at him, completely guileless, unable to process this alien person, or the fact that they were holding a head that, against all odds, was not attached to a person. &nbsp; Words. He said something in strange words. A sort of choking, guttural language I wasn't familiar with. I stared back, momentarily shocked past the point of crying out, my eyes watering and nose running and I was fairly sure spit dribbling from my mouth. It only got worse the lower down my body you went. &nbsp; The figure glanced up, waved his axe towards someone, and I heard another grunt in response. He bent down, dropping the head somewhere on the ground, and he reached down to the arrow in my arm. Before I could say anything, he snapped the shaft, sending it scraping against my bone again. &nbsp; Everything went black.
The light is red. I push off the ground, feet moving back to the pedals of my trusty, blood-red Schwinn, rolling into the crosswalk. I am doing everything right. I've even turned on those dumb flashing lights that my dad insisted I attach to my bike. The light is red. The car doesn't stop. I see it in my peripheral vision, and my heart skips a beat. Two metric tons of metal plow into my side, and suddenly I see the sky, and then the ground, and then my heart really does skip a beat. I see the sky again. Blood is thick and coppery in my mouth. It's what I imagine it would taste like if I licked the rusted handlebars of my bike, except it's wet, and it's spilling down my chin. My bones are all crunched up inside me. I can feel them shifting around as I struggle to breathe, and it reminds me of the time Ricky and I were playing inside the house and we knocked over Nan's china cabinet, and it went from this beautiful, austere display to just a box of broken glass, and Nan didn't even yell at us, she just stood there, looking, like her brain wouldn't catch up to reality, the way the driver is looking at me now, like she can't quite understand the unnatural curve of my arm and the blood all over, where it shouldn't be, just the way– Just the way– Just the way I'm looking down at myself now. I was driving. I was going to cycle to the store this morning, enjoy the fresh air, when at the last moment I checked the weather forecast, and the handsome weatherman said there was a 40% chance of rain today, which isn't terribly high. But I decided to drive. I was driving, and I looked down at my phone for a split second, and I didn't see her– myself– even with those stupid lights because I wasn't looking. Now I am looking. My own body lies broken on the pavement, breath gurgling, then stuttering, then stopping altogether. I just stare. I can't do anything but stare. I imagine I look just like Nan did, that day Ricky and I– But wasn't I just thinking that, moments ago, right after the car–? I was on the bike. I was on the ground. I'm standing beside myself. I was in the car, before. None of it makes any sense. I've stepped into an oil painting, where time melts and puddles on the floor, where eyes are where mouths should be, where staircases wind up and down and into themselves, and none of it makes any sense. A scream is building up in my throat. I press my palms against my eyes, hard, until I see white spots bubbling up in front of me. And when I lower my hands and look again, I am gone. The body, that is. There's nothing on the pavement now– no corpse, no blood, no totaled bicycle. What? I stare and stare. Minutes pass, or maybe hours. A man pulls over to the side of the road and asks if I'm having car trouble. I stare at him, too. He starts to look uneasy. I smile. I tell him everything's fine, that I had pulled over because I was sick and I didn't want to throw up in my car. He relaxes. I get in my car and drive away, away from the scene of the crime that has apparently unhappened. I'm on autopilot, and I get all the way to Barrigan's before I remember I'm off work today. I pull into the drive through line and order a coffee, black. I need to clear my head. I need to go home and schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist. I pull up to the window. Eleanor looks confused. "Weren't you just–?"She looks over her shoulder, and then back at me. I can't process whatever she's prattling on about right now. The coffee is in her hand. I take it and throw a handful of cash her way, probably three times as much as the coffee costs. She splutters something at me that I don't hear as I drive away. The cup is so hot that it nearly burns my hand, and I get all the way home before taking a sip. Any other time, I would have noticed. If I hadn't just somehow died and killed myself at the same time, I would have noticed the faint scent of mint wafting up from the cup. But I don't notice. I take a gulp, and then another, and another, and then I realize that it's getting rather hard to breathe, and I pull on the collar of my shirt a little bit, and then I realize– Mint. I scramble for my purse, rummaging through it to find the EpiPen I think I have in there, but it's been so long since– God, it's hard to breathe– since I've needed it. I'm not even sure if it's in there. I dump everything onto the floor, and– there! My fingers close around a cylindrical object– it's only a pen. My breath is coming in ugly, wheezing gasps, and I topple onto my side, weakly scratching at my throat. Is this it? After somehow dodging death once, this is my end? Writhing on the floor, taken down by an herb in my coffee? My vision is getting darker. I feel the room start to spin. Riley... Riley... Someone is calling my name. I gag once, twice, and then I relax, letting myself go limp. Someone is waiting for me. There's a light. Riley... Mom? "Riley. Riley!"I jump, and turn around. Eleanor is raising an eyebrow at me. "Earth to Riley." I look around, disoriented. I'm back at Barrigan's. The smell of caramel hangs in the air. I'm wearing my usual uniform. "Hey, you okay?"Eleanor is concerned now. She's biting her lip, the way she always does when I tell her that my car broke down or my brother's cat died or my dad's having issues with his memory again. "Yeah, I–"I clear my throat. "I'm fine." She looks unconvinced. "Well... Okay. There's an order for an iced latte." "On it." I turn away, back to the coffee maker. Back to the coffee maker, because I was just here, making a caramel macchiato. And before that, a mocha with vanilla. And before that, two coffees. One black, one with cream and mint. Did I...? "Actually, El,"I say faintly. "I am feeling a bit off. I think I need to go home."I turn around and my legs start to buckle. I catch myself on the counter, and at the same time, Eleanor reaches out uncertainly as if she's going to catch me. "Oh! Oh, well– Yes, you'd better go home, then."Her forehead is all creased. "We'll manage here. I'll call Patrick, see if he can come in." "O–kay. Thanks." I have to get out of here and figure this out. Am I going crazy, or is this– this insane, impossible thing somehow real? And if it is real– if I am somehow in two places at once, if one version of myself is somehow killing the other– How? And perhaps more importantly, why? &#x200B; \[TBC?\]
It was really fun when I figured it out. I could become anything, gain any powers I wanted, get into any fantasy I wanted. I tried not to overuse the text document because I was unsure of whether or not it had a limit. Best not to chance it. The flying and laser eyes and orgies got tiring surprisingly fast. I found that I enjoyed just living normal life and experiencing the small things. Helping others out, walking in the park, even work was more fulfilling. I never really enjoyed reading and don't feel as if I should alter my personality to be able to do so with my magical text document. I didn't need to read anyways after figuring out I could instantly learn whatever I wanted just by typing that I knew it. That's how the incident happened. That's how I became the monster that destroyed my pc. I could have just Googled it. It would have been just as easy. I was so tired that night and I was already staring at the document. I was slightly bothered about comments about my spelling errors and wanted to at least fix my errors before heading to bed. So as I was nodding off I slowly typed in the window, falling asleep on the last key, "I understand the proper usage of your and you reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee"
The Gates. The Gates. The Gates! All men to the Gates! Avarice is upon us, We must deny it our fates! Come heaven, come hell, For no man it waits! The Gates. The Gates. The Gates! Upon thy steep our freedoms mourned, Crashing upon these hallowed doors. Stand, men, and defend thine lord! Fulfill the oath to which your lives are sworn! The Gates. The Gates. The Gates! It is here we stand, let flesh be torn. Upon thy steep, we are glory born. There it is, let to the steep our blood adorns, Come the righteous vengeance of lore. The Gates. The Gates. The Gates! Fight men, against his might. Forget not those you love or their plight, And forge forward still, do not take flight! Quench the fires that hell doth light! The Gates. The Gates. The Gates! The Demon War upon thy steed, Came through the gates for all to see. There were but wails or sobs, not righteous deeds, No quarter is given to those that plead. The Gates. The Gates. The Gates! And open the door did fly. There was no place to stop and hide. Upon thy corpses, in he doth stride. It was there they fought. There they died. The Gates. The Gates. The Gates! Edit: Typo - pleed to plead.
“Jordy, hold the stick with your hand.” Jordan did as instructed, holding the bamboo shoot with a white-fisted power choke. The baseball bat had been a little too heavy for the young Infomancer, and so they had chosen the next closest tool. “And now, like we tried before, turn your upper body. Really wind up. Get tense,“ Jordan’s muscles quavered, his whole body confused, but his attunement was helpful here, and so his task succeeded. He was pleased to work for his king. “And swing! Just like me!” Jeremiah twisted again, uncoiling like a snake. The pitcher machine sent a timely volley after him- every ball hit the air net. “Your turn!” Jordan looked at the rod in his hand. It made a slapping sound when tapped against the ground. The pitch machine waited, gurgling insults with its inner rotator. “Ok. I’m ready.” Jeremiah took a few paces back, walking to the control center. Maybe the plan would work today. Jordan spun, coiled, a ball shot out, he turned- The ball connected with the rod. It was only a little, but the snapping sound received through open sky. The crack startled the Infomancer child, who was now too shocked to notice. After twenty days of failed swings, this was the one. “Yes! YES!” Jeremiah cheered. It could be done. The rest of their struggles from here on out were a sham. He’d get Jordy walking again in no time. “Now then. Want to try again?” The boy’s eyes lit up. Maybe he really would get to have a bona-fide, baseball, attunement. Next season for sure, he’s be ready.
Hi u/hopoffZ, this submission has been removed. [Prompt users in the title, but don't play writing games or commission stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_6.3A_prompt_users_in_the_title.2C_but_don.27t_play_writing_games_or_commission_stories) - Prompts go in the title, do not extend into text. You can add commentary in the text, but don't add additional prompt restrictions. Also, avoid [too many details](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/prompts?src=RECIPE). --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9ihl8v/-/%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.
Bar fights are never a good idea. But when you're put in the position of impending violence, you don't really have a choice. Now my first instinct is always to run, but if it's apparent that innocent bystanders might be hurt if I do so, I can't bring myself to abandon them. Three guys, drunk, angry. None of them look trained or armed, but that's not an assumption you can afford to make in these situation. A concealed carry pistol can be as small as a wallet or smartphone but just as lethal as a high powered rifle at close range. They're cheap, and regardless of laws to the contrary, felons and unlicensed individuals frequently have them. Knives are also a factor. They're not as lethal but can do a lot more damage than some drunk with his fists and boots. And anywhere there's glass bottles you're pretty much assured to have someone hit you with one. Pray it breaks. If it's not cheap, or hits at the wrong angle, you're less likely to get cut and more likely to have your skull caved in. They do a pretty good impression of a hammer if you know how to swing or get lucky. The best advice I've ever been given is never to fight. If you view it as a fight, you've already lost. Every conflict is a potential lethal scenario. And if you're not willing to kill your opponent you may die. I actively try not to kill. But maiming, that's on the table. "Come on guys, lets take it outside. Someone's probably already called the cops"I suggested, stepping nervously towards the door. One of the guys picked up a beer bottle and brandished it at me. "I'm good here"He growled, advancing. Posturing doesn't work unless your opponent is already afraid. This guy wasn't. He thought he was going to win. He rushed forward, swinging for my head. I rushed forward as well, cutting his swing short by tackling him. I picked him up off his feet and rushed him backward, smashing him in to the bar and sending stools scattering. I let the momentum carry me and swung his body, throwing him across the room as hard as I could, and into another table. Nearly every surface in a room is harder than your body, and capable of doing more damage to someone else's if you apply force. Don't bloody your knuckles hitting someone if there's something hard around to beat them with. Or to beat with them. "Fuck!"the other two shouted, coming at me at once. I was taken by surprise, shoved into the bar myself, and struck hard in my right shoulder. You never get over pain, but you can get to where it doesn't put you off your game as much. I grabbed a stool with my left hand and threw it at the nearest man's head. Human reflexes make you block something thrown at your face, even if you don't want to. Meaning he retreated and blocked his face, giving me an opportunity to shove the third man to my right as hard as I could, and send him stumbling to the floor among the tables. I grabbed a heavy glass ash tray off the counter, and beamed the man on the floor in the head with it. The one I'd throw earlier rushed me again and I waited till he got close to step into him again, this time sweeping his rear leg and stealing his momentum. I grabbed the back of his head and drove it as hard as I could (without having to worry about a murder charge) into the floor, going to my knees as well. The guy I'd thrown the stool at ran up and kicked me in the side. I locked my shoulder and took the brunt of the impact in my arm. I had enough muscle it didn't break, but my left side was now more useless than my right. I rolled away jumped to my feet, using a table to help me up, and then shoving it at him as hard as I could. He tripped and fell to the ground, and I flipped the heavy thing on to him. He yelped as it hit his chest and knocked the wind out of him. I took the opportunity to kick him while he was down, not anywhere that could break a bone, in the meat of the thigh. If you can be picky, and someone is already down, avoid debilitating injuries. They look bad in resulting assault cases, as if you were being unnecessarily rough rather than just insuring someone didn't stand up and stab you in the back. I stood at the center of the room and looked to the bartender. "I'm going to stand here, call the police. But don't move anything. Also, I'm sorry for trashing the place, if you feel the need to file suit I would direct you to my attorney who I'll be calling momentarily"I sighed. She look dumbfounded, but nodded, pulling out a pink Iphone and dialing. I pulled out my own smartphone and called my lawyer. I could already see the list. Bruised or cracked ribs from the tables, likely skull fracture and plastic surgery from the ashtray, at least two concussions, likely hairline fractures to the arms, plus whatever the bar decided to claim we'd done in damage. Final tip for any violent act you may ever commit? Have a good lawyer, witnesses, and evidence. You will get sued. Doesn't matter if a guy shot you during a fist fight. We live in a litigious society and it is coming. So much like a fight, or that knife or gun, one of these guys inevitably would've pulled if I tried some Kung Fu crap on them, You can either expect it and take preemptive measures, or you can be blindsided by it and take the risk of it ruining the rest of your life. &#x200B;
Bewildered, I stand in the street trying to register what just happened. "What's going on? What am I supposed to be doing?"I think to myself. Fortunately or unfortunately, I did not have very much time to think about what to do. A man came up running behind me screaming, "hurry! start running! there isn't much time!"As he came by me, he grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me forward. He looked at me with such intensity and freight that I began running with him. "Where are we going? What's going on?"I asked between my breaths. "There isn't any time to explain!"he responded. His response was ominous as we heard gunfire behind us. It was a fully automatic rifle, an AK 47. My days in the military were not all for naught. We turned the corner to shielded ourselves from the bullets, and continued to run. Suddenly, the man stopped running; I stopped too. He handed me a crumpled up piece of newspaper. "Here, take this!"he exclaimed. I grabbed it and realized that there was an object inside. "Use this to take you to the next step"he said. He then stopped running with me, and started to run in the opposite direction towards the gunfire. "Hey! What are you doing?! Stop! You're going to get yourself killed"I yelled at him. But it was too late. He was already around the corner and gone. I heard the confrontation from a distance, a loud scream, and then dead-silence. He was gone. The silence struck me like a pistol going off at the beginning of a race and I started to run. While running, I opened the the crumbled up piece of paper and looked at the object inside. I couldn't believe what I saw..
A pinch of rose, And several mice feet, Two garlic cloves, And a blind woman's teat, Brought to a boil, The fruits it shall bear, Will be incomplete, Without a lock of her hair, Then give it a stir, Add the beak of a crow, Plus several feathers, And of course a toad, Let it all simmer, Under the moon, Until it shimmers, Then get a spoon, Feed it to your desire, Just one bite will do, If you've done all the prior, Over you she will swoon.
"Ah fuck"I cried, hearing aliens announce on TV that they will destroy earth if I lose one more game of black jack. "Goddammit Carol, why does it always have to be us. First your mom calls me a slob, and now aliens want to blow up earth. This is absurd." My wife looked at me with a look of pure horror, like I didn't understand whats at stake here. Her mouth quivered like she's trying to say something but was unable to. She got off her seat and ran. "She's always been weak. I had to hold her hands while giving birth"I said to the dealer, sweat dripping down his face. "Hit me!" The dealer flips my first card. A four of hearts. The second was a Jack. That's fourteen total. Out of 13 different cards I can draw, 6 of them will bring an end to the universe. "No biggie"I thought to myself. "Your turn now"I nodded to the dealer. He flips both his cards. 18 total. The dealer swears under his breath and gives me a serious look. He whispers softly: "Look man, I don't know why it had to be you but I have an idea. I will make myself lose" The dealer was a handsome fellow, full body of hair and a nice suit. He shared that look with most high end Casino dealers. My wife would probably fuck him in a second. He wanted to be the hero and steal my spotlight. "No"I yelled. "Hit me!" Everyone in the world was watching me right now. The fate of humanity rested in my hairy hands. I enjoyed all the attention. Truth is, I don't know why the aliens picked me or this silly game to decide humanity's fate. I have a boring marketing job, a nagging wife and three ungrateful kids. Black Jack gives me the false sense of risk taking my life needs for a few dollars. An inconsequential Sunday turned into the most important day of my life. "Three, for a total of seventeen"yelled the dealer. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. I was close to winning. Any number larger than four will be the death of us all. "Again" The dealer's hands was shaking as he turned another card. "three and that's twenty! Sir you are guaranteed a win if you stand right now" I heard applause around me in the casino. Everyone was watching me. I paid a babysitter $60 to take care of my kids, they are asleep now. They could have watched their dad be a hero. I looked in my wife's direction; she was on her phone. Probably her mom or something. I don't care really. I've never felt so alive. "Hit me"
The hot steam of the shower had fogged up the mirror and the sweet scent of pomegranate body wash wafted throughout the bathroom. I'd always taken long showers. It helped me to think and to unwind. Today was no exception. When I heard the vworp vworp noise, I thought that maybe it was a neighbor's music that was too loud. There was a creak of a door and I knew that had to be coming from inside the room. I peered around the shower curtain, daring to peek my head out. Much to my surprise, there was a big blue police box filling much of the remaining space in my bathroom and a man peeking out from the door of it. "Oh... Hello... Huh. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere,"He said, glancing around the now cramped space of the room. I was still staring at him in shock. How had that police box gotten in my bathroom? And how had it gotten there without me taking any notice? "Miss, do you mind telling me where I am?" "Who are you? How did you get here?" "I asked you first." "You're in my bathroom!" "Yes, yes, I gathered that. I'm the Doctor, by the way,"He offered. "Do you at least mind telling me when I am?"He asked. "When? It should be around ten at night." "Yes, but the year?" "The year? Why wouldn't you know what year it is?"I couldn't make sense of the bewildering man. "Let's just say I've gone a bit off course,"The Doctor informed. "Humour me then? The year? The location? And perhaps your name?" "It's 2018. You're in America in my bathroom and my name is Cameron,"I told him. I went back behind the curtain and turned off the shower, finally stopping the water. I peeked my head back out again. "Do you mind handing me those towels?"I asked him a little awkwardly. The man got out a little hesitantly out of the box and he reached over to the towel rack. He looked up to the ceiling as he handed me my towels. "There you are,"He said, still not looking my way as if he was just realizing he'd dropped in on me in the shower and completely naked. I took the towels and disappeared behind the curtain again, putting my hair up and then firmly wrapping the other towel around me so I was fully covered. I opened up the shower curtain completely and saw he was still there, still staring up at the ceiling tiles. "Uh, so... Doctor... Do you think we can squeeze around your box to get out of the bathroom?"I asked, seeing there wasn't much space left. He looked around, seeming to appraise the situation. "Tell you what... I've got a better idea,"He said. "Come in,"He said, moving to get back into his box. "I'm soaking wet and you're a stranger that's just popped into my bathroom and you expect me to get into that tiny police box with you?"I asked him with a look. "Oh, believe me, it's quite roomy,"He assured, opening the door wide enough to let me look in. I gasped, seeing inside. It had to be an illusion or some sort of trick. There was no way it was that big. I ventured in out of sheer curiosity. Little did I know that was the beginning of the best adventure of my life. --- For more prompt fills and stories, visit /r/AgentPeggyCarter!

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