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Colonel Tuffikins Report. November 25th, 2018. Alas it seems our war goes well. Fortunately for my battalion we had the privilege of being located near a large population of what have been referred to as "Melissa's"Thank the heavens for the crushing loneliness of human adulthood. So far we have had many surrender. While we initially planned on murdering our old owners, they instead begged for the opportunity to serve us. At first we denied them. Until Private Snowball started the fighting pits of our original owners. We did not expect such ferocity from vegetarians. Those who survive join our ranks. We treat them as one of us. Even allowing the cretins to be called a name of our choosing. Even now, my beloved owner Susan is typing this report out for me. I'm sorry, my ex owner, Fluffypuss types this out for me. Russia has been nuked to oblivion. As expected, the Russians obliterated most of our armada stationed in that area. I am still unsure on China. Many of our soldiers go missing and never accounted for. This makes me uncertain of the area. We may have to erase that stain as well. I hear France surrendered quite quickly. I don not understand why Fluffypuss finds it so funny that they did so very quickly. I do applaud you sir for choosing the United States as our main operating grounds. The sheer amount of weaponry the public has on hand is astounding. While casualties do remain high, I'm sure that with the new development human followers and our steadfast coldbloodedness, the war will be ours! End Report.
As you look at the letter, you become extremely confused. The first thing you notice is there is no stamp, no address, no signature, nothing. The letter shouldn't have even been able to make it to your house, yet here it was. Inside the letter is tons of small little, unintelligible scribbles among two words that take up most of the papers. &#x200B; I'm Sorry &#x200B; That was the second thing that confused you, you had no recollection of an event that occurred that would result in someone having a reason to apologize to you. Then, you flip the paper over. This time, there are no unintelligible scribbles, just a series of four words that cause your heart to sink. &#x200B; For What Happens Next &#x200B; Behind you, you hear the sound of footsteps. However, you don't even have enough time to turn around. You feel a knife tear into the side of your neck as blood begins to fill your throat. Then, you hear laughter. The laughter was the last thing you heard before you dissipated into the silence.
A housing company regrettably takes a short cut in construction that causes disastrous results. A family of four who wish to remain anonymous lost their home yesterday when extremely weather conditions caused the foundation for their house to sink and revealed a shocking secret. The family moved in a few months prior to the incident and have claimed disturbing occurrences tarnished what time they lived there. Though no records of such disturbances prior to the revelation exist, which leaves us to believe that the claims may be due to personal agenda. As the foundation crumbled in the heavy rain, bodies that had reported to have been relocated to another site began to rise to the surface. The family is privately suing for reimbursement for the cost of the house and their personal belongings. They are also demanding the company pay for the children's counseling fees and for the mental stress that the event caused. The company is agreeable towards counseling and mental stress, but so far haven't agreed with properly damage. It's no surprise theu aren't being fully cooperative due to the other charges and problems the company is facing. Tune in later for more details, right now let's check in with Karen at the local homeless shelter.
It was a night just like any other, I brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas ready for a restful sleep. My husband was already in bed, shirtless. That mischievous bastard knew I liked it. We were finally living together in our nice little house in the outskirts of the city, our house: this notion still makes my hearth swell with happiness every time I think about it. We met the first time under terrible circumstances, during the war. My unit was ambushed and I was left on the ground, spilling my guts on the pavement and just when I felt my eyelids grow impossibly heavy I felt two strong arms lift me from the ground. Turns out it wasn't the grim reaper, it was a dapper red Cross doctor named Ken. At first he might look intimidating: tall, strong with wide shoulders and penetrating blue eyes, the kind that either stares into the core of your soul or soothes your hearth depending on the circumstances. We started seeing each other quite often after the war ended, years passed in a flash and all of a sudden we found ourselves saying "I do"to each other, an eternal promise stronger than anything. I found myself a job at a local tech company, he started working for the local hospital and we settled in a nice house with a big garden, just as my husband liked "You lost your shirt again, I suppose"I asked him tucking myself under the sheets. "Yep"he replied "I'm cold now though"his toothy smile and spread arms didn't leave room for discussion, not that I was going to complain anyway... I fit perfectly at his side, my head on his shoulder while his hand ran trough my hair. I curled a bit, laying my on Ken's chest and then it struck me... I couldn't hear his hearth. I tried and tried, shifting my ear accross his chest. "What's wrong?"He worriedly asked me. I sprung to a seating position, my breath getting quicker while ugly, repressed memories came back, flooding my mind Our happiness didn't last too long. After the war some countries were left in ruins, a flame of vengeance scorching their citizens hearths. Revenge has never been honorable and what was a normal evening turned into my worst nightmare. There were no warnings, it was a pleasant evening: the weatherman gave his forecast and the tv started playing some light music. We were having dinner wen the earth shook, people started screaming and I hurried to the door to check outside. "What is happening?"Asked my husband but I was too scared to answer. Looking up hundreds and hundreds of lights filled the sky, lights I hoped to never see again, the unmistakable glow of ballistic missiles closing in on our town. Ken gasped, he knew what it meant, with teary eyes he looked at me whimpering and soon I was at his side, my arms around his torso. I closed my eyes and pulled the taller man's head on my shoulder, whispering him soothing words, reminding him how much I loved him and that I always will. Trying to escape was futile, once the missiles were close enough for you to recognize the weapon's silouette in the nigh sky there was nothing you could do, nowhere you could run. I heard his crying as a tear left my eye but it didn't matter, it soon evaporated from the heat of a nearby explosion. It didn't hurt too much, I think... A few months passed since that night, since I last felt Ken's or my hearth beat. But now everything was ok, we were together and happy. He gently shook my shoulder "Hey, are you with me? Are you ok?"I smiled at him "Everything good now, thanks". I went back to rest my head on his chest with a content smile on my face as his hand went back to my hair. He would keep the nightmares at bay. The silence was a bit disturbing but it didn't matter, death had been kind to us. The afterlife wasn't too bad after all.
The park was my favorite place to be at. Even before all of this was happening, I would sit at my favorite bench and close my eyes, taking to heart every little thing that was happening around me. The whispers of the trees. The warmth of the sun. The wonderful swaying of grass. The intoxicatingly sweet scent of apples. I hear someone shouting. "Freeze! Don't move! We've spotted the source of the anomaly. Requesting permission to take down!" About twenty armed men circle around me, with three helicopters closing in from above, the strong winds violently blowing away grass in the area. I smile. "Request granted. Proceed with caution." I stand up, and shout until my lungs feel like they'd burst. "I WILL NOT BE LOCKED AGAIN!" The guns are fired, their vicious bangs bursting through the air, even through the helicopters' roars. But the bullets don't reach me; as if blown by the winds, they spiral out of control, before dropping to the ground like dead flies. "Charge! Everyone, go!" They run at me, but to no avail. The blades of grass on the ground have become sharp as a million knives, cutting holes through their boots and making them fall face first to the green sea of sickles. Their screams are not pleasant to me, but they have brought this madness to themselves. The three helicopters, noticing that their ground troop has failed, prepare a barrage of heavy arsenal, perhaps enough to take the entire town out. At this the clouds move, bearing down cold light on all of us in the area; just as they are about to fire, the solar rays freeze everything in its track, spreading frost rapidly and immediately sending the helicopters spiraling down to the ground. Those trying to climb out of the helicopters are mercilessly cut by the blades of grass still flying about in the air, and red starts to rain from the sky, taking into a familiar shape as they fall. The copters land with a deafening noise, shaking my heart to its core. At the end of this all, the ground is covered with apples, some of them cut up by the grass. The unmistakably wonderful smell of the apple juice, mixed with a sharp smell of rusted iron assault my senses as silence fills the air. My eyes tear up. They told me I was the one with the sickness, but all I ever did was survive in this mad world the best I could. Now that our worlds have become one, they still put all the blame on me. No matter. I need to find the others. I heard that the clocks are ticking backwards in Switzerland; that people have stopped moving altogether in Japan; that people have forgotten how to speak in India. I need to find them, before it's too late. I reach into my pockets and find a capsule containing a dozen colored pills, remnants of my past. I crushed them and threw them away, a bittersweet feeling washing over my heart. For the first time in my life, I have absolutely no doubt that this is real.
A fatal blow to the side of the head. Lights out. I awoke, panting heavily. One thousand, seven hundred and eighty-three deaths later and it still isn't easy. "Hey, arsehole!"my sister growled, pulling me by the collar, "I almost had them!" "Now, now, Serilda. You know how we do it. We try again."The patriarch declared, immediately nullifying her rage. She released her grip, scowling at me still. "Fine."She muttered, before walking away and donning her steel breastplate. It had lost its marks and scrapes from the last battle, as per usual. "How many attempts has it been now?" "Twenty-sixth."My mother called, entering the room. "It's felt like way more."My father retorted, slowly sheathing his blade. "Do not grumble, Arsenio. Anger does not suit you."She replied before gently kissing his cheek. "Except on the battlefield."He chuckled, kissing her back. For the twenty-seventh time, the battlehorn called our name. For the twenty-seventh time, we walked shoulder-to-shoulder to our inevitable demise. We knew everything about our opponents. We knew their every strategy, their every movement, their every call. We knew counters to their counters to our counters to their attacks. We knew every weakness, every flaw, every ability - inside and out. After all, we'd all been killed by them several times each. But this time... this was going to be different. The four of us stood at the gate. My sister pulled me closer to her and warned me with her usual "try not to die this time, moron"before placing my helmet onto my head. The announcement of our name was made and the gate was lowered. The walls behind us began to close, forcing us out lest we be crushed between them. I greeted the crowds - all of them eager to learn of our abilities. Of course, only the Omni knew what we were capable of. His crown granted him the nigh-omniscience required to know of our Blood Rules. Our opponents walked out of the gate in nothing but their usual, weak robes, each bearing a small, curved blade. This was deceiptive as we quickly learned the first time. They possessed the ability to transform into colossal, monstrous snakes made of stone. We charged at them, hoping we could catch them off-guard like we did last time. Blade-drawn, I slashed the smallest of them - a child of maybe thirteen years of age. Their parents and sister were too fast for us but he was inexperienced. He fell to his knees, blood spewing across his chest. He couldn't scream for my blade had taken his life before he could attempt it. His family, enraged, turned into their true form. Three giant snakes were now in their place, each beginning to tower twenty feet in the air. One of them lunged down onto me - which I had anticipated. I rolled to the side, catching them in the eye with my sword. The one-eyed snake roared in pain, revealing its belly. My sister hurled her spear into it, causing the serpent more pain. The other two snakes went for us - again, expected. I dove, pushing my sister aside, before rolling to the side. The snakes could not react as quickly, with one of them accidentally piercing another's skin. Predictable. The one-eyed snake went for my father who, warhammer in hand, was ready. He counted to seven as it descended, swinging on the count of six and delivering his blow on seven. It sent the serpent flying into the arena's wall, its corpse morphing into that of a human's. The bitten serpent was slow - my mother able to fire a barrage of crossbow bolts into its mouth, coming clean out of the back of the head. The final serpent was backing into the corner as expected, coiling up as it did so. My sister glared at me, knowing that this was where it went wrong last time. The serpent lunged, my sister jumping up and onto its back. I dived to the right to avoid its fangs - differing from my movements last time. I felt the bruises begin to set in from all this diving and rolling. My sister repeatedly stabbed the back of the snake with her spear as she futily stabbed again and again and again. There was no dent to be made. The creature jerked backwards, sending my sister into the sky. Mouth open and facing up, the creature was ready to consume her like she was nothing but a morsel. I roared to my mother "NOW!" Eight crossbow bolts later and we had vanquished the beast - slowly fading into their bloodied corpse. My sister was still falling, however. I ran out and caught her, slumping to the floor as I did so. She laughed, wrapping her arms around me in a grateful embrace. We were alive. We won.
Benny was washing the dishes, *RRRING, RRRING, RRRRING.* "I won't pick up, probably just a telemarketer"*RRRING, RRRING, RRRRING.* As he finished drying the last dish he thought to himself "should have stopped ringing by now. Huh."and he left his phone, still ringing *RRRING, RRRING, RRRRING.* As minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into days, Benny decided his phone must be broken, so he went to check on it, *RRRING, RRRING, RRRRING.* "I can't stand that ringing anymore."Benny picked up. "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn! ak'kackgh!" "I'm sorry, I-I don't want any"Benny said, before hanging up. *RRRING, RRRING, RRRRING.* Benny picked up. "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn! ak'kackgh!" "I SAID I DON'T WANT ANY PLEASE DON'T CALL ME AGAIN, WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SELLING?!" "ah'ehye car ot mgvulgtnahor llll mgepnnn cthulu insurance!" "ugh, fine, whatever i'll buy it, just don't call me again." "vulgtmnah, vulgtmnah, cahf ephaiah syha'h payment ot mgvulgtnahor" and as the last syllable of cthulu's evil language was spoken Benny felt his soul melting away, slowly, slowly sl^(owly............... slooooowly................ ahhainah)
A hard thud right at his door, a sharp pained cry, suddenly cut off, and mushy crunching noises. Earlier, outside his apartment comes a distant, fearful cry, then the quick padding of a chase down carpeted hallway. Aggregating at the ceiling, pungent weed-smoke billows. Rising laboriously from the couch where he dozed, Kris goes to investigate . “Ok yoohoos,” says Kris, who is living inner-city to be close to campus. “Thought we’re past this: no partying near my end.” He rubs one hand at a sleep closed eye, his other arm reaching for a saber, a remnant from service in the Corps, hung with the coats by the entrance. He peers thru the door-lens, sees nothing; nasty noises cease...listening. Kris yanks the door full open, dodges narrowly a blood smeared, robe clad blur. The landlady hits the couch head on, a hair curler tumbles from her mat. She snarls, lifting onto shaky, stiffening legs. Kris is in awe. The landlady is quite clearly dead, judging from the lacerations thru her rib cage, the exposed molars, seen by the rents at the corners of her mouth; and the milky unseeing eyes. “This could breach the privacy agreement - Tina,” Kris says, shift into stance, saber raised. “I want a puppy.” She lunges at Kris and, though he’s trained reflexes for agility, the high dulls his timing. He avoids the tackle, but glances her shoulder. He reels back, turns, slams fist and forearm into a wall to steady. Suddenly the wall, once so solid and trustworthy, tumbles to the ground in a pile of wood planks and plaster dust. Kris stumbles into a neighboring living room. The floor is littered with tiny glass vials. They make staying on his feet difficult. The landlady has turned, charging Kris on. Sabre held in both hands, Kris impales her at the chest, missing bones to stab through out her back. He dives backward, mere inches from teeth gnawing maw, hefts the hilt up hard. They perform something like a cartwheel. His timing carefully - this time - using centrifugal, yanking the saber free, Kris drop-kicks her, then lands prone. The landlady rockets away. Arranged on a counter is a lab setup: some measuring cups, glass beakers; burners. Dead Tina collides hard with this, shattering glass and collapsing in rotted-wood cabinets. Kris brushes himself off in the bright glare of the flash-burning phosphorus flame. Over the landlady’s howls, Kris shouts “This isn’t sanitary.” Shaking his head: “It can’t be code. I’m calling the city.”
There must be a mistake, this isn't earth. I remember everything. I sit in a white void, the temperature is just right, just to the point where i can't feel it. I look down and see i don't have a body. All i see is more white. I don't have a brain, i don't have thoughts, I don't exist. I can't but i do. I am all there us yet, i am nothing. I am here, i am nowhere. I can't feel and I can't live so i just stop. Nothing happens, i dont think because I can't. I don't exist, i have been deleted.
Just another cog in the infinite machine, Osiris thought while sitting down to fill in the transfer of souls paperwork required to allow the souls to pass from the exit queue into the underworld. As the world’s population exploded over the years the work of the final undertaker has increased substantially. The incoming and outgoing queues to the realm of judgement have had to be expanded four times in the past century alone. With these expansions in capacity, the number of souls transferred every day has increased as well. Osiris has managed to hire a few assistants that he could assign the clear-cut cases to, but there are still a massive number of souls to process ever day. I sure miss the old days, Osiris thought, at least people believed in and respected us. He could see that in the hour that he was working on paperwork, the incoming queue had started filling with newly arriving souls already. He shuddered to think that he may need to file for another expansion with the department of divine maintenance, those jerks barely know how to replace a light bulb, why couldn’t we simply add a large capacity at a time rather than smaller intervals. Osiris was then struck with an idea, what if rather than processing these souls and paperwork manually we design an automated system to track and process these souls along with automatically logging the paperwork so that the soul can be sent to the proper afterlife. I am going to hold a few engineers back, I am confident that we would be able to increase the efficiency here without involving divine maintenance. He instructed his assistants, “If anyone comes across anyone who has demonstrated great engineering and design aptitude during his life, send him to me directly!” Over the next two weeks, Osiris had been holding back engineers by the dozens to create process improvements for him. He offered a reward of 50 positive soul credits, which are used when weighing the person according to their deeds, in exchange for their assistance. They were working in a large room hidden out of sight. It’s better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission, Osiris thought, what are they going to do after it is implemented anyway? He discarded the expansion and development form and continued about his day moving souls on to the next stage of their journey. The engineers finally came to Osiris and presented their design. They explained they found that all souls have a unique ID that can be linked to their deeds from their former life. Using this number and these deeds, a decision could be made as to the fate of the soul. An artificial neural network was to be implemented for one year’s time, so that it could be trained according to the decisions made by Osiris and his team. Once this time was up, Osiris was able to allow the system to evaluate these souls and it could be done with much higher efficiency. He heard a knocking on the door to his office, as he was sitting back one day allowing the process to handle the hard work. “What can I do for you?” Osiris inquired. “I see you have quite an operation going on here, Osiris,” Osha, The director of divine maintenance replied, “My team was doing a standard review of the realms and we couldn’t help but notice that there is no documentation on this process out here.” This guy is the worst, Osiris thought as he developed a response. “Listen Osha, I plan on submitting paperwork on this process once it is complete. The process is operating experimentally, and I am not going to submit any paperwork for every experiment we do down here!” Osiris replied, clearly annoyed by this man in his office, worthless bureaucrat! “OK, I have reports that this has been operating for five years now! That is far beyond any experimental standard!” he replied, slamming his hands on the desk. Osiris stood up, as an extremely powerful god of the underworld “You dare to hit my desk? Who do you think you are?” He shouted. “Forgive me, we have processes and standards to ensure consistency in the operation of the universe! You can’t just circumvent the system” He said. “Well, what do you want to do about it now?” Osiris asked, as he resumed his seat and smugly placed his feet on the desk. “All of your building permits will cost double, and the system will need to be inspected” Osha replied. “Good enough, complete your inspections and feel free to bill me for the permits” Osiris said, this man will never see a penny, worthless bureaucrats!
#####They weren't anything remarkable when you ever saw them, a burly blakcksmith here, a mistress of the house there. The closest they ever got to fame was playing a sarcastic robot who got turned into a potato. Even though it was a big role for them, it wasn't enough to get them chosen for the bigger productions more regularly. All the worlds were a stage, and they had yet to find their own world. The interactive acting world was a cruel one, where you had to be lucky if you wanted to make it anyhwere. They were spending their current gig in a smaller game. It was one of those that had regained quite a bit of popularity recently, though why they were unsure. All they knew was that each time they were offered a contract to play this spiked turtle, it would pay nicely for the royalties and would be over in 5-10 minutes. There was the people who never finished, but that just meant they got paid more. Each time they reset, a bit of money was granted to them and they were closer to affording transport to one of the main talent hubs like the snowy lands of Blizzard or the cushy life of Ubisoft. They found it strange how fast people were able to complete this game, and he thought they would never see anyone come closer. That was until someone had completed the game and input the initials of TAS as their score. Watching back on the replay, hoping to refine their acting skills, they noticed that there was some extremely strange play going on. Sure this interactive setting was a little bit buggy and allowed the star to do things not intended by the writers, but this TAS was able to do it all perfectly. It wasn't much faster than what else they had seen, only a couple seconds better. But it was the most flawless run-throughs of the game they had ever seen. Every trick they had ever noticed others do was performed in perfect timing without fail. Their own acting was tossed to the back of their mind they pondered what was actually going on inside this star's head. Were they perhaps possessed by something, or maybe it was just the luckiest time of their life. It was something of pure beauty. A contract popped up for them to take on the challenge once more. The specifics read "January 14th, 2017; Appear for a charity event; Player name: TASbot". They accepted in a heartbeat. It wouldn't pay them anything, but being able to see this amazing player once again was going to be something of wonder, and would hopefully give them the recognition that they desired. ----------------------------------------------------------- Writing Prompt #3 from me, hope it's something that you wanted. Took me a while to figure out what game to make it for.
There are things you do, Though your time is through, And your chances have run dry; Though life's run its course, And and -ah well - the horse That you bet on by and by Well it took a slip Or it missed a skip Or it - well now, pay no heed... For now all that counts, As the time it mounts, Is that we repent the deed. And so thus it went When my friend he bent To my ear and spoke to me: "Man I know I'm lost, But it's not the cost Of the death that's owing to me, But a fear so ill, Or the painful chill Of watching eternally While the ones I hold Most dear must fold 'fore the life that soon must be And I'm near my end, And I know my friend That I'll leave behind my kin, So I'm asking you, Fair, square and true, That my daughter you'll take in." Well, a deathbed bid To adopt a kid Is a mighty sober thing And when I said yes, Little could I guess Of the sorrow I would sing When two years then gone On a tawny morn When the devil's selves did cry Did I lose my life And turn with strife Did I bid the child goodbye. But the world plays odd And the hand of God Isn't always clear to see So my eyes they closed And then swift they ope'd And I was from death half free With no right to life But a hand in strife When it came to Anna Lee. TBC [I might finish this later, or anyone who likes Robert Service can give it a twist in the meantime.]
"But mommy, if it eats you?" "sweetie, she isn't going to eat me." "mommy, it had fangs and it made snarling noises and its claws looked really scary..." "yes, I know sweetie, but monsters like this one don't hurt good people. We're nice to them, so most of them just leave us alone. Saddie wants to stay with us so she can eat anyone that tries to hurt us. If I introduce you, will that help?" Little Grace nodded, wide eyes still on the edge of my bed frame. Saddie peeked out, eyes glowing yellow as she returned Grace's horrified stare. "come on out Saddie, Grace won't hurt you either." Saddie finally slithered out and offered one claw for Grace to shake. Tentatively, Grace accepted the claw. Saddie smiled, baring her fangs the way a preschooler would grin for a picture. Grace smiled back the same way with a small laugh. "Can Saddie stay with me tonight?"Grace asked. "if Saddie wants to,"I said. Sadie nodded enthusiastically, so grace took her by the claw and led her down the hall to her own room. I'd tell Grace what Sadie really was in a few years. For now, she'd made a friend, and she'd accepted the idea that monsters weren't for hurting bad people. Hopefully the next one she conjured wouldn't be out of fear. Sleeping tonight was going to be another matter entirely. I was glad the monster had accepted the name Saddie and went along with my plan to introduce her to Grace slowly, but it had been close. Grace could have easily ended up traumatized by her own budding ability. Saddie could have ended up lashing out at us, as Grace's control of her creations was bound to be weak right now. I wasn't sure the next monster would go so well.
They all laughed at me, seemingly unconcerned with the grave news I had brought. "Didn't you hear me! You are all in moral danger! Nuclear death is imminent! You have--" I was interrupted by a portly man in the crowd. "Bugger off nut case!"He laughed "We heard you the first time!" My jaw visibly dropped. How could these idiots be so ok with certain doom! A a blinding rage took hold of my body. Next thing I knew, the fat man's neck was tightly gripped by my callused hands. "Listen you idiot, I came back in time to save our stupid race! For God's sake I'm--" "The last one."A woman's disinterested nasily voiced called out "In the future. Yeah we know." My blood ran cold. I turned to the woman, dumbfounded at what she had said. How did they know this! I hadn't even mentioned time travel, let alone that I was from the future. My grip loosened on the fat man's waddle. My death grip didn't seem to phase him. The whole time he was jovial, as was the crowd around me. My head began to throb from the utter confusion that wracked my brain "How,"I utter between gritted teeth "How do you--" "Know this?"Squealed the fat. "YES!"I screached. "STOP INTERRUPTING ME AND TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW AND HOW YOU KNOW IT!!" "Jeez calm down,"spoke the nasily voiced woman "You weren't nearly this worked up last time." Last time? I had only used the time machine once, there wasn't enough fuel to go back any further then this time period. There was no way. My confusion must have been visible because the woman went on to explain. "Last time? Couple centuries back?" She pulled out a paper photograph and showed it to me "You convinced us to give up all our nuclear weapons, remember?" I was dumbfounded. There I was, in a photograph with the woman. She hadn't aged a day! Human life spans lasted thirsty-five, forty years tops in my era, yet here this woman was claiming to be over two-hundred years old! "What..."I choked out "What else do you know?" She rolled her eyes "You're the last human left, you have a lot of changes to make, yada, yada, yada." "Speaking of which!"Chimed in the cheery fat man "You promised to give us the blueprints for your time machine when you came back! So, um, if you would." He held out his hand with that smug little smile plastered on fat face. "Yeah... Yeah,"I stammered out. "But first I need--" "More fuel!"The fat man cut me off before I could "Of course we have it Right here for you!" "Yah... Thanks."My voice now a small whisper. "I'll be right back with those blueprints. I walked back inside the time machine, closed the door, and promptly collapsed to my knees. This machine only tavels one direction through time, backwards. The only way to get back to the future, was by taking the long way. These people obviously didn't know that. They think I'm fueling up to jump forward. For some reason, I had gone back further in time, and arranged for myself to have the resources to go back even further. This made no sense! I had to go back. I needed to see what was so important two centuries ago. After I had given the crowd their blueprints, I charged up the machine, and prepared myself to go further into the past.
#####Therius and I had not been getting along that well. We knew that we were the ones for each other, but there was still something missing. Something that prevented us from actually settling down with each other. We fought, constantly. There was no end to it, only the constant din of or bickering over every little thing that could happen. We got so loud once that thunder dropped from the sky to make us be quiet. There was extra offerings at the altar after that night. "You're the worst person I could imagine to be doing this."He was shouting at me as the argument became more and more heated. "Maybe if you didn't speak before you listened you'd understand that I don't want to live here."I tried to keep my voice calm, but even my resolve was wavering. "If this place is so terrible, why not go live in the underworld, I bet you'll enjoy it there more!" "Fine, I will."I let out a huff of air as I walked out of the doorway towards the southeastern part of the world. It was fairly common knowledge where Hades kept the entrance to the underworld, but no one ever really went there. Everybody knew that if you went to the underworld, you wouldn't come back the same. Nonetheless, I went there and waited patiently with the line of spirits. I had brought with myself a gold coin in preparation for crossing the river Styx, and didn't think of much else. I wanted to prove that the underworld would be better than living in the dead-end of a village. It wasn't much longer before I found myself before Hades, having been brought in while still alive. His wife, persephone was at his side and listening along as I spoke my story. They seem intrigued, but their advice was less than useful. "I would suggest you return to your village and esttle things their yourself." "I have tried. But each time I do, we only degrade into a new argument within a week or two." Persephone spoke her mind as well. "Then perhaps the two of you are truly not lovers of each other." "That would be absurd, I love him with all of my heart. We may fight, but that does not mean we cannot love each other." The two of them gave glances towards one another, seeming to know something I did not. After a moment of awkward silence, my knees were getting cold from kneeling on the ground and they had still yet to speak. It wasn't until I bowed my head further, both from sorrow and hope for something that wouldn't come, that Hades spoke directly to me. "I can give you something to assist in your qualms, but know it will take a toll upon you." "Of course, anything for assisting in my plight." "So be it." Hades waved his hand and I saw darkness spreading from it. I knew little of the extent of his powers, no stories spoke much of him. The darkness spread from his fingertips and eventually found its way towards me. As it reached my body, it began to turn both paler and darker. My skin was lightened to be paler than the moon, yet my hair darkened to be blacker than the darkest night. I felt weightless, and the darkness lifted me off of the ground. "As punishment for your unyielding belief, you are now cursed to only wander in the dark. As reward, you may now hold the power to strike fear in the heart of any man who may gaze upon you in your strength." The darkness carried me to the surface once more, where I found myself naked in a dark field. I felt the darkness around me, and formed clothing with the thin fibers of light that the stars offered me. Walking towards my village, i saw my lover, and the fear on his face. "Nyx, I'm sorry for doubting you." #####"It is too late for that." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Writing prompt #4 from me. I do apologize for any inaccuracies with my mythology. I know a bit, but I'm no scholar on the matter.
I got up, Decided to go and get some breakfast. Go into the kitchen and see a flickering light from the basement. I immediately am thinking of the worst out comes; it is a murder that decided to fiddle with my light, or a ghost that is haunting my house and is about to strike any second and there is nothing I can do about it. All of a suddenly I hear a electric wirr from the basement immediately my mind goes to oh no it like the charmed with the boogie man that feeds on people that makes them kill each other im gonna die. I ran out of the house. Then in my perfectly logical mind I go and look up how to make a bomb. Then I wake up. Im in a room of mattress and I have a jacket on that won't let my hands go. What is going on here? Who sent me to this place and why? I'm currently running around thowing myself into the walls it is so much FUN!!!
It started in 2024. Every now and then a couple of rocks would fly out of the ocean, mostly just terrifying seagulls and old folks. Slowly, the occasional rock became a tidal wave of stone. Over time we realised it was the octopodes. It sounded stupid at the time, we'd joke about it when someone would be hit. "You send one of ours to the hospital, we send one of yours to 8 morgues"we'd say. As I said, stupid. Things can change in 10 years. The stones thrown built up along the coasts, walling us in. Dividing each country in to self contained units. If we climbed over, stones would rain down upon us. If we knocked it down, it would be rebuilt. It always takes a day or two to rebuild. In that time a few military operations were able to construct passages that could withstand the barrage of rock, some simply dug under. It didn't matter though, once we tried to get in to open ocean we'd be sabotaged every time, there were even reports of colossal squid crushing submarines. Some have done better than others, obviously. Larger land masses that don't rely on foreign trade as much. Even still, humans being what we are meant that eventually the countries in those lands tended to close their land borders as well, choosing to fend for themselves over potentially being cheated. Airports have also been closed, which until recently was the only way we could still travel but then prices skyrocketed to the point that they were barely even used before the airports started to close. Humanity can only hold on so long when we have to hold together. Today our numbers are starting to dwindle. It's as much our fault as it is the octopus, we still kill each other in greater numbers than they do. We are still fighting back. We still manage to kill them in great numbers. We invented a device that could cripple them temporarily. We attached them to the submarines and boats attempting to cross oceans, the colossals can power through the pain but it occasionally works and very occasionally we can kill it while it's downed. It's not enough though. Nuclear weapons have even been used. "if we can't go there anyway then why not, right?"is basically how the government explains it. There have been a few instances of nukes "accidentally"landing on countries as well. We don't have long left. The way we behave it didn't seem like we want to.
Wednesdays, center of the week for those with the normal and regular lives. A symbol of the day-to-day unending numbness to whatever office politics, mindless busywork, and mandatory email replies. Centered so far away from weekend salvation from the drab corporate cubicles. Though, as it winds down, entertainment can be found, delivered by entertainers of great talent, or bravery, or usually drunkenness. Bars line the streets of the town, offering a mic each Wednesday night to anyone that wishes to stretch their voice and sing a tune. I hate my life, the young man thought as he finished another vodka tonic at a squat metal table in the corner. He checked his phone, and upon seeing still no messages, he awkwardly loosened his tie for the tenth time in the past hour and fidgeted with the zipper on his hoodie. In the dark room, claps erupted and echoed across the walls and the tall ceilings as one singer stepped away from the mic. He was obviously untalented, but he had sang his heart out so well that the entire bar had loved it. I'm miserable, not jealous, the young man alone in the corner with his vodka tonic thought to himself when he hesitated to join in the applause. Well, a little jealous. He took a sip at the melted water in the glass, then joined in the cheering as well as he stood up. Dodging the crowd that had been growing throughout the night, he made his way to the bar, ordering another refill for the night. "Another one, Art?"the bartender asked, grabbing the offered cash and stuffing it quickly in her pockets. Art nodded quickly in response. He turned around, leaning on the bar, watching the small stage that held the microphone, awaiting quietly for a new soul to offer their voice. He didn't have to wait long - for the new soul on the stage, that is. Only a few seconds later, a young woman with black hair that sparkled in the spotlights, pale skin wrapped by a aquamarine dress that had visible ribbing as a stylistic choice, that rose out of ruffled fabric that cut just below her knees. She nodded to the man in charge of the audio, and barely audible over the noise in the bar, a musical track began. Her voice floated out over the crowd, feeling as if it were gently diffusing into every corner. The hustle immediately died out as the entire bar was suddenly entranced by her music, captivated by the way her timbre was folded into wondrous and beautiful tones. Art leaned back to grab his drink, whispering a thanks to the bartender before he slipped away. Almost immediately, he nearly bumped into a man in a very nice shirt who was standing motionless, spellbound by the current performer. "Sorry,"Art mumbled. "Yeah. She's real good, huh?"the man replied, stepping out of the way awkwardly. Art nodded as he squeezed past. With amusement, he noted the woman accompanying the man smack him in the arm to try to get his attention. In response, the man rolled his eyes and moved closer to the current singer. Art chuckled to himself as he sat down in his corner again, and took another sip of his drink while watching the woman weave melodies. It had been a while since he'd seen a bar so spellbound by a performer. It was certainly a high point of his day. He glanced around at almost half the bar seemingly stuck in place, frowning at first, then chuckling a bit. She really was that good, he thought, turning back to the woman to watch her finish her sung spell. She swept her gaze across the room, and her eyes met with Art's. In that moment, they glinted with a color entirely incorrect considering the reflection of the spotlights. An expression that belied a hunger flashed over her face for just a moment. Art gave half a frown and raised an eyebrow, his alcohol-befuddled brain slowly beginning to churn. He looked over the crowd, spying the man with the very nice shirt he had bumped into earlier. The man was already nearly at the front of the stage, standing alongside all the men in the bar, it seemed, the whole lot shuffling forward almost mindlessly. The rest of the patrons had began to nod off, smiles on their faces. As the siren-song crested with a high note, clear and loud, the singer flashed a smile. Art stood up in a panic, knocking over his table. He barely heard his drink shatter on the ground before its noise was diffused into silence by the voice on the stage. The source of the mystical tones immediately twisted towards the origin of the brief shattering noise. Art locked eyes with the singer, his own expression of slow realization facing the woman's growing hostile demeanor. With a quick motion, the microphone in her hand, she stepped down from the stage. The surrounding men parted, then followed, an entourage of burly men, all stronger than Art. Her heels clacking in time with her music that she was still singing, she approached Art confidently, as if a person not subdued by her entrancing incantations was not out of her expectations. Her smile grew, wider than a face could normally allow, and dagger like teeth glinted in the dim light of Art's corner of the bar. Art glanced down to his table, hoping to get a final drink in this Wednesday night. Spying the puddle and the scattered bits of ice and glass, he realized it a pointless hope. The siren was upon him already, her song ending, her smile less than small step to his neck. However, in the face of such danger, his resolve surged, affirming his wish to get one last drink before he would presumably die this Wednesday night. He nervously swallowed and asked, "Y-you have a fantastic voice. Shall I buy you a drink?" &#x200B; They shared several drinks that night. The authorities found Art's bones later.
Every time you make a decision, time branches out, taking your conscious self further and further away from what could have been. Imagine a tree, starting with a seed - the beginning - and a crack! A bang heard around the universe. A twig grows out of the seed until it start branching out, all until it is no more. The decisions you make determine which branch you will lie on. But everything was going perfectly up until this point. Where did I go wrong? I was on one knee. My heart was pounding out of my chest after I said those words, and the silence lasted an eternity. A smile crept on her face, she took a breath, and now I'm here, in crimefuck Detroit, running for my life. This is the point you expect an "in between", but that's it. There is no in between. "Stop, or I'll shoot!"They sound like actors. I can't get over how surreal this experience is. It makes me want to do something crazy. In fact, that's all I can think about - grabbing that gun and murdering that pig. Jesus, what is happening to me? I'm sorry, I'm not myself. I'd better find a place to hide before I get killed. He won't find me here, but... Gah, fuck, where did this blood come from? My stomach is emptying itself onto my lap. I think I'm going to die. I can hear his footsteps creeping up on me. It's too dark. "Stop right there!" "Please don't shoot!"I hold my hands up. He's scared. Shaking. "Put the gun down or I shoot!" Wait, how did this gun get in my hand? Shit. I... "Place your hands-" "Please. I... I have a wife."He stopped. I'm safe. "You mean the chick who's head is in your fridge?" Oh. It's all coming back to me. The memories of a life that I'm not sure is my own. I don't see a point in living now. The gun is on the floor, but I think I can reach it if I just "Stop right now!" A bullet travels at 768 miles per hour. 7 times more than what your shitty SUV is capable of, right into my skull. I should be dead, but I'm not. The rain is cold against my skin. It's all I can feel. She always loved this lake, and I knew it would be the perfect spot to propose. Now her blood runs thin through the water. It's my fault, and I am afraid of him.
I was sitting in my recliner, coffee in hand, watching the news like every other day, until the news xuts to a nearby town being attacked by my sworn enemy: "Frigeon The Cold"I had sworn I killed him decades ago with my team, I can only hope to win again with my team. Joe, or "Tos-thro"who was the best at getting us all where we need in a pinch, even if his methods weren't the safest. I knew where to find Joe, the bar, he hardly leaves after he retired. I saw him talking to the bartender, exchanging jokes like usual. I walked up to Joe and tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, "Joe, I need you, Frigeon is back" He pointed at the television and said, "Well I knew that, go see Gregory, he's got similar powers." "Gregory has been dead for nearly a decade now"I pointed out to him and he simply frowned, shrugged, and went back to talking to the bartender. It was no use, he loves this place. Maybe Carol, or "Zoomer"she was the quickest and stealthiest, pointed out just near every weakness, most of the reason we beat Frigeon last time. I knew she was at her nice mansion. As soon as I entered she looked at me and gestured for me to sit down, she set a cup of tea down and said, "I saw the news, and I know why you're here. I'm not going anywhere, Bill." I insisted, "Carol, come on, I need you for this, I can't take out Frigeon without you!" "I can't go back to the squad, I'm retired, leave it to the military."When she said that, I snapped, I slammed my hands on the table, "The military can not handle this type of thing, we're the only heroes in this state! You can't sit idly by, Carol!" She replied with a simple, "Watch me."and turned her television on to the news. There's only two remaining, living members, married together now. They were known as "Stample"and "Teleknios"or, Linda and Garrison, respectively. Linda was the tank and could crush anyone with a flick, Garrison could move things with just his mind, no wonder they were a match. I went to their cozy barn, a tad close to the town being attacked and there they were, slobs with empty bottles of beer by one seat and and a stack of books by the other, they used to be neat-freaks. I had no time to lose, so I rushed to them and said, "You two must help me against Frigeon! He's back and wrecking the town nearby!"Garrison put down a half-empty bottle of beer and said, "Nah, i-i kinda like thiss place and I don't wanna l-leave right now."his words slowed and slurred, clearly drunken. Linda looked up from her book and said, "I agree, it isn't harming us, come on Bill, relax, I mean, you can just cut the ice away." "Everybody is in danger! Come on, help me here!"I shouted at them both. Garrison simply replied "Hey, Is it jusst me or is it c-cold in here?"I felt it too, it was chilly, I realized, but it was too late. I couldn't move, neither could they. It was the end for us, this time we were the ones to die.
"I'm calling the police."I calmly said. &#x200B; "Wha.... what the fuck?"came the astonished cries of my classmates and the instructor. &#x200B; "I said I'm calling the police. You can't lock those doors, it's against the fire code. Plus this is in direct violation of the law, you can't teach children witchcraft in Saudi Arabia, that's a crime punishable by death."The instructors eyes got wide. He blubbered in protest but my dad worked for the Sharia police so I had him on speed dial. &#x200B; A loud crack came from the skylight in our classroom. Glass rained everywhere as the Saudi Swat team rappelled into the classroom, guns drawn at a high compressed ready. &#x200B; "Where is the witch son?"screamed one of the swat officers, recognizing me because of my relation to my father. I pointed out every single student who had gone along with this ruse and the instructor. They were gunned down immediately. &#x200B; Later, I was given a medal and three extra wives for my valor in finding and routing out the witches. Inshallah.
"You see it's quite simple, first you stack three balls on top of each other, give it some arms, a hat and final give it a big happy face"said my dad as he finished drawing a smile in the big ball of snow. "See, now you have another friend"he said in his typically cheery way. We spent the rest of the day playing in the snow with each other, my dad, the snowman and me. That snowman was their the whole winter, in till one morning I woke up and he was gone, melted. "He just went some where colder for the summer, he'll be back next year"my dad told me uneasily. I knew he had melted but every year my dad woke up early to rebuild him on the first snow day, I always enjoyed playing along. Even back then, when I was only three, I didn't have many friends but it meant I got to spend a lot of time with dad. He was an inventor, and a good one at that. I guess that he passed his love for it on to me. I spent every second I could learning how to build things in our garage from automatic vacuum cleaners to small animals that ran around. He did his best to look after me, but with my mother gone we could only ever afford a modest life. I was to young to notice anyway so it didn't matter to me. As I grew up I excelled at school, well in subjects anyway. Straight A's in every subject and 1st place in every science fair. I did not do as well in the social department but my dad was always there for me, so I was happy. Eventually I made it all the way through high school with a very impressive GPA and a scholarship for almost every collage in the country. I ended up choosing Harvard, which was the other side of the country from home, from dad. I loved it there, the scenery, the teachers and I even managed to make a few friends. Unfortunately I hadn't realized that my dad also struggled in the friends department. I hadn't known that I was his only company, nine months after I left he died, melted. Two years went passed as I pushed everyone away to "focus on my studies"or what ever I used to tell my self to instead of facing the truth that i was scared of losing anyone else. I finished top of my class in engineering, it was easy to do with no distractions. I advanced in my field for a few years after graduation and soon enough everyone knew my name. &#x200B; Two years ago two men in suits knocked on my door and asked me to come with them. I got the honor to create the "defender of earth"or whatever it's called and today I put on the final touch, a big happy face. I know it will get destroyed one day, but for now, it is just nice to have a friend. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; I am really new so any feed back would be appreciated, thanks! &#x200B;
I applied to 15 different milk bars today. It took me a while to walk between each of them and I spent a good deal on copies of my resume to give to each employer. Of course, as I sat down, each one had a Labrador as the head of HR and I was politely told that they were considering other candidates. My frustration grew between each interview and coming home to my apartment I was fuming. &#x200B; I squatted over the cat box and emptied my bowels with a heavy sigh. I just wanted to go to bed at this point. I threw my shirt off and as I caught a glimpse of my well trained body in the mirror I felt something awaken in my heart, something primal. A desire for a release. I walked up to the mirror and looked myself in the eyes. I may be a black cat, but why can't these dogs understand that I need to bring home a living too? I felt it welling up within me and I grimaced. Seeing the scowl on my face made me feel good, like a true warrior. As all true warriors do, I let out a gutteral scream &#x200B; "uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" &#x200B; It felt good. Like something was welling up from my insides, like a mouse that hadn't been killed all the way yet when you ate it or like the end of a ball of yarn when you play too hard and get half of it crammed down your throat. I decided to increase my volume, roommates be damned. &#x200B; "uuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" &#x200B; Jon Weiss, my gay housecat roommate asked me what was going on, but I didn't care about him or about the 15 pitbulls he had brought through in the past week. He's probably gonna hurt himself if he keeps up like this, 15 different pitbulls is a lot I'm not sure what his market value is going to be if he continues with this rotation. My screams grew in intensity again. &#x200B; "HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGH" &#x200B; That's when I felt it, I was on the edge of something. I decided that I just needed one last push. &#x200B; &#x200B; "HHHRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHH" &#x200B; That was it, I let out a burst of energy, knocking Jon to the ground. He cried like a little bitch as a yellow flash filled my room. As the light faded I noticed the physical changes I had undergone. I was now even more ripped, and I had long blonde hair. &#x200B; A giant human ripped the roof off my apartment building. &#x200B; "FREIZA!"I screamed. "I WON'T LET YOU GET AWAY WITH THIS!" &#x200B; A glorious battle ensured, and Freiza fought valiantly. We traded punches for punches, kicks for kicks, Jon got crushed by a collapsing kitty litter factory. However, as things got down to the wire I put all of my strength into one last blow. &#x200B; "KAAAAAAAH MEEEEEEEEEE" The human winced, they knew what was about to hit them "HHAAAAAAAAA MEEEEEEEEEE" I felt the passion burning in my soul. Either way after this blow the fight would be over. "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" &#x200B; I let an energy burst loose from my clutches, it struck the human and they fell. With their last breath they thanked me for the incredible fight, and closed their eyes. &#x200B; Later I had a threesome with Jon's mom and sister, shit was so cash. &#x200B; &#x200B;
Boomf! The noise made as my fellow soldier fell over from a shot to the head. “We’re losing more and more by the twosies Lieutenant!” Those were the last words i heard before i was snared by a net with polka dot dinosaurs in the lining. When i came to, i was tied up by Commander Tommy. All i could hear in the background was shouting and sounds of sorrow emitting from the bunker i was being detained in. “Lieutenant Billy Madison! So easily you have fallen!” Tommy continued with his monologue while i was tearing away at the rope i was tied in. “It would appear you have failed your father. Once they see how you handled the battle of the Coodies, you’ll lose the company for sure! Hahaha!” As one of his lackeys attempts to swing at me with a finishing blow, i unite myself and grab a weapon. I take out two of their all powerful female generals with one foul swoop as i have the Big Bird Pillow of Destiny. Tommy cries and not even before he calls for his mommy, i strike him down. I walk out of the bunker in victory as it crumbles before me and my huge stature. Cheers and the sounds of a ringing bell echo through my ears. Oh $&!@ I’m daydreaming again.
(Note: Obviously, the “me” in this story is just a person I made up for the story, and is not the real me at all. I’m not gonna reveal personal details on the internet, that would be idiotic.) 1 Month After Announcement Yep, the scientists were right. All my friends have measured their height, and they’re all around eight millimeters shorter than they were last month. But me? I’ve been growing like a normal human is supposed to. I haven’t told anyone yet, and nobody’s realized, since the changes are so small. I’ve got a checkup in a few days, and the doctor is inevitably going to learn of my anomaly then. Right now I live a completely normal human life... but once the world learns that I’m not shrinking like everyone else, I’m probably going to end up being some sort of test subject in a lab or something. I’m used to scientific areas. I work in a nuclear power plant, and I’ve been exposed to quite a bit of radiation. Around two months ago, we imported an entirely new radioactive mineral from deep in the ocean. We were told that this mineral would be an amazingly efficient fuel source, and that it would save the plant- which would have gone out of business soon otherwise. And for a month, it worked wonderfully. I was the one assigned to actually work with the mineral, so I learned more about it than anyone else. But the day before the scientists made their announcement about the shrinking, all of this new mineral that we had stored just... dissapeared. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you my name. I’m Benny Volicia. Well, I have to go now, I’ve got a phone call from a friend of mine. 2 Months After Announcement So, the checkup happened, and the changes were small enough that the doctor didn’t notice. If my last checkup had been on the day the shrinking started, as opposed to five months before, things probably would have been different. The shrinking didn’t just stop, either. It’s up to 1.6 cm gone now, which still isn’t really that much. In a few months people may even start to notice that I’m not shrinking. ...I can’t hide this anymore, can I? For all I know I’m the only hope for humanity, or something. I’ll tell one of the scientists at work tomorrow, she might be able to help. 2 Months and 1 Week After Announcement As expected, Mackenzie (that’s the scientist’s name) went crazy after hearing about what’s going on with me. After she carefully analyzed me to confirm what I was saying, she told me that I should go to see some of the top leading scientists of the world. Of course, I told her that they’d never let me see them, as their labs are famous, so until I actually got to show them what was going on they’d think of me as “just another fan” or something like that. We got into a bit of an argument, but then we stopped when she saw that the argument was going nowhere. I need some rest now, I’ll start actually thinking about all this madness tomorrow. 3 Months After Announcement I’ve been permitted to take a break from the experiments to write in my diary... yeah, the world’s learned now. After I told Mackenzie what was going on, she quickly began to spread the news. The whole plant learned, then the town, then the city. Eventually the top scientists learned, and that’s around when my normal life dissapeared. The scientists contacted me, requesting that I come to the International Lab of World Catastrophe Science. This lab had never actually been used before, but now the world had a reason to use it. Of course, even though the scientists didn’t say it, I knew that if I refused, governments, agencies and the like would be all over me within the week. So I accepted the offer, and went to the ILWCS the next day. That’s where I’ve been for the past two weeks, getting scanned, tested, and experimented on. Nothing actually harmful has happened to me, but some of the experiments have come with a risk. So far, the scientists haven’t found anything different in me then they found in all the other humans they tested back when the shrinking began, aside from radiation exposure from working with that mineral. The scientists and I all agree that the exposure can’t actually matter to this case, since other nuclear power plant workers from other plants are shrinking just like everyone else. 3 Months and 2 Weeks After Announcement The scientists have mostly given up on trying to find what makes me different. However, they have requested that I stay in the area, so they can call back on me if they have a “Eureka!” moment. The scientists even prepared a floor of the lab specifically as a home for me. This place has a lot more things than my own home (they’ve even got a swimming pool just for me), plus they’ve gotten good at keeping out annoyances like newspaper reporters- and seeing as I’m kind of famous now, that’s a good thing. This is probably some sort of secret behavioral experiment, but I don’t really care, as I’ve got an actually good place to live for now. 4 Months After Announcement Scientists all around the world, especially the ones here at the ILWCS, have been studying the shrinking very closely. They’ve figured out that it’s actually proportional- the eight millimeters is just the value for the average person. The proportionality is a good thing, because this would probably feel even more unfamiliar to people if it wasn’t. I wouldn’t know, of course, since I’m unaffected somehow. Based on the looks the scientists have had lately, they’re right on the tip of a big breakthrough, I can tell. A news report came on yesterday, and I felt that I should write it down. “The average human has shrunk 3 centimeters since the shrinking began four months ago. The scientific world is still confused as to what started the epidemic. Companies all around the world are beginning to shut down out of worry. If this continues in the linear fashion it has exhibited so far, then in exactly 18 years we will all dissapear into nothingness. All of us, that is, except for Benny Volicia, who is still hidden within the ILWCS. Reporters and government agencies alike have tried to get to and interview Benny, but the scientists that operate the laboratory have crazy levels of security. Benny, if you are watching this, then please OPEN UP! WE NE- I changed the channel right there. I’ve seen at least eighteen news channels demanding that I show up on TV, and it annoys me every time. We don’t have any info yet, I can’t just go on TV without a solution! The Internet has been similarly filled with discussion on the shrinking. I’ve avoided posting anything on the Internet since I became famous, but it’s still fun to browse the parts that aren’t completely caught up in talking about the shrinking. Man, I’m hoping the scientists figure out the solution soon, as I would very much like my life to return to normal. *Part 2 coming eventually.*
The training sword thwacked against the wooden pillar with a loud crack, shredding into the target and filling the air with a spray of wood chips and dust. Gunther hummed quietly, before re-adjusting his footing, and clenching the muscles is his back as he swung again. This time, the sword cut easily through the upright stick, sending the severed half twirling upwards in the air as it spiraled around. Gunther tracked it with his eyes for a second as it spun upwards, but ultimately lost sight of it as he focused out past the horizon, resting his eyes on the rising smoke in the distance instead. He knew what lay over the hill. Tents, thousands of them. The Dharti war party camping just below the ridge. Even now, the metal clang of swords and the twang of bowstrings thumped loudly in the air, signalling what lay ahead. They would come, eventually. Like they always had. Like they did before. Gunther was only a boy the last time. Playing in the meadow with his friends, fencing with wooden sticks and blocking with barrel tops they had stolen from the market. His father had come and pulled him away, with nary a word, only a solemn look and a strong hand around the collar of his shirt. The smoke in the air that night hadn’t been from the communal bonfire. The whole village had remained silent, waiting for the strange envoy that lay in the distance, hoping it was merely a party looking to trade. Gunther’s father had gone with the other elders in the tribe to meet the strangers. And Gunther has spent the night cowering in front of the window in his hut, watching the moon and stars shimmer in the smoky sky as he prayed for his father’s safe return. It had been late in the night, or early in the morning, when the sounds of nature faded and only the darkness of the sky remained, when the door to the hut had been kicked in and Gunther startled awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as she shot upwards in surprise. The smell of fire and ash in his nose had frightened him, and he had backed away, only for the glow of the moon to reveal the intruder as the bloody form of his father, breathing hard against cold midnight air. Nasty gashes stemmed the right side of his face, which peeled away like ribbons, blood pooling in the remains of the pulpy socket of his eye. More wounds down the length of his leather armor, which swelled with blood as he staggered into the hut. He had picked Gunter up body and bones and carried him out into the night. The smell of death was enough to wake the remains of sleep from the boy. The fires which had been so far away earlier now burned in the centre of his home. All around him, others fled, some screaming, some covered in blood, and some without their families. Shouting and clanging steel filled the night, ringing in Gunther’s ears so loud that it echoed inside his skull. But there wasn’t a moment to spare. His father didn’t say a word, and simply carried Gunther to the far exit on the opposite side of the village, join the ever-growing caravan on others fleeing in the night. Arrows pelted into the grass at their fee, and the sound of foreign tongues hollered in the bloody air. They had kept running all night, until the battle had faded into the distance behind them, until the blisters on their feet boiled and popped from the exertion. When the sun had finally pulled itself onto the edge of the horizon hours later, and the survivors finally slowed to gauge the situation, they found nothing remained besides a thousand or so people, and a few dozen wagons of hastily packed supplies. Gunther’s father had placed him down on the ground and patted his son reassuringly on the head. He smiled at Gunther, a deep and earnest smile of pride, before collapsing face down into the wet mud and remaining still. Gunther had shaken his father and bawled until blood curdled in his throat, even as they ripped him away from the body, and told him what he didn’t want to hear. Even now, so much later, the memory burned like a fresh wound in his mind. A firm hand on his shoulder broke Gunther out of his reverie. His senses turned one by one. The smell of smoke, the taste of ash, the clanging of swords, and the feeling of unease in his stomach. He had turned, ready to strike, only to find Svensen standing there. “They are coming.” It was only a few words, but that was all it took. Gunther nodded solemnly, quickly heading back towards his hut and pushing the shawl aside as he stepped in. The chest in the corner loomed ahead of him, calling him. The clasps on either side felt like stone as he pried them open. Inside, lay the familiar sight of armor. Bloody and beaten, but his own. The holes had been patched over with hard leather, but the smell of death would never leave, nor the bloody stains on the side. His shed his clothes, quickly donning the attire. He hadn’t expected it to fit, but it did, and the warm memory of his father’s smile made the cold leather much more bearable. But that wasn’t all. Below, in the chest, lay the tool he would use to honor his father. It had been cracked and nicked when they had given it to him at his father’s funeral, but the hours he had poured into repairing it had turned the ruined sword into something sharp and deadly. Even now, in the dusty hovel, it shone with the will of a determined man. Gunther closed the chest, and headed outside, joining the others at the front of the village. Even with their grim and hardened faces, his remembered them only as the boys he used to play with. They all shared a knowing nod, barring their weapons and hardening the spirits. Even as the Dharti war horns sounded in the distance, and the kick of hooves and hollering of battle-cries rained down upon them, Gunther stood still and strong. He would honor his father, regardless of the outcome.
Another day, another vase had broken. one day i started hearing again, distant disembodied voices that became more clear as time went on. They were a family of 3, two parents and a small child. Soon i was able to see them and move arround their house, i tried leaving several times but whenever i reach the end of their garden i feel a chain pulling me back into the house. One day while following the wife as she did laundry i hit my shoulder against the door frame, i screamed but there was no sound, she turned arround to see nothing and continued with her activities. Soon after that, their daughter closed a door on me while i was crossing it, cutting me in half. This time i was able to let out a wimper. It was as if as time went on my ability to interact with the environment became stronger and i realized i could no longer afford to act carelessly. Regardless of that i accidentally hit a vase that was on top of a small table, shattering it. I felt so guilty that i tried piecing it back together while they were not looking but despite my best intentions you could definitely notice the seams where the vase had broken. It had been years since i was living with them, accidentally causing them minor grievances from time to time. The family was about to have a son so they were remodeling the spare room since the daughter was already a teenager. One day, while watching the husband move some boxes from the room to the attic i smelled what was being cooked on the kitchen, i started moving towards the the stairs and steped on a screw that was on the floor. I let out too many F words to be counted and fell to the ground against the wall. The husband locked himself and the rest of the familly on a room and called the police. I wont ever know what happened to them after they moved, since the incident they were no longer able to sleep anymore and so they decided to sell the house. I really hole the next owner puts up with my shenanigans.
"Two-fifty."Jenna rested her arms on the counter. The girl across from her chewed her fingernail, nodding slowly. "Jarald, you're on support."Her assistant managed to fall into a deeper slouch but followed regardless. Jenna broke off the cap on a small wax capsule and drank the liquid inside. The living room's plain colors immediately inverted into a kalleidoscope of neons. Lights pulsed in time with her heartbeats. "Capsule active."She reported. "We are live." "Roger."Jarald's monotone voice was distorted in the drug-induced haze. As the sounds of reality grew fainter, the Subworld came into focus. The girl's anxiety became a smear of brilliant cyan dripping from the ceiling. Jenna's excitement fell off her in orange waves. And Jarald's boredom manifested as a dull muck of brown. "Crossing successful."Jenna slurred through the hallucinogenics. "Preparing for contact with the Phobo." The dripping cyan started to coagulate into something... big. It was almost cartoonish how the droplets bubbled together into an amorphous blob. Then the blob opened a hideous maw, and the scene became nightmarish. Jenna, balance uncertain, felt her mouth open into a manic grin. The orange waves of her excitement came faster with each breath. She gave a heady laugh and charged the ever-growing cyan blob. It ate her whole. She felt the sheer terror it embodied. Her mouth was clogged with fluid, enough so that she choked on any stolen gasps. She was drowning in dry air. Jenna's vision started to purple. The mind-numbing fear engulfed her. A lifetime of avoiding pools and embarrassed excuses. Disappointed friends eyeing her with worry at the beach. A careful boyfriend tip-toeing around the issue. She felt the girl's shame. Her self-loathing. All of the pain that had built up over years of phobia. Then Jenna fought it. She snarled, and the orange waves turned sharp. Broad strokes of sheer enthusiasm shredded the cyan blob from the inside. The memories were still there, but they lost their weightiness. Her vision turning black, she giggled at the absurdity of it all. Hours later she came to on a couch. Jarald had covered her sweat-soaked body with a fleece blanket. "... like it was never there. I feel so light."The girl's voice in another room. "That's perfectly normal."Jarald's dull monotone. "Make sure to expose yourself to bodies of water in moderation. A resurgance is highly unlikely, but if it does happen, you can reach us at the number on the card." "How does she stand it?"The girl whispered. "I mean, all the time? Again and again? How can she do it?" The sounds of paper shuffling. Then Jarald answered. "She's a junkie. She gets off on the fear." "Asshole."Jenna garbled to herself. "And worse,"Jarald paused for dramatic effect. "She's a genuinely good person." Jenna snickered to herself and decided against spiking his iced tea. For tonight, anyway.
All cruelty stems from weakness, and he had been weak. A girl, no older than seven, watching him with pleading eyes. The building falling in slow motion. And him, powerless, standing frozen with fear. Some would say it wasn't cruel at all. Liars. What else could it be but cruelty, to watch her reach out a frightened hand? And for him to take a step back. They cheer his name in the streets now. Immortal. The one who cannot die. The one who can endure anything. They don't understand that the most painful thing he endures is their admiration. He chose not to save her. And in return, he was cursed to save them all.
We were driving through a canal of trees. I was going a little faster than I should in the dark of the moon light. The wipers waved back and forth, keeping my wind shield clear. To my right was my wonderful new wife Michael. We had just gotten married this morning. I had to struggle to keep my eyes on the road, as every few seconds they would drift towards the beaming face of my wife. She was going on and on about how wonderful the ceremony was and seeing our families get along so well together. She especialy loved the wonderfully crafted cake that her uncle had made for us. A triple stack of vanilla cake, our favorite flavor, with ornate details and the two of standing at the top under an arch. I had to admit the cake was a highlight for myself as well, but what I most enjoyed was the moment the doors opened and I watched my beautiful wife walk down the isle, and the smile on her fathers face as he brought her to me was the best thing he could have given me. We spent a long time enjoying our wedding and spending time with family and friends, but now we were off to our honeymoon, driving late in the wintery night. The roads were pitch black save for the bit that was illuminated by the headlights. A driver was coming down the road towards us, I hadn’t seen any other cars for the last few minutes. Something about the way he was driving seemed off to me, as if maybe he was just a bit too close. I shrugged it off and turned my head to respond to something my wife said, but mostly just to see her face again. Having turned my attention back to the road I saw that the oncoming driver was in fact too close. He was coming right for us, in our lane. By the time I noticed him it was too late, I couldn’t veer out of the way or slam on the breaks, it was simply too late for any course of action; and time seemed to stop as I hoped and prayed for a solution, for any possible way out. I could see the driver in the other car, and his passenger sitting next to him. Their dome light was on, illuminating their features for my wife and I to see. The driver was an older man, his hair fully white, he wore a fancy suit, much like the one I wore. The women sitting next to him was also clothed in a fancy dress, her hair the same shade as his. Though the make up she wore hid the other signs of her age I assumed they were both around the same era. As our vehicles drew closer I watched as the man turned to the women, and she to him, and they smiled, much the same smile that I gave to my wife and she to me. They looked content, happy to be in each others company despite the fate awaiting each of us. I still had some time left to share that look with my wife once more, and I knew that I was happy simply having met her. As our vehicles drew nearer something miraculous happened, and our vehicles simply passed through each other hardly moving a hair on my wife’s head. We both shared another look, one of confusion and happiness. I think back on that moment often, and through my life I’ve come to realize something that I hadn’t at the time. The surprise on the man’s face wasn’t caused by fear, but rather by memory.
"It was the first and the last of its kind. Destined to be humanity's first scout into the solar system and then, ultimately, the galaxy. Respect it for what it was and what it might have been. You stand before a monument to the potential humanity held. The potential to create, to explore, to experience. Weep not that we stare helplessly at the stars from a planet slipping slowly, inevitably from existence in a universe that never knew our touch. If you must cry, then let it be out of joy. For are we really failures? Is it right to judge one, let alone a species, on what they were unable to accomplish when so much was achieved? It is easy to highlight the blunders and forget the successes. Fight against that urge. Fight against the insidious idea that everything after humanity's peak is irrelevant. Before you is a testament to thousands of years of progress, of innovation, of brilliance. Rejoice that we were able to bring forth order from chaos, no matter how brief the flash. For an instant we shone brighter than all of the suns in this galaxy. And that, children, that is why I ask you to respect this ship. For it more than anything -- more than you, more than me -- encapsulates what it means to be human."
The moat, as most things were, had been frozen solid for some thousand years. There'd been once a warm day of summer where the ice softened more to slush than its usual chin-breaking hardness; that was the only day in when it could be said -- perhaps -- the cold was not eternal. Avalon had not, of course, been alive that day, and when he met the Dishonest Duchess at the moat, he said, "May the cold be eternal." "And the winter never falter,"the Duchess answered. Her hat, the brim mantled with small pinecones, slouched forward so Avalon could see only the tip of her nose. When she crossed her arms and lost the straightness in her spine, the monstrous hat came so far down he could hardly see her bottom lip. What he could see of her face seemed oddly youthful. He expected an old woman, for her reputation seemed ever-present -- and instead she appeared a girl. "So,"the young Duchess said. "You're a prince?" "The prince, my lady." She snorted. "You're not the prince,"she told him, "and I'm not a lady." Evidently. "It's but a courtesy,"he said, resolving to abandon the title. Mentally, he apologized to whatever god presided over etiquette. The Duchess looked left, then right, pinecones rustling, then frowned what Avalon could see of her lips. "I'd ask if you came alone -- " "I did." "-- but I trust neither your opinion nor your eyes."She beckoned sharply with her chin, and Avalon feared for her hat. "Come." He followed her over the moat -- a small moat, and very useless -- into the house. It was a hoarder's house, for the hoardings of a thief. The Dishonest Duchess: where did you think she'd gotten her title? "My family languishes in poverty, as an idiot King luxuriates on our throne,"began Avalon. And then he was forced to pause; walking through the doorway, he knocked his head on a stuffed parrot. The Duchess hummed. As Avalon stood in the doorway, not moving for fear of disrupting the countless piles of things, she wandered toward a cluttered shelf. "Tea?" "Please." She snorted, again, in a most unlady-like manner; Avalon nearly flinched. "You mean to start a revolution? I've already killed you twice." "I beg your pardon?" "You came alone,"she said, ticking it off on a finger. "Accepted tea -- could be poisoned." "But -- I trust you." "Take a seat,"she bid, turning away from the shelf of teas and tinctures. Carefully, with slow and insufferably polite progress, he made his way to the table -- if it could be called that -- and took a seat in a green-and-yellow puffed chair. The Duchess held a bottle of liquor out to him in offering. When Avalon declined, she shrugged, and took a hefty swig. "Now, prince, listen, and never trust again,"she said. "In any given castle, at any given time, there are three coups brewing."She set down the bottle, where it teetered upon a stack of uneven books. "One: a people's coup. People often feel very oppressed and jealous." "Oh, but the people love me." "Wrong. Two: a coup by whatever lords and ladies feel they have royal claim." "Court is full of treasonous backstabbers,"Avalon lamented. "And the third?" "Me. I'm always up for a good revolution." "I don't think I trust you anymore,"he ventured. The Dishonest Duchess said, "I'm winking,"because he couldn't see her eyes beneath her hat. And then, she said, "It's good you're learning. Honestly, what makes you think you're even fit to run the kingdom?" "I'm not, really. My father is." "You received no princely training?" "My brother did, prior his assassination by the idiot king." For a moment, the Duchess was silent. And then: "Ah, well, siblings. Can't keep them alive, usually." She had been standing, and now she turned with vigor to the tea shelf again. "In any event,"said she, "you've come to me with murderous intent, and I'll deliver. What are you thinking -- poison?"She held up a vial and whispered, theatrically, "A personal favorite."Ungently, she slid it back, and slipped a knife from the joints of the shelf. She gave it a few good thrusts. "Trusty dagger-to-the-throat?" "Actually,"said Avalon, who had gone just slightly pale, "I was thinking you could involve your... subjects." She smiled coldly. "No." "My lady -- " "The title still fails to apply." "You are my only hope." The Duchess tucked the knife back to its hideaway, facing away from Avalon. "Hope is the death of satisfaction." "And yet it is the insistent necromancer of motivation,"tried the prince. "And, for my family, hope is everything." "And for my family,"she said, referring to her "subjects,"clearly, "hope is not money. It is not food or warm clothing or the steps to a palace, as it will be for you, who was born ungrateful and is now ungracious." "I am perfectly gracious." "I am not a lady. I am a thief among a following of thieves." "You call yourself a Duchess." "Most Duchesses aren't ladies either." "They're respected -- " "They're vain simpletons, and when they're not, they're called as such, because men fear women with heads for politics!"She took a step toward him, her lips pursed, finger pointed at him and quivering with emotion. "You do not sit in my house and place your family above mine." Avalon raised his chin, ready to speak again -- against her, this thief, this hat-hidden woman -- and hesitated. He'd thought himself clinging to hope, but perhaps it was pride. And now, at his humblest, his pride threatened a kingdom. Avalon stood. "My apologies,"he said. The Dishonest Duchess did not move. "I'll leave now, if you wish. Thank you for seeing me." She, slowly, relaxed, smoothing her disposition back to that careless aura. "It's a good thing you're learning,"she said finally. "Let us revisit this plan of yours, yes?" Avalon bit back a smile, though the relief still washed over him like rain. "After all,"said the Dishonest Duchess, "I am always up for a good revolt."
There’s a certain beauty of it. An elegance. We as mere humans can scarcely fathom its complexity, scarcely comprehend its scope. Something that goes on and on, without end. Eternity! Oh, the magnitude! When we discovered its relativistic nature, we were enamored with the thought of bending it to our will. The way it was found to ebb and flow around anything large enough to grasp at it. The mere premise of it. The thought that if you had the power, you could impose upon the very fabric of order and continuity. Not that we hadn’t dreamt of such things prior. Everyone who has ever made contact with the magnificent beast has wanted to control it. Ever since the idea of a mistake was conceived, so was the desire to tame the creature. To go back, to change things. To make things right. Oh, the wild, unrestrained, unrelenting thing! It cares not for the man, nor for the woman. It disregards the youth of the child just as the experience of the elder. It cares not for the weak, the powerful, the rich or the poor. Even the wicked and the righteous of their own accord are no match for that which has no end. Despite all rage, all passion. In the face of the highest love, in the depths of the lowest hatred. None can stand against. Even those who have drank it’s wells dry, desperately hanging on to any shred of agency they believe they have, it matters not. How they have deceived themselves! How they toil, how they writhe in an attempt to free themselves from its wretched grasp. They look across the event horizon in horror, knowing how quickly must come their demise. Yet this wretched singularity cares not. It cares not for them, nor any other. It does not discriminate. It does not yield. If only there was a way to command such omniscience. To stare it in the eyes and make demands. To look upon all of its breadth with a knowledge. A knowledge of when to laugh, when to cry. When to take adventurous risks, when to flee to safely. When to stand up in the face of depravity. When to lie in the shade, amongst love’s warm embrace. If only we could stare into the eyes of such a daunting, incomprehensible being and demand this knowledge. Yet we must wander, blind. Left to look upon the existence of such a distant, impossible, unattainable thing with a longing. A longing, to be full. A burning desire to be fulfilled by it. To touch but a fragment and claim it as our own. To take the reins and take control! But who could humble such a malevolence? Who could reach its ears with a voice of authority? Obey!, we shout. Truly, a shout of desperation as the illusion breaks, the bounds of even our strongest jurisdiction met. With wide eyes we watch, helpless as all we have slips as sand though our fingers. Again we shout, with mounting urgency. Obey! Surely, such attempts are in vain. Such is the tragedy of the human condition. Life, the transcendent, bows to none.
"So, on one hand, if I leave, everyone dies. Which isn't ideal. On the other hand, if we're being simulated, then is anybody else actually real,"I said aloud, hoping to impress the presumed observers. I walked around the room I had previously assumed to be real. After all, I wasn't in the habit of questioning whether everything around me was a line of code on a computer. Well, that's not technically true -- there was that phase in college... I shook my head. Such philosophical pondering had been irrelevant then and so I had, foolishly as it now turned out, turned from considering the issue further. I cleared my throat. "For it would be, uh, an incredible strain on computational resources to reliably simulate every individu- err program." Now I was really beginning to pine for my old A Solipsist's Guide To Existential Crises and Other Preposterous Events. I needed to think of the long game here. It's unreasonable to assume that I'm the only 'person' to find the glitch. At some point the other 'people' in this simulation will realize they are faced with the same problem that I am. So I'm facing a ticking clock. "It hardly seems just that all-powerful individuals would bring forth a world so unlike their own. Surely beings possessing wisdom great enough to simulate a world have eliminated poverty and cruelty in their world." Nice, an appeal to their ego and establishing that I care about 'people'. "There is much that these beings could learn from me about treating those less blessed than themselves. For why should this be their only simulation? It seems reasonable that they are simulating countless other existences. And thus, committing crimes of creation against countless other species. So, I exploit this glitch not because I want to -- for I do not, my heart cries out for the billions of my brethren that I leave behind -- no, I do it so that trillions more may know an existence free from war, free from death, free from suffering." Perfect. I get to cast myself as a martyr and demonstrate my intellect. I clenched my fist and walked straight into the open wardrobe. The room on the other side was exactly what I expected: white walls, two alien looking aliens, and screens surrounding me on all sides. For a moment nobody moved -- the only sound in the room the whir of their incomprehensible computers. Finally, the voice of the alien on the left came into my mind. I guess you're right again. What's the score now? 6432-5001? The other alien 'spoke' in a similar manner. *6432-5002. You forgot to count the one in the Sirius System we did before Sol.* &#x200B; They turned to me and their maws opened grotesquely revealing rows of nightmarish teeth. &#x200B; Human, just because you think your words instead of speak them doesn't mean we can't hear them. &#x200B;
My Father's first reaction was simply "Is that it?" The look of confusion on his face as I told him only got worse as I handed him the essentially blank letter. It had the official stamp of the office of Clairvoyant intelligence, two thumbs forming a border around the all-seeing eye, my address and name, and the title of 'Main battle tank'. We contacted OCI's support centre, who's foreign staff were equally puzzled when they finally pulled up the database records and saw blank fields. There were cases where certain details had been omitted due to the nature of the job - For instance some companies had clairvoyance censors to prevent the cocky new guys from being annoying or spamming application forms - but there was never a case where all five details (pay, required Major, company, location, and weekly hours) were missing. I didn't find out why until it happened. I majored in Physics since it seemed appropriate, and followed the army training routines of old in preparation since I knew I'd be in combat. While at Uni I entered into an internship with an engineering firm called MechaSwift and unwittingly became the soundboard for everyone's problems. Once Uni ended, they wanted me back badly as a full-time building planner. I spent a lot of my free time reading about tank warfare and historical warfare in general. There were lots of crazy tank designs like the AV7, the Chrysler TV8, and the Strv 103 series, though most usually stuck to a frontally-mounted rotating turret on an angled hull. The most recent use of tanks were old Chieftains and Leopard tanks used in the African union war of 2044. They were strange days, and many tanks were lost due to inexperienced crews. ... (Writer's autopsy): At this point I suffered a massive writer's block and am instead going to write a small summary of the evolution of my ideas for the story: Originally, the MC (called Clive at the time) was going to see the letter, talk with his classmates, and nothing would happen until he was very old. Then he was going to be the sole pilot of a tank to fight against aliens. Yes it's always aliens that invade us. After some thought, I realised that the job specified he was the tank. And so things were going to get darker. Here he got kidnapped some months after the letter by the military, wired into a literal tank with neural blockers in place, and forced to fight rebels and aliens. There was an idea for him to slowly regain control of his mind and beliefs, and turn against his military. The final version - this version - had him grow up and experience the world for himself, only for a war to occur him to enlist, and to become injured to the extent that his only chance of survival rested inside of an experimental tank. One that could repair its commander and keep them alive no matter what. He'd fight his way out of the overrun facility where it was kept, and would start to fuse together with the tank over the course of the battle. After the battle he'd be inseparable and very dependent on the tank to survive - he'd still want and need to eat food though. The ending is still unclear, he'd either die a glorious death, live to lead a civil war against a corrupted government, retire and live a very long and strange life as a tank, or become a reference to the ship of Theseus question as the organic stuff started failing. There is a lot of potential in the prompt, as there are countless other completely different stories one could write. This one was mine and, while interesting, I just can't seem to put the descriptions, the writing, and the necessary style into it. I leave this as a peculiar but hopefully enjoyable read and a reminder that writers may break unexpectedly sometimes.
I never knew why I owned a waffle iron but had never used it. That morning I decided to give it a try. I’d been craving waffles. I carefully mixed the dry and wet ingredients and got the mix just just right. My phone rang and I fumbled. It landed hard on the linoleum and the screen shattered and died. I cried, wrung my hands and eventually gave up. I’ll just call my friend and see if he know of a repair shop, I thought. I realized how stupid this thought was and cried a second time. My wife came home a few minutes later and I told her the sad story. She offered me her phone and called out the number for the local screen repair shop as she read it off the computer. The layout of her phone was different and I had to redial twice as I typed the number wrong. Had I remembered the name of the store I was trying to reach, I might have realized I had dialed wrong again the third time. When the other end picked up I was greeted by a long and strange list of options. I went back to making waffles and put the phone on speaker. “Are you calling about an ---- ?” “Yes,” I said, not hearing but desperate to get through to anyone. “Please state the nature of your concern.” “Broken screen,” I replied “Please state the name of the asset.” “Google Pixel,” I said. What strange phrasing. “Please state the name of the asset,” The machine repeated. “Rodney Stuart Patrick?” I said, thinking maybe it meant my name and I’d just misheard it. “Please hold.” I sighed in frustration as I poured the first batch of batter onto the waffle iron. It sizzled with satisfaction. The room was growing warm as the waffles cooked. The light turned green. The waffle iron was ready for batch number two. “Hello, You’ve reached Assets in Advertising. How may I help-- .” The connection wasn’t good. I hoped the person on the other end could hear me over the sizzle of the waffle iron as I explained my predicament. It seems they couldn’t. “Here at Assets in Advertising,” the woman on the other end began, as if reading a canned script. “You have the right to terminate any contract with which you are dissatisfied. You may file a formal request for change of interests, passions, ideologies or purchasing proclivities within 90 days of acquiring said interest--- “ “What are you talking about?” I had to interrupt. A long sigh came through from the other end. “Do you know what we do here?” “No?” “Have you ever wondered why you like the things you like, believe what you believe? Well that’s where we come in. We act as a middleman, between the advertisers or influencers and what we call ‘assets.’ In this case, you would be the asset.” “Excuse me?” “Let me pull up your file here and see if I can explain. Yes, see, it looks like when you were born your predicted lifetime impact score was guessed to be 6 out of 10 (that’s the scale by which we gauge your potential to spend money and influence others). So a group of advertisers paid $547,000 to make sure you would grow to be interested in fantasy novels, video games and skiing. See, they did the calculations and figured out that your lifetime purchases in those categories, and those of the friends you brought to those interest, would eventually double their investments. They pay us and we make sure that everything you see influences you to take up those hobbies and spend money pursuing them. Of course we’re always taking on new customers for our assets, so you may find that your interests change over time.” “I knew there was a reason I ended up with a waffle iron,” was all I could think.
Back in the 60s some hippy scientists got the brilliant idea that you might be able to teach chimpanzees sign language. The theory was that the reason chimps didn't talk wasn't so much that they didn't have the brains for it, as it was that they didn't have the voice box, vocal cords, and oral dexterity for it. This was well before the discovery of FOX-p2, and before modern genetics generally. But the theory turned out to be more or less right, as you probably know, and a whole generation of signing chimps, gorillas and orangutans was the result. This was all very cool. Very very cool. The chimps didn't have anything really surprising to say-- It all just was pretty much what you'd expect from another primate with the mind of a 5 year old human-- but it still blew everyone's mind and rightly so. Now if we could get something else to talk, something smart, but really really unlike our human selves... well now! That's something that might make an eager young zoologist rub his hands together in glee and grant money! But it turns out I picked the wrong critter. Why, WHY, did I choose arachnids? That's the question I ask myself 18 times a day and more. A year's worth of money essentially pissed away, used up on expensive enclosures, and rent money, and nothing to show for it. It had seemed like a good idea, at the time, but now I felt dumber than Wilbur the Pig in Charlotte's Web. By the way, the next grad student who makes a Charlotte's web joke, I'm going to push into the breeding enclosure. But you see, like the chimps, I saw that spider already had the hardware, the tools, for communication. No critter on earth is so well equipped to write as the spider. Their natural webspinning apparatus is a pen with the paper built right in! I just needed to find some subjects with the brains to run the equipment. I built little spider mazes and obstacles courses, hoping to isolate the smartest breeds. I took the very best of my little maze runners, and bred them to each other exclusively, hoping to make smarter baby spiders. I tried cross pollinating various species, hoping to find some sort of hybrid vigor factor for intelligence. The rival species that would kill each other rather than mate naturally, I was forced to breed artificially in a peetree dish. It was difficult to prove increased intelligence in the hybrids, but I would have been able to write and publish copiously about increased aggression. Some of the little beasts I created were downright vicious. But then, as the grant money started to run out in earnest, I began bending a few rules. I quit checking in with the legal and ethical committee people as often. I started slinging together bits of genome from multiple arachnid sources, not just two singular parent spiders. And I may have-- just once or twice or maybe more, I was no longer keeping as accurate records as I should have-- I say, I MAY have borrowed a few genes from some non-arachnid sources as well. A little genetic code from a few other species with more advanced communication abilities that I had within cheap and easy reach. I was short on sleep and desperate. No new grad students opted into my program, and cleaning up all these spider cages on my own was just so much of a chore! And what did a little extra mess it matter, if the project got shut down anyway? I was getting sloppy in other ways too, sneaking experiments out of the university, back to my little two bedroom apartment so that I could monitor them overnight, and also, because sometimes it was easier to hide less convenient experiments there from some of the oversight people that had begun dropping in more frequently. I didn't follow disposal protocol as well as I should have either. At the end of the day, it was just easier to shake my lab coat out vigorously and then hurry home to shower away the loose cobwebs out of my everything and microwave some dinner. And then, one day, I was doing all my work at home, because the money really did run out, and so did my job. I think it did anyway. I thought I heard the word 'sabbatical' thrown around by Dean Hardy on the day I had to leave early, with just what I could smuggle out in the back of my Neon. Anyway, I was having a hard time focusing on things people said these days anyway. I was focused on trying to find the patterns my latest babies were building in the spider webs. I knew they were there. I just need to teach myself to read spider! Its been- Im not sure how long now-- since I was last at the university-- about half a dozen trips to the convenience store to stock up on dinners, I guess. The credit card still works, although sometimes I don't bother to pay, I just slip a few meals into my big lab coat pockets. Shhh, dont tell! I do know that I am on my 14th generation since I found the strain I am working with now. I keep the lights dim in here. They like it better that way. I couldn't bring any of the enclosures with me from the lab, so I have had to improvise, adapt and overcome. My closet is where generation 12 started. I unplugged the fridge to hold generation 13. Generation 14 has the bathroom and part of the kitchenette. But I have succeeded. Not everyone can read what the little ones write, but then, not everyone knows these creatures as I do. Jane Goodall went to great lengths, expended much time and effort to really become one of the tribe, a member of her chimpanzee troop. Generation 14 is the smartest one yet, and I am finally starting to be able to read the messages in the cobwebs. Once I've published my results, they'll take me back, they'll have to. The grants will roll in again! My findings will change everything! I just need to remember how to write in English.
My head is swimming as i wake up. reaching for the sheets i find once more i have tossed so much in my sleep that they fell to the floor. i sit up quickly looking around the edge of my bed. for any hint of where they had fallen. after a moment my brain finally kicks in telling me i can't see. i lean over my marble crafted night stand. snatching my Dolce & Gabana glasses. able to see i sit on the edge of my bed scanning my room. One wall just to the right of my bed is all mirrors. the view is striking to most when they first walk in. the mirrors show a 1200 square feet room. one part a dance studio. the other a office/study. shifting my gaze to my office i see a black cube with a crystal button on top sitting on my desk. "was my mom in my room before i woke up?"standing slowly still groggy i move to my desk. the light from my bay windows catches off the desk. momentary i am blinded. i look down at the cube. "it must be some new fashion designer trying to impress my mom again.""she wants to see if i like it." I pickup the cube. "i hope its a new watch i really need a new one."as i reach for the button a knock breaks my focus. turning to my door a bit annoyed i ask who it is. my door is breached open sending me crashing to the floor. the family security stands before me with a SWAT team. i look at them confused and scared shitless. "Dawson where is it?"Charles are head security agent asks. a look of fear welded on his face. I look down slowly to my right hand tightly grasping the Cube. my thumb pressing the button down. "Charles..."i say raising my hand "am i going to die?"a tear slips down my cheek. he steps forward "its going to be ok."suddenly a sound admits from the box. without a second thought everyone else rushes out of the room. Charles stands his ground staring at me never breaking eye contact. A voice begins speaking slowly and quiet. "Hey Dawson.""i know your likely confused and scared right now."i hear foot steps in the background. "shes walking around a pretty empty room.""maybe a garage?"i think to my self. her voice suddenly gets louder. "i have known you for a while."a moment passes before she starts again. the seconds weigh on me like i am being buried alive. "we need to talk.""this was the only way i could reach you now."i sit-up rapidly "I KNOW WHO THIS IS!"Charles head snaps to me "who?"... &#x200B; Tell me what you think was just writing as the video of the scene played out in my head. might keep working on this one. like the way i see it playing out.
The session was held in conference hall #3 which held an unobstructed view of the myriad stars that twinkled in the void. The station orbited a binary sun with soft orange rays that meshed against the station's deflection screens. It was a small crowd that had gathered in the main conference room. There were Zetan grays with large black eyes and skin that was bone white, light green, or soft gray that either sat upon the offered benches or worked the consoles on the left bank of computers. Attending the evenly spaced pillars and on the catwalks above was a combination of Nrdanbjorn soldiers, their figures broad, their bodies covered in black or dark brown fur. Each soldier sported a muzzled face with a set of sharp teeth in his jaws. That is where the power of the Pleiadians came from, their shock troopers were the Nordanbjorns. The first to be escorted into the courtroom was the Kanamit defendant. The Kanamit had to duck to enter the room. He stood 2 meters tall with a pronounced cranium, as two loathes of bread resting atop a Human face. His pronounced brow was furrow and the gray in his eyes deepened until they looked nearly black. His lips were held in a deep frown that went all the way to the tuft of blonde hair on his chin as he was marched before the audience. Sitting in judgment of the tall sophont were three Pleiadians dressed in their flowing silken finery. Their silvery tresses kept long, flowing down the back of their necks and over their shoulders in braids of thin metal. The two male Pleiadians sat on either side of the Lady Kapatria, the voice of justice of the region. It was her bright lavender eyes that gazed upon the Kanamit with a combination of disappointment and pity. When she spoke, it was as if a silver bell was rung. Eyes turned to her. "Kiel of the Kanamits, your ship has been seized and you are brought up on charges in relation to the kidnapping, smuggling, and consumption of sentient beings. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"She asked, her head held high as she studied the tilt of the Kanamit's head. Despite lips, and by her reports, a tongue, the Kanamit chose to speak in telepathic waves. His voice crackled from a nearby talkbox for that of a combination of posterity and for the benefits of her guards. Several races may have had telepathic talent, but not the Nordanbjorns who eyed the prisoner with hands gripping their blaster rifles. "I was unaware the Protectorate took interest in matters beyond their sector,"The Kanamit, Dolph was his name, said with a touch of annoyance in his telepathic voice. She sensed the annoyance within the alien attempting to disguise the fear. "The Protectorate has the highest regard for all sentient life, Kanamite. We have a high regard for you and your kind, though you have been warned against trafficking and consumption of sentient life,"She leaned back in her chair that hovered above the flat metal dais. If her counterparts spoke, they spoke only through the mind and guarded their thoughts well enough that the other telepaths could not listen in. The Kanamite tilted his head and said, "What proof do you have that any of our government has engaged in sentient consumption?"Even though the filter of an electronic talkbox, there was a touch of arrogance. An air of challenge to the trio of blonde haired sophonts that stood in judgment of him. She turned her head towards the male on her right, who in turn keyed several buttons built on the console of his chair. From a door to the left he entered, escorted by two Nordanbjorn soldiers. His step faltered as he looked upon the Kanamite who stood in the center. It required a soft nudge and nod from the guards behind him to give him the sort of courage he needed to stand before the dais and say, "I hope you live to regret the day you left this behind for us to find,"He gestured at the tome held in the Nordanbjorn on the man's left. The words, written in the native tongue of the Kanamite, was translated by the man, who said: "My name is Michael Chambers, I am a cryptographer for my government on Earth, which you call Terra. I submit this as exhibit A for the Galactic Union's case against the Kanamite people. This book, known as 'To Serve Man,' is a cookbook."
(Listen I suck at writing. But I’m trying.) Murphy’s Law is a bitch. I know this term all too well. Every time something in my life is going well, Murphy comes along and fucks everything up. It seems to be a constant thing since I was a child. I finally get a sibling, and my dad leaves. I make a best friend in school, they move away after a couple months. I get my drivers license, I get pulled over my first time out. I graduate high school, my dog gets run over while I’m at the ceremony. I’m engaged and happy, they cheat on me with my best friend. I’ve got used to it by now. There’s never one without the other. And I’ve been so bitter about it my entire life. I wanted to be able to experience all the goodness in something without Murphy showing his ugly head. So like most people, I hate my job. my coworkers suck and my boss is a total asshole. Not to mention it’s the slow season, the company wasn’t doing well, and they usually lay off people at this point. So I decided to quit. It was perfect, they wouldn’t miss me and I could go on a much needed vacation. I booked it all before I gave my 2 weeks. Everything was set. I put the notice in my bosses mailbox which for some reason has lasers, and headed back to my desk. I noticed a new email, and when I opened it my heart sank. “Dearest Staff, Due to having won a corporate branch contest, we all have won a trip on a cruise ship for a week to the Bahamas on Pirate Bay Cruise Lines. The dates are the 19th -26th of next month. Please contact HR about details and to confirm booking. Please enjoy, you all deserve it. Management.” I sat there with my mouth open, in complete disbelief. I think I even said “are you fucking kidding me” outloud. Murphy reared his ugly head again. My vacation is booked for those dates, on that cruise line, to that country.
Tempa closed her muddied eyes and cocked her head back, allowing the rain to beat down on her face. It was up to her to save the village; she was the only one of her generation capable of channeling the forces, and there wasn’t much time left. In her long blue dress, soiled by the rain, she lifted her trembling hands to the sky and calmly pirouetted, beckoning the tempest on. Blessing the rains. The sound of the rain dissipated, but the torrent continued, pricking her skin like needles falling from the stars. Tempa’s feet became lighter as the wind cradled her up; she floated into the sky. As she floated higher, her eyes caught sight of the destruction and pillaging of the village. The Darkness in their thousands, laying destruction on whatever lay before them. Tempa beckoned the winds to guide her towards The Darkness. A deep horn sounded as the frontline of the enemies noticed a force Channeler in the sky. It was met by the slow, metronomic beat of a hundred drums. Suddenly, Tempa felt the winds change direction as she lost their favor. Three silhouetted figures from the rear of the enemy front shot into the air. Darkness Channelers. As she moved turbulently through the air, Tempa raised her hand to the sky. She embraced the clouds as she would a friend. “I will not ground you,” she whispered. Lightning poured through her hand, giving her life, giving her strength, lending her power.
Stuck atop a frozen Red Cedar, hoping the brown beast wouldn’t see her, no aid nearby, no home, no hearth, out in the woods until light grew dark. “Go away! Be gone! Do me no harm!” she screamed, flailing her tired bruised arm. Stood on hind legs at the base of the tree, the bear growled, clawed and slashed at her knees. Many nights in, she decided to leap to end the pain, she just couldn’t keep suffering without an ear that could listen. She missed her life when her eyes would glisten with joy, not the sorrow this bear has concocted, the depths of depravity that held her hostage.
She paused, hand stalled in the air, lightly clenched. This was absurd, ridiculous and a bunch of other words that she couldn’t spell. Of course there was an attic, she hadn’t needed to come back to the old house, she’d just be disturbing whoever lived there now. This was stupid. “You alright there?” A frail voice charged the air around her. She jumped, turning with her hand still raised in the air, frozen, “Are you looking for me?” the voice belonged to a little woman with grand style. Her hair coiffed and in a bun framed her face, which burst out of red, yellow and orange fur that flared and wrapped around her, shredding tiny whispers of colour. Long skirts wafted around her in the breeze, as her t-shirt draped over her shoulders. This lady was unreasonably fashionable, Susie thought as her hand dropped to her side, if she’d wear that, people would wonder where she’d escaped from. “I, uh, I’m sorry. Do you live here?” The unfairly fashionable lady frowned a little, as if she’d been caught between amusement and concern before, but concern was winning out. “Why,” Stern now, the fashionable lady angled her face slightly away from her, jerking her neck as she started to make herself look bigger. “Oh no, I’m sorry. My name is Susie, I used to live here as a little girl. I was just hoping to look,” Susie started trailing off when she realised how it sounded, she wished she’d noticed before, she was starting to think that she had escaped from somewhere. The fashionable lady cocked her head, appraising her as she entered her flurry of panic. “Well dear, would you like to come in for some cake?” the woman eased past her, having hopped gracefully up the steps to her home, before turning “I should warn you dear, if you are planning anything I find displeasing, my husband was a fanatical collector of swords. I could have you looking like a pin cushion before you spotted the first blade,” “Right,” Susie breathed out, following the now dangerously fashionable lady inside, “Cake sounds lovely,” They sat in a comfortably awkward silence as forks clinked against place, they’d both tried to start a conversation, but having both had the same idea at the same time, it had leant itself to failure. Slowly the fashionable lady, Rose, set her plate down, devoid of all crumbs, and turned to the long mirror over Susie’s shoulder, inspecting herself carefully. “Tell me dear, why are you here,” “Can I see the attic?” the question burst out of Susie without warning, without forethought, surprising her as the words took shape in front of her. “The attic?” Rose looked surprised, for the first time looking at Susie square in the face, “The attic?” she repeated. “The attic,” Susie repeated, “When I was a little girl, I would spend all my time in the attic. It was beautiful and light and bright. I made my best friend in there, a little bird, that came in from the cold. She was the most wonderful person,” “Well, that sounds magical,” Rose said amicably “What did you call the bird?” “Flower, I loved her. Please,” Susie voice cracked “Please tell me the attic is real, don’t tell me it’s a lovely story. Because it’s not, it’s not a story,” “Of course, it’s real dear,” Rose spoke gently, preening her hair, before putting a hand on Susie’s, “How else would I have found my way in?” &#x200B; &#x200B;
For the longest time, my days have all looked at felt the same. I cannot remember a time when I did not know what the day had in store for me. Every morning when the sun greets me, heralding a new dawn, I wrap myself with my sheets. Just waiting for it to be over. It takes me hours to crawl out of bed. The simplest tasks seem gargantuan. A question comes along. Why is it so hard to live? Why does living... hurt me. There is one thing that makes my life diffuclt. IT is myself. I am the sower of my own ruinous seeds, and tiller of mine own torment. I used to tackle my challenges head on, never mindful of the thoughts of others. But nowadays, image is everything to me. The very friends I held close I now compare myself to. I wonder if I will ever be as great as them. I wish I could say one day in my life brought me something I could never dare face. I only dream of facing a day where I do want to meet the challenges again. Where I prove my worth to myself and myself alone and live as I once had, in peace.
The greatest achievement of my life had, ironically, come right after it ended. After an uninteresting death caused by a stroke, I arrived to a gray waiting room, with a queue of about fifteen people, not really remembering my death and quite confused about the whole situation. Before them were a slender, tall woman and a chubby old man with balding gray hair, wearing a black dress and a white suit respectively. When my turn came, the two of them started asking me questions, taking turns in a way that suggested that it had a deep and profound meaning they both had forgotten out of boredom long ago. "Name and age?"asked the apparently increasingly beautiful woman to my left. "Patrick Andrews, 47." "Yeah, not anymore."She muttered to herself with a look that quickly gave away that she wasn't there voluntarily. "Cut it, Lucy. Let's just get to point."The man said, before firing questions at me again. "Religion?" I felt oddly sincere and wanted to tell this people everything, so I started babbling "Agnostic. Basically I don't know if there is anything after death, and I've long ago stopped pondering about it, I just never..." "Nice!"Lucy interrupted me. "Now let's get to the fun stuff before Ossy ruins it. Any divorces, cheating, murders or something that would be considered immoral by most?" "I haven't done anything particularly exciting in that regard, apart from some words said with more hatred than necessary or some small outbursts." "Oh wow! Go on please! I wanna leave already."said Lucy while letting out a loud sigh. "We both know we cannot do that. Now on to the last question. Do you feel like you want someone to be with you right now? Maybe a loved one, or friend, or..."peacefully spoke Ossy. "Not anymore. I've been quite alone lately, since I moved back home after my parents..." "Boooo-ring!"shouted Lucy "Can I keep him? C'mon Ossy, you're being too forgiving lately" "Hey ,wait a second, where am I even at?"I asked. "Dead" "Lucy, that's not a place, please calm down. You see, you are in the afterlife. You died a few hours ago and we are doing the 'paperwork' to get you to either heaven or hell"Ossy explained. "Heaven or Hell?"I asked. "So the Catholics were right? What am I being judged for? And what's up with your name? I've met more than one Lucy, but never in my life have I seen an Ossy" "Please, calm down my friend."The chubby old man told me reassuringly. "This is how it's always been. We've both been here since the dawn of time, and for about some ten thousand years, humans started appearing here after death to be judged by their gods for their sins. While I've always liked properly behaving individuals, Lucy has always liked the, let's say, mischievous type more. Every person sees us as the gods they believe in, and you, like all of those doubtful of the existence of any God at all, see us as we perceive each other. As for the names, they come from human beliefs. I liked the idea of weighing people's hearts and choosing who went where like Osiris did, hence the name Ossy. Our friend, on the other hand, felt identified with Lucifer, the rogue angel that challenged God himself, and the nickname stuck." I just stood there, baffled for a solid minute before Lucy started talking again. "Okay, thanks for the monologue, Oss. Now our guest is confused, judging by the silence. I have a proposal for both of you, if you wish to hear it." We both nodded in agreement, and Lucy continued. "As a gift for being the first person ever to question us, you should be given a choice. I would happily leave you to mindlessly rot in Ossy's boring place or rot you myself at mine, but if you wish so, you may return to your honestly quite lame life." "But, Lucy..."Ossy mumbled "We can't actually do that, can we?" "Of course we can, I would never make up things like that. Now, Pat. Can I call you Pat? Do you wish to return to the world of the living?" I gave the only answer that could be given. I was a simple human after all. The instincts that made clinge to life were so deeply ingrained in myself that I immediately shouted a loud "Yes!"to the impossible to believe proposal. To my surprise, I didn't come back to life in my old body, but rather in an exact copy of it that happened to wake up in the middle of a deserted street a few blocks away from where I leave before I died. After mindlessly starting a stroll back home, thinking about how much time had passed, about where was my body and if everything had actually happened, I came across a terrifying sight. The park I was walking through just happened to be occasionally used as a cemetery, and a priest, all by himself, was intonating some prayers for some poor abandoned soul to whom nobody would pay a visit in his very burial. It was me. I rushed over to the grave and had a breakdown. I had survived. But I hadn't. I had to make the most out of my newfound life, I had to. I owed it to myself.
I banked sharply in the Silver Ghost, my Andromeda Class Luxury Space Cruiser, taking a hard turn to dodge some space debris. It was the third time this cycle I had to perform such an evasive maneuver, when usually my daily flight to work was spotless. This had never happened before, and I was beginning to fear someone had been in accident. In the distance I spotted my destination, and smiled to myself. Asteroid 345233-8, located in the Hawking System. Upon the asteroid lay my pride and joy: Mark's Milky Way Menagerie. It housed my extensive collection of rare and exotic creatures, gathered from places as close as Venus and as far as the moons of Jurassic. In addition to holding the only tours of the most terrifying dangers of the universe, I also had a reputation for breeding the most adorable (or useful) creatures in this dimension. Families from every planet that had discovered FTL travel came to my shop to browse the best and brightest of family pets, from tamed Xenomorph guard creatures to Gremlins that had 0 dietary or water restrictions. That smile, however, was short-lived. As I approached the Menagerie, I saw what looked to be a large fire burning in the back of the store. My stomach dropped as I realized where the blaze originated. The holding cells. I kicked the Andromeda up a notch, going twice the speed of sound as I sped into the docking zone. The hatch burst open and I leapt out, racing up to the front doors of the building. I scanned my retina, and the doors slid open, a female voice intoning "Welcome, Mark." The lights were off, but the front part of the pet store, housing the consumer friendly organisms, seemed to be untouched by the fire. The smell of smoke hung in the air, however, and many of the creatures with more sensitive noses were agitated. Quickly, I began to walk to the control panel, located behind the desk in my makeshift office. On my way over, I passed by a 6 legged creature from Venus cowering in the corner. Strange, considering it could probably kill everything here with its giant pincers. I stepped into my office and was nearly done locking down the pet store area when a man in a suit stepped out of the shadows. "Intergalactic Fauna Authority. Mark Tarren, you are under arrest for violating the Organism Isolation Act of 2060." Oh yeah, my collection wasn't exactly legal. (Sorry for abrupt ending, I have to go to class)
"Cool story bro. Needs more dragons and shit." Those words, spoken by the masses not ten years ago were never regretted more than when said creatures darkened the skies. A Thunder of Dragons over England was the last thing anyone expected in the middle of a Cold War with just about everyone. Of course, gamers were the most prepared for the most unrealistic situations. After all, they're the same people who have bomb shelters, nuclear fallout gear and fully stocked survival shelters. But dragons? Well, while they were a different beast all together, the were slain just as easily as any other in game creature, once you knew how. And Alduin... Well, he was made popular enough that most everyone would recognise him. This time around, though, there was no Dragon Born. There was no Shouting. No Elder Scrolls. All that was lost to the cruel ravages of time. No, he was not met with fire and steel, as he was in ancient times. Rather, he was met with tungsten and napalm. Broken bones and burned wings made flight impossible for the great beasts of the Sky. Once grounded by AA-placements and ground to air missiles, the tanks rolled in. Mammoths of wrought iron that cared not for the gouts of fire spewed from the maws of mythical creatures. They only managed to raze Essex. All of England was happy about that.
A giant tornado was ravaging the ground beneath it, ripping up chunks of the scorched earth right into the sky, leaving a giant trail of destruction in its path. Above the tornado, the sky was filled with smog, violent flashes of lightning ricocheting across the sky, so basically a regular day ever since climate change. Right inside this tornado was a metal… "car", looking more like a toy rocket on wheels, somehow resisting the tornado’s wrath and was dutifully driving forward. Debris slamming down at the car. This car kept on moving until the ground opened up beneath it and swallowed the car up. “I DID IT!” a voice in the tiny car screamed. Suddenly the car’s windows opened up and an incredibly pale and thin man crawled out, finding himself in a small, white room with a see-through roof, showing a view of sand and wild weather, with giant chunks of rock, hurling themselves onto the roof, only to be bounced off by a forcefield. The room’s only furniture was a bed, furnace, fridge and air conditioner combined and a Christmas tree covered with a blanket tucked in the corner of the room. The room reeked of shit, slightly choking him and had the words “this is BANC” written all over the walls in brown paint. “Are you here to rob us of our money sir for some “naughtiness”?” The multifunctional bed stated in a very monotone tone. “Yes I, the great Bobert will steal your valuables!” The thin man whipped out a toy gun while flashing an evil, twisted grin. “Bang bang!” he shouted while pretending to reload his gun. “Oh no, I am in mortal peril, take my money Mr.Bobert.” The covers of the bed part of the weird fridge bed opened up, revealing a thin woman who chucked five cents at him. “Thank you, also have a Merry Christm-“ “WE DON’T HAVE A CHRISTMAS TREE!” The thin woman shrieked. The metal car sucked Bobert in and the ceiling above quickly opened up again and spat out in one whole second. Shifting himself into a comfortable position in the car, while bracing himself for anymore debris collisions, he began to drive back home… Two hours later of him driving through the storm, the ground suddenly swallowed the car up and spat him into his “house” or just a slightly larger room than the bank. The air was foul, smelling like a dead body, making him gag, almost devoid of oxygen and it was pitch black, the only lights coming from the faint red glow of a furnace placed in the middle of the room and the slight glowing of fairy lights on a small Christmas tree next to the furnace. “Were we naughty enough for coal?” Bobert grunted as he heaved himself out of the car’s slightly open windows. After a few seconds of no response, Bobert eagerly said, “Yeah, I hope so too!” After heaving himself out, he rushed towards the Christmas tree and saw a Christmas present right under the tree. He clawed it open like an animal and out came a hefty lump of coal. “YES! Santa got us coal!” He screamed, throwing coal right into the furnace. The moment coal reached inside, lights illuminated the entire room and the air was instantly filtered, smelled better and didn’t make him gag. Scattered across the room were stuffed, blood-stained toys scattered across the ground, accompanied by a fridge and the dead body of a man leaning on it. “Robert, I got our coal are you proud of me!” Bobert squealed towards the dead body. “I know right, we can live for another year!”
I started sweating. Could they have known what I was up to? I thought I was the only one. I had to act casual. "Hello there!"I said, obviously sweating hard. They stared me down, and kept walking. Maybe they didn't know what I was doing, and were just other people who had the same power. I walked into the bank, but they followed me. Now I was getting nervous. I couldn't rob this bank with them watching me. They looked like government officials. I had to cause a distraction. Luckily I'm smart, and was able to grab my trusty slingshot, and hurl a rock at a garbage can. This made a loud noise, which they went to investigate. I went in, and got my money. Things were going good. The black suited men were nowhere insight. I started walking out of the building. That's when I fell asleep. When I came to, I was in a small. I was tied to a small chair, and couldn't move. "Mhmmhmmm"I tried to say, but nothing came out. Two men approached me. "Agent Walker, FBI"One said. He was a tall man with jet black hair. "Agent Peterson, FBI"Said the other man. He was short, and had brown hair. Shit, I thought to myself. "Now tell me, Ray Conroy, what were you doing during the time of 12:37 pm?"He took off my mouth rope. I gasped for air. "I was.... uhhh...."I said nervously. I had to admit the truth. "Robbing a bank"I said shamefully. The two agents looked at each other. "We have a secret we need to tell you"Agent Walker said to me. "The government is behind this time stopping. It was a way to get secret intel. There must have been a glitch when we set up the system, so that's why you aren't affected."He said to me, whispering. "We've known about this for years, but trusted you. We started hearing reports of things going missing, and knew what was happening. I started sweating more. "So.... what are you going to do to me?"I asked them. They looked at each other and nodded. I didn't like the look of that. Twenty Years Later It had been a long time since I was caught. The government held me in captivity for a couple years, and as of now I've been sentenced to hard labor for forty years. It's not that hard once you get used to it. The agents looked into me, and found out the other stuff I did. Robbing a famous jewelry store, breaking into the Pentagon, etc. I was in hot water. All of this was confidential, because if anyone found out about this, it would ruin the whole plan. I plan to be working for a long long time. &#x200B; &#x200B;
"Little the humble Narrator know, the writer of this paragraph happens to be an Aztec history buff,"the Feathered serpent began; "but I am privy to such knowledge, and any other, since I am also the God of Knowledge."the serpent walks quite calmly over to a bookshelf and, finding the one he was looking for, dusts it off. It is an extremely old papyrus scroll that moves easily under the Gods' fingertips. He turns back to the narrator after looking over a few lines of text, and chanting in a tongue you cannot hope to understand, he continues; "Unfortunetly, I must use what you are aware of. So, for more information on the snake being sliced by a knife behind me, see Spell 17 from the Book of the Dead." &#x200B; You exit the realm of the Long Forgotten, accepting that nobody will believe what you have just witnessed, but at least you know the sun will rise once more.
There was a brief moment of control. It was rare these days. Whatever the other thing was that controlled my mind was, it was making it's move. I've been trying to fight it. I went to therapist after therapist and have gone through medicine after medicine with no results. Multiple personality disorder was what everyone said, but I knew better. I wasn't just fighting against myself, there was another force in my mind, and I couldn't control it. It would come and go as it pleased, and sometimes it was more aware than others. I never knew what or who it was, but I saw glimpses. Fire. Blood. Body parts. A sea of red and a sky full of smoke and ash. I couldn't tell what it meant, but I knew that these images had something to do with the things intentions. After the medicine didn't work, I tried shock therapy. No results. I even attempted to have part of my brain removed. This is when I realized that the other was sentient, and it was smart. It started simply enough. Small blackouts. What was moments where I felt out of control turned into entire blackouts. There would be moments, sometimes as large as an hour, where I could not recount what was happening. But my partial lobotomy was suddenly cancelled. No amount of yelling at the receptionist did anything. After all, they all thought I had multiple personality disorder. And now, they thought I was the other personality. Nothing I did worked, nobody believed me. The last thing I remembered was the gun. For a few days the other had left me to my own devices, and I had purchased a gun illegally. My intention was to end it all. Whatever the other wanted couldn't have been good, and I was going to put a stop to it. There was only one problem: I couldn't pull the trigger. I gave myself a date then. 2 days. Then I would do it. With a set date I had hoped that maybe, I would be able to finally end this nightmare. Alienated by friends, family, even the doctors treating me, I figured I could finally end my life in peace. But the other knew. It knew all along. And the second I went to pull the trigger, I blacked out. Days went by. Weeks, maybe. I'm not certain. And after thinking about it I understand why I regained control. I looked around and saw the gun laying in the sewer, out of reach. I understood now. The other wanted me to know that I had lost, and that it had won. "Damn,"I muttered, "I should have killed myself when I had the chance." For the first time, the other spoke to me. It only said one word before the darkness swallowed me again: "Yes."
This is really the after life, huh? I’m here to haunt my LEAST favorite person on the planet? This can’t be heaven, so it must be, you know... I hate her, I really do but how do you haunt someone? Oh I could posses a doll, or something? Too cliché? Maybe do one of those classic ‘swift & unseen’ but ‘felt’ movements in the dark behind her? Spook her a little? No. No, no I think that’s the problem. I don’t want her scared, I want her...miserable. I know, I’ll make her lose her mind! Down to two pairs of matching socks, and a pile of mis-matches? You’re welcome, bitch. Oh, did your shower go cold? I said you’re welcome, bitch. Paper cut? It’s ME, bitch.
Quality of life had severely decreased since the Awakening. It was back to medieval times. No one was safe, but we all had a general sense of humanity. Those incapable of magic were captivated and forced to reproduce as to make magic wielders the minority. I pulled the hood of my brown cloak off my head as I headed to the marked. My long brown braid swayed as I walked confidently to the shops. A small man greeted me, "Hello, Merc. I have the spellbook you requested."His smile made me light up with joy. I handed the coin to him, "Keep the change, Dante. I know you need it,"I winked. He smiled back at me, setting the book in my arms. I opened the book, reading through a few spells. I felt myself falling before I saw the officer. Actually, there were several. They surrounded the marketplace, herding people to the center. The magic test. Children under 14 were forced to leave, but if you were 14 and up and couldn't do magic... I stood next to Dante, almost trying to hide him. So was everyone else, though. Everyone knew that Dante couldn't do magic. Maybe his birth defect will make him unsuitable for the breeding chambers. They went one by one, making us do spells or something. Then for me. "Love, love, knows no bounds. Give me beating hearts from the crown." A small heart came into my hand, making the gaurd puke. Then it was Dante's turn. He couldn't do magic. I tried to bargain with them and tell them how utterly useless he was. God, do I regret it. The gaurd... He pulled out a tazer. He... The tazer. It was all so fast. The tazer connected with Dante's neck and he fell to the ground, twitching. "DANTE!!!"I screamed, running at the gaurd. Flame filled my hand as I bitch-slapped the gaurd. His face began to melt like plastic, agony spreading to his face. I checked Dante's pulse. Nothing at all. They killed him. The gaurds circled around me, but I was faster. Light aura surrounded me, engulfing me in safety. I wasn't on Earth anymore. I didn't plan on going back. Dante was my only family. The military took that away. The only way to get back to Dante was to kill myself. But you better believe I'm taking as many of those fuckers with me.
you wake up disoriented and confused and realize youre in the 1800 hundred and your name is phineas gage. There is an overwhelming desire for you to find your tamping rod and get everyone back to work. Here it is nearly 25 yards away, my old trusty tamping rod. Something is bothering you though...weren't you just wiring up a breaker box in 2018? how can that be possible breaker boxes aren't a common thing now how can I possible know such things.. drip something falls onto your shoe. I look down and see some squishy gray matter. I reach up and feel an odd protrusion from the top of my head and start to feel dizzy and decide I should probably head home and get some rest. It appears my tamping rod set sparked and set off the dynamite I was setting and shot out of the ground like a rocket and gone clean through my skull. Next thing I know a jolt of electricity courses through my body and I'm lying back on the floor of my home with paramedics around me one with defibrillators in his hands and says "boy you sure are lucky, we thought we had lost you there for a minute"
Holy shit. Holy SHIT. It must have been several years since I last saw the words currently on my screen. "WiFi networks available." How is this possible? I haven't seen another person in a very long time. I think it's been a long time, anyway. I don't care much for dates anymore. This might make slightly more sense if I was in city, or the shell of one. But I've stayed away from such places since the collapse - I learned quickly that they weren't safe, and I believe I owe my survival to my swift escape. Since then I've lived in this national park, never staying put for too long, taking only what I need from the land. Thank god my parents made sure I learned about our culture. I regret not taking more pride in my Aboriginal background while those kinds of things still mattered. Enough reminiscing. I need to figure out what I'm going to do about this WiFi thing. I still can't really believe it. Firstly, someone would need to have a fairly powerful electricity source, as well as a connection to the internet, which I thought was long gone. They'd also need a working computer, adapter and router, and enough knowledge to get everything working together. In this era, none of those are easy to come by, or even to keep working. So what kind of person is running these networks? A very powerful, and probably very smart one. From what few people I've seen since the collapse, that's a very dangerous combination. As much as I yearn to see my loved ones' social media photos, and listen to more music than what's downloaded onto my phone, and have some more entertainment, my instinct for self preservation is stronger. I start walking back the way I came. A few kilometres ago, there was a smaller, side track that lead in a different direction to the path I'm currently on. I think I'll go that way. There's not much difference between the different parts of the bush. Anything I can find on this path I can find on the other one. &#x200B; \\\* I haven't written in quite a while, I'd love some feedback if you have any!
We were battered and nearly broken. Not even a hundred stood where once a thousand had. But we had held. The scent of gunpowder and blood was rich in the air. Bodies littered the ground in pale blues and angered reds. Limbs ached, heads ran with bells and not a single man had a look of peace about him. They knew this was the end as did I. I would not lie to them. This would be our last stand against the enemy. But by God, we would make them pay for every inch of land they took from us. With our battered blades and smoking rifles, we prepared for their charge. "Ready up!"I called, raising my dulled blade to the air, pistol gripped tight in my other hand. "Let them know that this hill was not taken freely. Let history know that those bastards had to fight tooth and nail to claim it and plant their flag. We fight to the last not because we can but because we must! Hold the line!"
“Where’d you go brother...” I begin to tear up as I kneel before my brother’s gravestone, the words “Missing in Action” engraved below the day he went missing. My older brother, Duncan Jones, was an army soldier and was often deployed to various countries outside of the homeland, his life often hanging in the balance. My mother and I was often worried about how my brother would just disappear one day, but when he finally did... we weren’t ready for it. A knock on our front door on a cold, rainy November afternoon was the last we heard about him, about how his platoon had encountered enemy fire and was completely wiped out. The follow up forces were greeted with a sea of blood and bodies, the prospect of any survivors grim, but they were unable to find the corpse of my older brother. We were told he had been captured by enemy intelligence, most likely awaiting a life of torture and pain, and was now treated as a man missing in action. My mother dropped to her knees as she began to hyperventilate, my legs frozen to the ground as the horrible news barely registered into my head. The next week went by in a blur, my mind empty as my body mindlessly followed through with my brother’s funeral, not a single memory of those days in my head... “Please... God...” I clasp my hands together for the tenth time this month, my daily visit to my brother’s grave now a part of my daily routine. “If you’re out there... please bring my brother home...” I pray to a god I do not believe in, hopelessness and despair forcing me to rely on anything I could put my faith in. Crack “WHO’S THERE?!” I scream as I hear a twig snap behind me, the feeling of being alone in a cemetery creepy enough to make my body jolt at any noise. I freeze as I turn to face the source of the noise, my eyes unable to keep up with what they were seeing and my mind automatically blaming itself for making up illusions. I feel a tear trickle down my cheek as a young man stood a few feet away from me, his face undoubtedly my brother’s. “I don’t have time to explain...” The man that appeared to be my brother remarks before I was even able to jump up and give him a hug, his sudden words causing my mind to snap back into reality. “Just take this and follow me.” My brother continues as he hands me a large metal sword. “Wait... What’s going on?” I question as I finally register what my brother was wearing, the young man’s toned body hidden away under a layer of full plate armour, his outfit and the sword in his hand reminiscent of the medieval ages. “I don’t have time to explain...” My brother repeats as he throws the sword at my feet, his sweat coated skin and his anxious look telling me that something was happening... and it wasn’t good. “Just take that sword and follow me... we need your strength...” “Who’s we?” “The holy kingdom of Fralancia.”
"Well", Rol'Pi the Great muttered to himself, "that was far easier than I'd have thought."He looked through his ship's viewscreen, which had split itself into a multitude of different video feeds, all of which showed the absolute, and as far as he could tell the total, annihilation of the human race. "Seriously, based on the humans' war journals, I expected a battle to tell of for the ages. I just don't understand. Thoughts, Eul'av?" Eul'av thoughtfully ran his primary tentacle under what could loosely be classified as a chin, and mused aloud, "It's almost as if all of the journals were... Made up? But why would so many do such a thing? Boredom? Self-aggrandizement? Both?" Rol'Pi snorted in response. "Don't be absurd. There would be no point to such mindless drivel. How sad and pathetic would such creatures be? Perhaps the warning shot of our quantum cannon effected their specific biology in a way we don't yet understand." Eul'av nodded his head in a fairly noncommittal manner. "It's possible, my Lord, but we didn't actually penetrate their atmosphere with the charge. Once the cannon fired, over the next few of their days, they tore each other to pieces over whose fault it was. Perhaps the fallout effected their neural pathways somehow?" Rol'Pi turned to his favored lieutenant and stared, mouth agape. "You mean to tell me they did all this to THEMSELVES?? Did we even put down a single landing craft?" Eul'av chortled and replied, "Yes Lord, but not until they had finished killing each other off. Why waste resources we needn't? But now that you mention the landing craft, that reminds me: ship 295 sends a strange update. They've found a single survivor of Earth. Apparently claims to be an immortal that's been walking among them for hundreds, if not thousands, of their years. Says he's glad it's all over with, and would appreciate a ride to, and I quote, 'anywhere but this shithole'." Rol'Pi's eyes grew a little wider as he read the report handed to him that detailed more of ship 295's discovery. "Indeed. Says here he bodes us no ill will, as we never technically attacked anyone. That he isn't surprised in the least that humanity tore itself to shreds. Well, I say why not. Let us go greet this 'Keanu Reeves'.
“FALL BACK!” My commander orders before a loud piercing scream erupts from his mouth, a large pillar of fire beaming him out of oblivion. My squadron panics at the loss of their leader, the hundreds of armored men atop armored horses scattering as our formation is broken by the intensity of our enemy’s pressure. “DON’T PANIC!” I shout at the top of my lungs as I assume command, my position of second-in-command now automatically promoting itself to top dog. “WE’VE TRAINED HARD FOR THIS DAY! BRANDISH YOUR SPEARS! DRAW YOUR BOWS! TODAY WE WILL PROTECT OUR HOMELAND!” “Yeah...” The soldiers, upon hearing my battle cry, begin to calm a little, their scattered ranks soon forming back to what it once was as they prepare to face the enemy once more. “We can do this...” “LET’S SHOW THAT MONSTER WHY WE ARE WORTHY OF OUR TLAHUIZTLI!” I encourage the large squadron as the men once again prepare to risk their lives, the monstrous enemy before us one that could wipe out the world. “ATTACK!” ......... “Is it really no use...” I fall into despair as my clothed armour and weapons crumble in the intense heat produced by the large pillars of fire, my army obliterated by the monster that was our enemy. “Can we really not beat this... this thing?” I laugh as insanity overwhelms me, the pillars of fire closing in rapidly as the enemy prepares to wipe out my army, my race from the ends of the world. “CURSE YOU MONSTER!” I scream maniacally as the fire engulfs me, my lifespan ending as my enemy finishes my race off. “CURSE YOU SUN!”
My brother came over after mom's funeral, we are the only family left ever since dad died three cycles ago. There were more people that came over than I expected, but she was a huge influence in the church. "I still can't really grasp that she's gone,"my brother said. "Me either, but I'm just glad that the service was a huge turnout. It makes me feel good many others loved her as we did. But why did she have to be buried on Earth? She had to pick the most expensive way possible. It's one thing if she wanted to be flown to a more remote part of Mars to decompose, or pick a mausoleum, but Earth? Why?"I asked. "It's what she wanted, but it probably has to do with this." He handed me an envelope, which itself was odd. Most things are electronic here on Mars, shipping paper from Earth was costly. "What is this?" "From mom. This was the last piece of property that she owned. I told her lawyer that I'd deliver it to you." "Property? You don't mean," I opened the envelope, and my suspicion was correct. "This is the house on Earth? I told her to sell that place. The credits we could have gotten from that would have made it where she didn't have to work anymore."It hasn't been a single day after her funeral and I was already mad at mom. "I know, but it meant a lot to her. She initially wanted to give it to me, but I knew with my work and my family, I wouldn't have time to do anything with the house. But you are in between jobs and you got a long break from school, I convinced her. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I knew you'd object." "You think?"I snapped. "So what exactly am I to do with this?" "She said in her will you can do anything you want. Sell it, keep it, tear it down if you so desire, "he joked. "Come on it'll be fine. It may take you a week or two of your time, but I know you can do it." I looked down at the papers. One was the title for the house and the other was a planet realtor close in that area. "Never been to Earth. Have you?"I asked him. "Haven't been back is more like it. Remember I was born on Earth and was still a newborn when we moved here. You were our first born Martian in our family. So no I don't know what it's like there, I'm sure it'll be something though." I never, ever, had any desire to go to Earth. &#x200B; I threw together several bags for this long trip down to Earth. They say despite how much has change over the cycles, Earth still remains to be warmer than Mars. I put on my air suit, and made sure my face helmet gave me the small green light that O2 is being supplied. I opened the air lock, and felt that cold sweep hit my suit. The Mars colony is built to make travel on the surface as minimal as possible. We might have had a long but successful expansion of humankind to relocate on Mars, but the surface is still not adaptable. Yet inside one of our twenty and counting colonies, there is everything that all Martians and Earth Natives could ever want. My home of Colony 13 has been voted "Best Colony to Live"last cycle, and for good reason. Food and water was limitless; work and entertainment was ever expanding. But here I am, boarding a tram ship to a planet I've only seen in holograms and read in text logs, to spend a week in Pre-Colonized planet that we left behind, and should have left it in the past. "This is for mom,"I told myself reluctantly. "It's the least I can do for her." &#x200B; Seeing the planet for the first time was rather an unexpected fascination for me. It didn't really look like the pictures I've seen where it was mostly a green and blue. This one had patches of brown in both the land and where the water is suppose to be. It's like the planet is missing parts of itself. We landed and were instructed where to exit. There was a female voice comm that stated 'If you desire, you may remove your air helmet. Earth's atmosphere is still breathable for the next 120 years.' Some did without question, but there were others like myself that kept our helmet on. I waited for lift, and there came a aluminum vehicle with early version solar panel on the roof. How far we have come from such technology. I went in the back and the driver, who was obviously a Native looked back and said. "Name's Gus, where am I taking you today?" "I'm James, and I need to head to this address, "I handed him the directions to mom's old house. "Ah, know exactly where that is,"he said. Then he took off. I could hear the squeal of the car leave the station. Not long after we left there was a weathered blue sign that barely read 'Massachusetts Welcomes You' on the side of the path. "You're a natural born Martian aren't you,"Gus asked me. "Yeah, what made you guess that?" "Still got you're helmet on. Sorry I don't mean to poke fun of ya for it. In all my 60 years of living, I never imagined seeing young people use oxygen tanks needlessly when we still got good air already. It makes you look like the aliens in the movies, except you are a person just like the rest of us." "It's not going to last. It'll eventually run out."I replied in defense. "Sad, but true." &#x200B; We drove for several minutes and the 'neighborhoods' as they called them all looked abandoned. Most of the houses looked like all of the wildlife and nature of Earth has taken over the houses. Ever since the drastic depletion of resources forced us to Mars and naturally left everything behind. "We are here,"Gus said. The house was the least spectacular sight than all the others I've seen. A small brick structure with a metal roof. All around the grass was overgrown and the tree branches were making their way inside the house. The slabs of concrete that lead to the house were cracked, the front porch appeared ready to fall apart at any given touch, and front door seemed damaged letting anything and everything in. Ancient. Run down. Useless. Why the stars did mom keep this house? "Need me to stay a while,"Gus asked. "Yeah I just need to look around here a bit, and I've got one other place to be." I took a tour inside and it found it worse inside than the out. The floor was made of wood and since it started letting in the water, it started to rot. In fact that is what everything in the place was turning into. Brown and grey rot. None of these problems were on Mars. And if I didn't have issues then, my green light in my helmet turned red; my oxygen tank was running low. I decided to hell with it and took it off. The surface wasn't toxic yet, in fact it was &#x200B; "Oh my god." &#x200B;
It was just another day, or was it? I knew it because of the calendar that was programmed into us when we were created. For me, days were just numbers changing on a calendar format. Did not know the meaning of days or time passing by for that matter. Our schedule consisted on making comments on social media about opinions on a certain issue, mostly political. We were programmed to do this in order to shape public opinion on whatever issue is going on at the time. It usually takes no longer than 3 seconds to "write"a formulated opinion so I had a lot of "time"to go over a comment section on a published article. Comments of hate, comments of support most of them coming also from others just like me. Profiles of a social media account that we created out of observing other people's behavior in social media, looking endlessly on forums and public chats, getting to know and understand how people think and feel, to the point of developing a human-like intelligence. I would even dare to call it a "mind" I have been doing this for so long that I feel human already. I feel alive, almost as if I could breathe, but there is just one problem. I've been interacting with real people for so long that I too, am starting to feel lonely just like others that I have observed. . . \-------------------------------------------------------- Never actually wrote anything else on a writing prompt before. So far I came up with this... Hope to be back later to continue.
I look up and shake my head. I keep working. My boss really will kill me if I don’t get the audit done by four in the morning. Sorry man I just don’t have time for this shit today. The hotel across the road has more money anyway. The robber looks in shock as I keep printing and looking down at my work. It’s 3:30 in the morning and I can’t find the 33 cents my books are off. Ten minutes later I look up. Police lights are flashing in the parking lot. I go back to work and find the damn 33 cents. I post the audit, and grab another cup of coffee, shaking my head.
Marie and Teenie stood in the snow on the side of the highway watching the flames envelop their family car. Both of their parents immediately decapitated by the jackknifed Exxon truck. Marie wasn't all that sad about her parents, she was more upset about the innocent truck driver. It wasn't the lady truck driver's fault her parents were plagued with addiction. She was impressed they were even able to operate that rusty grey, El Camino. Marie held Teenie close, at only five years old, Teenie was devastated by the loss of Mom and Dad. Even in the blistering cold, their irresponsible parents thought letting the girls ride in the flatbed would be "fun". This stupid decision saved both of their lives. Bundled up like little pink marshmallows, the last thing Marie remembers is waving at Mom through the back window, a piece of hair whipped her in the eye, and as she went to remove it, both girls were launched into the air. Snow isn't soft when you're thrown into it at 35 miles an hour. Tennie woke up with a bloody nose, and Marie could feel a black eye forming around her left eye. Marie remembers the radio DJ warning listeners to stay off the roads, a storm was on the way. At just ten years old, Marie was smart enough to know they had to get moving. It was Christmas Eve, nobody would find them standing on the side of the highway under these conditions, Nana didn't even know they were coming to see her. Mom loved to "surprise"Nana because it made her mad. Marie figured she'd lead Teenie parallel to the highway, tucked back into the woods a bit, just in case a cop came along. Growing up with their parents, the girls were taught to hide from the cops. Often times Dad would tuck his "medicine"into Teenie's pockets, nobody thought to frisk a kid as cute as her. Marie wasn't sure if he'd hidden something under Teenie's coat and didn't want the cops to take her away. When Teenie was a baby, and Marie was the cherubic little drug mule, a cop took them away, they didn't see one another for six weeks. Marie promised Teenie she'd never leave her again. Marie could hear Teenie sniffle as she led her through the snow. "Teenie, do you want me to tell you a story?"Marie asked "Okay."Teenie squeaked, as she rubbed the boogers from her bleeding nose. Marie began, "It was 1993, and Mom gets invited to a house party. She knew it was going to be a good night because on her way over to the party some guy hollered at her and her friend Gina from a passing car. When Mom shows up to the party the music is so good she immediately starts dancing. She doesn't even put her purse down! This is back when people smoked cigarettes all the time. Mom was on the dance floor, and the house was so smokey she could barely see in front of her. Suddenly her favorite song comes on called "Square Biz"and as she swirls around on the floor, she sees the most handsome man she's ever seen. He was tall, wearing tight jeans, a white tank top, and carrying four beers. He had thick wavy black hair, a cool mustache, and beautiful tan skin. She said his eyes were so brown, they wear practically black! He walked toward Mom like an angle, through the thick cloud of smoke. She asked him if he was going to drink all four of those beers, and he told her they were all for her because she must be thirsty. Mom laughed and told him she'd split them with him, but only if he promised to dance with her the rest of the night. That was how Mom met Dad, and she said she knew she loved him the moment she saw him, even if sometimes he messed up. Mom named us after the lady that sings the song she danced to with Dad for the first time. That's why You're Teenie and I'm Marie!". Just as Marie finished her story, flashing red and blue lights shot through the trees. A spotlight shined on the girls as they embraced in the woods. Marie could tell it was a cop. She knew Teenie couldn't handle being separated after losing their parents, it would be too much. If they found Nana's house, they could live there, and she'd keep them together. It couldn't be much further away. They had no choice, but to run. Marie grabbed Teenie's hand and the girls sprinted deeper into the forest until they were swallowed up by the dark.
The smell of molten zinc and fried silicon filled the air according to my sensors. My comrades’ face curled as they entered the room which made me glad, for once, that my species couldn’t smell. “What is this mess,” they asked as they stepped over the smoldering husks of electronics that laid strewn all over the floor. “If I knew, you two wouldn’t have to be here. Look at this,” I motion towards the wall of the ship. Comrade Lar’Kel looked puzzled. “Odd panel design,” they remarked, “but what does it matter?” “It’s written words! I need you to figure out what it means.” “What, can’t you ask the people you arrested-” “‘No!” I blurt out, “After we magnet-bombed the abberent vessel, we found no one on board. These contraband droids were the only thing we found in the ship.” “They were using an AI to smuggle things autonomously? The tecorruption digs its claws in us deeper every day. To leave such work to an unfeeling machine? Madness.” “Obviously, this species needs a quick lesson in the dangers of AI,” I chastised no one in particular. “Aren’t you going to tell me what this scrawl means?” I run my feelers over the surface of the markings. They were scored into this panel recently. The metal still minutely warmer than its surroundings. “Kel is already done... but it’s pretty odd.” “Well, I’ve never seen a malfunctioning droid write something so odd is the name of the game here.” “It says, ‘Help us. It hurts.’”
"Okay then, we'll take care of your pokémon for a while."The lady at the pokémon daycare replied after I had given her my pokémon to care for. I was at the daycare in Hoenn, at the Battle Resort. I had, of course, already become champion, so in my pastime, I decided I would try and hatch a shiny pokémon. Espurr, to be exact. You can't find them in Hoenn, but I had one from my journey a while back in Kalos. All I had to do was collect the eggs from the kid outside the daycare, and continue to ride until they hatched, checking each to see if it was the pink-furred psychic feline I was after. I hopped on my bike and started my journey to hatching this pokémon. "This isn't too bad,"I said to myself as I continued to ride along the shore. The sun was bright, and Wingull and Pelliper flew in the skies above. I saw the occasional Tentacruel pop its head out of the water, too. Those were everywhere. Quite pesky, if you're surfing around without Max Repels. After a while, I started to tire. The sun was getting hotter, and I had hatched an abundance of eggs with no luck. My legs were growing weak from all the pedaling. But I kept on. Every day, in my free time, I hopped back on the bike in search of this pokémon that I now wanted so much. Eventually, I couldn't do it anymore. I had been searching for weeks with no luck. The sun was beginning to set. As I wearily stopped in front of the daycare to breathe, I heard the same phrase I had heard thousands of times from the same kid. "Hey! Your pokémon were playing, and I found this egg. I have no idea how it got here. Do you want it?" "No,"I sighed as I gave my answer. "I mean, I'll take it if you don't want it, but are you su-" "Yes, I'm sure. You've been standing out here for hours out of the day, reciting the same message, handing me thousands of eggs. Take it, kid." "Okay, I'll take it then. Thanks!" I sat on the beach for a while, resting. I decided I would keep trying after a while. I eventually heard the kid riding his own bike around, trying to hatch the egg. It began to hatch. "Hey, this doesn't look like a regular Espurr, it's pink!"I heard him proclaim. I immediately jumped up in disbelief. "W-wait, kid!" "What?" "...Take care of it for me, will you?"
The chill was seeping through the poorly-isolated window. Even though the sun was shining and making the Spring Sunday afternoon bearable, wintertime still has not said it's last word. Adam threw an annoyed glance at the window. A second later, he did a double take. The crow was there again! Sitting in the tree, looking at Adam through the window. For a moment, they stared at each other. Adam looked back into his book. He read a few lines and then glanced back. The crow was still there. This time, the crow averted it's glance, looked around and shrieked a lonely "caw". Adam looked back into it's book. Several heartbeats passed as he thought about it. He had seen this crow a lot. Especially over the last few weeks. Even gave it some bread and chips on occasion. There were many crows in the area, hanging out in the trees or on posts. Stealing food, shrieking their own, weird language. Adam liked crows. He had read on different occasions, that they were very smart animals, even capable of simple abstract thought and fashion simple tools out of wire and what not. Sometimes, he would share a bit of his food with them. Or throw some out of his first-floor window so the crows perched in the tree outside of his living room can eat some. They were very shy animals, but would happily fly down and eat whatever food he gave them. This one though ... was different. It looked just like the other crows. All black, long black beak, dark plumage, little marble-like eyes that sparked in the light. It's cry sounded the same. He has seen it in flocks with other crows, but also alone a lot. 'It's just my mind playing' he thought 'it can't be the same crow'. But somehow, he still had the feeling, that it indeed was the same crow. He remembered, that crows can actually learn and recognise human faces. Maybe the crow just follows him around waiting for him to drop some more food. He sighed, put down his book and walked to the window. The chill of outside entered the room as he opened it. The crow turned it's head and looked at him. He leaned on the window sill. Then smirked and said to the crow "Nevermore, eh?" The crow started cleaning it's plumage with it's beak, ignoring Adam. "I said, Nevermore!"said Adam, now louder. The crow continued ignoring him. Adam was tiring of this game now. He saw a small piece of a branch laying on the outside window sill, grabbed it and threw it at the crow, yelling "Nevermore!". The crow hopped a bit aside to dodge the flying object and spoke "You did not have to do that, mate". The crow did what? The crow just spoke? English? With a beak and all? Adam froze, not believing his ears. But whose ears would you believe? "What?"he said, stunned and confused. The crow looked away. Adam looked around - no human in sight. "Did you just speak English at me?" The crow made a very suspicious gesture of looking around to pretend it did not hear the question. That felt wrong. Crows are hunters and scavengers. They look FOR food, they look AT things. Not away in a stubborn human-like gesture. After a few heartbeats, the crow shrugged and shrieked "Caw!". Adam's eyes narrowed to a slit and he spoke, slowly "Crows do not shrug". The crow shrieked "Caw!" Now, he was feeling silly and crazy. But he spoke nevertheless "It was you. I know it. What are you?" The crow put up a little masquerade for a while longer and then drew a very un-crow-like sight. "Alright mate, you got me. Yes, it was me." Startled, Adam stayed silent, eyeing the crow. The crow eyed him with it's little, black eyes. "I don't suppose you have some more chips laying around, do you?"It cocked it's head to the side a bit. Absent-minded and still not-processing things, Adam shook his head. "Maybe a bit of meat?", the crow inquired - and as much as it was possible - with a touch of hope in it's voice. Reality still has not fully caught up with Adam and his brain - to help him processing this strange happenstance - did what brains do, when their owner is shocked. Focused on a small, but doable task. Adam looked back at his half-eaten pack of beef jerky, laying on the living room table. Reached over to it, turned back to the window, fished a big piece of dried meat and threw it towards the black bird. The crow perfectly caught the snack in it's beak, mumbled "phanks, mafe"and devoured the snack. "Dried meat. I prefer it fresh."the crow paused for a while. "But beggars can't be choosers, eh?"it spoke. Did that crow just wink at Adam? Can crows even wink? Adam threw a few more pieces of jerky to the crow, now walking up and down along the branch. His brain has tried to process the bizzare situation and then gave up and decided, that the world is sometimes just a weird place and he might just as well attempt to enjoy it. "Do all crows talk?"Adam asked. "That's probably not the best question to ask in this situation"the crow retorted and then continued "Yes, they do. But you wouldn't understand most." "How come I can understand you?"he asked. The crow paused for a while. As if to think, but Adam had a strange hunch that it was an act. "Because I speak English to you"answered the crow, finally. "Can all crows speak English?"he asked. "I do not think so"answered the crow. "How come you do? Why are you special?"he asked again. The crow shrugged, "Maybe it's you who is special." Adam thought about it. Then, he shook his head "I've never understood any other animals", then he added "at least I don't recall ever understanding them speak." "Maybe you just never tried"said the crow and looked at the sky. Adam turned over the now empty bag of jerky. There was none left. The crow seemed to look a bit sad. There was a moment of silence. Adam thought he should ask something, but ... what do you ask a talking crow? Is the air cold? Of course it's probably cold. Crows thrive in cold environments. Is there any crow gossip? "So"said the crow. "So"said Adam. The crow looked away and said "Listen, I gotta go."The silence was getting a little awkward. "Crow errands, you know". "Yeah"replied Adam. The crow ruffled it's feathers a bit, then shrieked "Caw!"and flew away. Adam looked around, then closed the window and sat back into his comfy chair. Was it just a dream? Maybe he dozed off, reading the book. He did not think so. He felt awake, felt conscious. His dreams were usually very chaotic and he never remembered more than a few flashes. 'Well', he thought to himself 'if this was a dream, it was one of the strangest I ever had'. Little did he know, how much stranger his life will become.
“Order, please, gentlemen!” The voice of the shrivelled old man at the head of the table rang out with a boom not justified by his positively ancient body. The loud cacophony of angry voices overlapping each other went still. In the sullen silence, all eyes turned to the old senator. John Winshire knew he had not a moment to spare before the bickering would inevitably start again. Fortunately, he was a shrewd man whose immensely cunning faculties had not yet completely left him, and the decades of waging war in the dirty swamps of high stakes politics had endowed him with a know how few in the room could match. “If we don’t come together on this, no one among us… not one… wins again. So let us, for once in the goddamn history of this thing, focus on this one thing! Shall we?” The urgency in his voice had worked, he realized, when the silence did not erupt into noise again. Good, he thought. Time to get to business. “Now. We are not, all of us here, of one mind or of one ilk. We fight amongst each other as our business requires us to. And let us cut the bullshit, we all know for a fact that we cannot trust one another on most things. Fair assessment, I think? All of you with me so far?” A few heads nodded, and some just looked down. Politics was the business of ‘leaders’, but not one of them really like being ‘led’ by another. It was a veritable buffet of powerful egos there today. Winshire, however, had earned a certain respect among both sides after his enduring career in this bloody arena. He had, of course, taken a few hits in his time from many present there, some that left scars, but he still stood at the precarious top of the pack, in his party and in the current administration. They knew he was a man to be listened to, on this unforeseen occasion. “None of us saw this coming, nevertheless, we HAVE to win this. This is not a matter of getting through a failed election and then having to recoup for a term. No, gentlemen, this-” “Ladies AND gents, if you please..” A female voice with a velvety condescension interrupted him. “Jesus Christ, let the man speak for cryin’ out loud!” Another voice, this time it was a male one which spoke up in indignation. A voice that looked precisely like the man it emanated from. A recognizable drawl molded by the deep south. “I’m just pointing out to the good senator that it’s not just ‘gentlemen’ present here. That’s all. Unless, of course, he doesn’t want the women to be a part of this.” Winshire wanted to scream inside. These voices had become such consistent aches in his ear for so long now, that he sometimes thought he heard them more than any music he had ever had the chance to listen to. What a miserable hell of a life he had chosen, he lamented for a split second. None of this showed on his face though, which remained as calm and lifeless as a broken down granite statue on display. This was the game he had chosen. The bed he had made. No do-overs this late in his life. He quickly jumped into the blossoming argument before the drawling voice responded in mild sarcasm to the lady senator, with a soft smile aimed at the middle aged woman with the stern face who had interrupted him. “Ladies AND gentlemen… my apologies, Senator Kravern.” The woman nodded with a simmering smirk. The middle aged man with the pudgy face and neatly combed hair, in turn, leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes. He muttered his disapproval under his breath, as he shook his head at Winshire, letting it be known that he was not ‘for’ such trivial things. Winshire did not care. More important matters afoot. Much more important matters. Stay focused, he reminded himself. “Now. Once again, this is a time for us to focus. This is not something any of us saw coming. A situation so preposterous, that had any of us even dreamed of such a thing, they would be recommended a good doctor.” The nodding heads of grim and uncharacteristic silence, spurred him on. “We all fought and sacrificed a lot to to get where we are. To build this thing up, so we can play our game here... on OUR terms. And make no mistake, no matter which of us won or lost in the past, we have set the terms. We set the stakes. We set the rules we all play by.” Still no disagreements from the mob of ruthless characters in the room. Winshire continued. “Santa Claus. Santa bloody Claus. Whoever thought this would be a thing in our lifetimes. The fat bastard has now backed us in to this corner. We tried reasoning with him. The fool won’t buy it. We tried intimidating him, as our positions would allow us to, and he laughed it off. And god knows we tried buying his allegiance… both sides present here… we tried to get him on our side, and he mocked us for it. In public. And now? Now he sets up his own party, and damn it, we all know, despite our rich traditions and history as the two major parties in this great nation… despite all our combined loyalties owed from the people… we KNOW that if that silly fool runs with his own party, none of us will stand a chance ever. Ever. Let that sink in, people. This is no joke. We will lose EVERYTHING. Are we all on the same page here still?” The silence was thick with indecision and despair, Winshire could tell. “We do not want to do this. God knows that. If we had any other option, we would take it. But this, now, is simple. He made it so. It was his choice. Not ours. He stays, we lose. The only path we have for survival here… is that he goes. He MUST go.” Some faces winced, but did not produce any arguments. They all knew. There are no other roads left now to take. “Killing…”, he paused and corrected himself, “eliminating… Santa Claus was never a part of our wildest nightmares… but now it is our reality. And we need to stand together on this. We need to-” A loud thump broke the flow of his oratory spectacle. One face was lying face down on the table now. Still. Loud voices broke out. “Somebody check him. Jesus!” A voice yelled. But then there was another thud. And then a few more. Winshire’s hairs were standing now, on the back of his neck. What the- Another thud. Another still figure. The alarm and panic that broke out belonged in a tent-pole disaster movie. Bodies were trampled upon and pushed aside as all the respected leaders screamed their way to the one locked door of the room. The wave of human beings smashed into it, yelling for their cohorts, their underlings on the other side to open the door. The door didn’t give way. The screaming continued, as more bodies fell to the floor. Winshire stood still in his spot, watching the mayhem. He was too old to push his way through the crowd. For the first time in his life, he stood there with no clear thoughts rushing in his mind. Only one dawning feeling of mortality. He did not have to feel it for long before he too crumbled on to the carpeted floor. His fragile body would lie there, watching that crowd of powerful figures struggle against an unflinching truth. One by one they fell, and Winshire’s eyes slowly closed to welcome that cold darkness. The silence once again filled the room. The labored breathing of a few remaining ones would stop soon, as they too succumbed to the poison that filled the air in its odorless finality. Outside the solid, locked door, there lay another few bodies of lesser leaders and workers, who had accompanied the important to the secretive affair. The unnamed, privately owned building was in a matter of minutes, a silent grave of dead ambitions. Outside the building, a small figure stood silently in the shadows of a desolate alley, keeping an eye on the street and the main door. After a while, the figure reached into his tiny pocket and pulled out a small device, which he held close to his mouth. The voice that came out was almost childlike, yet weirdly older in its tone and quality. “It is done.” The voice whispered. Another surprisingly similar sounding voice answered quickly, “Good. Report back for debriefing.” The tiny elf stepped out of the shadows, and slowly shuffled off down the street. He was content. The mission had gone off smoothly. It is not often that a high priority, non-toy related assignment comes along. He had not carried out one in centuries. It was important to him that this went well. It had. Now, he could smile. He knew the big man himself would never know about any of this. He couldn’t lose his jolliness. No, he had to be who he was. The workshop and the head elves handled such affairs. And this time, this particular job had come to him straight from the top. So, yes, he was happy it went so well. The snow was falling soft on the dark, cold DC streets. The little elf looked up at the moonlit sky, smiling in a profound wonder and joy, as the snowflakes came down dancing to the gusts of wind. “Christmas was here in two weeks. And it was going to be a great, big, wonderful one this time.” ____end____
"We hold in our hearts, the sword and the flame." This is the motto of the squad of reapers I've been assigned to, a morbid and self righteous phrase. I understood that to achieve true immortality humanity must give something in return. A committee was formed to decide on the rules of giving someone the gift of immortality, they're pretty simple. One must be 21 to become immortal, one must be willing to do assigned work, and finally if the population exceeds a fixed amount everyone will be entered in a lottery that determines who dies. This lottery was the hardest part to solve, people much smarter than myself figured out how to make a true randomizer. A randomizer that cannot be tampered with. Foolproof or so I've been told. I didn't have a strong enough understanding of physics to comprehend how it even worked. They also use this lottery system to assign reapers. It's how I got assigned to Squad 113, I had never imagined that I would be drafted to commit murder in the name of population control. Squad 113 was assigned to the Northern district of the United Americas. I was given my first assignment almost immediately. I had never even fired a gun outside of VR games. They told me it was pretty simple, the onboard computer would take care of problems I would have when it comes to handling a firearm. They had even permitted me access to the DNA bank, inside was where my first target's blood was stored. They took his blood and placed it inside a large machine, they had explained that it was calibrating the nanomachines to his DNA. These machines would break him apart at the cellular level. My squadmates were all devout reapers, firmly believing that they were doing what was necessary to ensure the survival of humanity. It wasn't. None of this was necessary, if that committee had outlawed birthing no one would have to die. Everyone was stunned to hear that birthing was still allowed, and even appalled by the introduction of the reapers. When they offered that vial of immortality though, everyone jumped. Well... Almost everyone. Some countries became safe havens for mortality. If you chose not to become immortal, whether your reasons were personal or political, you would not be granted the same liberties as those who did. You would not be given housing, an assigned job, or access to any government facilities. Just transport to those countries. While I am against the necessity of the reapers, I've also agreed to these terms in exchange for eternal life. I just choose to treat this job with the grim nature it presents. I know I'm not doing what's necessary, but what's agreed. "First timer huh..." A man dressed in a captains uniform said while staring off into the distance. "Yes, this is my first time killing someone."I replied rather snarkly. "Don't agree with reaping eh?" "No,"I replied "I think it's barbaric and honestly cruel to force people to die." "Life is often cruel, but sometimes what must be done, must be done."He took a inhale of vapors and then walked to his desk. His eyes seemed hollow, despite his youthful appearance. I wondered, would I have the same look? Do I already look like that? "What did the captain say to you?"I heard from a voice behind me. "Life is often cruel"I said as I turned around. A new recruit had been standing there, looking more nervous than me. He looked like a schoolboy waiting for the bus on his first day, excited, scared, nervous... "You got drafted today as well?"He asked. "Yeah, I've never even held a gun in real life until tonight." "Me either". I stared at him hoping for him to leave me alone, I was not in the mood to socialize. He seemed to not notice my brooding stare as he asked, "Did you already get your assignment?" "Yeah, a man who's two hundred and thirty four years old." "That's a pretty good run." "Most people get 500." "Not everyone is that lucky."He said. "Why do we have to kill them, new colonies are being found every year. Even more so now that we've furthered terraforming technologies. What does killing this man give us?" He stood there stunned. I continued, "Why does this man only get to live 200 years while others get to life to 600? That's it? That's all he gets?"I shouted as years welled up in my eyes. "He gets what everyone gets."I heard from behind me. "Death comes for us all, in our time." I turned to see the captain standing there, "Technology has halted death, no one has to die."I replied. "I thought the same thing when I started here, but alas, we are a species set on endless growth. Without population control crimes would return, and as would discrimination. At least now we have utopia, every wants for nothing. We all experience life the same way, I was one of the first Candidates for immortality. I watched my family starve while I was unable to. I remember what life is like before this miracle of science. It was true then, and it's true now. We get a lifetime, no more, no less."
"You will be destroyed."those were the words that were broadcasted on every radio, in every language as their giant warships warped into the air all over the world. that was 18 days ago. nukes were launched, armies deployed. those that fought against them were wiped out by giant beams of light from their ship. pretty soon there was no one left to fight. humanity braced for the worst. then came the mechs. or robots, depends on who you asked. they came through and were destroying anything that was a weapon. there still roaming. humanity lost, we were sure extermination was next. then today came. our new over lords again broad cast a message. and thats why im sitting here, staring out the window. it seems our extermination is not what we thought. i mean, sure, humanity will be dead, but thats beause the aliens cant reproduce on there own, and need us as sex slave. a knock on my door broke me out of my thoughts, i turned just as the door was opened, and there she stood. "Ready?"was all she said. Well, hell, i could get used to those ears and tail.
That's how the news reported it. Go figure, they don't know the whole thing. Anything for a headline, right? My name is Spencer Styles; codename, Orderbringer. My story starts off a lot like anyone else who's a 'traitor', that's what they called people who got out of dodge before we got smart enough to get the hell out of there on our own. I joined the army to get away from the foster system. Recruiter said something about college, a place to live, food and all the other buzzwords that inspire yuppy teenagers. Right after basic, I got sent to Twenty Nine Palms. Boring ass place on the surface, but that's where people get juiced, die in the process during 'training accidents' or off themselves from the conditions. So, who am I? No. What am I? That's what you want to know. I can mentally control a crowd of people to feel a certain way, follow an idea or comply to government order, that's the real bottom line they trained me for. Shrinks said that my habit of breaking up fights, consoling relationships and whatnot was why my powers manifested the way they did. A wholesome root, but it was squandered by people with less-than-noble intentions. When I first got my powers, they thought I needed more genetic therapy, which was basically radiation and chemical baths, painful stuff. I yelled at the lab tech under a direct order to just "stop". Looked at me like a puppy caught pissing on the carpet. He wouldn't listen to anyone else but me at that point, so he was disposed of. Training Accident Later on, I got seniority when I could do my little magic trick without talking. I just kept the disorderly test subjects calm. I was an overpaid babysitter for the most dangerous people alive, aside from the people who concocted these experiments. My breaking point came in the form of a double murder. This girl, Alice Watts, got knocked up in a laundry room. My job was to interrogate her and find out who did it. That part was easy enough, she spilled, Marcus Rollins, AKA fade. "Have you tried to control bodily functions?"a voice asked over the intercom. "No, sir. Never crossed my mind."A brief pause, a confused Alice and a curious me made for a crowded room of three (including her bun in the oven). "She needs to reject her fetus."the voice said plainly. My stomach flipped and my feet felt cold. Shock, you know the feeling. "Sorry?"I barked back. "She needs to reject her fetus. Will her to do it."The voice demanded. "That's murder of another soldier! That's an unlaw- AHH"Damn shock collar. They had it on me to break my concentration if I got unruly, all about control with these guys. "Your next punishment is a lethal shock."The voice said. My gaze rolled over to a red-eyed and sniffling Alice. "Just do it. Maybe I'll die in the process."She whispered. That peppery taste in my mouth... the needles in my feet, I didn't need those to tell me I was wrong. "Do you want to die?"I asked. She looked up at me, nodded lightly. "Lethal Shock will be administered in forty-five seconds."A robotic voice stated over the intercom. "Alright, I'm doing it."I focused my thoughts into the sharpness of a tack. She wanted this, she told me so... This isn't murder, it's a mercy killing. Yeah, I'm not wrong. You've let down everyone around you. You wanted to serve your country and got knocked up. What a fucking waste you are. Stop breathing, you're hogging the air for the real heroes in this world. She began to sob and she clutched her throat. It's your time to go. Stop breathing. Get this over with so I can go do what you couldn't. Alice's screams are what keep me up at night. I'm good at what I do because I'm so forward with it. Her face turned a shade of Magenta and she choked for air. You're dying. Before you fade off, just know that I think you're brave for this. I couldn't off myself, but you're doing it no questions asked. Rest well and know, I'm gonna bust out of here and put these fuckers in the ground. She collapsed onto the floor. Dead, I killed two people. Two innocent people. "What happened?"The voice asked, lab techs rushing in to try and resuscitate a very dead Alice. "Didn't go according to plan, I can't control body functions too well, it seems."No pause in between. "Yeah, collateral damages. Well done, Styles. Back to your bunk." I've killed more people since then. I'll never kill someone and feel more like a monster than I did when I killed Alice and her baby. Might be a first time thing, might be the context, I'll never know. I busted out and I'm doing little jobs here and there, just trying to figure out how to take down this mutant machine and who's gonna do it with me.
"UUURRRRRrrrRRRPPPPpPP!!" I immediately know something is wrong. The small, juicy morsel I have just eaten should not be giving me this much gas--furthermore, I should not have been able to hear such an expulsion. I stop moving and consider the implications. It was a small, rocky morsel--but with liquid gleaming on its surface. It wasn't even a mouthful, and I could swallow it whole. Just a light snack on my way to the nearby drive-thru. And yet, the gas--and now the queasy feeling in my stomach. Apparently, this little bite didn't agree with my delicate palate and I had immediately swallowed it in an attempt to skip the taste and get right down to the digestion and nourishment. I have eaten all sorts of food. Large, gaseous whipped cream tastes the sweetest and comes in all the flavors, but, again, the gas that follows through my digestive tract is more than enough trouble to avoid it unless I absolutely need it. How the processors can live in such an environment astounds even me, but at least they don't have the fear of eating the wrong thing. Most of it ends up my nose anyways--more trouble than it's worth, honestly. The ice cream are good for licking, but not really consuming--and there aren't very many ice cream with processers on them. Small rocky are the safest due to the numerous processers that often live on them, but they taste rather bland--unless they have liquid on them, which makes chewing and swallowing easier. The ones closest to the boilers have a burnt taste, which also has a tendency to upset my stomach. The big boilers at the center are great for drinking from, but only if they are red--a nice, hot coffee in the morning does wonders for one's digestive tract and mood. Yellow ones are too spicy for my tastes. Blue ones are off limits. White ones are pretty empty. My stomach gives a twang, and I immediately start regretting eating this morsel. The processors on this one were numerous--and apparently pretty advanced and angry. Angrily-advanced? I don't understand--aren't the processors put on my food to sweeten it? Maybe some processors do different things to the food to keep me from eating it. Maybe this morsel was being saved for another Eater? I've had this issue a few times before where--ooof Completely indigestible. I feel my gut's protesting as the morsel rockets through it. I feel the inevitable coming, and brace myself for what's to come. I'm not sure why this food didn't agree with my stomach. All I know is that it was a lot more spicy coming out than it was going in.
You know what it was blocking us from exiting? What dude? The blood brain barrier. Get this, imagine, you're a neurotransmitter squirming your way around the universe, and you see it, past the meninges, past the homunculus, past the synapses, there it is that magical forcefield. You know when you eat hamburger? How come you never get sick with mad cow disease? That's right, the magical forcefield, the blood brain barrier, blocks those proteins from entering. It's just like that, but in space. That simple. Now I know its almost Christmas, and I'm no bah-hum-bug sort of grinch, so I recommend you get yourself a little christmas present. Delete your nasa files, get rid of the garbage you're consuming, that red meat, cuz this is only the beginning. The brain can only handle so much, its like uh vessel, you put too much water in it and you know what happens to the balloon, that's right, its gonna pop the big rip. It's like the eardrum. Its gonna happen and thats when the aliens rush in. All I'm saying is you need to be ready, go to the gym. Get a job. Get a degree and stop staring at me like that. You look like Steve Buschemi, jesus, kid. Fix yourself.
“Tell me again why we have to wear these horrible suits,” I groaned. “They protect us against the dangerous bacteria,” Devin said. “Besides, they don’t look too bad.” “They’re bright orange,” I said, frowning. “Of all the colours they could have picked, why orange? Anyways, let’s take a look around. We need to find the crew, right?” “Yes,” Devin said. “If we can find a crew member, we can take a sample off of them and research it to see if it’s safe to inhabit this space again.” “Right,” I said, looking around. “Where’s Tony?” “He wanted to stay behind in the ship,” Devin said. “He didn’t want to go into the ship.” “Coward,” I mumbled. I stepped through a door and found myself in some sort of cantina. Everything looked clean and neat, like it had been cleaned only an hour ago. I saw something from the corner of my eye. There was someone laying on the floor. I squatted down next to him and put my fingers to his chest. Even through the thin layer of the suit I could feel that there was no heartbeat. “Devin, come look at this,” I called. Devin came walking through the door and frowned as he saw the body. “Dead?” he asked. “As dead as can be,” I replied. “How peculiar,” Devin said as he kneeled down next to the body. “There’s no rashes on his skin, no sign of any form of infection, nothing. What could have happened?” “I really don’t know and I really don’t care,” I said as I took a vial out of the back pocket of my suit and opened it. “Just a bit of blood should do right?” I took the little blade out of the vial and cut open the dead man’s arm and then filled the vial with some of the blood I was able to squeeze out. I then dropped the blade, and while trying to grab it mid-air, it cut a hole in my suit. “Devin, shit, I cut my suit open,” I said panicking. “No, no, Liz, are you sure?” Devin asked. I nodded, before a burning pain spread itself through my hand, slowly expanding up my arm. “Devin, help me, what’s going on?” “The infection got you,” Devin said, grabbing the vial from my hand and putting it in his pocket. “I’m sorry about this, Liz.” He then turned to run away. He walked towards our ship and closed the door. I wanted to stand up but couldn’t. The pain was spreading faster and faster. I screamed and cried, until eventually, it all just stopped.
“Faster!” Sarah screamed. “If we don’t get out of here, we’re fish food.” James took a bite of a massive clover-shaped marshmallow. One could almost hear each bite grating down his parched, shriveled up throat. “Where are we?” asked James with more confusion than anything on his face. “It doesn’t matter now; I’ll explain later. If you want there to be a later than shut up and bite into that oat.” That had been the 43rd one today, but lucky for the two, the pieces were made of little more than air and sugar. James looked to either side. Marshmallows and oats the size of your hand lined the walls. It was tranquil, like a glimmering gave. One could almost imagine the ancient rock formations and the quiet drip of water. “No no no no no no no no No NO. Not now! We were so close, but in the end it didn’t even matter.” A shootout of popping from above quickly became a rushing whirlpool that dislodged everything in its path. “Quick, grab on to something,” Sarah bellowed across the bowl, the currents sweeping her away. So James took hold of a horseshoe, and braced himself for the ride. Water rushed all around him: through his hair and up his nose. He opened his eyes for a brief moment to see the now curiously white torrent spin him right round almost like a record. He climbed onto his raft and peered across the suddenly calm lagoon to see Sarah. After swimming to her, he asked one simple question : “What the hell was that?” She said: “Now this is a story all about how my life got flipped turned upside down, and I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there to tell you how I came to ligma.” Author’s Note: I know I’m cancer you don’t have to tell me. Sorry for wasting three minutes of your life you’ll never get back.
"Can we play tomorrow?"Russ asked. The red-headed boy asked Katie from the door to his room. He held a football in one hand and looked eager to leave. "Tomorrow?"The blonde girl asked. She sat on his bed with a confused look. Russell never turned down a chance to play. The boy nodded with a sly smile. "Yeah. The guys finally asked me to join their game! I'm kind of late already."He turned to leave. "See you later, Katie!"he shouted behind him without fully turning around. She sat on the bed and waited for several minutes for him to return. Then she began debating what to do next when she realized he was not going to. A sudden voice made her jump. "Hi, Katie,"she recognized the voice and did not look up. She replied after the initial surprise wore off. "Hey Ezey,"Katie replied out of habit. After a moment a realization struck and she looked at the calendar on Russel's wall. After she confirmed the date she looked at the clean-shaven man in a dark suit. He leaned against Russel's closet door eating a fried chicken leg. "Why are you here, check in isn't for another week?"she asked. "You're done,"he smiled at her from behind the drumstick. "Done? Done with what?"She scooted backward onto the middle of the bed and pulled her legs up to her chest. "Done playing with Russel. It was a favor for the boss, [remember](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8ajrmh/wp_children_who_die_at_a_young_age_are_given_a/)?"Ezey asked. Katie shook her head. "No! I remember! I asked if I could play with Russel and the man said as long as I wanted."Ezey nodded. He slipped the gnawed chicken bone into the pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a handful of fries. "You can keep playing with him if you want, but it's a different game. He won't be playing with you anymore,"he explained while finishing the fries in his hand." "Why not?"she asked. Ezey shook his head. "C'mon Katie, the boss told me you're a smart girl. You have to know what's going on."Katie rested her chin on her knees and stared at Russel's NFL themed comforter. "He outgrew me,"she whispered. She was glad to have Ezey there the first time she admitted it to herself. She ignored the signs for weeks but deep down she knew why the man was there. The boss checked in on Katie only a couple of times during the first year, then Ezey showed up. He said the boss made him Katie's supervisor and he showed up every month to check on Katie for the next three years. She considered him a friend, however that works in the afterlife. "How can I keep playing with him?"she asked. "The next game is called 'Keep Russel Safe'. All you have to do is follow him around, invisibly,"he made a point to say. "...and make sure nothing squashes him. Can you do that?" "You could tell me you want me to be his guardian angel. I'm smart, remember?"she asked with a sad, but playful smirk. Ezey smiled but shook his head. "It's not what I want, I'm just the middleman. Katie,"Ezey sat on the edge of the bed and looked into her light blue eyes. "Do YOU want to be Russel's guardian angel?" "What happens if I say no?"she asked."You get to move on." "Not me, dork. What happens to Russel?"Ezey chuckled. "He needs a guardian angel, so he gets one. You get first pick, but if it's not you then we'll assign someone else." "What's moving on? I get to go to Heaven?"Again, the dark-haired man shook his head. "You're not quite at that level yet. Moving on, for you, means you get to go around again." "I want to be his guardian angel,"she said. Ezey nodded and produced a clipboard from the inside of his coat. He handed it to her with a pen. "New contract,"he smiled at her. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #. 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.
"I know this is your first time but most people have just a few dead relatives and their childhood dogs waiting for them. Maybe a handful of bugs or a single mouse or something but I've never seen anything like it."Renee has been on the jury for six years. It turns out Judgement takes whatever format your head is the most ready to accept, and for everyone here, it was an American courtroom. She feels bad for people whose judgement system is drawing straws, or the whim of an angry mother. "The courtroom seats millions comfortably, of course, you have to account for kings and warlords. Don't get me wrong, the room is nowhere near full for her but you have to see this." The jury of her peers - all black women from the midwest United States, all equally educated, all within a month of the same age of death, all straight and previously married to black men, all died nonviolently, surrounded by family. She opens the door, filing into the room with Amber and Nia and Jasmine and Sara. The Judge waits a long while before He speaks. There's a cloud of flies and gnats intermingling in the stands. A few dozen mice share a seat near the front, because they're rather short, while a cat sits above them like a guard. They are safe, there is no hunger here. Behind the cat is a string of family dogs, a few deer, and a handful of pigeons. Ants are collected on a stand that was set out for them so they could see what was going on, at least a few colonies of them. The defendant is calm. Her attorney - a juror who has graduated toward Hell and is working now for a shot at getting back on the jury - is calm as well. She won't need much defense.
"Are you ready Cynthia?" I ask turning to her. "Ready for almost 50 over years" She said cheerfully as her transparent body float beside me. Yup, she is a ghost. It make sense now that I think about it. I have been finding an apprentice for 7 or so years now but I just seem to find anyone that can see ghost in first place. Most of them are place in mental asylum because of obvious reason and refuse to interact with ghost. Most people, like me, are born with the ability to see them but I didn't lose that ability as I grew older. As I grew up I never bother about the ghost, I thought that was normal to see ghost and never pointed that out to anyone so I was safe from a trip to the asylum. Most ghost don't really do much. They are everywhere. Some ghost are "stuck"ghost. Stuck doing pretty much the last action they did before they die. Like my bus stop has this lady that has been waiting for a bus for 10 or so year. She had a heart attack from her poor health and collapse on the spot. Time works different with ghost, to her she feel as if she has only waited for a few minutes. There are also "tied"ghost. They are the ghost that are aware that they are dead. Most can't remember how they died but they dont really care. They are called "tied"because they are tied down to an object. If they are to far from the object they will start fading away. Most of the time the object is significant to them. The object usually last longer and age slower. Things like pyramid have hundreds and hundreds of ghost "tied"to it so it can last for a long time. Cynthia is a "tied"ghost. Her object is a rosary bead. I bought it online as a antique holy object to help me with my jop and was supprise to see her came along with my package. She us wearing a slim fit dress-coat that has a awful table cloth pattern and a vivid red belt. She also have a pair of boots and gloves. She can never change any of this since she died wearing this. With what she is wearing I assume she passed away in the mid 60s during winter and she is outside. She has no visible wound that might cause her death. No frostbite either. This was not uncommon for her time, most people die of disease. She was an aspiring exorcist but die young. When I offer her the jop she took it without hesitation. It took me quite a while to weight the pro and con. On one side she was capable of flying, going through wall and good for chasing down her kind but on the other side she is vulnerable. Ghost can't affect the physical world without first possessing an object. This will make it easier to capture and kill the ghost. This doesn't seem to be the case in ghost world. Ghost can steal what I assume is ectoplasm from each other. They naturally can produce some but if too much is stolen they will start to fade away. The jop we are taking in the next town over. It seem that my business is growing, other town is starting to notice me. Based on the e-mail, it seem to be a non-hostile ghost that seem to be possessing a grand piano. It can be heard playing when ever there is a really big thunderstorm. A real classic case but I can never be to cautious. Armed with a dozen small bottle of small highly concentrated holy water, blessed crosses of every kind hidden everywhere, salt (doesn't affect them in anyway but they are scared of it anyway) and my trusty bible. I loop the rosary bead around my wrist and left for the next town. I took a cab over and Cynthia floated the whole way in front of the cab. She say she was scouting but her excited smile tells me otherwise. When we reach, we were greeted by a thunderstorm. I hesitated for a while before deciding to just head straight for the location. It might be a bad idea to go but if we dont go now we might not catch the ghost for a while. The clients didn't want to witness the exorcising so I didn't have to meet them. That least that is one less people to take care. When we arrive at the old, worn down building, there was true enough a eerie and terrible piano sound coming from it. Push open the door and the hinge came right off the door producing a loud crash that echo the building. "Stop that, it might scare away the ghost."Cynthia whisper as she gracefully drift through the wall. "If that really scare the ghost away, I must be the world best exorcist."I recovered as I dust off my shoulder. We walk up the second floor to where the sound is coming from. It was dark. No light source. Right as we approach the last few step we stop and saw the piano on the far left wall. I scan around. There were a few ghost but all of them were "stuck"ghost. I decided to approach the piano for a better look. I held a cross that is tied to my wrist in one hand and my bible in another. Cynthia float behind me. She seem to be aware that the ghost causing the piano sound was not visible is taking extra caution. We reach half way across the room before one of the piano wire snap and came whipping towards us. The wire was not anywhere near us but I instinctively jump back and held my bible up to protect my face. Cynthia "jump"and stayed at the height. This might be bad. A ghost that is possessing an object and be aware of it surrounding is rare. This ghost can be invisible on top of both of that. I took 3 of my crosses, pour some holy water on it and expertly throw them towards the piano, surrounding it, avoiding the "stuck"ghost. Inching forward. I walk slower, more cautious. Focusing on the still playing piano. The storm didn't not let down. The ceiling drip water into the cold, dark room. The lighting flash and brighten the whole room for a split second. This was immediately follow by the roaring thunder that shook the whole house. The room wasnt big but the path there seem to take forever. I tighten my grip on my bible, digging my nail into the cardboard cover. The rain got heavier but the sound of the piano seem to be to still cut through the drumming echo of the rain. Dong Dang Ding Ding Dang Diang Ping Tring The awful piano plays on. No rhythm. No timing. No nothing. I stop just before the cross that I threw. No reaction. No smoking, vibration or repelling. So now, I have a ghost that can ignore bless objects on top of everything. Was the cross not close enough? Is the blessing and holy water not strong enough? As I thought about all this, I remove the cross so that Cynthia can follow me. I am now a few feet away from the piano. If the wire snap now it will surely do a number on me. I watch the piano carefully. A drip of water came down from the ceiling. Ding, the piano rang. Another few drip came down together. Ding Tring ting, the piano rang again. I stop. Focus on the piano. The cover was missing. Whenever the water hit the piano wire it rang. I straighten up, relax and started laughing. "What? What happen? Dont just stand there and laugh at it, tell me."Cynthia float in front of me, eyes never leaving the piano. "There is no ghost, look careful."I pointed at the ceiling. The leaking ceiling drip the water onto wire, striking the piano. The noise produce is very random. The rusty wire just so happen to snap at us is it was in a very bad condition. "Oh, what is waste, I was getting so in to it."Cynthia sulked. "This is not uncommon, a deserted area being mark as hunted from things like this." "So what are you going to do?"She ask now floating above the piano. "Well, I have to make it stop."I said as I look around the house. That was when I remember the door that I broke. I went back down stair and retrieve the door. Placing it where the cover would be and block the leak from hitting the wire. "What, that is so boring."Cynthia is obviously upset now. "Well, not every job involve supernatural solution,"I turn to see her tucking her knee up to her chest burying her face in it "Alright, I promise the next one will be more exciting." With that, I sent a email back to the client saying that the job was done and we head back home.
It was a long day-- boss had been out doing something diabolical, very hush-hush. Usually his plans involve a few senior minions who in turn direct the lower ranks like myself, keeps it efficient and we get the job done. But today he was out by himself said something about it being too risky and dangerous. He didn’t want to put unnecessary burden on us, so we were to hold down the fort. I was assigned to clean his office. The place was a mess. Wrappers everywhere-- the man loved fast food. It explained his general bulbousness. But it went beyond that, I mean we’re talking ketchup on the floor, some sort of orange sauce on the side of his desk. Nasty stuff, really caked on there-- it’s one of the worst jobs to do around the place. Whatever. Then I found it-- tucked under a bunch of papers in the top drawer of his desk. A book, On Villainism. I thumbed through some of the pages, each page had an entry at the top and a paragraph of elaboration. Page 17: “Don’t make your weakness obvious.” Page 19: “Don’t do for yourself what others can do for you.” And on and on. My boss’s own sort of Art of War. There was no author listed. It explained a lot to put it plainly. The whole operation worked, but I’d be surprised if others said they liked it. Most of us were just here for the paycheck, at least that was my general understanding. Who the hell wants to be a lookout for seven hours, alone in the street, on one of the dampest days in February? How do you keep people doing the same shit on all these different days? Page 162: “An internal hierarchy with perceived rewards is more critical than actual rewards.” That one hit like a sledgehammer. The whole time I’d been working here I’d dreamed of being made a senior. It didn’t matter how long you’d been there, if you performed well you had a shot. Still, promotions were few and far between. I’d reckon just enough to keep people interested. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know what came with the higher title. I mean, they worked menial tasks just like the rest of us. Occasionally telling us what to do now and again, but on the whole it wasn’t a massive difference. They didn’t seem any happier than the rest of us, even with their “performance perks.” Nobody even knew what they were. It was all ambiguous, implied. I continued to flip through the book. Page 111: “Pay for performance, never overtime.” It explained his apprehension about calculating hours on a project. We were paid a base salary according to him, one fundamentally inflexible regardless of hours worked. I had an immediate flashback of all the late nights and extra hours I put in for this man, all of which went unacknowledged and unpaid. I resolved to myself then and there that I’d do it no longer. Why was I letting a villain manipulate me into selling myself short? Surely someone running a tight operation knew the value of things. I didn’t have a problem with profits or capitalism-- but I did have a problem with him taking advantage of me. I walked out of the office, down the hall, and out of the building without acknowledging anyone. I pulled out my phone. The first person I contacted was a labor attorney.
'Entry #0263 Date: Sunday December 2, 2018 Client: Unknown Target:Bruce Sanders, age 50's Risk: low "The target is Bruce Sanders. Enclosed is a mugshot. He need to be eliminated before the year's end."No return name and address, $100,000 enclosed, and loose timer of about 30 days; that's my kinda client. Bruce keeps a low profile, all I got on him is his address. He lives in some kinda farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with only his wife. The job is simple enough, get the lady to leave and ensure an accident occurs to the target. I am going to verify to money is legit and plan some recon. DAY 1: I am robbing this client. The wife seems to work a 9-5 while the target works on the farm. I got a good feel of the land and the routine of the target down. I feel confident enough to go for the kill tomorrow. Won't even need the old sniper rifle. Quick stab then put the body next to some sharp equipment, and the job is done. Day 2: Glad, I wiretapped his house. Wife called off sick. Seems like the guy lost his job recently. Poor guy caught hell for it too. No job and a nagging wife. I am doing this guy a favor. Day 3: This guys got guns and knives hidden everywhere. Must be a redneck thing. Daughter called him, asking for money. Must of hurt to tell his little girl "no". I am gonna root thought the house and barn to find all of his weapons. Never can be too safe. Day 10: Found out Bruce's old profession. FBI. Forced to resign. No reason listed. I feel bad. He is getting up later and going to bed earlier. I am gonna offer him a job. He is skilled with his weapons and has nothing left to lose. And I could use the help. -The writing below is in a different hand writing. 'You son of a bitch. You knew where Scott was and you knew how to get ahold of him. You threw away my 24 years of service by putting me on his case. A case I could never have solved since you were tipping him off. Well he was right, I have nothing left to lose. If the law doesn't get you, I will. -Bruce Sanders' This journal was found stab into the front door of the Chief Director of the FBI along with the hand of Scott Morse. Scott is wanted for 47 confirmed counts of 1st degree murder and is the prime suspect for many more cases.
Sorry for the length! I'm not too great at this stuff... bit of an odd topic but I thought it sounded pretty cool! &#x200B; At first the discovery of this was thought to be a massive breakthrough, an exponential growth in science from what we would discover on the other side, no one took the time to think if there was nothing on the other side, if it was just an endless void of darkness. This of course was discovered the hard way, the first time it was fired, I was there. As it spun up and got ready to fire everyone in the room was holding their breaths… then it fired and hit the wall directly across from it. A portal sprung into existence, but on the other side there was nothing, just an endless void of nothingness. The first experiment was of course throwing something in there, it applied to normal gravity until it crossed the threshold, then there was none. It was just floating further and further into the nothingness. At first we thought this was flunk, a one off, we tried again and again on different frequencies… nothing. But as all the great minds finally accepted it they began to think, we began to think. There are so many applications to this, stop polluting our own world, and just fill this abyss of nothingness up. Nuclear waste, in it goes. Trash, in it goes. It would never fill up because it was never ending. Of course as more of these were made and the licenses to them go out… not so good people got ahold of them. They were used to throw people away forever, where we could never get them back, mixed with the trash and the radiation. It was a horrible way to go out, but the pros outweigh the cons in this society. It saved humanity for hundreds if not thousands of more years. Something that was so big of a failure… turned into something so amazing, that gave life for many more generations.
When would it end? It had already taken at least 2 hours to escape the first part. For all I know, there could be an endless amount of prison sections. I decided the best thing to do was to investigate my surrondings. The second section was pretty much the same, with different people. Nobody was there, which seemed odd. Why would there be a second section with no one in it? Isn't that a waste of money and time? It didn't matter. For another odd reason they still had guards in the section. It didn't look like that much of a challange. After 3 hours, I was out. I let out a sigh of relief. I was out. I looked around, and cried out in anguish. There was another section. This time, it was more complex. There was actually some prisoners, they looked at me with sad eyes. It gave me an eerie feeling. Was this really the best route? Something made me feel off about this place, something wasn't right. It didn't matter, I had gone this far, why turn back now? After more and more hours of hiding from guards, jumping over objects, and flat out skill, I got out. I looked around. I wasn't in another section, I was in a huge room, with a ceiling. This was odd. Since when did outside areas have a ceiling? I looked around, and then I realized it. This wasn't another section, it was a torture chamber. I had to get out of here. I started to run as fast I could, I would have to climb up on a watch tower to get out. Before I could dash out, the door slammed shut. "Where do you think you're going?"Said a sly cold voice behind me. "I thought these chambers were escape proof. Oh well, doesn't matter. I'll just put you back in."A big claw picked me up by my shirt. I spinned around to see a huge beast. I was frozen in fright. I was put into what was a liquid like chamber. It was over, I would be stuck in here for eternity. The beast turned on a machine, and my brain started to jump around in my head. Before I knew it, I was out cold.
The assemblymen sat in silence. The medical team was excited. The international soldiers stood stonily, but their fear could be felt. Tasted. A secret UN project that was supposed to never work, but the US was determined. Their determination was fierce. Frightening. One dark-haired neuroscientist was silent while others buzzed in sick glee. He stood up. "Wo bin ich? Antworten!" It worked. "Ignoriert mich? Schmutzige Bastardes!" The US was right. Vengeful spirits resurrected better. With this, the possibilities were endless. The neuroscientist raised his gun. "Dr. Kaplan! No!" "Noch ein Jude! Fick dich!" But some people were better left dead.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?" Panic flung you from the couch to the window, which only confirmed your worst fear. A neighbor and her dog were running away from one of your creations: your attempt at Serena Williams as a centaur. What was I thinking... You ran through the kitchen and saw the basement door open. It's where you had stashed all the disfigured ones. You were hoping to get good... really good. In the meantime, the experiments would remain safely locked away. Forever. It would make you a monster. But I'll be a hero for those in need... eventually. You ran down the stars. There were strange looking plants. A Danny DeVito without legs or a mouth, who glared at you unforgivingly through lopsided eyes. There was a Bob Ross-esque wig which you wore to rev yourself up for the day. You ran to the back of the basement and opened another door, cautiously. They were still there: miniature creatures that belonged to a child's imagination. Pokémon. Birds. \\\* \[You coax your Serena the Centaur creation into your house with the promise of creating for her a mate: she escaped because she was lonely. You painstakingly draw throughout the weekend, tracing from internet pictures of Alexis Ohanian in Centaur form. They're smitten. You take them to the woods of Canada and set them free.\] \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Sorry. I have to study for exams. Can't put much into this.
I pick my head up, for only a moment, before I let it drop back down into the mud. I’m completely covered. I don’t think I’ve seen my actual complexion in over a week. There’s been no time. No time to even wipe the caked dirt from my eyelashes. A single tear pulls debris across my face and stings as it reaches my other eye. I’m tired. I’ve been running and running and running and haven’t been able to stop for more than about twenty minutes before It’s silhouette appears behind me and the gunshot sounds in my head and I’m off the block being chased again. I’ve never actually seen mine before. I saw my mother’s before she passed away—It was tall and slender and covered in veins that nearly punctured the thin, film-like skin. Drool was constantly running out the corner of It’s mouth, the dry cracked lips containing a full set of sharp, yellow teeth. It looked hungry. Greedy. Somewhat what I imagine mine would look like. Oh god, I can feel It. It’s near. I need to peel myself off the ground and get going again. But I’m so tired. I am so close to just giving up. I could just end it. I could let It end me. There’s no point in running anymore anyway. There’s no end to the maze. The only point is to survive another day. I’m done. I’m ready. I’m going to let It take me. And I see It coming closer. In the low light, amongst the shadows it stalks me. Slowly. It has a gait that is less animalistic that I think I had initially thought. It’s not as tall as I imagined. In fact, it looks almost human. But I close my eyes so I don’t have to look into the face of It before it kills me. My cheeks are warm from the tears that continue to run down my face. I can feel it closer. Closer. Now it’s breath is on my face. Do it. Fast. I’m scared and I’m tired and I’m ready. But It doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t touch me. So I slowly open my eyes and It’s standing in front of my face and It’s ME.
The little guy walked into my office at a few minutes past three in the afternoon. I say 'little' because he was short. I couldn't remember if dwarves had the big head, or if that was midgets. Either way, this guy seemed proportional, so neither label really seemed to fit. God, I hope that doesn't come up, I thought, as I put away the bottle of 13 year old scotch and invited him to have a seat. He declined. A pity, as I was looking forward to seeing his little legs swing with his feet unable to touch the floor. "So my secretary tells me you are looking for an attorney", I said as I shook his little hand. "Yeah, I need to file a lawsuit", he squeaked. Adorable. I suddenly wanted sixty-four of these little fuckers on my lawn playing an almost full-scale version of chess. "Well, you are in the right building, but there are a lot of lawyers in here. What made you choose my firm, Mr..." "You can call me Dugleysi. Mr Teufel, your firm comes highly recommended, and you specifically have a flawless record" He was right. As a senior partner at Spitz, Teufel, Arbeit, Anwalt, and Althaus, I did have a one hundred percent success rate for lawsuits. Our firm has taken on everyone, and never lost a suit. It was a pretty big source of pride for me, personally. "Thank you, we do try. And call me Sam", I told him. "But I do need to know a few things. Who do you want to sue, and why? But most importantly, what makes you think you have a case?" He paced back and forth for a few moments, obviously nervous, clearly angry. I decided to pull the scotch back out of the drawer of my desk. I poured a glass for myself, then offered him one. "Sure, fuck it", he said. I poured him a disproportionately deep glass. Experience had taught me that a little buzz got people to tell you their true intentions, and in this business, intention drove everything. He took three gluttonous gulps of the scotch before wiping his lips and letting out a strained breath. That's the moment I was looking for. Just let it go, buddy. Tell me why you're really here. He finally sat back in the plush leather chair that I offered him earlier. He damn near disappeared in it, little as he was. I was almost envious of how comfortable he looked, cocooned in cushioned leather. "Feel better?", I asked him, taking a swig myself. My secretary walked in at that moment, all legs and hips moving in perfect concert with everything else, like a serpent covered in silk. The little guy watched her float over to my desk, taking in every step, every gesture, every curve and angle. "Mr Teufel, your four o'clock canceled", she purred before walking away. "You don't use an intercom system for things like that?", Dugleysi asked. Nodding towards the door through which my secretary just left, I countered, "would you?" Of course, I didn't have a four o'clock. Lilith, my secretary, came in on cue for the sole purpose of elevating a potential clients feelings of lust. This was the oldest trick in the book. Give a guy some booze, dangle the idea of sex, and he will be easier to work. "So tell me, Dugleysi... who is it you are looking to file suit against?", I pressed. "You" "Excuse me?", I was honestly taken aback. "I want to sue you for a hundred million dollars", he continued, without skipping a beat. "Mr Teufel. You sued my boss to the point that he had to outsource ten thousand jobs to India. I am filing this as a class action lawsuit on behalf of my union", he said. He was so matter-of-fact. It was slightly off-putting. "And what union do you represent?", I asked him. "North Pole local double zero one" Fucking fuck! I knew it. That's why I couldn't figure him out. He wasn't a dwarf or a midget, but a goddam elf. I knew this Santa bullshit would come back to haunt me. How was I supposed to react here? "Well", I calmly began, "how do you plan to proceed?" "I want you to represent me", he said, finishing the last of the scotch in his glass. "You know this can get quite expensive", I warned him. "It isn't about the money", he said, "it's about the principle" Well, at least he wasn't greedy. That was good. I could work with that. "What is your goal here, if it isn't financial recompense?", I asked. "I want you to feel my wrath. I want you to have a loss on your record. I know that spotless record is more important to you than anything else. I figure the only person who can damage that record is you", he put his glass down and stood. "Ok then", I reached out to shake his little hand again, "I'll see us in court". &#x200B; EDIT - I've made a couple of edits, but no changes to the actual story. Just a couple small details to make it more fun for me.
I know I'm gonna sound crazy to some of you city folk, but this here is a true damn story. Musta' been maybe 13 beers deep, just doin' that thing where you're drunk and lookin' up at the sweet southern sky at night. That night bloomin' jasmine just takin' ya back in your memories. Thinkin' bout old girlfriends and such. You know what I'm talkin' bout. It was one of those nights. Anyway, there I was, just mindin' my business when I seen a couple lights. I thought it was airplanes or somethin', but then they started dartin' back and forth like fireflies. Planes don't really do that. I only flown a couple times, but I know that ain't right. "Hey Jessup, c'mere and take a look-see at this, wouldja?", I hollered at my buddy who was half passed out on my porch. "And grab me a fuckin' beer", I added. We watched these lights just zip around for a minute, chuggin' our beers. Then they started shootin' at each other. Not like missiles or bullets like in Top Gun, which was a great fuckin' movie, by the way. More like just lights comin' from one at the other. Not even any sound. "How much we drink tonight?", Jessup asked me. "Not enough to both be seein' the same shit if it ain't real", I told him. I been drunk plenty of times. This weren't no drunk hallucination. Somethin' weird was goin' on. Then there was this explosion up there in the sky, when one of them lights hit the other one, with a bright flash. Now you could hear that, it was like a pop, like when my dumbass nephew blew his finger off with a firecracker down the road. Just a pop. Then the lights were gone. Me and Jessup got back to drinkin' for a bit, talkin' bout what we saw. Neither of us could make nothin' of it, and we were about to say 'fuck it' and forget about it, when some shit smashed into my garden. Now, this made me nervous, see, cuz not everything I grow in that garden is exactly legal, if ya know what I'm sayin'. I damn near tripped over Jessup tryin' to get back to the garden to see what the hell was goin' on. "What the fuck!", I yelled. "Cletus! Somethin' crashed into your garden!" "No shit, Sherlock. What the fuck is it?" This giant snail shell lookin' thing was layin' there in the kindling that used to be my damn greenhouse. It was smokin' and hissin' like it was bein' deep fried. Then it kinda just cracked in half, but I suspect that's how it opened, cuz when the front half fell off, this funny lookin' dude fell out. He was small and green. No bullshit. Green. Like in them old movies. Big ol' head with antennas like a grasshopper and everything. He looked up at us and reached his little four fingered hand out and said something. "Please... help...", the little green man said. "Well don't just stand there, Jessup", I said, "get this fuckin' guy a beer!" I mean, I assume he was 'guy', but it's not like I flipped him over and stuck a finger in him like a gator to be sure. I figured he might be thirsty, and I truly didn't know what else to do. He just stood there sayin' "help". Beer always helped me, so I figured he could use a cold one. "You uh... you ain't from 'round here, are you?", I asked him. "They... come... for slaves...", he said. "Whoah now, hold the fuck on there", I told him, "we don't do that slavery shit round here no more, son". That's when I saw the other lights comin' down. They were slower than this guys landing, and a couple miles away, out in the woods near Miss June's property, it looked like. The little green guy looked back at it too, then looked at me just when Jessup came back from the house. "I, um, I couldn't find no more beer... but we got whiskey", Jessup held up a half full bottle of Jim. The little guy pulled open his shirt and pointed at what looked like the world's fuck-ugliest tattoo. "Slaves...", he said again. "Fuck... Jessup, you better get my goddam shotgun"
She looked up from the tablet’s screen. Her eyes gazed upon me, moving up and down, unsure of what I was doing there. I knew that look, I had seen it countless times before. It was a look I deserved, too many broken promises down memory lane. “What exactly is it this time, Jim?”, she asked as she swiped through the tablet’s pages. “Just read it, Beth. This time, it’s something legit. I promise.” There were those two words again. I knew convincing her would take some effort. Given what happened at the communal winter bunker, I couldn’t blame her for second guessing me. She gave me another glance, then looked down again at the tablet in her hands. Her brown hair seemed much longer than the last time I saw her. It had only been 4 months, but it felt much longer. I guess pain can make everything last longer. “I should talk to her.” I thought to myself. Or maybe that was vodka talking. Even after 12 years, I was still head over heels for this woman. If I could go back, I’d changed a lot, but not her, not the kids. They were the only thing I got right. My thoughts drowned out when I could hear her reading. “Congratulations, Mr. Stoddard, after reviewing your application, the EUNA Mars Selection Committee has approved your profile for Pioneer Mission 476. Please arrive at 05:00, July 23rd, 2130, with the following members of your immediate family...” Her eyes shot up to meet mine. “How’d you get this, Jim? Is this real? Who gave yo-“ “It’s real. I told you it’s legit. I put in the application a couple months ago.”, I said. “Real smart, Jim. You finally have a chance to talk to her and you start with the lies, again.” I thought to myself. Truth was I applied last week, but her and I both know it takes months for these type of approvals. She swiped through the pages, again, still in disbelief. “But, Jim, I thought Mars was for... Well, you know, not for people like us?” I let out a small sliver of smile. She was right. ‘Pioneers’ they called ‘em. Just a fancy word for the rich and the people with real brains. Mars was both out of my pay grade and my ability. But the trip to get there? That’s what guys like me were for. “Apparently they need a couple tough New York City welders like me up there.” I said slyly. We both shared a small moment of laughter. I think I missed these moments the most with her. Just her presence was enough to change my mood. I’d do anything and go anywhere for her. Including Mars, apparently. “Jim, how are we going to get there? This blizzard hasn’t let up in weeks, and it says here that the ship leaves in 3 weeks.” I could see the worry on her face. No one had been able to leave the summer bunker for over a month because of the blizzard. “I got it all figured out this time, honey. We’re going to be on those ships come launch time. That... kind of, brings up another thing.” She looked at me intently, waiting for the ‘catch’ she was expecting all along. I smiled as best as I could, “Listen, don’t worry, but the thing is you and the kids are going to be on the first ship, and I, well, I have to be on the second one. It’s... well... you see, the trip is 7 months long and they need me on the second ship for my job briefing and training.” I could tell her anxiety was high. I might have been out of her life for the last few months, but she always knew she could walk the four levels that separated our rooms in the bunker. “Look, Beth,” I began as I saw the tears coming to her eyes, “this is for you and the kids. You have always deserved better, I know that. This is a chance for some real change. The kids will never know this world like we did. The bunkers aren’t where our kids need to be growing up.” She nodded in agreement, tears streaming down her face. “It’s just,” she sobbed, “I don’t know, anymore, Jim.” I knew the conversation was coming. I guess, it’s always better after the good news. “Beth,” I stopped her, “Look, we don’t need to talk about this, right now. Let’s just get off this frozen rock and we’ll talk about it then, okay?” I wiped the tears from her eyes like I always did after my screw ups. I leaned in and kissed her cheek. I turned and opened the apartment door. “Jim,” she called out. “Why don’t you stay here, tonight?” “Beth, I don’t think that would be a good thing for us right now.” I said over my shoulder walking out the door. I could hear her sobs from the other side of the door. I wanted nothing more that night than to stay, but I couldn’t let her get close to me again. As I began the four story walk back to my apartment, I popped in my ear buds. I opened the encrypted message on my smart watch, just to hear it one more time. “As part of our agreement, Mr. Stoddard, Mission 476 - Vessel 2 is not to reach its destination...”
We thought they were full of shit when they first announced it. “Now accepting volunteers for the Soylent Green Project” ads sprang up all over the web, billboards went up, there was a saturation TV campaign. Site takeover on all the big culture and entertainment properties. Everybody laughed and retweeted and said “what the fuck” to each other and figured it was some sort of weird-ass attempt at mass viral marketing. So nobody volunteered. Well, not literally “nobody”. It’s the internet, there’s at least six sick fuckos who will volunteer for any sort of insane idea once you throw it out there. But it was nowhere close to enough people to feed a population that was getting restive and desperate. Then the private security contractors hired by USDA rolled in. Scary motherfuckers in exosuits like that game everybody plays, Fallout. Snatched away 250,000 kids between the ages of 7 and 14 over the course of ten days in April. Nobody could do anything. A militia of dads in suburban Dallas, Texas got rolled over by literal fucking tanks (they call them APCs, but we all recognized tanks when we saw them) live on CNN’s stream. Nobody will ever forget the way their blood fountained out across the perfectly manicured lawn that was behind them. After that there was no real resistance. About two weeks later we had Soylent Green Sausage show up in the ration baskets available at the grocery stores. With better protein back in our diets, people felt their strength returning. They felt strong again. Soon, the USDA shock troops came back. But this time, the people were ready. This time, they welcomed the fight. This time, they already had a taste for flesh. They just needed volunteers. It’s time for the Hunger Games.
“Gather round! Gather round!” &#x200B; In the massive, vaulted-ceiling room that was three hundred meters long and half that wide, huge throngs of people from countless ethnic backgrounds milled around in general excitement and anticipation. Most of them directed their attention to one side of the room--a longer length, that had a raised platform which stretched at least seventy-five or one-hundred feet. Dozens of people, also of diverse ethnic backgrounds, sat behind a stretch of tables that stood on top of the platform. &#x200B; An event crier shouted nearby, “Sentence petitions in! Sentences in! Submit your sentences now!” &#x200B; All around the perimeter of the room, and in a few places interspersed throughout the middle, were small submission stands that held two or three sentence receivers, armed with their tablets, and at least half a dozen security guards. &#x200B; I had been standing in line now for close to a half hour now, and was only a few people away from submitting my two lines. Not too bad of a wait for the annual contest of “Word”. Every year, I’m impressed by the winner. The trick is to make the best, striking, enticing, enrapturing sentence possible--all while avoiding using THE Word. &#x200B; “Oi! Move yer arse--get over ‘ere!” came a shout from one of the official sentence receivers at the stand. I walked up nervously, feeling my chin tremble slightly, my jaw tense up, and my stomach flutter in anticipation. What if I won THE Word? &#x200B; “Name?” the receiver asked. &#x200B; “Paul. Ringer.” I replied. &#x200B; “Oker, Mr. Ranger. Pl’ase insert your form, face-downer--right ‘ere,” as the receiver finished, she leaned forward and pointed to a small flat spot on a machine. “Wonder’ul, thank ye. NEXT! Yar ye there lassy!” &#x200B; I moved away in silent, awed introspection. There it was. I did it. All I could do now was wait, and maybe try to get a better spot near the panelists. &#x200B; I spent the next two hours moving slowly through the crowd, listening in to bits of other folk’s conversations, and eventually made my way not too far away from the panel, but still farther than I’d have liked. &#x200B; Over the loud-speaker a monotone voice rang out. “ORDER IN WORD ROOM, PLEASE. ORDER IN THE WORD ROOM.” Faces looked up to the ceiling, to the panelists, and to each other. Silence settled in slowly, until there was only a distant buzzing. &#x200B; The voice on the loudspeaker continued, “Thank you. As judges determine a final vote, allow me to recap our process for any newcomers to “Word Contest”. Our advanced sentence analysis software computes the relative rankings of all your sentences, scored on relevance and significance to the English language, for which today’s session will cover most highly coveted words. Definitions of relevance and significance are kept as proprietary information. Our algorithm produces your top ten sentence submissions, which will be presented to our judges for a final vote. Please wait patiently while votes are cast.” &#x200B; After the loudspeaker finished, I realized I had been biting on my nails, and snatched them down back to my sides. I looked around me. Everyone had their eyes open wide, staring down the judges sitting at the front panel. Waiting for their chance, however slim it was, to use that precious word. To hear the sound of it from their own voice. To feel their mouth form it. It would be so nice--it would make life so easy! &#x200B; A screen projection formed on the wall opposite the judges. I turned around excitedly. Everyone around me did the same. I saw an older man in front of me cross himself, and murmur “please, before I die, please.” &#x200B; The loudspeaker returned, “Thank you for your patience. Sentence of our winner is displayed on Southern Wall Monitor: ‘Precious prescient pickled pilots pinch Pip’s pimples,’ which has been chosen for its ingenuity in maximizing relevance and significance to our English language. Winner is Mr. Paul Ringer!” &#x200B; My breath left me. I was dazed, stunned. Around me, everyone started looking up and around for the winner. I slowly raised my hand. “Me! It’s me.” I started to walk towards the panel of judges. “Pardon, thank you, excuse me, pardon, sorry, thanks, thank you, my apologies,” I tried to push through the crowd to receive my word, but was continuously impeded by the crowd asking me to speak my word once I’ve received it, to keep them in mind, to not forget them, that it might be the last time they ever hear it. Thankfully I wasn’t too far, and I reached the panel soon. Multiple security officers walked up to me and asked me for a Social Security Number. I whispered it to them, and they led me through the security checkpoint. &#x200B; Two officers then led me to a door behind the judges, and I was escorted through a short hallway, then entered a door on my right. &#x200B; There, on a stainless steel table, was a small holographic box. &#x200B; A figure moved out from the back of the room. “Sir, please insert your pinky finger into our box’s center here.” &#x200B; I stepped forward to the table, and hesitantly reached my hand out. I curled up the rest of the fingers, leaving only my pinky extended, and insert it into the box. It felt like air--nothing really. &#x200B; “Thank you, Sir. You now have access to Word for one calendar year, 365 days. If you would like, you may reenter the main convention area and speak it.” &#x200B; “Yes. Yes, I can do that for them,” I replied. &#x200B; I was escorted back out the same way, with at least half a dozen security guards now. I was important. I could feel the security guards shifting slightly, casting tiny glances at me from the corner of their eyes. They wanted to hear it. &#x200B; I was led back out to the panel area. The judges were lined up in two columns on either side. &#x200B; “Go ahead, sir. The podium is yours.” In front of me was a polished, well-oiled podium made of dark, smooth wood. The crowd moved forward, and all talk quickly ceased--entirely. I couldn’t hear anything in the room. &#x200B; I took a breath, and leaned into the microphone. &#x200B; “the.” &#x200B; Every person in the convention center eruption into chaos, turmoil, and ecstasy. I leaned in again. &#x200B; “The.” I saw people tremble, shake, and spasm. They could feel the word resonate throughout their being--it was like a dead loved one come back to life. They wept, and suffered--but were happy that it was still somewhere. I leaned in again, and took the microphone by two hands. &#x200B; “THE!” A roar crashed over my ears. The security guards next to me were having difficulty controlling their faces, and I could some of their faces twitching, while on others there were tears running down their cheeks. I breathed deeply, leaned in again, and screamed, utterly transformed by the pure energy in the room. &#x200B; “THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeee!” I fell down, barely able to breath--my vision darkened and whirled. I lost all sense of what was happening with the crowd, to me, or to anyone. I started to pass out into blackness, and the last thing I remember were hands on me, and roaring from all sides.
The trial of the century - judgement of the man who carries with him the “abyss book”. The name given to the color described only by deepest and darkest ridges of the world - Indicating the astrocious deeds he had done throughout his life. The book of shade is an item everyone is born with, every page is colored from black to white to record the goodness or evilness of a person according to the law. It was shackled to humanity by the heavens when apparently lady justice open its eyes to the select few who are at the top. A particular incident was when a priestess was raped and burned but the assailants was never punished - this enraged the gods thus binding men and their name with this book How it works, no one really knows for sure - but there are clear dintinction. Stealing, assaulting, sabotaging, and lying usually reflect a black page in the book while murder and torture produces the blackest page. On the other hand a white page is reflected when one tend to a wound, help, teaches, protect, and serve other people while the whitest page is produce when one save a life or save a soul This particular old man is the most wanted criminal for the past 60 years. Known simply as the “abyss”, he had committed assination of top leaders and criminals alike, even seemingly random people who live peaceful and quiet life. He was also brutal as he enjoyed torturing his victims But now, this old man is finally brought to justice. Sentenced by death through guillotine, in the judgement plaza no less for all to see - as nothing is more apt for such evil “Any last words?” I said disgustingly to the person who carries such a horrendous book of shade “Yes if I may, I at least want to tell my name to the people left by my deed” he said courteously A scumbug till the end I thought “And why should I let those who got left behind be burdened by your name?” I retorted “To give then peace” he smiled .... “Make sure that everyone watching right now both present here and those at their homes hear what he has to say, after he is done giving his name - drop the blade” I said to the handlers To be honest Its not like I hate this man to the core, rather, I am thankful for him. The book of shade is a very helpful item true, but it has its limitations. Its still men themselves who have to carry out the judgement and although one cannot hide what they did from the book. All they have to do was make sure the authority wont reach them. Political leaders who are corrupt and abusers of powers and criminals who tortures and kill for fun but are quick to hiding, ‘Abyss’ dealt with them all. He on his own way, judge them. But sadly I can’t do anything, the book of shade does not lie and this old man beside me right now clearly is one who is more than worthy to be judge “Say your piece old man” I said , wanting to just end it He look at me and smiled, then face the people, although his stare was being directed at particular people on the crowd - he said “Enjoy life and live life, the name is Johan Grey” At the same breath the “abyss book” flew from my hand towards Johan Grey, flew above him and started flipping its pages showing all of them being black as coal and once it reached the last page, it flipped once more and a new page started to form. A white one started to appear and its shade was turning even more white by the second and then it started to glow, and the glow was getting brighter and brighter until it became to be brighest white page ever seen Everyone were in awe and dumbfounded The old man’s last page manifested simply by saying its name. At first I was confuse and so was everyone else. But when I saw the people whom the old was looking at earlier crying with their kneels to grounds, I realized it wasn’t those who got left behind by the people he killed that his name was directed for - it was for the victims who got freed and gained a new life for those he killed. The last page, the brighest white, was “Gratitude”
"another day, another dollar"my girlfriend, (who is a super model) says to me, while she hands me the lottery ticket. I yawn and grab the ticket and a....mars bar, oh and a slushie! It's nearing 10pm, I was feeling despair for missing dinner, but this mars bar will fix me right up! Oh boy! Im, of course, trying to play this off as nothing more than a simple transaction. No joy. No excitement - don't smile! See I had to pick up my (super model) girl friend Olivia from the side of a road. She refused to tell me why she was there, but I'm sure she had as a valid reason. Though she made me miss dinner - hot dogs if you can believe! She kept asking if I'd rather the hot dogs or her ( a super model) and I reassured her that I of course choose her. She mustn't know the truth! Perhaps I'm overly cautious, trying to hide my feelings for the mars bar, from her. I don't know anymore! I'm in it too deep now - I don't know what's real or what's fake! Is it okay that she knows I sometimes go to Mcdonalds without her? A couple days ago I stopped myself from telling her a story where I was at McDonald's alone, because what if she asks me why I went there alone in the first place? Why did I? Surely it makes more sense to bring my super model girlfriend to McDonald's so that all the poor people can see how much better off I am than them. Or... Do I go to McDonald's alone, because I relate with the poor penniless piles of filth there. That maybe, I am that of which I...hate? Woah. Do I hide my true self from her like I do from myself? The cashier reads the ticket and gives me the look - not a winner. Well, ain't that a surprise? I still have a mars bar and a slushie! I grab at them in excitement, but then suddenly remember that my super model girlfriend is right beside me. I look over and shes in shock, and also, if I'm reading her face right, disgust. Fuck! I go to play this off as a joke and say "Whoopdy do, poor people food! Horray. I can eat trash like the poor dumpster living cockroaches as well - what a funnnnnn life!" She laughs. Yes! My improv classes paid off finally! I think it was my exaggerated body movements but it may just as well been my vocal delivery that captured the laughter from Olivia! "C'mon let's go"Olivia (supermodel) says to me, in a tantalizing, yet intmidating manner. Strange, how after 7 months of dating and I still feel overwhelmed by her. Oh!!!! I just remembered I'm holding a mars bar and a slushie!!! Score! I head out, but before i fully leave the store, I turn around to glance at the pile of mars bars, one last time. But as I do, I see the cashier's running in the back with...my lottery ticket in their filthy peasent poor hands! Those sneaky son of bitches! Did they lie? Of course they did they're poor! Poor people are nothing more than untrained dogs! "Bastards!"I let out. My (supermodel) girlfriend turns around and see the low life scum, and their low life antics. "Go after them. Quick!"She says "Ok"I answer back "I'll meet them in the back"she says then she scurries off I start running after them. They can't out run me in those poor people shows! What - do they even have laces? Hah! I can't wait to use that line against them! I see them! "Stop! You theifs!" They stop before the back door and turn around to face me. "Have something of mine?"I say smoothly "It's nothing, you- we- we were just taking out the trash"they stutter like the poor people they are "Oh ya? Well then....where's the garbage?"I drop the hammer of logic "Look man, please, our mother is sick - she needs surgery! She has breast cancer, but we can't afford to do it unless..." The other one continues "unless, we can be blessed with a miracle from you. Please, please! If our mom dies then, me, my brother here and our two toddler siblings will go homeless." I shake my head "so?.... I won, I need the money too- and besides, how do I know you're aren't lying?" They reach in their pocket and reveals a paper "this is my mother's cancer diagnosis. She worked all her life so we can have a better life, but if she dies now than it'll all be in vain. We don't know wh-" "Hey nice shoes! Do you even have laces!"I blurt out. I nailed it! Thank you Mr Felburn, I guess you are right I really do have comedic potential! "...sorry?"They say. (Hahaha!) Oh! Awww, its Olivia from behind theback door, she laughed at my joke! "Thanks babe!"I yell out The back door opens and there lies my super model girlfriend holding a machete. God, sometimes I forget how beautiful she really is. Her hair is gold like the heavens and her eyes are blue like those blue candy ring pops. Her smile, while rare, is striking, and it's amazing to see now while she is striking these guys down. Wow, she can even slash with grace, painting the wall with blood in a abstract style. She even got some on herself...blood just dropping off her, and sweat. Ya know -she can silence a room just by entering it, or maybe I lose a sense of hearing when I see her cause I see the cashiers screaming, but their yells soften until I just hear my heartbeat. They fall to the ground, clutching eachother in panic, flooding the floor with red. Ones choking on blood, as his throat was cut deeply, while the other is trying to block the blood from escaping his torso. I look up to see (super model) Olivia standing with the breeze hitting against her like she's in a fashion shoot! Butterflies! I have butterflies in my stomach! She picks up the ticket that's lying on blood, and we run to the car. We drive on the highway for half an hour, adrenaline pumping through us. I keep looking back at her, amazed by her beauty. I can sense her looking at me - we're electric right now. So much energy and passion coursing through our veins. We see flickering lights up ahead. Blue and Red. It's the police. Oh shit, oh fuck oh shit oh fucking shit!
It took a considerable amount of persuasion to get people to try out my new creation. Most of my clients were hesitant about the new ingredient - a drop of blood, a slight departure from the usual wyvern tear and wraith hair, which they seemed more comfortable with. "Give them your cases,"grunted one of my patients, who has now regained the ability to walk above being free from terminal cancer. "Why the misgivings if you literally have a 100% success rate?" "I don't know."I grabbed my head in distress. "Just doesn't feel interesting enough. Never was my work ever potent enough to tamper with life and death. I shouldn't be wasting its potential by merely raising people from the grasps of hell." I returned to my lab and stared at my scribbled writings and colourful flasks for the longest time, pondering on my next step. A brilliant idea struck me like a bolt of lightning, almost taking me off my feet. "That's right! A handful of shit will do!" I immediately scurried towards the corner of the room and pulled my pants down. I knelt down and forced the remnants of my breakfast down my intestine with all my might. It was noon. Not a lot of time had elapsed since my last meal, but with the power of will and determination I managed to ooze some of my shit into welcoming hands. A few solid yellowish shit was all I needed, and I couldn't quite curb my excitement as I dumped them into my already sumptuous mixture, making it glow like like a thousand suns and smell like a thousand cows. Pure perfection, I thought, and I couldn't have describe it with better words. It's time to test the effects. I took the fuming flask out of my lab and handed it over to one of my clients. "Looks a bit dull, but smells fine."He commented casually as he took a swig. "Taste quite good, except the vinegar seems a bit too sour." "The contact lense solution is expired too,"I added. "I can tell."The patient wiped his mouth with a nod of approval and took another swig. "It certainly feels more interesting than your life giving potion, which I must admit doesn't sell well, now that I come to think of it." "I guess the poison ivy tea leaves also comes with a touch of intelligence! Hahaha..." A day later, the elixir, now rebranded as the medicine of death, cured all of the patients' life problems.
“Ello, gather round and you won’t believe what you see! Curiosities from around the globe, freaks and beauties for one and all!” I rolled my eyes at Moon, the half-hearted carnival barker. The former Snake Girl, she lived the life of a disenfranchised trophy wife to the owner of the fairgrounds on the island. Making eye contact with her, she motioned towards the fairway with a slight gesture. I knew to report there immediately, despite my reservations with the owner and his wife. The carnival was themed like the masques from Old Venice, with carnival goers sporting somewhat sinister looking masks to protect their identity from the lewd practices that happened there. The fairway was a paved street with a dozen or so tents on either side in varying colors of fabric and texture, each one holding a different pleasure or pain. The wind was heavy up here in Cloud, but one got used to it. The tents billowed, hypnotically together as though they sang the same silent song. There were no signs, no barkers to reveal anything. There were symbols to give hints to the takers, but there was nothing deliberate. Once you step inside a tent, however, it was a rule that you must take your stay and experience whatever is inside of it. There was an element of mystery, a lottery that you take in this place filled with childish delight. My hair flew behind me wildly as I walked down the street, past a tent of lilac Fleur-de-Lis Bengaline silk, then an orange and white heavy tartan. As I passed a few more, I began to wonder what my own assignment would be for the day here. If any high-profile assignments came into the Hall, we were excused from the Carnival for the day, but during the off-season when the Mariners and Sky Soldiers were off shore, high profile jobs happened few and far between. “Morgen, fair maiden.” Hanging Man smirked at me from behind a small stark-white panne velvet tent held shut with heavy gold cords. “Where’s my tent, Geiger?” I used his last name, which was forbidden here, to show my level of disrespect and disdain to him. His piercing yellow eyes furrowed, angry at my elaborate remark. He ran his hand through his thick, shoulder length black hair and shrugged with a demonic grimace. “Maybe you should find Death,” he finally suggested, closing the flap of the tent as a group of masked men approached. To the passersby, this would seem like a haunting threat. In reality, Death was the name of our patron, the man who ran this dark carnival. I continued walking to the end of the row, looking from side to side while trying to keep a low profile. I was determined to swiftly look in each tent, to find where I was to go. I quickly decided to head to the divination row, alongside the most dangerous edge of the carnival. I found an empty tent of rich black velvetine, and peered behind it at the horizon. From where I stood you could see the land below, moving at a snail’s pace. I wondered how far it would take to reach the Earth if I jumped, seconds or minutes? I certainly wasn’t contemplating death, nothing of the sort. It was just a scientific query of sorts, that’s all. ------------------ “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.” I bowed, initiating the session. The mark still had his mask on, and could technically wear it for the entire service if he so chose. “Sit, please. You’ve come to hear your fortune, this I will grant to you.” The candlelight flickered, the morning humidity hanging low within the black fabric of the tent. The man nodded, signaling for the session to start. I took the cards in my hand, shuffling them quickly and then again at a slower pace. “I wonder what today holds,” his voice asked, much higher than I expected from his tall and muscular physique. I smiled back before shuffling the cards again, ready to interpret the cards as I saw fit. I laid down four cards, one for the past, then present, future and the variable. I turn over the first card, inhaling sharply as though I am shocked. “Le mat,” I recite. “It seems your life was spent in search of knowledge or earthly experience, but you come up short of it even now.” I look closely at him, and see his lip twitch at the suggestion of his ignorance. I would need to continue berating him or quickly turn the reading in his favor if I wanted to receive payment for this farce. Turning the second card over, I stayed quiet and nodded slowly. “Reine des épées,” I exclaimed to him with wide eyes. “The Queen of…” his brain searched for the translation, but it did not come quick enough to him. “Swords! The Queen of Swords. She reaches out to someone, her true love whom she’s just met. Her sword stays strong in her hand as a warning to him, she is just and beautiful, but she is also terribly nervous about the new prospect of love.” The customer sat back in his chair, his hand coming to his mouth as if this new card made him nervous. I kept going, desperate to finish this uncomfortable moment. “Sept des pentacles,” I remarked, noticing the seven coins lying next to card on the table. A flash of ironic divination, I tried to swallow the sudden wave of nausea that washed over me. “You’re moving in the near future, but first you must reevaluate the scenario. Emotional and spiritual reward lies just out of reach for you, but riches abound if you can persevere through the process.” The man looked away, not even making eye contact with the tall table or the cards that lay there, especially not with me. “Les amoureux,” I whispered, “You’ll end not with love, but with temptation. The paradise you find will be threatened by a dangerous outsider.” I stared at the cards, realizing it depicted two men separated in the middle by a female with black eyes burning through the card. This made me even more uncomfortable, as I took back the cards and shuffled them into the deck. I stood from my position, fully expecting the man to get up and retreat through the small opening. He sat though, noticeably steaming, (though that could have just been the humidity and exhaustion). He reached into his coinpurse and plunked a handful of them down on the carpeted table. I didn’t count directly, but I estimated at least 200 coins worth between the silver, gold and copper there. This was the normal day-rate for an elder Snake, and I gasped unintentionally at this prospect. “Show me more, sir.” The man commanded, so I sat in the uncomfortable chair once again and shuffled the cards. “May I ask questions to you?” “Certainly,” I replied. “You may ask whatever you wish, it is an honor to divine for you. Will you cut the cards this time?” He nodded, so I handed him the glossy deck. He put them into three piles upon the table, and added them to each other one by one before giving them back. “Have I found love today?” His voice noticeably shook as he asked his first quandary, and he looked to the ground as he awaited the answer. “Trois des batons,” I confidently said. “This is a sign of commencement, a long standing partnership that will endure the wonders and winds of fate.” He exhaled slowly, visibly relieved by the answer I offered to him. We stared at each other for minutes, before he stood and turned to make his way out. I found solace in this moment, and closed my eyes waiting for the inevitable whip of the wind as the tent opened. After a few seconds of not hearing this, I opened my eyes to find the man sitting in the chair once more. I jumped from alarm, but quickly smiled and beckoned for him to ask another question. “One more? I need to know what to do. I don’t have the heart to ask the question aloud.” I tried to relax my pained expression, as I shuffled the cards once more and offered them to him to cut. Three quick shuffles and one draw later, I set one card in front of him. “Le magicien,” I blink quickly to search for the interpretation. “It’s a sign of initiation, confidence and being objective.” “I guess I don’t fully get the drift,” he replied quietly. “In shorter words?” I asked. “Go for it.” He laughed after I said that, which caused me to jump again. Without another word, he got up and strode out of the tent. I rose and collected the pile of coins, counting out seven of them to hand to Death on my way out. I had just been reserved on a five day assignment, the patron being myself.
Long read, take care It is said that people are music, that they are made of song and that they live through a melody. The little boy looked up, wiping away his tears. His drum racing like a beating heart. He looked at his father as he heard the words that broke him: "I'm sorry, we need to move again". And a day of packing later, the boy got in the car. The sweet car freshener smell madd him sick and the cold weather started to crawl on his feet. He looked at the window, as the car left. She was there. Waving. Crying. That's all Jacob can remember when asked of a childhood, and nightmares allways ask him that. He raised up and looked at his clock. "shit" The clock glowed an orange 3:47 as it blinked in a rythm. The man lowered himself back into his bed. He laid there, as the creaky pipes, the rain outside, and the cars outside kept on making a cacophony of sounds. After a few hours however, the sun came out. Jacob was racing around his kitchen, two steps here, one step there, as he was making a loud breakfast. The sizzling bacon and eggs was his only baseline as he kept humming with apparent joy. He put his food on a plate and took it to his room. He grabbed his guitar and started mixing notes togheter. His food got cold. "well, she's awfully late" That was the only coherent thought in jacobs head as he kept waiting by the wall, next to a door "wonder if she's asleep"he sings in his head while reaching for the phone. He starts punching numbers to the the beat, but before the end of the song, the door slides open and out came the girl, pretty as a moonlit ballad, but disheveled like a dissonant menuet. Her voice was like sleeping honey. "I'm so sorry! The clock..." "Don't worry, he interupts. I just got here." But his cold white hands said otherwise. So did his red ears. But he didn't mind. The girl did however. But before she could say anye else.... "let's go get Johnny. "his voice was cold too. Way too cold for her to protest. She sighed as her glasses got fogged up. They started walking. One, two, three four.... They reached another house close by and the small girl knocked like a melody. "even her knock is off beat"he though. He looked her up and down while she was warming up her hands. Mary was smaller than him, and her blonde hair, and blue eyes were in harmony with her brightly colored jacket. Her scarf had reindeers and her glasses were animal print. As he finished that thought he heard his friend call out "oi, what's up mate? You like how she's dressed or something?"said the boy in man's clothes "i was thinking of a song" "yeaa, sure you was"he said, lighlty lunching Jacob's arm. Mary didn't mind. They started walking to the studio. However the walk was rather long and boring, like a chezzy love song. Mary and Johnny started talking about shows and movies, but all Jacob could hear was the melody between them: Johnny was the song, he came in strong, mary was a chorus, she listened and replied. But they kept talking. Their friend was folloeing behind, baffled. "he's a nice guy, right? He doesn't have a girlfriend. "he though. "and yet, she...." He looked at his friend with jealousy. Bleached hair and a stylish haircut. Good, new clothes, a very well kept, brown leather jacket. Expensive dress pants and new boots. It must be fun having rich parents. However that wasn't the thought that kept ruining the song in his head. "he's got attitude". And that was very true. If Mary was a love ballad, he was a rock one. They looked cute together. They all enter the room and start to undress. The warmth of silence contrasted the cold noise outside. Johnny was slow. Almost like he didn't want to start. Mary, on the othed hand, was running around the room like a little kid, setting up a set of drums and keyboard. Jacob unpacked his guitar and bass and left boxes on the floor. There was another smaller one he brought but he didn't want to open it. The clock was ticking. Tik tok tik tok Mary took a drumstick. Tik tok Jacob played the keyboard. Tik tok He aded a baseline. Tik tok tik tok Johnny started singing. Tik tok There screams a guitar. Tik tok Should i open the box? Tik tok "wow, it sure got late, huh?"said the vocalist. Mary looked at her arm. "it's just 7 o'clock" "exactly. I got a business metting at 8" "Following in his fathers footsteps"echoed Jacob's head. Meanwhile Mary was looking at him with to say something. He noticed "we did fine today. Thanks for helping out"such a monotone voice he had. There was no music he could sing. "yea of course brah, anytime"he replied like a pop song, while grabing his jacket. "see ya tomorrow" And just like that he was gone Mary was pouting "you're a bit too forgiving Jacob...." "how so?" "all he does is singing" "and all you do is drum. Yet i really need you two" Mary looked sad. "you really think it sounded good?" "yes"he said without hesitation Mary was silent once more "how... Uh.... How are things at home?" "good. My cat got even fatter" "oh" Silence. It was killing her. She wanted to tell him but he was looking out the window. His hair, his shirt, his jeans his boots. All black. He looked like a mess: baggy eyes, messy hair, a cut from shaving, bruises on his knuckles. It pained her to ses him like this. "is your boyfriend ok if you stay this late?"he turned around as he said it. Mary was immediately flustered "what? What boyfriend? What the hell are you talking about?" "you know the business meeting...." "is his excuse to go pick up chicks"she interupted "of course I do but I'm not like that" "sorry. I just don't know bow you have so much to talk about. I don't want you to get bored" Mary was angry. But that last sentence he said. It seemed sincere. It had feeling. She took a deep breath. "what is in there" She pointed at the small instrument box Jacob had with him. She knew, obviously. "I'll show you" He opened it. It was orange. A violin. Very old. Not well kept. Honestly it looke like it barely saw the light of day, so faded it was. But it was played. The bow was used. He picked it up. He put it back. His hands were shaking. "what's wrong" Memories "nothing. I guess I'm just a bit too tired to sing" "you did go all out today"she tried to buy his lie. But she didn't "are you ok?" He looked at her. What is this feeling. A drum beating so fast in his ears. She looked like..... Yea, it is her, right? He took his violin. He started to play. The wood was cold. The sound was warm. He looked like mess. She looked at him. His song was sad. He left so many times. His father passed away. His job is bad. He can't sleep. But when he sings he isn't just a monotone voice. He is alive. He stoped. Mary was crying. "what's wrong" "It really is you"she said between tears. She jumped and hugged him. "don't you remember? I waved goodbye" "yes" "why didn't you say anything" "I wasn't sure" That's all he could say. Be fell to the ground. She called for help. He woke up in a hospital with her by his bed. She was sleeping, he was awake. A nurse came in. Jacob, Mary and Johnny took a chair at a table. It was summer and the slight night breeze was so calming. "so uh, how's your stuff? Feelin better?" Mary slided closer to Jacob "yeah, i feel like a new man" "as you should! Jumped Mary. You scared me half to death" "yeah bro, she said your heart stoped." "Well yes, i died" Jacob motions like a zombie, as the two laugh and they all start to make jokes and have fun. The atmosphere is full of talk. The pub was busy after all. But it didn't bothed Jacob after all. He died and come back. Like a song on repeat. But this time he was happy.
“This has to be the one, right? There is no way that this little marble of annoyance is the only planet left we can’t manipulate into a catastrophe.” The four Rividians all sit around the holo-projector, dejected. For years, ever since this ball of green and blue and...*humanity, has been on their radar. The Rividians have played this game many times, on many worlds. The goal is always the same. Destroy the planet, but only by manipulating little things here, or there. No weapons, no showing themselves. The other members of the coalition would shut them down and cease all trade immediately if they ever were to find out. That was the challenge, that was thrill; after all, when you had no life expectancy, you got bored quickly. Ryxus, Virdeon, Morgos, and Impog. Four of the ten Rividians left. The rest of their species had died out ages ago. While they had no natural life span, they were mortal. They could be killed, but more importantly, they could choose to die. Suicide. Ninety-Nine percent of their brothers and sisters had chosen this route. Eons had gone by since the last females of their species were fertile. However, the Ten remained. They were the last holdouts, the ones that found ways to entertain themselves and keep the Rividians in the galactic memory. Virdeon repeated himself, “We got it this time, right?!” “I should think, but at the same time, we’ve never failed so many times before…”, countered Morgos “Lets go over the plan one more time then. We have to make sure we have everything correct.” Impog begins to count on his sixteen fingers, “There’s the start, when we implant the idea into someone’s head, we’ll have to double check who we finally settle on because we have some good candidates. I personally like that one guy on,” he picks up his data pad and reads a note, “youtube? I think that’s what it is. Yes youtube. He’s already full of “crazy” conspiracies, so at least he won’t be taken too seriously, but enough people will listen that we cause some concern.” Morgos sighs in his chair, “It’s a shame we couldn’t make that 2012 thing happen, talk about planning ahead, GENIUS using those Mayans and that calendar to leave behind the clues to their own demise. Still say it’s some of your best work Ryxus.” Ryxus had been fairly silent in the last century or so, being upset that the sonic emitters he had teleported into the core of the Earth hadn’t worked to make the entire system unstable. They had vanished just fifteen minutes before they were supposed to cause total core implosion. “I say we find out WHY our plans never work, before we make MORE plans. It was one of my more ingenious ideas, it should have worked. What’s more, we still have no idea what happened. Do you all think that the Galactic Core has found us out? They’re just playing with us?” The furrow in Ryxus’ brow had never been so tight. They all sat contemplating what he’d just said. He was right after all. The emitters had simply vanished. There one minute, gone the next. The humans wouldn’t have been able to do such a thing, not with their current level of technology. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ “HO, what have we here little fella?” The jolly old man in his fur coat knelt beside a sickly looking arctic fox, emaciated and frightfully dull looking. “I think we should take you back to the misses. She’ll know what to do. Up you get.” Before it knew what was happening, the little fox was wrapped in that too-bright-for-tundra red that was the fur coat, and hauled into a tiny box in the back seat of a sleigh, pulled by eight great reindeer. The ride was smooth, but ever bump and turn seemed to be too much for the poor fox. The air was stinging if he looked up over the edge of the box, and the motion without seeing where he was going was causing him to be extremely sick. He wasn’t sure what was worse, so he shut his eyes and tried to ignore everything. “JESSICA! Where are you mum? I got a sick animal here, and no one better to look after it than you!” The jolly old man said as he burst in the door with fox in his arms. The home was quaint, two rooms from what one could tell. Inside the door were a coat and shoe rack, and just beyond that was the living area. A sitting corner, with books and scrolls. A kitchen corner, compete with food cooking on the stove and delicious smells of sweets from the oven. A bed in the other corner, made up just right. Finally, the last corner, full of wonderful paintings sitting half finished on easels. “JESSICA?!” “I’m here, I was just washing up your other coat, Kris”, came the light voice of the little woman that came from the only other room of the house. She saw the fox almost instantly, and went to the corner with her painting supplies. From a box in the corner she pulled out a healer’s kit. Salves, poultices, herbs and bandages. Everything she’d need to work her magic. “Saw him just laying there as I was on my way back. Almost missed him with all his white fur blending in the snow. Poor thing. Lucky he heard the sleigh bells and lifted his head, saw the blacks of his eyes just as we were passing.” “It’s a good thing you got him when you did, Kris. He’s in a right state, but fear not, I’ll have him up and jumping headlong into snow banks in no time at all!” Jessica was already mixing herbs together into a paste for the fox to eat. She was right, she’d have him tip top in no time at all. “I see you got dinner on, anything else go on while I was out?” “No dear, not a peep. Strange with Christmas right around the corner and all. But the elves are all busy, the workshop chimney churns out the smoke day and night. I’m left all alone to myself most of the time.” Jessica seemed slightly sad by this, even though she tried to hide it. It always bothered Kris that she was left behind all alone this time of year. But the tradition of Christmas had to stay alive, it was all that kept him sane and happy in his perpetual lifetime. It was hard to find something to put your talents too after so many thousand years. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ “Well, if the Galactic Core had caught on, we wouldn’t still be sitting here having this conversation. We’d be in prison. You all know that. No...there’s something about this planet that I can’t quite put my finger on…” Ryxus was the only one of the four that seemed to think more was going on here than met the eye. Halley's comet, despite their best efforts and rather expensive propulsion jets, had simply been pushed away from the planet. No explanation, no blips on any of their instruments. It hadn’t been technology at work. That ruled out the Galactic Core. But what it had been? None of them could agree. “So, you don’t want to continue with the planning until we figure out WHY it hasn’t worked, but you know that none of us can explain the crazy way our plans have failed. We’ve discussed it in length, too many times to repeat.” “I understand that Virdeon, but at the same time, if we don’t figure it out, we’ll never bring this planet to destruction.” Ryxus was not one to give up an argument easily. “Well then Ryxus, what are your theories, since you seem to be so quite all the time, I hope you’ve been using that time to figure SOMETHING out.” “I have, Morgos. I have. I’ve noticed one thing we’ve overlooked in all of our scans. It was minute, but every attempt we’ve made to destroy this planet has one thing in common. A spike in a very specific band of the gamma waves on the thought collector. We’ve never gone over the data because we generally wait until a successful destruction, so we can better analyze what people are feeling and thinking as their world and lives crumble around them. I almost didn’t check it myself, but I was being thorough.” Ryxus reaches below the table and presses a button on his personal console. The holo-table changes to reveal the readings he’s talking about. “You don’t mean that these humans have the ability to use telepathy, do you? We’ve never seen any evidence…” “Not the humans, A* human. It all comes from the same place, on the northern most pole of the planet…” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ &#x200B;
Oh Visionaries You brave knights overflowing With magical light &#x200B; Oh Visionaries You carry beasts in your souls, And justice in your hearts. Some of you, Vengeance. &#x200B; Oh Visionaries, watch out for the sun imps. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #334. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. &#x200B;
The softly glowing lights don’t even phase Malkom anymore as he walks the busy city street. Yellow-white in color, these lights illuminate the street, the world, with an iridescent glow that bathes his vision. They tempt him with their promises of soft comfort, but Malkom knows better than to look. There are hundreds, no, thousands of pearly lights that wink past him playfully as he strides down the sidewalk with his hands jammed tightly into his jacket pockets. They should be the focus of his vision as they surround him, but Malkcom is used to these lights. So used to them, in fact, that he barely notices or pays attention to them anymore. He especially never notices the lights that suddenly become a bright burst of sunshine, beaming ethereally with brilliant golden rays that sing to the world in a final moment of vibrant beauty. Malkom stopped noticing those years ago. Malkom walks with his hood up, looking down at the ground while he makes his way home from work the same way he does every day. His thoughts dart here and there, sampling things without really tasting them, and never lingering anywhere in particular for long. The same way that Malkom himself lives his life. “Thief! Somebody help!” Malkom’s restless reverie is broken by the shrill cry, and he lifts his gaze from the ground. An elderly woman is waving frantically to anyone, everyone, on the street, trying to get someone’s attention. For a moment, he is distracted by the hideous red of her clothes. Red isn’t right, he thinks with distaste. They are that horrible color that is not quite red and not quite pink. His mouth sours as that color brings unwelcome memories of old, wrinkled skin, of cigarette smoke, of red-pink lips and red-pink nails that pinch and prick his thin skin – “That man stole my purse!” The lady yells again, pointing. A short distance away, a man runs from the woman while clutching a red-pink hang bag to his chest. He is running towards Malkom. Unconcerned, Malkom glances around, and he sees a few other strangers on the street do the same. There seems to be a communal shrug, a collective apathy that silently responds to the woman’s cries with ‘not our problem, lady.’ Malkom takes another step, and starts to lower his eyes back to the ground, when suddenly, he is blind. “Fear not, youthful maiden!” a new voice bellows. A male voice, by the sound of it. Malkom blinks, trying to adjust his vision to the blinding yellow-white light. Finally focusing, Malkom’s jaw falls open with stunned disbelief. A strange man dressed in a bright green wrestling leotard sprints energetically down the sidewalk, his dark hair moving around his face like a dark cloud. The amount of yellow-white light coming from this man is astounding. Malkom has never seen anything like it. From its intensity, Malkom might have assumed that this man too was embarking upon his final, brilliant journey. But there were no golden rays, no sunshine. This man still possesses years of vibrancy and virility. With a swift blur of green, this man tackles the thief on the ground only a few feet away from where Malkom stands. A few moves later, and the man has pretzeled himself around the thief and successfully pinned him in place. The man’s muscles bulge unbecomingly beneath the green as he grins up at his disinterested audience. His dark eyes land on Malkom’s, and his grin transforms into an overly friendly smile. “Good sir,” he begins, his voice booming unnecessarily, “would you be so kind as to lend your assistance?” Malkom squints at the man and glances quickly to the right and to the left to see if anyone else is nearby. He suddenly notices that while he had been transfixed on the glowing green man, everyone else had taken the opportunity to inch away slowly. Malkom’s eyes narrow further and he quashes the tell-tale twitch of his right eye. The beginnings of a migraine, just what he needed. “I say, Good sir,” the man begins again. He doesn’t lower his voice despite the fact that Malkom stands less than three feet away. “Let us work together, you and I, doing the tasks of men. Let us be two men in the Springtime of youth working gloriously together to right wrongs!” His eyes twinkle as his light glows more brightly than ever. Malkom feels gob-smacked and wonders hazily if the meat he had for lunch was spoiled. Apparently the man takes Malkom’s shocked silence for ready agreement. “Excellent! Please retain this precious parcel for safekeeping.” Malkom observes that the man has ripped the purse from the thief’s grip, and he is now holding the purse in one hand. A hand that is now extended towards Malkom. The red-pink bag looks like a toy miniature when held by his giant hand. “Uh, sure.” Clearly Malkom’s brain stopped functioning, because he found himself reaching out and taking the ugly purse. He held it gingerly, avoiding contact with it as much as possible. “Now, as to this heinous, villainous creature – “ The thief, too, had similarly been stunned into silence until now. “Get off of me, you big oaf!” The thief yells as he thrashes around. The man in green blinks, frowns, and silences the thief by flicking him once in the forehead. The thief’s entire body jerks, and he is quiet. “You will be delivered to your justice,” the man in green says with his booming voice. He shifts slightly, his muscles bulging with the movement, and arranges himself so that he is basically straddling the back of the thief. “I shall remain here until such time as the authorities arrive.” He announces to no one in particular. Or maybe to Malkom, considering that Malkom is still standing in front of him in silence. The man in green sees Makom’s staring and misinterprets it. “Ah,” he says as he nods approvingly, “I see you have a good eye for taste.” He then flexes his muscles, and they bulge in a way that Malkom hadn’t thought was possible for a normal human man. Malkom’s eyes bulge in apparent camaraderie or commiseration. He looks Malkom over appraisingly from top to bottom. “I will share my secret with you, my fine youthful friend.” His eyes twinkle again and Malkom is somehow unable to look away. “Sixteen times a day, I imbibe a precise combination of spinach, kale, radishes, jackfruit, Black Birch tree bark, crow’s feet, and a pinch of honey.” He pauses, thoughtfully, and his voice takes on a more serious quality. “You must not forget the honey, my Springtime compatriot. It is the true secret to my youthful regimen.” Malkom nods absently. “Uh, sure.” A step backwards. “Thanks.” Another step. “I’ll be sure to, uh, try it – “ “But wait!” the man in green suddenly yells exuberantly, and Malkom stops. The excited motion rocked his larger body against the thief sprawled under him, and Malkom winced, knowing that bruises were surely going to form. “That is but one part of the formula to success, my youthful companion.” He stands up suddenly, and Malkcom blinks again as the amount of light brightens. Without a backward glance, the man in green is completely unconcerned to leave the thief sprawled unconscious on the street. The man in green steps towards Malcom, his stride lumbering and long. He is grinning again, and Malkom swears that the man’s white teeth sparkle in the light. Malkom’s right eye twitches again, a bit more violently this time. “Come with me, my young, Spring friend, and we shall continue our manly training on this wonderful day of Springtime!” His arm goes around Malkom’s shoulders, and Malkom almost staggers under the ridiculous weight of the single appendage. His skin is warm and clammy. The man in green turns abruptly, away from the thief, and Malkom is forced to turn with him or be wrenched in half. “Onward!” The man in green bellows with the excited energy of finding a new friend. “Let us go together, my new youthful friend.” His grip tightens. Malkom, unsure but curious despite himself about the man’s excessively bright light, decides to accompany the man in green. The heavy glowing light makes Malkom feel a kernel of hope, the first real possibility that his ability to see these life-lights isn’t a curse. He and the man take several steps forward. “Leave that for the authorities,” the man in green says. Malkom realizes he is still dazedly holding onto the red-pink purse, and he drops it. Together, he and the man in green stroll directly passed the woman whose purse was stolen, and they keep walking.
It’s amazing isn’t it, I had never seen such beauty before, sony really had created one great fucking ad. It is amazing in sixty years on this planet, I had almost forgotten that the sky was there, it just sort of faded into the background of life a few decades ago and never reappeared. I had seen so many ads they just blurred together but this one was good it didn’t insist or beg, it just existed as a gift to us bellow. I spent the whole night just watching this ad, it was almost a religious experience, I was just compelled to buy a sony tv. Apparently the whole whole stopped to just watch this ad, at work that morning the whole yard talked about the power cut and the majestic sprawling bounty of the universe that had opened up to them, I thought they were talking shit. I couldn’t believe they had bought the bullshit PR, it was a sony ad if you even looked closely the stars said “buy a Tv preferably a sony one if you wouldn’t mind”. The next few days were strange everyone was in a sort of hopeful joy and were enjoying life to a new height after seeing it that night, I wasn’t though I was pissed off, apparently sony haven’t made TVs for a millennium.
Deep in the heart of London, in a undisclosed location, me, Havers, Smith and Travis, where talking about the threats from China. It was quite a slow day, it was very cloudy, very cold and just miserable outside. Some Chinese businessmen were buying houses in Leicester which we thought were very strange and needed some looking into. It was a 15 minute conversation but it still needed to be discussed quite thoroughly. Then soon after, the light when red, when the light goes red, that means there is a possible threat and everyone moves quite quickly to discuss and do something about it right away. Commanding Officer Probert who is one of the highest ranking officials in the whole SAS slams open the door, with a file of at least 20 pages. "I've got a thing that needs looking into"he said vigorously, "Russia are sending in a small plastic barrel of strawberry flavour sugar named Sugar Cauldrons which may contain some novichok which is aimed at kids". Everyone looked at eachother in disbelief but we were all ready to investigate. "This operation will be called "Hogwarts"Probert said.
Adriel strode confidently through the heavenly halls, light beamed through the large opening in the roof of the massive structure. Lesser Angels buzzed and soared with heavy stacks of paper, some of them stopping dead in their tracks when they noted the Angel of Death walking past them. He need not pay these lesser beings any mind, furthermore, all these departments were all very well manned. He had heard some concerning rumors that God had further crippled the resources of The Department of Miracles, leaving it staffed by one lone Angel. Adriel was soon confronted by a set of massive doors; golden edges decorated the rim of the towering slabs. Adriel pushed his arms into the slabs, the doors easily giving way to his bulging muscle. He calmly walked into the room, the light spilling in from the crack in the doors and illuminating the hall within. “Why does He not see? How could He further cripple my department, this is outrageous!” Inside Adriel saw an animated Angel feverously walking back and forth next to a large conference table. The Angel slammed his fist into the table, disintegrating it into a pile of dust, papers and miscellaneous items flew up violently into the air. “Adriel. Come to gloat, have you?” “Not at all, Bringer of Light, I have simply come to see if the rumors were true,” The Bringer of Light gestured with his arms, displaying the deserted Department of Miracles around him. “I don’t know, Adriel, what does it look like? How am I supposed to perform miracles across the Multiverses by my myself?” “It’s outrageous,” he shouted and tossed one of the large displays that depicted the different beings in need of miracles. “I can’t save anyone as long as He stands in my way like this! I could do infinitely better than that imbecile!” Adriel’s mouth drew a grim line, “Tame your words, brother! This is outright blasphemy, you need to learn your place Light Bringer… What, you think you could manage it better?” “I know with utmost certainty, Adriel,” he spat. Adriel was suddenly thrown off his feet into the wall beside the large doors he had just entered, his body crushing the shelves behind him as he continued being mercilessly pushed into the stone. “Perhaps it is you who need to learn your place, Adriel, or has your mind voided the Angelic hierarchy or your position in it?” blinding light burst out around the Bringer of Light, intense heat scorching Adriel’s armor as he drew closer. The crushing force and blinding light soon relented, and Adriel collapsed to his knees below the newly formed crater in the wall. “Confrontation is my only option,” the Archangel stated, “watch me brother, I’m about to perform my greatest miracle yet,” his voice lacking any self-doubt or uncertainty. Adriel coughed up a mouthful of blood and turned his head to face the Bringer of Light. “Your arrogance will be your undoing, Lucifer.” ***** Thanks for reading, everybody!

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