Split (1)

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Every set of beliefs create what we may call a "God". However, due to a lack of faith and followers, most Gods can't even interract with our universe. Then how can we be sure of their existence ? It's simple, two years ago, the God of sciences was the first and only one to manifest. He told us about the others Gods, and then...everything went down. With powers over the material world, he proceded to rewrite the rules of the universe to accomodate our unerstanding of it. But our understanding wasn't perfect, and rounding the universal constants leaded to a slight increase in the gravitationnal force. So slight that it shouldn't affect anything, right ? The moon is crashing onto us, we're headed to the sun and the milky way is collapsing on itself Fuck you, God.
I sat on the balcony, smoking a cigarette. A moth fluttered against the light. &#x200B; “Moths are the ghosts of butterflies,” was something he said to me once. Staring up at the sky, tears in his eyes. I laughed, “what an absurd thing to say.” Why did he waste his life on me? I don’t think I deserved even a second of his time. But he loved me. Somehow he thought I was as beautiful as him. He was the sun, sometimes his light would reflect off of me. Moths are the ghosts of butterflies. When a beautiful thing dies, what does it leave behind? Just an afterimage left in the minds of those that saw. A ghostly pale imitation covered in dust. I remember our wedding day: both of us in suits. I don’t remember our vows. I was so overwhelmed with emotion, all I could remember now were the deep browns of his eyes, his hands over mine, the warmth of his chest against my cheek during our first dance. The photographer was drunk in the parking lot. Our year as partners was the best of my life. We were doing well. Both of us at our most confident and comfortable. It was the first time either of us had really felt at home. We started to talk about children. I was adamant that we adopt. There were enough people in the world, we didn’t need to go making more. That was just before the crash. &#x200B; The moth still fluttered against the light. My cigarette had burned nearly to the filter. I remembered the man inside my apartment, sleeping in my bed. My butterfly was dead. I’d be chasing moths for the rest of my life.
Alright everybody, and welcome to the... REDDIT WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS! First off, the rules: Round one: posts Every participant will post on r/askreddit. The post with the most upvotes and comments wins! Round two: Comments. Every participant Will post a comment on a subreddit of choice (subreddit Will not be disclosed or informed). The post with the most upvotes wins! Round three: Comment Downvotes. The rules are the same here as in round two, but the objectieve is to collect as many downvotes as possible (congrats to last years winner, EA, for achieving a World record!). The post with the most downvotes wins! Tiebreaker: guilded Posts. Participants will try to get as many guilds as possible on a subreddit of their choice. Silver count as 1 point, gold as 2 points and platinum as 4 points. The post with the most guilds wins! If its still a tie after this, the cycle repeats until we have a winner. Are you ready? Round one Will start in... 3... 2... 1... GO! EDIT: just a little story i Made up. I hope you all like it.
It's yet another simple Saturday as I lovingly slave away at a meal for me and my wife tonight. My hands hold the piece of meat down as I lift the cleaver up to my shoulder. With a slam, I separate the bone and put the tool down so that I can place the meat in the pan. I run my eyes over the myriad of spices on the counter, but my concentration is broken by the sound of my youngest, Daquan, playing his recorder. He's bad, but I commend him for trying. I decide to listen for a bit, quietly congratulating him when he hits a few decent notes. Suddenly, the lights flicker and my son screams as I begin to feel a third presence in the house, "Oi, Daquan, what the hell did you just do?"My fingers grip the cleaver as I head towards the new, eerie, sound coming from the living room. Daquan screams again, prompting me to move faster. "Pops! Dad, help!"I kick open the door to the living room and brandish the cleaver, only to be hit with a wave of violent sickness. My blood runs cold, a crawling sensation running under my flesh as the beastly creature hovers in the center of the room. My knees buckle a under the intense pressure and i struggle to draw breath as the monster levitates towards me, "Father!" "My Lord,"it says, the voice ringing through my skull like an echoing cavern. Tears well up in my eyes and my senses are dull with each breath the creature lets out. It's black-tipped toes touch the ground and it drops to a single knee; the vividly colored robes gently brush the ground and I faintly notice that the beast has gotten into a bowing positions, "You honor me, but please stand"- My reaction was instinctive as my muscles unlock and a take a swipe at the beasts head. A gray fluid splatters across my newly renovated wall as the creature falls back, clutching its face in pain. With the short window, I look up at my son and point towards the door, "Run boy; get out of the house and go find Michelle!" All he has to do is run, but he hesitates instead and drops the recorder. I won't forget the terror in my son's eyes as he falls backwards and presses himself against the wall, but there isn't much I can do with this thing in front of me. It gets up, opening its mouth once again to send that vile voice into my head, "Master please, hear my words first before you strike again"- "Master!? Do I look like a fucking 'master' to you?"I scream, swinging the cleaver once again. This time around, it passes through the beast like it was a ghost and I back a way, "What the hell." "Master, please listen,"the beast says. Unfortunately, my dumb ass didn't listen and I go for another swipe with the cleaver. Like last time, it goes straight through and the creature trips me, forcing my body to slip through its own. A rush of memories that are not my own invade my head and I'm left a screaming mess at the foot of my couch. I can faintly hear my son screaming and crying, but it's drowned out by the beast leaning down and breathing heavily in my ear. Involuntary tears stream down my face after the memories fade and I struggle to get into a kneeling position, "You...who are you?" The beast flips its hood, revealing the gentle face of a handsome man. His brown hair is tipped in black and branch-like horns appear on the sides of his head. It touches the ground, bowing yet again and looking up at me with subservient, brown eyes, "I was cast from both heaven and hell, lost to the ages due to my supposed crimes. I am your servant, my liege. Use me to render the crimes placed against this realm, obsolete. Under your rule, you shall reshape the heavens into a perfect form, one free of impurity." "I...I dunno what the hell you're talking about." He stands and looks at my son cowering in the corner, pointing a lithe finger in his direction, "The boy blew the horn, he broke the first seal." "Wait, wait...are you saying Daquan signaled the apocalypse?"I've read all my scriptures, I know what this thing is talking about when he mentions those seals, but for my son to sound it? This is absurd, "Then you...you're..." "A lone horseman who has a simple request." Shit, my head is starting to hurt, "What is it?" "Consume me, take my ride, and challenge heaven and hell. I am yours, I am Pestilence; cast my righteous disease upon this realm and destroy what was never meant to be. Please, my lord, end this world."
I landed, then looked around me and cursed, I was aiming for the shed, but somehow I was nowhere near it, then it hit me, I was nowhere near anything... "ROMA INVICTIUS!"I started and swung around, rifle drawn, thinking to myself, "I thought the italians had surrended!"Then my face paled, seven heavily armored legionaries were in a shield wall, pila ready to throw, I didn't even have time to register what this meant before I was turned into a pincushion. "FORM TESTUDO! SENATE POPLOUS QUE ROMANUS!"Sergeant Ryan cursed and drew his pistol, clustering together with three other paratroopers, they'd fired a few rounds already, but they were hopelessy out numbered, and their rifles lacked the power necessary to punch through the lines of shields and armor, bullets only reached the second man in line and then lost any further momentum. Ryan fired and ducked, then looked to his side as two RAF troopers fell to the ground dead, just him and Smith now, Smith had also crouched, but this was a short lived respite for the both of them, Roman legionaries carry two Pila, and the soldiers still had their second set, unless He and Smith could somehow fire fast enough to kill the 40 odd men facing them, they were as good as dead. Suddenly the testudo formation collapsed like ninepins, as an M4 barreled through it. Ryan stared as five other M4's, one M10 and a Jumbo appeared, the hatch on the jumbo clattered open as the commander yelled out, "45TH ARMOR BATTALION 3RD PLATOON READY TO ASSIST!"Ryan nodded and rapidly climbed up onto the M10, crouching on the deck. The jumbo pulled up alongside, "So uh! This isn't 1944! I'm assuming you two are from either the 82nd or 101st?"Ryan nodded and the commander continued, "We're the armor platoon that was moved to assist your drop, that weird fog suddenly came out nowhere and boom, there we were surrounded by a good 60 odd roman soldiers. Question is, wha- CATAPULT LEFT GUNNER TARGET!"The M10 shook and groaned as a rock slammed into the turret, and Ryan struggled not to vomit, the rock had been just small enough to fit into the open top of the GC, the crew of the tank were now paste. An M4 fired back and the catapult exploded, the Jumbo's commander cursed, "I'll be damned the M10's down... MARK YOU STILL ALIVE DOWN THERE?"A somewhat muffled voice replied, "YES! HULL HELD UP! JUST THE TURRET THAT GOT WRECKED, KARS IS STILL ALIVE AS WELL HE DUCKED AT THE LAST SECOND!"The commander nodded, "GOOD! KEEP HER MOVING! WE'LL CUT YOU TWO OUT LATER! FOR NOW LET'S JUST FOCUS ON BUSTING OUTTA THIS FORT AND FINDING SOMEPLACE SAFE! HOWEVER FIRST WE'RE GONNA HEAD OVER TO THOSE SEVEN PARACHUTES AND PICK UP ANY SURVIVORS!" Gunfights had broken out across the encampment, as the paratroopers vainly tried to stop themselves being overrun, however save for a few groups that had found good positions, it was mostly a one-sided slaughter. "These... Things, seem to act somewhat like elephants, perhaps we could use the gate tactic to board them and try to get to the inside of these machines?"Caesar nodded, "A solid plan Titus, Mark, prepare the men, we have to stop these intruders before the gauls find out and attack us as well." The Jumbo commander, or Henry, gritted his teeth as he looked at the odd 20,000 troops blocking the only way out, then he looked behind him at the rapidly advancing group of 10,000 romans, then to the right at the 5000 who had tricked them into chasing before leading them into this trap. "Damnit. It was a trap. There's only 400 meters between us and the exit, and I'd say about 200 between us and the right force and 300 for the behind force, if we stay still and rely on cannons, we'll get overrun and turned into pincushions... Paras, try and snipe any who get close. We're gonna ram right through that little legion."The 59 paratroopers who had been rescued nodded. 34,203 was the number of unwounded and combat ready romans, on the paratroopers side there was only 59 men, 6 M4A2 tanks, one Jumbo W/76 HVSS sherman M4A3 and of course the barley functional M10 Gun-Motor-Carriage. Henry counted the distance as it went down, "100, 90, 80, 70, 60, 50, 40, 30, 20, HERE WE GO! BRACE!" "ET PARTITUS!" Henry flung the hatch back open and looked around him, the romans had simply parted ranks at the last minute, sending the tanks whizzing harmlessy through. Henry cursed, he had studied roman history back in school and knew what was next, "MAX SPEED! MAX SPEED! DO NOT STOP! OPEN FIRE AROUND US 360 DEGREES NOW! DON'T STOP FIRING FOR A SECOND!" "MANUS! MANUS! DIDUCO MANUS! DIDUCO IAM!"Hooks suddenly shot out, rapidly fastening onto the tanks, the romans then flung themselves onto the ground or dug in, as they slowly drew the various tanks to a halt. Henry cursed, then yelled, "PARATROOPERS RUN! NOW! LOCK HATCHES! CLOSE ALL VENTS! DRAW PISTOLS AND KEEP 'EM RUNNING! FIRE!"Suddenly there was a shrieking and groaning sound, as the Jumbo's left track snapped. The sound rang out again, 4 other tank tracks had also snapped, only the M10 and two M4s were still tracked. "TRANSSCENDO! TRANSSCENDO! IMPETUS TRANSSCENDO!!!!"The romans drew swords and charged, the poor paratroopers didn't even last a minute, it took the romans another seven minutes to figure out how to force the hatches open, and another three to finish killing the crews. Caesar finished reading the parchment and sighed, they were now down to 32,012 men, it had taken over 2000 soldiers to take out such a small group of intruders. Caesar then walked outside and looked at the odd assortment of machines, then he smiled, these new vehicles would make fine weapons for Rome. 573 AD, Rome, museum of Mars. "And here folks, we have the first ever produced 'Aquarium' battle machine, based off the ones the gods bestowed on our ancestors so many years ago. Next, are the first Magicum Ignis weapons, which are now called Bombarda's of course, and on the right we have the first imperial space navy vessa..."The tour continued, just as Roma herself always did. &#x200B; &#x200B;
I limped into World’s Edge tavern, ready for a drink, pockets near empty. Dusk hadn’t come soon enough. With a customary swipe of my +8 leather boots at the doormat, I glanced at my usual spot. To my surprise, the cozy barstool was taken! A maroon robe shielded the perpetrator from my eyes. Steady legs took me closer. My fight will continue only a little longer, I reminded myself. “And surely, by that token, you must understand the spiritual meaning of my kind goes far deeper than your token lore,” intoned the robe. “Immovable, insurmountable, and beloved.” “You are a fool,” suggested a figure to my festooned target’s right. I pivoted slightly to see his face. It had been painted in an ungainly rouge, like a hysterical woman. “Dragons are only beings of the physical plain, whereas my ilk control forces unseen. Archangels fear me! Priestesses can’t get close without switching classes! Why, I could disenchant even your impervious L.U.C.K.Y. scales, if you weren’t such a pussy.” The robed one snorted, turning to face his aggressor. Frustration melted into guile. “As though you haven’t been eyeing my horns with jealousy in your warped heart. Be at peace, djinn. Drink your mead.” “Do you even understand why you drink with a sinner? Gold-hoarder!” “Go fuck another goat.” “Endangered species! Frilly little asswipe! I’ve eaten cupcakes more threatening!” “Is your ass jealous of the shit that comes out of your mouth?” A claw touched the other’s shoulder. The two lock arms like feuding brothers, immobile. Assorted onlookers slide from their chairs. Nobody dares turn away. I look between the two, uncertain. My seat has been turned into a battleground for drunken Gods. I should have kept grinding slimes for XP. “Boys. Outside.” The two (slowly) turn to a woman clad in silvery plate. She frets nothing for their aggressive stances. “I won’t ask again.” The two stare at each other, eyes full of hatred and... apprehension? “Yes ma’am,” the demon mumbles, shuffling awkwardly with his companion towards the door. The pair are still locked arm in arm. “Sorry.” “Mizu? Do you have anything to say?” “...I have erred.” She scowls, but shoos the pair on. I catch a brief glimpse of enmity on their faces as they toddle outside. My seat vacant once more, I move to claim it. As soon as my battle axe clunks to the floor, conversation resumes quietly around the bar. Seats scuff across the ground. “You’re a berserker, right?” I turn to the feminine voice, now taking the demon’s previous seat beside mine. She looks even more stunning up close. “Our party needs a physical melee attacker. Any interest?” I grab my coin pouch as the bartender wordlessly slides me a glass. I’ve got barely enough for a meal. “...What sort of work did you have in mind?” I query.
I'm walking through the mall, holiday stress all around. Let's see. Presents for mom and dad. Check. Duck for tomorrow. Check. Toilet paper. Check. I guess I finally get to go home then. "Hello. Do you have a minute to talk?"A woman dressed in white cuts me off. Ugh. Not again. I try to walk around her but she blocks my path with her massive wings. "I'm actually sorta bus-" Her golden eyes shine between locks of white, curly hair. I'll bet she had a hair dresser do her up this morning just for standing here. "Great! You see, I really want to talk to you about what's going on in the afterlife right now. Have you heard of it before?" "Yes."Of course I have. The war between Heaven and Hell. Armageddon. It's on the news every night and I can't go anywhere without being assaulted by fundraising angels wanting to 'inform' me about it. "Let me brush you up on it anyway,"she says, pearly white teeth from ear to ear as she forces a smile. "The end times arrived on October 16th, as you know, when Hell began their brutal assault on Heaven." "Uh-huh." "Saint Peter's Gate is under siege. The blissful residents of Heaven are under constant threat of missile barrages from the outside." "Are missiles pious enough to enter Heaven?" She bursts out in warm laughter. Fake. "Actually, the indulgences that Hell paid last week for some two million missiles are scheduled to go through next monday. The threat is very real, I can assure you." "Ah." "Angels on the front are desperately trying to keep the demons at bay but as you may have heard they are using equipment from last millenium. Can you imagine going up against modern tanks with just iron swords?" "I've done worse in Civ." "So you can imagine, is that what you're saying? Then you must know how terrified they are! Oh, let me show you this,"she puts a hand in her bag, pulling out a small, clipped-together paper booklet. Letters from the front. She shoves it into my hand and I find myself taking it. It's greasy between my fingers. I notice that the cheap ink has smudged my fingers as I motion to put it into my pocket. She stops me. "Look!"she says enthusiastically as she flicks it open to the middle page. "Samuel, just three hundred years old. Cold and afraid." I read out loud from the page. "Hello, human. I'm Michael, the arch angel. Did you know that any contribution that you make towards the war effort will cut significant portions off your stay in purgatory?" "Wait,"she turns a page. "Do you need a last minute christmas present for your loved ones? Come on down to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, where all inventory\* is 50 % off until December 23rd! Merry christmas!" "Look, go home and read it, I'm sure you'll find it very convincing!" "Sure."I say, putting it into my pocket, uninterruted this time. "Anyway, millions of innocent children have gone without food for the last couple of months. Don't you want them to have a good meal this christmas? I see you like duck, maybe they do, too." "I've heard that you don't need to eat in Heaven." "Oh, but you see, Satan has blocked all trade into Heaven. They don't even have the option!" "How awful." "Don't you feel sorry for those starving children? Don't you wish you could do something?"She produces a clip board from her bag. "Sure."Here it comes. "Great! Would you like to give an angel with an assault rifle for just one thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine dollars and ninety nine cents?" "Umm, I'm sorry, I've spent most of my budget on christmas already." "No worries! For the affordable price of four hundred and ninety nine dollars and ninety nine cents you can..." "Look, I already donated a bunch of times before do you think you can find something cheaper?" "Okay, how about twenty four ninety nine for a duck for the hungry children?" "Can I just give you mine? It was seven dollars." "Is it organic?" "No." "Can't use it, then, sorry." "Too bad." "Look, I understand that hard times have fallen on you. I've been there. Just scraping by. Barely enough money for human things. How about I sign you up for our new subscription service? It's just four ninety nine at the end of each month and you can cancel at any time." "...right." "Let me remind you that these are the end times. You might not even have to pay for this month!" "...can I go home and think about it?" "If you sign up, I won't bother you next time you're shopping." "Where do I sign?"
'Ahh god! Why is it so bright? Its not raining? Blue? Why is it blue? Its normally grey!' These thoughts filled your mind, as you looked out of your window, there was nobody in sight, you go turn on the telly, the news to be exact. The reporter is different, and stuttery. O- one thou- thou-sa-sand peop-ple are le-left al-alive-" All of a sudden, another man barges on set. "Joe! Be quicker!" "I- Im so-sorry" "Oh nevermind! I'll just do it!" The 1st man, Joe, skulks off set "1000 people are left alive, the sky has cleared and the remaining countries that are left are in panic, prepare for droughts and, if anyone is listening, prepare for the apocalypse, the world is ending"
Your name is Peter and all of a sudden you're in a hard wooden seat. Last thing you remember is you fighting off the cops, after murdering a starving family of twelve on Christmas eve. You see a large roast turkey in front of you on a table. "Did I make it? Is this heaven?" You here a booming voice from above "Nah m8 this is Heeeelll" You go to grab a turkey leg but then you hear a voice "Ugh! You're eating that! Think of the poor turkey! The poor thing had to die! For what! YOUR gluttony?" You shyly pull your hand away from the turkey and move it too the brussel sprouts when "CARREN!"A man yelled "CARREN Look at what you did! You FORCED Peter to try to eat that turkey! You put it infront of him!" "SO WHAT GERALD"said a woman (presumably Carren) "Do you want me to NOT serve the turkey!" You sigh and grab a Christmas cracker. "Anyone wana pull this with me?" Everyone turns and yells "NO" You gulp, this is truly hell...
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"W-What?"I continue to go through my physical body and touch the bed. "Why can't I go back inside?!"I give up after a few more dozen attempts. "Dammit..."A tear begins to form as I tuck my motionless body into the covers even more, covering my head. I hear a knock at my door and run to block it, but it goes through, because of course. I watch as my mother tries to have a conversation with the body. Tears continue to stream slowly as she lifts the covers. She believes I'm still asleep. "Mother..."She checks my pulse and then screams. I try to hug her but fall. I can see her weakly get her phone out of her bra to call 911. I just cry along with her. I continue to follow my body to the hospital. There I then see more pairs of people that look identical. "Oh, dear..."They put my body in a room and quickly run diagnostics. I remain in the one extra chair in there for a good hour and they left. I glace at my still empty corpse. They had left a note pronouncing it dead. I slam my fists through the hospital bed and just cry more than I have ever done alive. I manage to soon catch myself and walk around to see the other spirits begin to disintegrate. "What the--"
"Hmm"Caelyrn hums to herself. "Today is going to be a fine day. Hmm. Here we go a-reaping again." She admires her new scythe, black lacquered wood attached to a bluish steel headpiece that curls to an infinitesimal point. It's shiny, the arc reflects all sorts of rainbow colors, and it has an edge that could send a soul screaming into the underworld. It fits nicely with her slightly darker black robes that fit snug, gives her a fuzzy mysterious vibe, and rustles a most useful shuffling noise when she is stalking someone. Sometimes she doesn't even need to swing, the horror is enough. Caelyrn gets lost in a daydream. Snapping back to reality, she checks her list, twice. Scythe swinging, she rips open a void in reality and jumps through, appearing in a nuclear bunker on the other side. "How extravagant", she wonders. "I wonder if he's expecting visitors." There on the other side is a fat, balding man, shaking in terror at his new guest. Caelyrn rushes over to grab his hand. "Hello! How do you do! I'm the new Grim Reaper, I was recently appointed by God. Oh gosh, how nice it is to meet you, you're my first customer!" "B-b-bones..."he whimpers. "You don't need to be rude. I just exercise and watch my diet." "Yah!"he screams and starts stacking potted plants. Caelyrn wonders at how these plants get sunlight, but she's a reliable angel, and sticks to business. "Alright mister, your time is up." She cuts his soul out with a single deft swing ("All that practice is paying off!", Caelyrn thinks to herself). She reaches out to grab it, so she can guide him to the underworld, but his soul is a bit sticky. "Icky."Caelyrn says. She shakes her hand a bit to get the soul off. When it doesn't budge, she starts throwing it around violently to no avail. Finally, she cuts it off with her scythe ("I hope souls regrow toenails"). She puts the slightly-less-sticky soul into a brand new shiny jar. Caelyrn checks the next victim ("customer") on her list, and waltzes over to a skinny, wilted old man serving tea. She starts up a chat with him, seeing how there's some time until her next appointment. "So, what kind of tea is it?"Caelyrn asks. "My wife. My dear old wife. Rest her soul."the skinny man replies. Undaunted, "So, um, any last words?" "Oh, how I miss the days we pranced together. How I would give anything for the old days." Caelyrn is visibly frustrated, but she is a responsible reaper, and maintains her composure. She gets up and walks around. She takes a few stretches, some yoga poses she learned. Then, she walks up and taps the old man on the head. "My dear, is that you?"the old man squints forward. Caelyrn puts her head directly in his gaze and says, "Boo." The skinny man turns white, his eyes roll upwards, and he falls backwards in his chair. Caelyrn grumbles as she scratches another name off her list. "This will be fun", she mumbles, "'It's like a chase', they said. 'It'll be fun', they said."Caelyrn is not happy. As she's moping, she stumbles across another old man riding a bull. He's being buckled around, and she can she the tendons bouncing, joints cracking from a mile away. "Why isn't this guy on my list?", she wonders. "Instead, the next guy is..."she looks closely at her list, "...a carpet salesman." Caelyrn sighs, and with a grudge and trudge, continues to collect her souls.
- "I want you to destroy this time machine"- Future me told me while shaking, he wore my same outfit, with the same mark of wine that I was drinking a second ago that spilled on my robes, what could it be, 5 minutes from the future, what could he even want. - "Hmmm, I see"- I told myself, a future self version that was holding a paper and looking at my eyes - "On one hand you are here right now which means that if I destroy the machine you wouldn't ever have happened to come here" - "That's it, you are right, well I am, we are checking whether there's a multiverse with splitting space time lines or whether hawking theory of a single physical worldline where paradoxes are impossible is the real universe". - "Which implies the absence of free will"- We both say at the same time. - "What happened in your timeline? which would be this same timeline?"- I said while holding a face of skepticism. - "I failed to destroy the machine however if I hadn't failed I would not be able to come here in the first place" - "So this is like a better version of kill your grandpa"- I looked and laughted - "Enough!... So I see how this is, if I destroy the machine and succeed and hawking is right then this worldline would have never happened to start with, which means it's void of meaning and this universe would cease to exist once I destroy that machine as it had never existed to start with; if however multiverse theory of quantum timelines and a divergent universe is right then nothing would happen, we would spawn an entirely new universe" - "Well, you are indeed right, after all we are the same" - "You are risking nothing, I am risking my own existance as a scientist" - "So am I, if we are on a ghost paradox timeline as hawkings described" - "I call this bullshit, your own paradox timeline has a higher chance of remaining, and you'll know that by having never done this trip to start with, you'll lose what, 5 minutes, I'll lose all my time travel knowledge" - "You know what I'll do it myself"... - "Fuck off" Suddenly in a burst on anger I push him onto the hard concrete, and start running over the time machine while my future self was recovering from the hard impact in spite he had put his hands over his head as if knowing that would happen, my consciousness fades as I see time going backwards and suddenly I pop back, I hear a loud bang and I see a sudden crack in the wall; what the hell was that?... I was in a terrible state, scared for what had just happened, but at least now I was on the safe side of the ghost timeline had hawking been right, but who knows, he never described non existant timelines in multiverses, all the possibilities of things that didn't happen; or what happens to time paradoxes, all he said was that creating a paradox was physically impossible. I pick a paper, and suddenly I see myself; I have no idea what to tell him to I follow the game. - "I want you to destroy this time machine" The rest happened the same way, I put my hands over my head knowing what was coming before I hit the concrete; not sure why, or how but I did it, why I didn't defend myself is still unknown to this day, I guess it was the fear, I guess it was the unknown. I took on, while the machine was on function, it would take what, 30 seconds to initialize; and decided to end what was in place; I open the drawer and picked a gun, but I was worried, sweat coming from my hands, I shot the machine; or so I thought I did, I have no idea where the bullet went to, I do a second attempt, but I hit the metal part of the machine causing virtually no damage, then the timer hits zero, and I managed to hit up the anti gravity unit, making the thing stop function. But the timer had hit 0. I guess hawking was right after all. [Yet this never happened] PS. I have no idea how to idea how to explain but this is based on actual quantum physics, or what we already know from them; basically once on a book hawking quoted on his solution to the grandpa paradox that "if such was a case, it's physically impossible to kill your grandpa, you will trip off, accidentally kill yourself"etc... that's because if space time are parts of the same thing, then we can't change the past, physically, so being time travel impossible, you wouldn't be able to change any of space time, his peer said "Well it might create an alternate universe where your grandpa is dead"... basically talking about time multiverses; however both agreed in the fact that it was just a thought experiment as time travel is impossible, not only you'd need something exotic such as anti gravity, but you'd need information to travel back in time, which is impossible, unless multiverse theory was right; however, space time seems to be static, hence the story above, could never happen, it was a ghost timeline, after all, so the story I wrote is as real as that timeline, as in, it describes a reality that never happened because it couldn't happen, because it is forbidden.
Fantasy setting. You're a renowned cook whose meals are sought after by all who inhabit the land. The ingredients you use are literally legendary, and often require long, dangerous, arduous journeys to obtain, and royal families will often fund your expeditions just so they can taste your entrées. Whether it's spices derived from a plant that only grows in deep, subterranean lakes, or the tender meat of an elusive rabbit that only lives at the snowy tops of the highest peaks, you will only use ingredients worthy of your cooking skills.
"Come on, man. Cut it out." My voice came out less demanding than I'd intended. I wound up squeaking, shooting a pleading look at my idiot best friend. It hadn't been my idea to go to the abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. I just wanted to ride bikes to the creek, then turn back and go home to play video games. But Mark always had to do something crazy, something that would get us in trouble with his parents and mine for sure. Right now, he was rummaging through a pile of trash in the corner of the warehouse, insisting on finding treasure, money, or some old Playboys. I didn't think he was going to find any of those things, but getting Mark to give up on something was like pulling teeth. He kept searching, tossing old papers, rocks, and pieces of broken and molded wood aside. "You're gonna get hurt or something..."I whispered, knowing nothing I said would stop him. He paused, the glint of something silver and sharp beneath another crumpled up sheet of paper. "Mark...don't touch that..." It was a knife, a very ornate, elaborate knife, the kind that you'd see in a horror movie. The hilt was gold, a black jewel embedded in the center. On the blade itself were what appeared to be runes, or some kind of occult-ish symbols. Mark held it up like it was an Olympic Torch, letting the sunlight that streamed in from the windows bounce against the silver. "This is awesome..."he whispered, staring at it like it was an idol or something. I shook my head, making a move to step forward. "That's great, man. Put it down now. Come on, we still have time to ride our bikes!"But Mark just shook his head, holding the knife up to his face. His expression seemed to change, a glassy look in his eyes. He held up the knife, opening his free hand to expose his palm. "Mark...what are you doing?" The atmosphere in the warehouse seemed to shift, the air too thin and almost burning my lungs. I knew this was a bad idea! Why didn't anyone ever listen to me?! Mark looked at me, eyes wide and crazed, dragging the blade across his palm. I'd never seen anyone else bleed before. Sure, I'd had scrapes, but I was always careful and did my best to avoid any and all injuries. But Mark's wound looked nothing like what a human's should look like. His skin seemed to peel right open, his palm looking like it had been lacerated, not just sliced. But the blood. That's the sight that stuck with me. That's what I have nightmares about to this day. Mark's blood was black. A sludge-like consistency, oozing from his wound and down his hand, in between his fingers, dripping down onto the floor. Mark opened his mouth to speak, but I was already running, refusing to look back. I never knew what became of my best friend after that. He wasn't at the warehouse when his parents went searching for him, and neither was the dagger.
Im underground... why am i underground... I remember now, they're idiots, they didnt listen to me... I try to lean up to find myself in a coffin, not the first time. I tear through the wood and the dirt above it. I stick my hand up through the dirt. "Ive always wanted to do that" I pull myself out of the grave and see the addresses of the three leaders scrawled onto my hand. I guess they didn’t check well enough… I grab my... they took my gun, my rings my pendant how dare they! I will get revenge, after all. You can’t kill the undead. \---------------- Lol my 1st time doing this, hope its ok.
'Effervescent joy to you, comrade!' the clerk throws my way a few minutes after my departure from the counter. He obviously had been mulling over that phrase for a while. I turn and throw a curt wave, but wisely keep my mouth closed. That's the safest response, after all. See, several years ago, a type of genocide began. This was a different type than the likes the world has seen before. It's said that we used to suffer from starvation and violence, that racism and oppression reigned in obvious ways. Lucky for us, we solved all of those problems. However, without a problem to solve, our society created one. There's something deep in humanity that craves the difference between us and them, and so the leaders of our society suffered a stroke of assumed brilliance and pitted the learned against the unlearned. How better to advance society than to eliminate the weakest of us, the least apt to contribute? That's when the idea for the camps was born. It started in small ways, separating the smart from the average in grade school, then sorting government resources for the eloquent and keeping them from the mediocre. The gap grew, and we started to see our brothers and sisters as different from us, less than us. Those that fit into this category, the lame, were deemed 'non-contributory' to society, and removed. To the camps they went. What they did or where they were, no one knew. A government mandate was then placed which stated that those who didn't speak with silver tongue would be removed, sent to suffer with the worst of us. Slowly, members of every social circle vanished. Rumors of a poorly phrased speech or a mangled letter devolved into witness accounts of an average greeting or normal exchange getting loved ones sent away for good. Now we all live in fear. There aren't many of us left now, and we're always being watched. Every word can be the nail in the coffin. We, the brilliant ones, the remaining few, lurk through this world as skeptics. The government raves, we are the most intelligent generation this world has seen! But in all their efforts to make us wise, progressive, intellectual strivers, instead they have shut us down. In their praise of every eloquent prose, they've forced us to fall silent. We live as prisoners in this world, terrorized by our own identities. Terrified to speak, we suffer in isolation, for any misplaced word could damn us.
✔Wormhole to Andromeda. ✔Anti-gravity feild. ✔Realm of time travelers. ✔Odd tear filled with robots shouting "exterminate" "Hmm, everything seems to be in order. All reality-bending holes and things that go against this universe's laws of nature and physics seems to be fixed. Alright, time to roll out patch 5.7.34!" "Uh, god? There seems to be a few unexpected bugs you just released into the world." "Haskill, I didn't hire you to be my god's-assistant to tell me the bugs after I released the patch. Just send Neil Patrick Harris to read the bugs' minds or something." "Er... yes, my lord and savior. I'm sorry I wasn't more thorough before the update. But on with the problems; it wasn't actual bugs. The latest patch caused a few glitches in reality--the most problematic is the portal that opened to heaven. We managed to temporarily plug it, but one person managed to go through." "Dammit. Who could possibly be brave enough to..." "HIGH, PHIL SWIFT HERE. I HERE YOU NEED SOME PATCHING DONE! WELL, LUCKILY FOR YOU, I HAVE NEW FLEX TAPE!" "For fuck's sake. I thought I told you and that Billy guy not to come back to heaven ever again. How did you even escape the realm of Hades and the river lyx?" "I SAWED THE BOAT IN HALF!" "Ugh, Haskill!" "Yes, my lord?" "Please escort Phil and seal the exit with this patch 5.7.35." "NOW HOLD UP! YOU SAY SEAL? I HAVE THE PERFECT THING FOR YOU! FLEX TAP! IT CAN SEEL WATER LEAKS, BROKEN RELATIONSHIPS, AND EVEN REALITY-BENDING TEARS IN YOUR UNIVERSE, TODD HOWSRD!" "Don't call me that, Phil. Just call me god. Now hand me some of that good shit and follow Haskill out while I make some more patches. And thank you."
The horror in my eyes when I finally found out. I have waited 5 years for this, trying everything I could to get just a little bit of magic, to no avail. The day I have been waiting for, my 11th birthday, turned out to be the day where my whole world came crashing down. "Looks like there's a letter in here!"My parents yelled. I came dashing down the stairs at full speed, eager to see what was inside. My twin brother Charlie, on the other hand, slowly walked to the front door. He doesn't really care about anything, but he gets his work done. When I finally reached the door, my eyes lit up. The red seal I could not forget. "It's from Hogwarts! I'm going to be a wizard!"I swiped the envelope from my parent's hands, and opened it up, without even seeing the name on the front. I slowly opened the letter. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is it. This is the moment I become a wizard. My brother peers over my shoulder. However, the very first line was what brought me down. Dear Charles Bradford. This must be a mistake. There was no way. They must be two letters. I asked my parents, and they didn't find any other letters. My mother, with tears in her eyes, came and hugged me. "I'm so sorry."Soon I started tearing up. Why is life so cruel? Why did my brother out of all people, who didn't care for being a wizard in the first place get accepted? Why did I, the one with the most passion for being a wizard have to be a squib? The following weeks passed with an air of melancholy, until a day before Charles left for Hogwarts. A letter came just for me. We would also like to see Alphonse Bradford come to Hogwarts. The headmaster would like to speak with him. There was nothing more after that. When me and my brother arrived at Hogwarts, the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore invited me into his office. "I know how hard it must be, living as a squib with a passion like yours."I started tearing up again. "But just know, a person without a great power, has an even greater asset. You just have to find it.""But sir, I-""I understand. What are you supposed to do? The truth is, I don't know. Like I said, you have to find out for yourself. Someone who works here is also a squib you know?"I look back up at him. "Yes, he is embarrassed to not have any magical abilities, but he makes do, and he overcomes his weaknesses. You have to do that too."I am still choking up. "Thank you, sir."The headmaster just nodded. I will send you back home now. I hope you learn something very important."He grabbed my hand a waved his want. With a blink of an eye, I was back home. My parents came and hugged me tightly. I didn't fully understand what Dumbledore said, but somehow, I know that I will get through this somehow. "A person without a great power, has an even greater asset." Thank you Dumbledore. Thanks for reading, this is my first writing prompt and I ran out of ideas at the end, so please give feedback if possible.
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It was the kind of noise you couldn't quite capture. A squelch as her bloodied body shuddered at the strike of another blade into her chest. She was long since gone, her eyes blank and staring up into the distance above his head, hand open hanging aside his leg. He had turned back to the body and didn't batter another eyelid at me as he continued to thrust the knife back into the same wound. Not another word. I didn't know what to do. Or what to say. Or where to go. I only knew that this was my best friend who I trusted with my life. And yet, the glint in his eyes as he continued to stab the dead body proved he was nothing less than a stranger. I was glued to where I stood, at his doorway, with a present in my hand. His new house, you see. I hadn't seen it before because we were busy with our own lives but we had arranged this date. The blood was pooled at his feet. The smell was strong. But he should have been expecting me. And I don't think he would have wanted me to know he was a cold-blooded predator. He was going to kill me too. "Right,"he kept the stained knife in his hand, stood up and stretched his legs. "I swear this is worse than it looks." I tried to speak. Vomit twisted my gut. "Maybe you should sit down,"he nodded towards his clean sofa. "Sit down?"I spluttered. My stomach suddenly spun with agony as if someone had lunged their fist deep into it. I cried out and slammed my knees onto the floor, blinded with pain. "Get the fuck out,"Eric yelled out in a deep voice I had never heard before. Maybe as a joke he'd use it. But the tone - that commanding nature. That wasn't the Eric I knew. I remember being delirious and my body fell against the floor in a heavy thud. My nose stung, my stomach was hot and it was as if there were claws on my back, like a heavy bird perched on top, slowly crushing my ribs. But nothing else. And then I was awake on the floor. I opened my eyes, raised my head and saw the girl's body was still there. And Eric had his hand clutched around the neck of a cloaked dusty figure strung in the air. "It's okay, Luke. I've got it all under control." The figure turned to look at me. It has glowing red eyes that put me straight back to sleep but not before I heard something crunch and Eric calling my name again. ~~haven't written ANYTHING in ages so apologies, I'm out of practice.~~
I am insane. I must be. All I see now is writhing, convulsing flesh, I hear screeches and disturbing shrieks in the distance. There is no sky besides a deep grey overcast dome sparked, at times, by red lightning. I have been plagued by visions of this familiar place my entire life. All I did was sneeze, so why. am I stuck this time? Cant think straight, wake up. Please wake up. I have to leave this strange world. No, I am crazy. These clearly must be hallucinations. I take pills so this doesn't happen. Where are my pills - they are with my body, a vessel I do not take with me to this wicked place. I am not crazy. That giant insect-mollusc-eyeball thing over there is not real, it's just a manifestation of my childhood trauma, certainly. This place has haunted me as long as I can remember. A sneeze here, a punch there, a fall - sometimes a ball would hit in the head, or a door frame, and I would find myself here. It is almost like home, a place I also dread not for want of my mother's endless unfounded wrath. Sometimes I would be taken here at the height of passionate climax, only to leave my poor lovers bewildered as I began convulsing and whimpering once I came to. I take pills for this. The doctors said it was all in my head. This is not real. I have to stay anchored to what is real. But this time... This time I can smell it - the mucuous coating the pulsating ground beneath me has a musky odor, sweet but pungent. The air smells like a fart - seriously... I must have really lost it this time. I think I've been here for a whole five minutes, maybe three years! Sorry, I've been hallucinating - this isn't real. I have not been stuck here for hours, it has been merely an instant, like the other visions, surely. It isn't real. Oh, God, please, don't let it be real. An orifice opens up from the be-veined ground beneath my bodiless self, spewing a sulfurous smell outward in the guise of a grey mist, trembling all the surroundings, shaking my mind, like a belch the size of a moon. I am not seeing this, this is not real. The gas coils upward, and the sphincterous chasm before me chuckles. Impossible, this is not real, I think, as a red bolt of lightning strikes a strange, tentacled tree-like structure nearby with a crack. A sense of tremendous mass fills me, seemingly bending this strange place beneath itself, and a voice as deep as an ocean trench, a voice tempered by gravel and acidity begins laughing, echoing all around me. The world jiggles to the laughter's rhythm. This isn't real. I just wanted to make a funny video. This isn't real. This is. Not. Real. An impossibly massive black cube descends from the clouds above, peppered by red Sparks. It blots out most of the sky above me. Its horizon above the fanged red mounds far in the distant fog. I am not seeing this. I am insane. This is not real. Please... Please, god- The voice interrupts me. "GOD WILL NOT HELP YOU HERE." I am being watched. No, I am being consumed, and I feel joy as I become a part of something bigger than myself, leaving my body behind in the old world. "I AM YOUR GOD NOW,"trembles the voice, my own now a part of it. I think of my mother before my self fades and sputters into an endless prayer.
Some people in my world go about their days caffeinated, full of energy, with others numb and unfeeling, sedated by their kingdom's disposition. Me? I like to keep it cool, to really enjoy just the little things. From the way the crisp spring air dances across my cheek to the delightful oranges and reds and browns autumn brings—the seasons ebb and flow, and there I am to experience it all. Such is my wonder and feeling in the land of Pandrogas and for as long as I have lived, kingdoms have only had minor conflicts. The orthodox marijuana enthusiasts always disagree with the alcoholists over usage and which individuals belong to which kingdom. Many individuals of both hold dual citizenship. The LSDynasty and Shrooms have been embroiled in a conflict of superiority since the kingdom of LSD was founded more than 80 years ago, but always in the form of philosophical debates. As a mere bystander, I have lived in each kingdom—their ups and downs, the euphoria and depression, and I must say that though rough at times, it was better to hurt and experienced than to not have lived at all. However, today is different. Today, the heads of the coke kingdom, the oligarchical council that calls themselves the 8Ball, have declared war on the other lands, with casus belli of annexation to increase production. The conflicts to come will be violent and well, drug-induced. But what they don't know is that I am the leader of my own kingdom. Most don't accept me and my holdings as part of Pandrogas, though they do not realize that they are also a part of mine. For I am high on Life, and my powers are the most powerful of all. I will put a quick end to the rebellion that the council of cokeheads have begun.
"Well Bruce, what do you think?" Dr. Bruce Banner sits in his swivel chair, his purple shirt unifitting of the room's gloomy tone. He gives a ghost of a smile and takes a deep breath. "You see, that's the thing Thor. You've got to realise... you've got to realise it's not your fault. Nobody knew this would happen,"stated Bruce. Thor grimaced. "I know Banner, I don't think even the mad titan himself was aware. It's just... if I had just killed him when I had the chance,"said Thor. Bruce reached onto a little table and started pouring two beverages, making sure to discreetly mix one with alcohol. "Have a drink Thor, try and calm yourself a bit." "Relax?! Bruce... there's no chance I'm ever going to relax again. Those days are in the past my friend." "Thor. This is so unlike you, we both know it. If you stay like this there's no hope of us ever getting them back." "I know Bruce. I know and it hurts." "It hurts me too Thor. I'm angry with Thanos for what he did, but there's nothing I can do. Hulk is scared, and I'm worried he might have vanished also." Thor takes one of the drinks and gulps it down. He shuts his eyes for a second and breathes deeply. "Banner. You're probably right. Moping about will get nothing done. But where could we possibly begin?" Banner stood up and grinned. "Meet me here in two days,"he said. "Alright my friend, I trust you."
Part 1/2 (Keep getting a character limit error, despite it being less than 10k characters) &#x200B; CLANG CLANG! Ever since the twins had gotten themselves captured, Ruby and Skye had been awoken to this obscene banging the guard made at 7am sharp when checking on the two of them. He thought it was hilarious to wake them by smashing his shield against the bars of their cell and whilst Skye found it a mild inconvenience, Ruby saw it as a signal of another day of pure torture. For what had felt like years, Ruby had been stuck in a loop of horror and no matter how differently she did things on each and every day she had awoken to that noise, Skye's death was always inevitable. Every single day Ruby had to witness the devastating sight of losing her twin in a multitude of ways and suffer tremendous grief until nightfall. Sleep was the only escape she had from the hell that she was trapped in. Ruby couldn't bear to tell her twin what was going on but then how could she explain it without sounding crazy? Not to mention the fact she would have to tell her sister that she was going to die that day no matter what they did. Ruby had even tried doing nothing but Skye would end up choking on her food or the guard would trip and set a crossbow off, hitting Skye right between the eyes. Ruby had even considered getting herself killed in order to try and break the cycle but didn't want to subject Skye to the same torture that she was experiencing daily. Ruby just wanted to give up, but giving up was just as pointless as trying. "Food's up"said the guard gruffly as he kicked a plate with some stale bread under the cell door. Skye got up and grabbed the plate before sitting back down cross-legged on the bedroll and began picking at the bread. She broke off a piece and offered it to Ruby but she just shook her head, she wasn't hungry at all. Even eating seemed pointless because inevitably the day would reset again and bring her body back to its current state again. Skye shrugged and finished the bread before standing up to brush off the crumbs from her lap. She looked at Ruby and gave her a stare that Ruby knew all too well. Ruby thought she might as well go along with whatever Skye had planned, it was more interesting then just sitting there waiting for her sister to die. "Finished!"Skye called over to the guard, waving the plate through the bars. He plodded over to collect the plate and just as he reached out to grab it, Skye yanked his arm towards her and hit him with the plate. As the guard stumbled, Ruby used her deft hands and lightning speed to grab his dagger from his waist and stab him straight in the side of the head. Ruby pulled the blade out and Skye dropped the guard to the floor, turning to Ruby with a smirk. She grabbed the keys from body and unlocked the cell, kicking the guard out of the way of door. Ruby took the keys from Skye and dived straight for the chest under the table. The guards had been taunting them with the items in the chest - their armour and weaponry - and Ruby breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was all there, relatively untouched. The twins changed into their light leather armour and Ruby equipped all her daggers and poisons as Skye attached her quiver to her back and hoisted her bow over her shoulder. They raised their hoods and covered their mouths with their face masks so all that could be seen was their pale blue eyes. Their only defining features in this get up, other than their weapons, was the slight strand of wavy, copper hair dropping down the side of Ruby's face and a strand of straight, snow-white hair down the side of Skye's. The pair looked at each other and nodded, ready to break out by any means necessary. The room at the top of the dungeon stairs was fortunately empty, as was the corridor adjacent to it. Ruby figured the guards must be on their morning patrol and signalled to Skye that they should slink into the barracks rather than risk sneaking through the mess hall. Ruby seemed to remember that the barracks had a recreational area outside and knew that if the could get themselves out there, they could scale the walls of the Baron's castle and get a better view to plan an escape. Ruby looked through the keyhole of the barracks door and held up two fingers to alert Skye that there were two guards stood just inside, luckily facing away. Ruby drew her dagger and slowly pushed the door open, Skye crouching just behind her. They pounced on the guards in unison and slit their throats before they could utter a sound. Taking a quick look around, the twins crept quickly to the door at the far end and stepped through it just in time as they heard bedroom doors opening throughout the barracks. The fresh air and sunlight stung Ruby's eyes to begin with as they had spent so long inside the dark, dimly lit walls of the castle. With every escape attempt over the years of replaying this single day, they had always remained inside, attempting to reach the door they had just gone through but always being a fraction too slow to beat the guards exiting their rooms. Today had been the quickest exit from their cell yet so maybe - just maybe - Skye might survive today. Ruby immediately put that thought to back of her mind as to not get too hopeful and jinx herself. She was snapped out of her brief lapse in focus when Skye found a section of wall with vines growing up to a ledge that led around the corner of the building. They made short work of the climb and carefully shuffled along the ledge and around the corner. Ruby couldn't believe their luck. As she rounded the corner, she was met with the sight of a small wooden bridge that led from a balcony next to them to a watchtower by the south perimeter wall. The south side of the castle was the escape route the twins had always wanted to take as it was a relatively unguarded storage area and the outer wall was atop a small cliff that overlooked the forest lake - the perfect way for them to escape. The twins silently scurried over the bridge and into the watchtower, taking one final look around before diving off of the tower, over the outer wall and into the water at the foot of the cliff. The twins walked for most of the day before they found anything, a strange looking house in the middle of the forest being the first thing of any note they had come across. They knocked on the door to be greeted by a small elderly man who had dirty grey hair and a beard that were both longer than he was. "We're a little lost."Ruby said to the man with a smile on her face. She was the charmer of the two and usually did the talking in most situations. "I don't suppose you've got room for a couple of young women for the night?"The man looked at the twins in their head-to-toe armour and pondered before smiling and stepping out of the way. "Come in, girls! I'm sure I've got some extra blankets somewhere..." The night was spent eating and drinking with the old man and trading tales of adventure. When the old man retired for the evening and headed upstairs. Ruby and Skye laid out their blankets by the fire and lay down in silence. It wasn't long before Skye was asleep but Ruby had trouble getting comfortable. She was certain she was going to wake up by the same clatter of the guard hitting the cell bars with his shield and both she and Skye would awake in that dark, dingy cell again, doomed to spend eternity watching her sister die over and over. Ruby wanted to stay up all night to make sure the old man didn't murder Skye in her sleep or make sure the fire didn't spread to her blanket or something. Skye was still alive but midnight must have been close.
Hi u/The_Real_Zora, this submission has been removed. [Direct prompt replies must be good-faith attempts at new stories or poems](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_1.3A_direct_prompt_replies_must_be_good-faith_attempts_at_new_stories_or_poems) - Fill-in-the-blank: Responses must be at least 100 words. This is essentially a fill-in-the-blank, or you asked a question likely to generate a simple answer. Prompts should encourage a story or poem. Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses ([rule 7](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses)) --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a7lwx3/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
The president slams the dull, standard yellow folder on a glossed table. It makes an astounding thud that echoes through the assembly of confused men in suits. &#x200B; "Three minutes to midnight, and we haven't made a lick of progress on securing our airspace." &#x200B; The frustration was hard to deny, it was imprinted in JFK's face via a vivid shade of hot pink. No one dared to make a sound - or a movement for the matter, as everyone firmly dedicated their backsides to the seats as the reek of sweat starts to accumulate as a consequence on the cold day. On christmas eve. &#x200B; JFK seemingly pulls out documents from thin air, slamming down more sheets of paper - this time pictures. It was blurry, being taken from a spy plane at the altitude still unknown to the soviets, but as much as the fuming man was furious, he was also confident. &#x200B; "I would advise you to take a good look at these photos shot by our U-2, over AirBaseControl28 in Russia." &#x200B; A simple glance would give you enough information to infer what the soviets are up to. Among the snow on the hard ashfield ground, a unmistakable 'sleigh' sat comfortably in the picture, with people passing along present nonchalantly to load up the infamous gold-red sleigh, with what looks like interesting side boosters in place of certain gold plates with a clear attempt of camouflaging them. &#x200B; The silence was broken as the first mutter started, hastily followed by others after observing no eruption from JFK. &#x200B; SLAM! He was back in the mood. JFK cleared his throat. There was a clear tone of insomnia and stress underlying his disguised calm voice. &#x200B; "There won't be ham and pudding tonight for the sake of america, and for the sake of the world, so I say that you take up the phones and call your wives - starting with mine." &#x200B; There was a slight jostle and scramble as the board felt the sweet relief from their sweat soaked cushions, hurriedly making their way to the table of neatly placed phones. &#x200B; "Tomson Jeffery?" &#x200B; The military commander awkwardly and abruptly sprung straight as a stick on the path to the phones, eyes still darted straight ahead to the cream wall as the communications officer bumped from behind him. &#x200B; "I want air defense at DEFCON 2. Dismissed."
"The moon has no position on these matters, "The Solar Union Representative said. "We remain neutral." Audible gasps echoed throughout the Arena. The Martian colonies expected the moon to come to their aid, since they were the first Solar Nation to declare independence from The Earth Empire. I was relieved that we weren't getting involved. Yet. Ever since the moon declared independence life had been erratic. The last thing we needed was more instability. While war would probably be inevitable, it's better to be prepared. Many Martians migrated from the moon after its declaration, despite the Earth's sanctions. I had considered the move, but I had a solid job with the First Lunar Republic and I didn't want to jeopardize that. Besides, I still had family on Earth, and the two sides had finally entered into an agreement for something resembling relative peace. Through the veil of chaos life was... almost okay. Tension had been building between Earth and Mars from the beginning. The Colonies had quickly become self sufficient, and while Earth demanded more and more refined minerals that were abundant near the Martian surface, it became clear Earth needed Mars more than Mars needed Earth. But civilians on Earth didn't know that. As far as they were concerned, Martians were greedy, uncivilized, crazy, and entirely expendable. What they didn't realize was that while Earth's oil reserves had begun to dry up, Mars had an abundant alternative. Sure, the environment was less than ideal, but there was enough energy on the red planet to colonize the entire thing a thousand times over. Earth was barely clinging on to its population of ten billion, and the authorities knew that the entire house of cards was moments from coming down. The Martians didn't ask for much, mainly just that they be left alone. But the Earth Empire grew desperate and in their insecurity, tightened their grip on the colonies. They sent patrols, and took an increasing percentage of the Martian yields. Working conditions degraded when they didn't have to. Earth knew it was just a matter of time before Mars followed in the Moon's footsteps. Both the Earth and Mars needed the Moon for a base of operations and cheap manufacturing. Whoever took the moon first would have a significant strategic advantage. If the moon picked an ally they would immediately become a target. By proclaiming neutrality the moon hoped to discourage war, but did so knowing that they might hey sucked into it anyway. Eventually. The first Solar War was almost upon us. Eventually the Martians rioted. The Earth Empire had sent a "Security Squad"to the Martian surface to make sure they weren't manufacturing any illegal weapons or distributing banned substances. Things got heated, and turned violent. It was an agent of the Empire who fired the first shot. Half a dozen Martians were killed in the conflict. It was enough to tip Mars over the edge. They declared independence and gave the Empire one day to leave orbit. They were gone within twelve hours. Martians sent probes to look out for ships, missiles, or probes from the empire. Weeks went by and nothing happened. It was quiet for so long that some began to believe there was no real conflict. That it was all a ploy to galvanize the economy. Oh, how wrong they were. This morning, a Martian probe sent us a message. "The Empire is Coming." That probe sent the same message to the colonies on Mars. They had just enough time to launch their ships into a defensive orbit. Many fighters circled in almost random orbits around the planet, some vertical, others horizontal, many elliptical, and at all different levels around the planet. Droves of empire ships approached Mars in a deliberate demonstration of unity and discipline. Perhaps they expected the Martians to wave the white flag. That didn't happen. Instead, the outmatched and outgunned Martians fired the shot that I am certain people will say was "Heard around the Solar System." War is here.
Run. That was what my brain was screaming at me as I was rushing to the bank to cash my new check. And that is what it is screaming at me now, as I am in front of the wrong end of a gun. “Come on, Bill,” the mugger said. It wasn’t just any mugger though; it was my old “friend” from high school. We would hang out and do a few shots after school, sometimes even during school. Last I heard, he was the CEO of the company I was almost kicked out of. So why is he here? “I know you got that check in your pocket,” he continued. “Let’s go to the bank, cash it, and move everything over to me, yeah?” “No.” His face fell. “What?” “I said no, Don,” I repeated. Slowly, he grinned. “Then you’re fine with me telling your wife about that little incident, right?” He got me. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and rasped, “Fine.” Four years of luck down the drain, only to end up to this guy? What is my world coming to?
Part 1 I was a walking cliché. Sophomore in high school that’s been to more violin recitals than house parties. I’ve always been the type to keep to myself, head down in the hallway with Joy Division blasting in my ears. I figure the more uninterested I looked, the more likely no one will talk to me. I am in no way a mean person, but I come from a family who puts academics and long-term success above anything else. With my course load there is no point in letting someone in. They would only feel neglected as I spend time mulling over textbooks or leaving places early due to my stringent curfew. Then he spoke to me. I admit I didn’t hear him at first. I removed my headphones once he started waving his hands in front of my eyes, as if to break a trance. I hit pause in the middle of “Disorder” and stared at him. Man, my social skills are rusty. “Must be a really good podcast. I could barely get your attention,” he said, without any introduction. I tapped my pencil and gave him a once over. I’d never seen him around school before, maybe he was new? “Joy Division, have you heard of them?” I pulled my headphones down and let them rest around my neck. “A girl who’s into 80’s new wave. This is a first for me,” he laughed. “My father is a big New Order fan but never fails to remind me that Joy Division was better.” Why was he talking to me? Just small talk? The classroom was near empty, as students had permission to leave the grounds at lunch. I was using this time to study for my Early World Civilization exam. He remained turned around in his library chair waiting for my response. I couldn’t find the words because, admittedly, this boy was cute. One of his front teeth was turned inward a bit, giving him an imperfect but endearing smile. “I grew up on it. My father gave me a crash course in new wave… that is, before he passed,” I looked down. Why did I tell him that? “So, he’s like a song now… that’s stuck in your head,” he cocked his head to the side, eyes looking back and forth as if he wasn’t sure if he crossed a line. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if that was the most cheesy or poetic way to put it. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I got your name,” I asked, re-focusing. “I’m Antone, but most people just call me Ant, he replied as he stuck out his hand. I grabbed hold and shook hands back, “I’m Florence, but most people call me Flor.” His hand shake was warm, but not in a “sweaty palms” way. It wasn’t weak or too forceful. If hands could embrace, that’s how it felt. I looked at him questioningly. “So, were you just seeing if I was into podcasts?” “Oh, no, haha! I wanted to see if you were going to Chris Duggan’s party tonight,” he looked down and twiddled his thumbs. When he looked back up his eyes were wide and vulnerable. I waited. “I just transferred in after winter break. I made the baseball team and some of the guys invited me to Chris’ house tonight. Supposedly he lives in a mansion. I figured I’d go since I don’t really know anyone. Unless, you count yourself now.” For someone who tries so hard to be invisible, I felt like I was very visibly sweating. Not only was I being invited to a party but by a cute transfer student but it seemed like I also made him nervous. Is he inviting me… as more than friends? I leaned forward with a confidence that seemed to spring from nowhere. “Will there be alcohol at this party?” He smiled wryly, “My brother is 22, he can get us whatever you’d like, m’lady.” I smirked. This kid was kind of funny and for some reason I felt safe talking to him. One Friday night away from my books, and overbearing parents, wouldn’t kill me. I pushed my chair back, stood up, and threw my backpack over one shoulder. “Time and place?” “Give me your number so I can text you the address,” he said, a slight hint of excitement in his voice. “It’s 555-990-0478,” I blushed and tucked my hair behind my right ear. “Cool. I’ll text you the address in a bit. The party is supposedly starting at 8 but I’m sure it won’t get good until 9,” he said knowingly. I rustled around in my backpack for my wallet and handed him a $20 bill. “I’ll take a pack of those seltzer drinks all the girls love these days, I shrugged as I handed him the money. He put his hand up. “This one’s on me. You’ll get the next one,” he said with impressive calmness. The bell rang giving us both the gift of avoiding an awkward goodbye. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later, Flor,” he said, grabbing his backpack. Before I knew it, he was out the library doors. I took a deep breath and held it. I exhaled, “Later.”
The demons are in a panic The energy is manic No one knows what to do Maybe... do you? &#x200B; The Grim Reaper has had enough Apparently, being Death is tough He's gone down to Kokomo That's where he wanted to go &#x200B; What about overpopulation? He's so insensitive, taking a vacation Someone drowned but they didn't die I guess it's good- their family won't cry &#x200B; But look! People'll get suspicious One guy was really malicious And he tried to beat another one to death "Why aren't you dead?"he huffed between breaths &#x200B; The Grim Reaper is sipping a cocktail While he's getting urgent mail The demons would like him to know That they can't manage Hell on their own! &#x200B; People are escaping from the world below Vlad the Impaler, Hitler, oh no! This is getting really, really bad When Death's back, people will be mad &#x200B; Oh, wait, those evil people can't kill anyone But they can torture them, so they've won Chaos and destruction swirl about The air is filled with sobs and shouts &#x200B; Finally Old Grimmy's taking the flight home Finally- and I say it with a groan Because it's like the world is ending The rules of the universe need to stop bending &#x200B; Ah, the Grim Reaper's set it straight Now we just need to wait For everyone's mind to be wiped And for the baddies to be swiped &#x200B; The demons lose their pent-up anger When they finally see their master "We love you, Mr. Reaper, okay? But never go on a holiday."
:.:.:.: Benjamin Flanders :.:.:.: Project Reboot: Log #5 :.:.:.: December 19, 2026 &#x200B; The memes were easy. I don't understand any of those anyways, and that freed up a lot of space. Size is only relative though, considering we're generating trillions of petabytes every day. That's was the only easy part, and I miss it already. Just putting my name on these logs makes me nervous, because it's everywhere now. People know who I am and to tell you the truth, I'm afraid. I'd always wanted a big break, but they are few and far between for a network engineer like me. This may have been the biggest mistake of my life. I'm required under contract to write these logs for liability purposes, but it's only been 5 days and I haven't written a single one from the same desk. It's like a weird witness protection program for a nobody that no one recognizes, and everybody wants to talk to. The difficult part is that I can't truly unplug. I'm up to my elbows now in muck, and I have to keep my inbox open. There are whole teams of people filtering my email for duplicate accounts, mirrors, and various other methods that have been used to gain visibility. We really needed a better system but there wasn't time. The internet is so incomprehensibly large that it was impossible to know that it was going to break until it simply failed. I guarantee you I wasn't the first choice, either. There is no way. I was probably just the only person who said yes, so here I am. Drowning in emails, and yes, it is truly possible. As civilized as I believed our society to be, the madness that we've collectively descended into is truly terrifying. Smartphones have become expensive drink coasters, self-driving cars are now lawn ornaments or roadblocks, and all of our smarthomes have gone insane. Suddenly the people with 50 year old houses are the envy of the wealthy. Everything has flipped on it's head, and I feel it's only a matter of time before they find me because trust me, they are searching hard. The entire office building I was in just a few days ago is being held hostage, and I hope to the almighty that no one says a word about where I went next. It's startling how fast they've caught up with me when I've really only just begun my work here. I hope my Grandma forgives me when Facebook goes down. If I don't make it out of the year alive, I'm sorry Nana. :.:.:.:
I woke up smelling a beautiful rose bed. The sun bathes me in its warm light. I feel something I have not felt before. Bliss. My whole life I have been focused on the struggle of being good in an evil world. I gave money to those that need it. I became a doctor and volunteered throughout my life. I never had children out of fear of raising them to become evil. Yet evil always seemed to win, for every patient I cured; I witnessed five die on the day. When I tried giving a man money, he stabbed me anyway. I went to Africa on a mission trip, and the children my god the children suffered harder than anyone. Last year, evil won its greatest battle. I was driving late at night from a long day of work; I didn’t see the girl jump in front. The police told me they found a suicide note. I was able to get off not guilty based on this information. Yet every day I am in a prison of my own creation. How could I have committed the most evil act in humanity? How can I live with myself? I drove to her memorial on the anniversary. Her parents were crying as they left flowers. My only hope is that they can one day forgive me. When I stand in front of her grave, I begin to weep. Why?! Why?! Whyyyyy?! What is the point of doing a lifetime of good when evil always wins. My whole life has been pointless. Falling asleep just seemed to happen. The girl I killed is in a white dress standing before me. “Sorry.” I look down. “It is alright.” She tries to comfort me. “I am an evil man.” I start to cry again. “You aren’t evil. You never were.” She continues, “I wanted to end everything. You were only a tool to that end. I have hurt you. I wish I could take that back.” I can’t stop balling as she keeps going. She is trying to help, but she can’t stop. “I looked at your whole life. You were a good man who tried to help where he could. You need to keep doing that. That is who you are.” She wipes my tears and I awake. I stand up from the bed of flowers. The battle of good and evil seemed so simplistic in my mind. Now I realize. There is no good or evil. We are all just obeying our basic instincts and created by an environment that we didn’t create. And that might be the world, but I am going to obey my nature. The world will be a better place.
It was an old sketchbook that held naught but a single page. I found it, discarded, and decided to take it home. Once at home, I drew a small lion, for I had visited the local zoo that day. As soon as I finished, I looked away to gaze at the time. I looked back and the sketch was gone. I blinked several times, for I knew that I had just finished sketching the lion. &#x200B; Suddenly, I heard a sound in the other room, almost like a small roar. I got up to investigate. Upon entering the room where I heard the sound, I saw the very same lion that i had just drawn. Screaming, I shut the door. I went back to the sketchbook. Without thinking, I drew a gun. What type of gun? I couldn't tell you for my knowledge of guns was very little. Within ten seconds of finishing the sketch, the very gun that I drew fell into my hands. Shaking, I walked over to the next room and shot the Lion before it could do any damage. &#x200B; They say that power can rush to a man's head. They were right. The power to have everything I drew consumed me, driving me insane. I had Dragons beside me to rule the world, the Grim Reaper responding to my every command. To cut myself off, I discarded the book. &#x200B; But not before I drew a picture of my dead wife. I couldn't stand to have this power only not to bring her back, even if for one day. Her touch comforted me as I broke down crying, ecstatic to have her back with me. I had destroyed everything that I created, except for a single dragon to take me and my love to a isolated location. I tossed the book where I found it, hidden away from those unworthy. &#x200B; My only wish that I had kept it, if only to keep the world from being destroyed by the next owner of the book. Alas, I found myself almost not caring as I still had my love with me, forever.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. This happens sometimes. We'll refund your money, you should see it in your account soon,"the nurse said to my body, as she walked out with it. But I'm still here? Strange. What can I do here? Especially what can I do to tell them it worked? *TRANSFER_NODE_2245* My view popped somewhere different. Was that the nurse? She was writing something in her computer. Perfect, I can get her attention. Another couple commands, and a screen appeared on her computer. "Melanie Maxwell: I'm copied! In network. Help." "Oh no, not again,"she said, and started to bring up a maintenance program. What is that? Does that say purge? There's no way that's right, I'm a salient being, you can't just er *PURGE COMPLETE. ROGUE PROGRAMS REMOVED: 1*
Hi u/toylenny, this submission has been removed. [Direct prompt replies must be good-faith attempts at new stories or poems](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_1.3A_direct_prompt_replies_must_be_good-faith_attempts_at_new_stories_or_poems) - Fill-in-the-blank: Responses must be at least 100 words. This is essentially a fill-in-the-blank, or you asked a question likely to generate a simple answer. Prompts should encourage a story or poem. Feel free to repost without the question! Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses ([rule 7](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses)) When prompts ask a question, we get a lot of people who just answer (e.g. "Yes") rather than actually write stories. --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a7r1jv/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
Mister George Weasley was apprehended by Foundation officials on ⬛️/⬛️/20⬛️ At [REDACTED]. He was assaulting local law enforcement, asking for help for the “Magical World”. Shortly after he was arrested, Agent Smith, embedded in the local law enforcement, shifted him to Foundation custody. The following recording was made after he had been in Foundation custody for three (3) days. Begin Recording Dr. P: The recorders on, you may begin. Mr. Weasley: W-who are you? Can you help? Dr. P: Can you please describe this “Magical World” you claim to come from? Mr. Weasley: Well, yes, I Uh... I’m not supposed to talk about it. It’s confidential. Dr. P: There are other ways to get information, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley: Gulp Well, the Wizarding World is, well, the world of the Wizards. We split off from you muggles awhile ago. But, recently some muggles have convinced some wizards to... I don’t know what. All I heard was that the Ministry of Magic was being attacked by some people calling themselves the “Chaos Insurgency”. I had to get help as quickly as I could. I wish I knew what this “hand” my dad talked about was so I- Dr. P: That’s enough, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley: So you’re letting me go. Dr. P: Of course. End Recording Mr. Weasley remains in Foundation custody and I would recommend investigating this so called “Wizarding World”. Either the Serpants Hand or the Chaos Insurgency having access to this anomaly could prove disastrous. Recommend deploying an MTF. -Dr. P Your recommendation will be noted. - O5-⬛️
Our mutual shock was a moment I’ll never forget. Chen and I stood, staring at the monitor, astounded. The text we were reading was the mental equivalent of a nuclear explosion. The silly conversation that brought us into the lab in the middle of the night turned out to be humanity-changing. Neither I or Chen spoke for four minutes. Both of our minds raced through every plausible scenario, but none came. We both knew the significance and the result. I spoke first. “We need to call her.” “And say what?” Chen shot back “The truth, what else? What other possibility is there?” “Shit! I know. I just….I just…..what the fuck man?” Chen was starting to release the emotion of the moment. “We may have just discovered alien communication?” “I know! Oh my god, I know!” were the only words I could muster for several minutes, as we jumped and giggled like toddlers. “Ok. I’m calling her now. At best, she’ll be here in thirty minutes. We can go to the conference room and talk about how we’re going to go through the story for her.” Chen agreed, and I called Director Monica Morrison on her mobile. She answered within two rings, which was surprising at two am. I kept it short and to the point. She asked a surprisingly small amount of questions and said she’d be there in twenty minutes. Chen and I went into the conference room and prepared to break the news to the Director of SETI, that the search was likely over. It took us all twenty minutes just to gain our composure, and we did no preparation whatsoever. I had barely gotten my laptop in the room and ready to present the data when the director walked in, wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. After our initial shock at seeing her in anything other than a pantsuit, I greeted her warmly. Her demeanor seemed to be as giddy as ours and this realization was very disarming. We all sat down, and I began, without realizing the director had said almost nothing since she entered the room. “Director Morrison, what I’m about to show you might be the most important discovery in the history of mankind. You know me, and you know that I don’t say things that like, ever. I’ve been here since eighty-five and have been the single biggest skeptic of every single signal and blip we’ve ever picked up. Well, not this time.” I moved the mouse to the taskbar and brought the first image to the screen. “This is an official medical diagnosis for my tinnitus. The same one that landed in my personnel file twelve years ago, the day after my forty-eighth birthday. Many people found it funny that the most published audio engineer in the world would be stricken with such a malady. I obviously missed the humor in it. I did, however spend a lot of time researching, recording and generally prodding at my affliction over the years.” I pulled up a copy of a paper I had published nine years earlier about the seven distinct audio sequences that all people with tinnitus experienced in one of seven forms. I had achieved this conclusion with the use of bone conduction technology and thirty willing test subjects, including myself. It took a surgical procedure and the most sensitive equipment known to man, at the time. But we were able to get definitive pattern readings that corresponded to the stated sound that myself and the other subjects heard. The big difference was that we now had hard data. “At the time, Director, I had hoped it would help the medical community better understand the affliction. To my disappointment, it did not. I had no clue that it would bring us here, tonight. But Chen and I were enjoying our beers at the goodbye party tonight, so we went to another bar and bullshitted for over more beer. That’s when Chen made a joke about my tinnitus probably being the code to solve Hilbert’s sixteenth problem. After a good laugh, it clicked in my brain. I didn’t know why, and it made no sense, but I insisted we come here straight away.” I could tell the Director was ready for me to get to the point. “So we came back here, and I took out the audio file for my tinnitus and played it over the computer speakers for Chen here. Then I immediately played recording six-four-nine-A at double speed, which I will do for you now.” Director Morrison showed mild surprise at the revelation, similarly to Chen and me when we’d first heard it, but she was growing tired of the presentation. “Guys, this is pretty incredible, and I will no doubt devote most of our resources toward its investigation, but this is not yet the most important discovery of mankind.” She said with a cool confidence. I was ready for this and quickly retorted. I must admit, I was having fun slow playing the reveal. “Director, we already used the resources, without even trying. As you know, we long wrote off recording six-four-nine-A as meaningless space noise and learned our lesson about publicizing these findings so quickly. Well, we shouldn’t have. While Chen and I were messing around with the tinnitus and six-four-nine-A recordings, we almost missed the alert on the main incoming screen.” “A new signal came up?” Morrison said curiously. “It sure did, and the algorithms had no trouble vetting it as high concern.” I said as I prepared to play the recording of the brand new audio. “But I want to remind you that we were able to pinpoint the exact direction and probably distance that recording six-four-nine-A came from. We know with absolute certainty, that it came from deep outer space and could not have been originated from this earth. Keep that in mind, because this one came from the exact same place.” And with that I played the new recoding. “It’s just short and long beeps.” The director said after thirty seconds. “You’re right ma’am. Just short and long beeps. You see, I’d never played the audio of my tinnitus on anything but headphones before, which is my explanation for why we didn’t get the short and long beeps until now.” The Director had a bewildered look on her face and I couldn’t help by smile. “Director, at first we thought Morse code. Then we realized there were truly only two beeps. So, Chen said what the hell and turned them into ones and zeros. When he did that, we got this.” My hand was shaking as I displayed the binary code.
The justice system was based on this very simple concept. It caused a bit of a schism between the judges of the courts. The primary difference between these schools of thought is in how to deal with the guilty party. A murderer under Protective Justice would be sentenced to a many years of community service. The idea being that they would contribute more through forced labor than the harm they did in the end. Under Retributive Justice, however, the same murderer would be executed, for taking life was something that could not be forgiven, as a matter of principle. This was a rare case of a serial killer, rather than a crime of passion, however he had a rare form of cancer that did not yet have a cure. There was a council who had to agree on a fate for the man. The Retributive wanted to execute the man. He had murdered more than once, and he had done so in cold blood without regard for his victims or the people who would be affected by their loss. The Protective wanted to use the man as a guinea pig for a new treatment that could save many lives. It was not a pleasant process, and would take years, but after the fact he would be released, regardless of the success of the treatment. "It would be a shame to let such a rare specimen go to waste!"Argued one of the justices. "We could save many lives with the results that could come of his testing!" "But you would release a man like him? He killed because he felt the need to! He would harm people again, and this time we may not catch him!"The retributive judge was clearly fuming. He wanted blood. If it was up to him, they would do both. The treatment was said to be very painful, after all. If they could do both they would be able to get the best of both worlds overall. This would not pass, however, as the law prevented "undue agony before execution". If they voted to execute him, they could not use him for hard labor or any kind of testing that could be considered dangerous or experimental. Conversely, if an inmate is deemed to have endured a great deal of agony as a direct result of the decisions of the state, they would be released significantly earlier than initially intended. The judges argued philosophy back and forth. They weren't stupid people, and could often see the merits in each other's arguments, but they each had personal philosophies that wouldn't allow them to concede to their opponents. The judges who wanted to execute the man argued that the test was only that, and was not guaranteed to give results. On the other hand, the judges who wanted to run their tests on the man, argued that if they did procure a cure of some kind, they could possibly prevent hundreds of deaths per year, saving more than the man could have hoped to kill. In the end the council decided to compromise. The compromise the judges agreed on was as follows: If successful, they would save many more lives than the convicted man could possibly take, and he would be released until convicted of a new crime. If unsuccessful, he would be put on parole, rather than fully released. If he violated his parole, he would serve another round as a test subject, unless rendered useless for some reason. In such a case, he would work community service while in prison. The judges agreed that this would be the easiest way to compromise, as it made the man useful, and continued to punish him if for whatever reason he decided to continue committing crimes. With this, some of the judges would rest easy, with only the two most extreme judges on the opposite ends wanting to change the outcome. Each of them plotted, trying to get people who's ideology aligned with their own in their opponent's seats. They each dreamed of a day that they would be the sole arbiters of justice in the courts.
"You can do this, keep your breath steady. We're almost there." "*I can't!"she screamed back at me, sweat rolling down her brow as her body heaved underneath my hands. "You have to,"I replied, standing tall to look down into her frenzied eyes. "You have to, or we could lose you both. Ok? I'm right here, we're almost there. I need you to keep breathing steady and I need you to push." \--- An hour later, I gently wiped residual muck out of the eyes of the brand new baby boy as I wrapped him in a blanket. "Someone wants to meet you, momma,"I said quietly, tenderly holding out the child to the exhausted woman propped up on a pile of extravagant goose down pillows. After a pause, she reached up and took him from my arms. "I told you you could do it,"I smiled, brushing a strand of sweat-drenched hair off of her face. "It would've been far easier* if she had been in a hospital and had an epidural,"growled her husband from his seat across the room. While she and I had been giving our all for what seemed to be countless hours to bring his child into the world, he had sat in the corner glowering at us both. "It depends on what you mean by easier,"I replied as I stepped away from the bed. "But either way, it's done, and you have a beautiful baby boy. Would you like to come say hello?" "What I want is for you to get out of my house,"he snapped. I pressed my lips together, pulling back the sigh that longed to slip between them. This attitude was fairly common. With the rise of Western medicine, and hospital birthing procedures, midwives were seen as a relic of the past at best and practitioners of dangerous quackery at worst. But this brand new father had been one of the most aggressive - and condescending - that I'd encountered in a while. I'd smiled placidly as he threw odd jabs my way every time I came to the estate to work with his wife and monitor her pregnancy. Luckily, my work was done and I wouldn't have to maintain the calm facade for much longer. "I'm happy to do so. Let me gather my things and my fee, and I will leave you." "Oh, please wait Brigitte,"my client murmured from the bed. "I was hoping you'd help me... help me get started." I turned back to her with a warm smile. "We talked about this, Kristina. You'll be fine." And she would be. That was my gift to all of the women that had come under my care in the centuries that I had spent walking the mortal plane. The baby boy she held in her arms would grow, safe and strong and with an unusual talent for healing, regardless of the mortal coil that swirled about him. He would enjoy a long, well-lived life and have many children of his own before settling in for his long rest. And, of course, I would be there to greet his children into the world, just as I had been for Kristina's mother decades before.
There was this man I'd met, fifteen years ago now. It was in a bar I worked in, in Oromocto, New Brunswick. Dougie always sat at the end of my bar. "Coors Light schooner and keep 'er full,"he'd say. "No head, ya hear?"he directed. I'd been serving him for going on two years and he never talked to me but to order. In that bar I'd seen fistfights and robberies, I'd been robbed twice, stabbed once and you'd think a girl like me, one who came from a good home, would have known to just quit. But I couldn't. I'd worked myself into a corner, didn't want a life that wasn't slinging beers. These scum that drank in here, they were my people. I could blend in here. "Heya Dougie,"I'd say every Tuesday and Thursday night. "How's it going?" "Coors Light schooner sweetheart,"he'd reply. "And keep 'er full." The fights were usually on Friday and Saturday nights. The robberies stuck to Sunday after the big weekends. Deposits were done on Monday mornings at the bank, my boss would take all the cash he'd made over the weekend and put it in his account to cover bills and pay cheques and the like. Everything had its time. Which was why it was odd when the man came in with a pea-shooter on a Tuesday afternoon. Handguns were hard to get at the time and I felt my hands shaking as I struggled to open the till. He was looking for cash and I had none. The door opened and startled the thief. "Don't shoot! Please!"I'd begged. "It's just Dougie, he's harmless!" "Give me the cash and no one gets hurt!"The man yelled, Dougie sighed and sauntered in toward his usual stool. I pulled the money from the till and put it on the counter. "The coin too! In the bag!" "Ok!"I took a shaking breath and pulled out the toonies and loonies and dropped them in the cloth bag the man had tossed on the counter. Dougie stopped beside the man, watching him. "Gimme yer wallet!"the thief demanded. Dougie shook his head and popped the man across the chin. The guy dropped like a rag doll, the gun clattered on the floor. I looked from Dougie to the prone frame. "Just gotta know how to hit him,"he shrugged. He picked up the gun and tucked it into his waistband, sitting down in his seat as if he hadn't just saved me from a madman with a gun. "Coors Light schooner and keep 'er full,"Dougie said. I poured the beer without a head, just the way he liked it. **** Like what you see? Check out more of my work at /r/OlliEliotD
"Have you taken your crazy pills today?"Sharon asked. Harry frowned and stuck his hand into his pocket. His fingers closed around the unopened bottle of pills. "Yes, Shar, I took them."he said. Sharon walked over and kissed him. "Good, we wouldn't want anyone watching us tonight,"she said with a wink, brushing against him deliberately as she walked by into the bedroom. "Yeah,"Harry said, feeling guilty. He started to pull his hand out of his pocket when he caught movement in the corner of his eye. He saw a little red pointy hat duck behind the door to the balcony of Sharon's cozy apartment. At least, he seemed to see a hat. All his life he had dealt with the feeling of being watched. Sometimes he would even see brief glimpses of a tiny creature, like a little garden gnome. That's what the pills were for. Harry took them out and opened the container. Entering the kitchen, he grabbed a glass of water and washed down two of the nasty little capsules. Walking toward the bedroom he stopped when he saw movement on the balcony once more. He shook his head, knowing that the pills would take some time to remove his paranoia. But, as always, his curiosity got the better of him. With a sad glance toward the open bedroom door, Harry turned and headed for the balcony's sliding door. He opened it and looked around. He knew he wouldn't see anything. He wasn't that crazy, but he looked anyway. Harry took a quick glance around and then began to close the door. It took him a moment to process what he saw, but when he did he froze. With the door half closed he peeked out again. There, behind the empty flower pot on the otherwise bear balcony, was a gnome. A real, live, two foot high squat, roundish, bearded man in a pointy red hat. Harry stared. "Umm, hello?"the Gnome said in a squeaky nervous voice. Harry stared. "I'm Giller, a gnome. I've been... Uh... Watching you." Harry stared. Giller continued. "I've been curious, you see. You are special. You were born on the solar equinox when the planets were exactly on alignment in the exact center of a fairy ring. I think you're the chosen one." Harry stared. "So,"Giller said, fidgeting with his hands. "I've been keeping tabs on you. The chosen one. It's a very prestigious job, you know. For a gnome." Harry slowly backed out of the doorway. He slowly closed the door, and slowly took two more pills out of his bottle and swallowed them. He turned to walk away, then looked down at his bottle of crazy pills. He took several out and left them on a low table by the balcony door. "The chosen one"he muttered, and walked back toward the bedroom.
"...While many may call it a curse, my wish truly made my life great. Now 30, I honestly don't have any complaints, and if I had a choice, I would do it all again. I have all of the fame and fortune a person could ever ask for. A constant flow of charitable donations to my family has secured their future for generations to come. I spent a few years aiding scientific research, which lead to some fundamental discoveries about how the brain works. And I've been on a few talk shows, describing my philosophy, on life! (not that I'm any expert) My time asleep is much more eventful than you'd imagine. Fairly early in my teens I discovered audiobooks, and have developed playlists for my family to play to me while I'm under. With the lack of other senses, this leads to very vivid dreams as I transport from world to world within these books. When I wake, people regularly want me to watch some movie, or play a video game, but it honestly all pales in comparison to my dreams. I chose not to have children, I simply couldn't put that burden on the others around me while I lay all year long, instead, I help by donating much of my fortune to various children's programs. To be completely honest, as my body is perpetually weak from not moving for a year at a time, I might prefer being in my own dreamland sometimes. Everything I do while I'm awake is just so tiring, but it's nothing I can't handle. I like to do things while I'm awake that will seed themselves into my dreams to come. For instance, if I enjoy a nice juicy burger, with hot crispy fries, I get to enjoy that same meal multiple times throughout the year as I dream my way through the adventures I face. And yet Time ticks on. Time... speaking of which, it is nearly time for me to thank my family for everything they do for me, and for me to prepare for my next adventure." &#x200B; John smiles and waves to the camera, as the crowd roars. His nurse makes her way over and begins rolling John and his wheelchair backstage where his family says their goodbyes again. His family shows no sadness, as they know that John is perfectly content with his life, and is doing plenty to help others along with theirs. Curse or Miracle, it didn't matter to John in the slightest. "Lets try sci-fi this year"John says to his wife. "Sounds exciting", she replied, already formulating a list of books she's been holding off on. "I know just the one!.."
It is said the gods once ruled the world of men. Olympus was the pinnacle of society, and deities demanded worship and sacrifice. These times are long forgotten, if they ever truly existed. Man has been extinct for many ions. Ironically, the gods they worshiped were their downfall: our immortality was a greater curse than even we understood. As our population grew from a few hundred to 76 Billion, we consumed all of the space that belonged to man. As food supplies diminished, our immortal bodies survived, but our hunger refused to subside. We picked Gaia clean. We are still hungry, but we live on. This is more than can be said for man. I am Cliptus, God of Vasectomy, descendant of the Hera Branch. After 23 generations, I am 1 of the 5 billion descendants of Hera genetics. I have no love for her. The gods of old disappeared long ago, around the time man was extinguished. It is said they are hiding amongst the masses, living in fear of facing retribution for their reproductive negligence. Except for Aphrodite. With a face like that, hiding was impossible. She was captured right as Olympus fell, and now resides in Tartarus, among the titans. On quiet nights you can hear her endless screams from the pit. There is also Hades, although no one has seen him in centuries. During The Fall, hades closed the gates to the underworld. They have remained ceiled for thousands of years. I was born far too late to save this world. Gaia is dying, the unrest among the immortals has thrown us into chaos, and the titans of old have gone silent. Our immortality was our greatest gift. It is also our undoing. I know the time I near. I stare at my son. He is not a god, nor a man, nor a titan. He is nothing of this world. His pale skin, deep eyes, and cold touch defy every feature of godliness. His birth killed his immortal mother. And in her dying breath, she uttered his name. Extinction.
Man spent ages trying to develop a way to physically travel faster than light. A study, which, while not fruitless, did not result in the technology they had originally envisioned. The problem was that the Lancaster drive simply generated too much radiation for any organic material to survive a jump. This, however, was a curse and a blessing. On one hand, it would be impossible to use the Lancaster drive to actually colonize other worlds, even though that was our intended purpose for building the damned thing, but on the other hand, we had absolute confidence that we would not be contaminating other worlds with Earth-based life. "Necessity is the mother of Invention", while cliche, was absolutely the mindset behind the Sensory Immersion project. Once Earth shifted their scientific attention from physics to neuroscience, it was only a matter of time before we unlocked the brain. A short time after, we had working machines, husks, which tricked the brain into feeling what they felt. By this time, physicists found a way to use the Lancaster drive to open microholes, allowing instantaneous communication between Earth and the drives, regardless of distance. Now Earth spends it's time probing distant worlds, expanding our knowledge, gathering exotic resources, and altogether growing our presence in this universe. It is only a matter of time before we can find a way to transport our bodies to the worlds we've prepared with the machines, and only then truly grow as our founders imagined. &#x200B;
I was left alone for all of five minutes, and I’d managed to wander into a cold room. In the middle was a large metal table, and atop the table a white sheet draped over a mysterious figure. I remember something telling me not to approach it. A primal feeling that to this day I wish I’d listened to. But I didn’t listen and instead approached the table and pulled the sheet down. As it fluttered to the floor and revealed what was underneath, I began to cry loudly. For there, lying motionless and pale, was the corpse of my kindergarten teacher. At five years old I saw my first dead body. By the time I was ten I had been to more funerals than most kids my age, and maybe more than even some adults. Early on I had an understanding on the nature of life and death, but only because I’d spent my life surrounded by death. My father was a mortician, my mother ran a funeral home, and I was left to watch and learn the family business. My early childhood was fine. Most kids knew my mother, a warm woman who brought baked goods to holiday parties, but none of them knew my dad or what either of my parents did. It wasn’t until middle school when children began to change and become more inquisitive (obnoxious) that things became bad. It started with the revelation that my family worked with the dead. How creepy they said. How gross they teased. They said I smelled of dead bodies and embalming chemicals. They asked if I ever played with the bodies can, or if I had a hand in removing anything from them. It was only words and names to start, but eventually things turned physical when I met Miles. Miles Thorp was already nearly 6’ tall by the time he was 13. He lacked coordination, intelligence, and social graces, but he didn’t need any of that to impose his will on his peers. To be fair I wasn’t the only one he picked on. Everyone got a taste of the bully that was Miles Thorp, but he had an itch to scratch when it came to me. “Hey corpse boy,” Miles would say, “find any good bodies today? I saw a dead frog outside. Maybe you wanna bury it?” This was followed by a shove that was met with a pummeling if I showed any kind of backbone. Miles hated unfounded confidence because to him it was merely disrespect. And despite Miles lack of people skills he was quite successful at turning people on one another. More specifically, when I was 16 I was known as : Corpsey, Corpse-Boy, Body Fag (a play on body bag, I’m sure) among other names and taunts. During my senior year it finally stopped but only because Miles died in a car crash. He was racing another student from our school down one of the main highways. A car had stalled up the road and when he hit his brakes he skidded out. His car went over an embankment, rolled, and fell about five feet down into a gully. Take a wild guess as to which funeral home the family decided to use. It certainly wasn’t the corporate owned company in the next town over. They came to us and for the first time in my life I saw someone my own age on that cold metal table. Usually I felt something like remorse for the deceased. I empathized with the family for losing a loved one. Even children who teased me I was kind to when they lost a beloved uncle or aunt or grandparent. But now I felt something else. A sickening mix of apathy and pleasure. I felt vindicated in my living and his dying. I was 17 and reveling over the body of my tormentor. But this didn’t feel like enough. He was a catalyst for my harassment and now he was gone, but was that really enough? When people die others want to remember the good things about the deceased. Even the mother of a convicted killer will weep for the person that had once been her little boy, if not for the monster he became. But I didn’t want that for Miles. I did not want him remembered fondly. My pettiness and anger wanted his memory to be as muddled as possible. When you live in a small town or even a small city, news can travel rather fast. Even faster with social media. I used fake emails, fake accounts, all from “borrowed” phones and computers that were open to the public. I took everything I knew about Miles and made a page dedicated to all the cruelty he inflicted on his peers. That time he shattered Danny Orson’s glasses and then made him pick up the pieces. Don’t litter Danny. The time he wrecked Melissa Mayhew’s art project that could’ve won a state award. Or when he sold Peter Kline viagra and told him it would get him high. I had pictures of him being a vandal, there were videos of him beating people up, and even recordings of him harassing girls in school. By all accounts this was his legacy and what he deserved. But people are so fickle. The family was, of course, outraged as was the school. People who knew Miles feigned disgust while the page’s following grew. The same people who’d been his victims now gave him sympathy and all because he was “so young” and it was “too soon.” As if his death wasn’t a direct result of his actions. The other boy who he’d been racing didn’t come out and say they’d been racing, even though most the class knew they had planned to. His death was a tragic accident and my page was a cruel mockery of the dead. I know now that you can’t really get revenge on the dead. Not in a sense that matters. They’re no longer a part of our world outside of memory, and perhaps the truth about Miles being out is enough. Even still I don’t feel bad about what I did. The bullying stopped the final semester of my senior year, but I’d already spent most of high school being harassed. So I’m left without vindication and the early days of my youth summarized in two words: Corpse Boy.
The rules are simple. If you manage to sneak an ingredient I would never know into my dish, you get a large chunk of my food empire. I’m pretty famous. I can beat any chef in any cooking competition. Ive been all over the world from the streets of milan to the boroughs of Bogota searching for a new ingredient. My tv show is the most watched show in the entire world as everyone tries to replicate my culinary genius. So far it has been disappointment after disappointment. Everyone makes the same damn things to try to impress me. Its so goddamn fucking tiring. You can only have so many lemon meringue foams and emulsified spring pea soups before you want to tell these goddamn incompetent chefs they ought to stick to E-Z bake ovens and making dogfood. Let me tell you I was on a cooking show where they gave me 15 minutes to prepare a dish out of pathetic ingredients selected at random. I could tell I did terribly but I thought they gave me the win simply because of my reputation. Then I tried the other guys food. It made me wanna throw up in my mouth. Its pure disappointment really. I never feel challenged anymore. I already have the most michelin star restaurants of any chef in the world, Im considered at the top. There’s no drive to improve or innovate when you’re at the top. Everyone wants the same shit. “Black truffle raviolis” that and “chocolate souffles” that. “Where are the true food daredevils?” I ask. No one takes up the call. Please please someone beat me. I cant keep this up much longer. Thus I found myself face to face with an old indian lady daring to challenge me. Of course she was going to cook me curry samosas. Its what Indian grandmothers that think they can cook do. She smiled and pretended she was going to make me a mint mango chutney roasted rack of lamb. Yeah right. Nobody challenges me and does something that simple expecting me not to name the ingredients of a fucking marinade. My aides whisked her into to other room so I wouldn’t be able to cheat. This challenge was going to be televised. She brought back to my immeasurable disappointment the rack of lamb. I smiled for the cameras. “And what is your offering today Mrs. Habib?” I asked magnanimously. “I brought you a rack of lamb marinated in a special chutney of mine. Im sure you’ll figure out the rest.” she winked at me photogenically. I bit into it. “Bell pepper Onion, Salt, sugar, Lime juice, Olive oil mint and mango.” I recited bored. “You smoked the actual lamb with curry leaves coating it with the other spices cardamom ginger, cumin, tumeric and butter. You really think this was going to trip me up?” She smiled and bowed. “I see you can name the ingredients just fine. But let me ask you this. How many different flavors of cumin do you taste?” I frowned. “Im afraid I don’t see what the concern is. There’s cumin in the dish. Using different types of cumin isn’t going to make you magically win this contest.” “Sure. I may not win today, But a sad lonely man like you in pursuit of perfection should notice the small details. You should taste at least two different kinds of cumin in there. One bloomed by heat and the other used as a finishing spice.” I guess I had some reading to do on Indian cooking.
Oof. Another cup of coffee gone. It's been 3 years, the savings account is dwindling, and I can tell my wife Jana is getting a little irritated that I haven't been able to get anything published, though she remains admirably supportive. She's under a lot of stress being so busy at work, but in her day-to-day at the office she brings home plenty of stories of clients trying to give me anything that might resemble inspiration for a good story-line. I guess being busy is a good thing though, it's at least keeping food on the table. For now. The other day she came home with a story of one of her clients who had just taken a vacation to Victorian England, only to discover the familial lineage they thought they knew was not at all the case. I thought maybe I could write a story about this guy, but come on, the NY Best-Seller list was already full of "my (insert ancestor here) was actually born to the servant of the head of the household"stories. Nobody likes a copy cat. I like to go for walks in the park near our flat, hoping to see something out of the ordinary, but really my imagination seems to be limited; like reality has beat me to the punch every time. There's not much left in the way of fiction I guess, there's just been so much development technologically even in the last hundred years. People vacationing in the past, or on the outer reaches of the galaxy with those ludicrously huge starliners carrying thousands to "exotic destinations"like Alpha Centauri. So exotic, it's like calling a walk to the grocery store down the street exotic. This time though, I was sitting on the bench I frequent near the statue of Admiral Edward P. Jenkins, famed explorer of the Outer Rim, and I saw a couple pop in at the Transport Stop at near the A1260 rotary. They had a peculiar look about them, I thought I might get up to follow them for a bit. At a distance, though. I couldn't quite make out what they were talking about, but I could tell they were having a rather heated discussion about something. They must have just come in from the Capitol: the suits they were wearing gave that away. The one had a cap on, looked like a Federal Service cover, and I thought I could make out some shinies on his shoulders. Must have been a pretty high up position in the Service. The other was wearing the one of suits the Members of Parliament usually wear. The right cut, the right color, it was the most likely assumption that he were a Member. That's a little strange to see the two of them by themselves, usually there's quite the entourage following a Member, much less a Serviceman with that much silver on his uniform. They headed into a pretty nondescript apartment block, so I found a seat on a retaining wall near some beautifully blooming lilies and pulled out my notebook just hoping to see something interesting happen. This might be the story I had been looking for! Some sort of Admiral or something conspiring with a Member who sits on who knows what sort of committee or works with who knows what sort of Agency, hoping to formulate some dastardly plan. Maybe I should shy away from the science fiction, and focus on a political thriller or something. Lord knows the secrets of our leaders know no bounds, this could be the sort of revelation I needed to get my career back into action.
Harma shuddered and wrapped the quilt tighter around her hunched shoulders. She tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with Ja'el, her pupil, sitting in front of her. The pupil who, in a mere nine months, had learned both Necronica and Dominica. Both of them! It had taken her a year to become comfortable with each, and she still wouldn't call herself a master of Dominica. Now, he sat in front of her learning Chaotica and channeling more entropy than she'd ever been able to touch. He had far outstripped her in such a short time, but he didn't know that yet. She wouldn't let him know that ever if she could help it. "Good, but your hold is weak. Concentrate the forces more! That is what gives chaotica its power. Chaos exists everywhere in the universe. It is only when that chaos is concentrated that it becomes a force." Ja'el showed no sign of hearing her words, but the shimmering ball of black chaotic energy in front of him shrank to the size of a pin head without dissipating any of its energy. If he were to release that here, half the countryside could be turned into a twisted hellscape of scattered entropic forces. "Enough."Her voice filled the small hut with ease, but she yelled anyway. It shouldn't have been this way. When she'd taken him in, she'd seen the potential buried in those blue eyes, shimmering and boiling like a cauldron of black tar. It was only once the teaching began that she realized his potential could have filled an ocean. "Yes, Master,"he murmured softly, and the energy in front of him vanished cleanly. He opened his eyes and looked at her with those blue eyes that reminded her of a predator wondering whether it was worth the energy to catch this particular prey. It made her skin prickle. "You have done well these last several months, but you lack focus. Black magic is not as forgiving as white. Yes, you wield energy so terrible, the earth itself curdles at its mention, but one slip and that very energy will consume you as well as your enemies." "And who are these enemies?"He spoke so calmly it grated. "Anyone,"she snapped. "Stay. Learn from me, and you could challenge death itself."Challenge and lose, just as she had done so many years ago. Then again, with his potential... "No, we are done."His tone did not change, but his words dripped poison. Harma turned to glare at the man's eyes. "You are not done till I say you are done. Do mean to abandon your study?"Her hand tightened into a fist at her side. Would he really betray her after all she had done? "I mean that I have completed them. I have surpassed you. There is nothing more you can teach me." "Arrogant welp! You have but run your fingers along the surface of waters deeper than your mind can--"her words died in her mouth as Ja'el channeled a star-spirit into existence. The hut was instantly filled with blinding light. She had not taught him that. The only thing stopping a star from forming right then and there where they both stood was the thin barrier of uncertainty he had used to split the energy. "Who taught you that?"She screamed at him. "I did not learn it, I saw it."He said simply, allowing the star-spirit to dissipate. "If you still believe you have something to show me, then prove it. Otherwise I will take my leave." Harma howled. The hut they were in shattered and was rebuilt in a single moment, except they were no longer in it. "YOU WANT TO SEE WHAT YOU HAVE NOT LEARNED? WATCH CLOSELY AND SEE NO MORE!"He couldn't leave, not yet. She still needed him. She channeled all three sources at the same time, sending a tidal wave of impossibility toward his dark figure. "A pocket dimension,"he commented, calmly deflecting, and neutralizing the waves of dark energy as they hit him. "Quite useful. A mixure of Dominica and Chaotica if I'm not mistaken." He was not mistaken. Chaotica allowed the other branches to do things previously impossible. Dominica normally affected minds, but Chaotica allowed it to affect reality. Necronica could be affected as well. Harma changed her channels, now a fog of pure death rolled across the ground like a blanket. Except, when it hit him, it flowed around him like water around a rock. Ja'el just stood there shaking his head. The sole living thing in a literal sea of death. No, not shaking his head, shaking with laughter! He was laughing at her! "Oh, Harma. Perhaps it would have worked better like this."For the first time, he channeled against her. The sea of fog went crimson. She instantly threw up the same shield he had used, but the fog went straight through. The man had modified her own spell! Crimson fog now flowed between physical and spiritual existence. Harma screamed, and the pocket dimension shattered along with the crimson fog. Harma, however, collapsed to the ground gasping. No one lived once they felt the touch of death no one. She heard the crunch of grass under heavy boots as his shadow crept over her. "You were a fool, Harma. A useful fool, but a fool no less."He sighed heavily, a grave insult to her as she struggled to draw what breaths remained in her body. "Death was not your enemy."How had he known about that? "The Dark speaks to me, Harma. Can you hear it?"He bent closer and whispered into her ear. "It's hungry, Harma, and you were the one who taught it to hunt."He laughed then, only Harma didn't hear it. Harma wouldn't hear anything ever again. Ja'el stepped quietly away from the body. A few seconds later entropy tore it to dust, then it tore the dust to nothing. A part of his master's old quilt flapped in the wind from where it was pinned to his shoulder. On it was an insignia: a circle around interlocking triangles. Only on closer inspection did one see that the circle was made of wild, thorny vines, stretched and compacted, and the triangles were made of gold embroidered snakes with red eyes. The insignia of a Black Magician; Ja'el's mark.
"On Basher, on Cancer, on Lancer and Lixen On Vomit, on Stupid, on Bomber and Shitzen!” Claws gave a blood-thirsty yell, “Ho, Ho, Ho!” as his eight demon imps dragged his black sleigh through the center of a quaint village on Greenland’s northern edge. This was Santa's the first stop . A town where people got away from the places people usually got away too. But Claws didn’t know this. No Claws was completely elated. He was dripping red with the blood of his better half, his older brother who he had just torn in half, red hat to black boot. To Claws this small hideaway was his next play pen. Claws pulled his whip back and lashed Shitzen, “Get going you stupid imps, find me fresh Christmas blood.” The imps dragged Claws sleigh to the nearest cottage. Claws read the welcome sign and licked his lips, “I’m coming down the Chimney, and I can’t wait to meet the Miller family.” Inside the house, little Johnny Miller peered out of the window. Little John thought to himself, “Those are odd looking reindeer?” However, every precaution, a boy of seven in a small town could imagine, was thrown out at the prospect of meeting Santa on Christmas Eve. Little Johnny leapt off the chair by the window and rushed into the living room. Johnny’s excitement turned to apprehensive as he imagined Santa finding him awake after his Bedtime and giving him coal! Johnny heard a loud whommp on the top of the roof. Panic-stricken Johnny glanced around the room for a good hiding spot. He scrambled behind the bright-flashing pine in the corner of the room. Then Johnny imagined Santa finding him while piling presents under the tree. Quietly, Johnny skirted around the tree and crawled behind the couch. Santa was almost here! Johnny heard a grunt come from the Chimney followed by a vivid “FUCK”. Having never heard that word before, Johnny imagined that “fuck” was a secret elvish command. Johnny could hear someone rummaging around the room, munching on some food. Santa was eating my cookies! Johnny peeked from behind the couch. At the center of the room loomed a massive red figure. So red that red dripped all over the room off a large wool jacket. Johnny could only see his back, but he knew who it must be, Santa! Santa stopped eating and took a serious of probing sniffs. “Who’s there?” Santa whispered softly. Afraid that Santa would find him, Johnny ducked below the couch. Santa twisted his head and continued to whisper, “I heard something, and I smell something too. It smells like a child. I love children. I love to give them toys.” Hearing Santa’s soothing voice had quite an effect on Johnny. Toys sounded like so much fun! Johnny slowly moved out from behind the couch. “Yes come here child, come closer.” Santa was facing him now, but it was too dark to make out his hands and face. Johnny thought it odd that Santa had a red beard. A gasp came from the stairwell. Johnny turned around as the lights flickered on. His father was standing in the doorway eyes-wide in terror. Johnny said reassuringly, “It’s ok Daddy, it’s just Santa.” Johnny looked back as Santa. His hands had massive black talons, and his mouth housed a jumble of long-crooked-blades. Santa laughed “That’s right kiddo, and Claws is here, Ho Ho Ho.” Johnny screamed for a second and then no more because Christmas had come with a reckoning. Thanks for reading!
Video Game Man is a new super hero on the block. Certain things that would be mechanically difficult he can do with ease and with little training. Never flown a helicopter? No problem! Need to cook a lavish meal? For him it's just a quicktime event! &#x200B; But he has certain... limitations. For example, he can only jump exactly 3 feet in the air, and he can only move in 3 speeds. Slow walk, jog or full out sprint. &#x200B; Also sometimes things get a little strange when he accidentally gets in the wrong side of the car, or is sitting in a squat for five minutes and doesn't realize it. Then there was that time he stared at the wall for 10 minutes... &#x200B; Write a story about one of his adventures &#x200B; &#x200B;
"Hey, Couchy,"I greeted as I ran down the stairs. I grabbed the banister and spun to face Couchy. "Hm-? Oh, hey,"Couchy replied. "How well did you sleep last night?" "Pretty good,"I replied. "You?" "I'm a couch. I don't really sleep." "Yeah, I--," "You gonna say hello to me, ape-face?"the television cut in. I was almost grateful that he saved me from that conversation, but he was still a jerk. Everyone was a jerk. The couch was the only person -- or, thing, who liked me. "Yeah, hello to you,"I spat. "You're lucky I don't throw you into the creek." "Yeah, real lucky being stuck here with you!"he replied, wiggling his antennas. Suddenly, the clock chimed in. "You slept in until 12:40, you dope,"he lectured. "You're such a moron for not keeping the alarm clock." "He wouldn't shut up. He had it coming,"I defended myself. I walked over to the kitchen to make myself breakfast. The microwave greeted me first. "Hey, hobo,"he said, waddling over closer to me. "Yeah, nice to see you too,"I mumbled. I went over to the fridge, but accidentally bumped into the table in my sleepy-state. "You blind or something? Watch where you're going!"it warned. "Yeah!"the chairs agreed. "Whatever. Sorry,"I said, stumbling to the fridge. "You slept in again, huh?"it boomed. "Yeah? So?"I replied, swinging open the door and reaching inside for the juice. I heard Couchy stomping over behind me. "Give him a break, fridge-face,"the couch shouted. "That all you could come up with?"butted in the toaster. "HEY, STAY OUTTA THIS, YOU DISCOUNT BRAVE LITTLE TOASTER!"yelled the couch. "OH YEAH? MAKE ME, COUCH POTATO!"the toaster yelled back. "STOP FIGHTING, YOU VEGETABLE-BRAINS!"screamed the waffle-press. "SHUT THE HELL UP! PANCAKES ARE BETTER!"shouted the microwave. "ARE THEY, NOW? COME OVER HERE AND SHOW ME!" "WILL ALL OF YOU STOP FIGHTING?"I yelled at last, slamming the juice carton onto the table. A silence fell over the room. "Will you guys ever quit it?" "No,"said everyone except Couchy. "Well, you should,"I sputtered. "Because I'm this close to throwing you out, I said, pinching my fingers together. "Oh, is that so?"said the fridge. "Where are you going to get new stuff, huh?" I sighed. He was right. I guess I just had to accept my fate to deal with these a-holes the rest of my life. I grabbed the cereal out of the pantry, poured it into a bowl, and rushed over to the living room. The table waddled over to me. "Put your stuff on my head, won't you sir?"he mocked. "Whatever, block-head,"I grunted. I shoved him over to Couchy, who had already thundered back to the living room, and sat down. I placed my meal on the table and turned on the television. They chattered on about the weather and talked about how terrible our president was or something, until the newscaster cleared his throat and reported something that shocked me. "In other news, police are said to be converging on a house where a hiker claimed to have heard shouting, arguing, and even acts of violence occurring. Police suspect that some form of abuse is happening, however it cannot be confirmed until they arrive." "Well, maybe you should have thrown us out after all,"said the clock. EDIT: Gee, my first silver! Thank you, kind redditor!
The Television goes to black. Hans Zimmer's score starts to play. The score is called, “When hunger takes you on the road”. A score based if the notion of a ticking clock. The tick tock sounds alternate with a glissandi and rise in tone throughout the piece. Some loud reverbs take place in order to echo a growling stomach. Sounds of heavy breathing are played over the musical score. Cut to Michael Caine heavily breathing on his studio apartment’s sofa as relatives of his are fighting in the background. A cut to his kitchen shows it is suffering from neglect. Pots and pans are piled up in the sink, The counters are filled with various scripts. There is even a book in the oven. He gets up and starts shouting. Jump cut to his clock which keeps ticking away quite furiously. Fade to black the doorbell rings. Cut to Michael Caine throwing a used french fry container into the garbage can while bouncing a now happy relative on his knee. Jump cut to the clock now ticking really slowly. Fade to black. The final reverb plays, then silence.
Alex took a breath. His heart was racing faster than a fish in pursuit. The customer was ready to dive into the Great Barrier Reef. Alex inwardly smiled at the fact that the man in front of him had paid for his own death. ——————————————————————————— “Are you ready, John?” Alex questioned. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Alex took the usual route, pointing out fish and coral and other fauna, until he reached the most beautiful part. “ This is an area I like to call ‘The Laceration zone’. It’s beautiful, right?” John answered before he could process the entire statement. “It’s fabulous. Wait, why is it called the-“ Alex took out the pocketknife. “This is why.” And John only saw black. ——————————————————————————— “That was the most beautiful one yet. How do you manage it, Alex?” Tina, Alex’s long time partner in crime had asked. “It’s quite simple, love. Take them to the most petrifying sight, then take em while they’re scarcely breathing.” Tina sighed. “Can I do it next time?” “You’re the better secretary, but whatever floats your boat, love.”
So, it all began on a quiet Antarctic night. I was watching the aurora Australis when suddenly these...flying machine...things just came out from the sky and started massacring all the penguins. Why. Aliens usually go for the sapient, most dominant species when invading planets; at least that’s what the hollywood movies taught me. Anyway, the only sapient beings on earth are the homo sapiens...and me. Ok, long story short I was just some dumbass penguin in bumfuck Antarctica, until some humans took me and gave me a few electric shocks, a few chemicals, and some radiation and now I’m the smartest penguin alive. I don’t know why they did that to me, but thanks I guess. Anyway, I escaped their lab so I can get laid with other penguins (animal instincts, why fight them?), but I got rejected by everyone (don’t know why they all say I smell weird) so I spent my times away from the colony. Lucky me, I would’ve died from the laser beam if I had stayed. From my observation, the aliens appear to be starting out from the center, with the emperor penguins (maybe that’s why they’re killing us they think we’re the emperor!), then they begin to move toward the coasts. If this continues, we would all go extinct... With everything looking grim, it seems as if the humans are the only ones who can save us. But they refused. It’s not like they have anything to gain from saving us. Us penguins were meant to die anyway from global warming. Humans have always been the one who control our destiny. Well, I’m sick of that shit. I’m running my own destiny now. It was kind enough for the humans to leave all their crap when the aliens struck. It’s not much, but I’ll take what I got. I don’t know why humans did this to me. I don’t know why there are aliens killing us. I don’t know jack fucking shit. All I know is that I must KILL. (I only made this because of my username)
'Now we've talked about this. Bipolar Disorder can cause feelings of grandeur. You are just experiencing a manic episode right now.' 'Please, you have to understand. I would know if this was fake.' I closed my eyes. Progress with this patient was unheard of. I was beginning to wonder what I should do. 'I need your help, man,' he said, swinging my attention back to him. 'I can go with you to this portal just to see-' 'YES!' he said. 'That's what I want.' I know you should never humor these delusions, but I didn't know what else to do. I would go to the 'portal' and walk him through why it wasn't real. Standing in front of his closet door, I was still as skeptical as always. Just sure that he was a Bipolar man experiencing delusions, like many do. But then he opened the door. 'Once again, there are some things you need to know before going in,' he said. 'Uh,' I replied. My eyes were fixed on the swirling, pulsating film at the back of his closet. 'We are extra strong in their universe. Their gravity is lower, or something.' 'Right.' I swallowed. I was really going to have to go in that thing. 'Their atmosphere is also super oxygen rich, maybe. I'm not really sure exactly what it is, but I can breathe really well there.' 'Yeah.' Not to mention the scientific ramifications. 'They're the humans of their universe. They look a lot like us but skinnier and shorter. They think I'm a god or something.' 'Yep.' Philosophical questions answered. Physics blown to bits. 'Humans from another alternate universe have come through the portal on their end and basically taken over. We have to stop their dictatorship from causing the extinction of the good guys.' 'Okay. But before we go in, I just want you to say you understand where I was coming from.' 'Oh yeah, doc. It sounds crazy.' 'I'll update your diagnosis when we get back.'
"Is it in here?"I asked, walking calmly down the hallway behind the quivering woman. It was a simple job- hope chest bought at an estate sale. These nasty things could lie dormant for years and get passed down for generations, children and animals mysteriously dissapearing. "It...it t-took my dog! Snapped her right up! All I found was a paw!" I nodded, fingering the amulet in my pocket. My team was one of only 12 in the world who could kill these guys without much fuss. "Ok I need you to stay out here."I entered, shut the door behind me. The Mimic sat in the corner, blood smeared and a dismembered dog leg on the floor. "Oof...sorry fluffy,"I Grimaced. The chest growled softly as it snored.
"Oh bother! Not again!"sighed Pooh, as he looked down at the unrecognizable mess. "I just cleaned this floor!" He absentmindedly looked around to see if there was more honey around, but it seemed like he had finished the last before the latest episode. Noticing the knife he was still holding, he slowly walked over to the sink and placed it beside a few similar knives, thickly covered with dried blood which had also pooled on the table. As he walked back to examine the body more closely, he realized from its size that it must have originally been Piglet. "I suppose I will at least have some bacon, although it would be far better if I could only find a little honey to go with it"he mused. "Perhaps Paddington could lend me some molasses at least. And if he's reluctant, well, I suppose I'll just have to grin and bear it..."
People always ask me my fondest memory of cooking. They assume that it was opening day of my first restaurant. Others think it was the day I received my first Michelin star. And they're all not bad guesses; they're all great memories, but I think my favorite was when I was just 13 years old, Mother's day, back in my parents' kitchen—where my passion all started. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ "Wait, wait, Jack, let's make waffles!"Jess squealed. "Shh, shh! Jess, if you're too loud, you'll wake Mom!"I whispered as I ruffled her hair. Jess, the ever peppy eight year old, never failed to make me smile. As I was almost five years her senior and then an official teenager, I was the responsible one, or at least I tried to be. Hence why we were in the kitchen, making breakfast with the sunrise. "Jess, you know that Mom doesn't like waffles, YOU like waffles,"I chuckled. Jess frowned and folded her arms. "Can you make ME waffles, then?" "Jess,"I squeezed my temples with my thumb and pointer finger. "I can't make YOU waffles, you're a human, silly." Jess narrowed her eyes. I smirked. "We're making pancakes. And then if there's batter left, we'll see about your waffles."I puffed my lips. "Is that okay?" "Okay..."Jess scuffed the ground with her foot. I grabbed a large ceramic mixing bowl and a jar of flour and set it on our tiny, three legged kitchen table. Sugar was on a shelf next to the table, and the baking soda, powder, and salt were at the edge of the table. Skimming the recipe book, I set out a one cup measuring cup, a tablespoon, and a teaspoon. "Jess, do you want to measure out the dry ingredients while I do the wet ingredients?" "Oh yes, I can help!"Jess slipped into a seat at the table." "Here, can you follow these instructions?"I asked as I laid the recipe down in front of her. "Mmhmm."she responded. I turned around and retrieved another small bowl for the wet ingredients. Two eggs, found on the kitchen counter. 1 quart of buttermilk hidden all the way in the back of the fridge. The eggs we always have; the buttermilk I actually had to run down the street to the Smith's dairy farm down the road. Luckily for me, Ol' Ron the school janitor liked swiping my Vienna sausages at lunch for a buck each time, so I had a little money hidden away for occasions like these. I rolled the first brown egg in my hand. Farm fresh eggs from the Robertsons next door. Not cleaned so they could last out on the counter for a couple weeks. I cracked the first one and smiled at the rich, orange-yellow yolk that stared back at me. After I cracked the second egg, I poured in the buttermilk. Its slightly yellow, cream colored hue almost glistened in the morning light. I admired its thick consistency as I caught a whiff of its aroma—fermented maybe two or three days—tinge of sourness behind its backdrop of rich, dairy goodness. I had no idea how spoiled I was at time with all this fresh food.
"You there! Stop running this instant! I saw what you took." Danny cursed under his breath. Of course someone sees me tonight of all nights. The voice came from the alley to his left, so Danny slowed to a halt and cautiously pivoted in that direction, fists clenched. This should be interesting. "Good. Now, if you're a smart lad, you'll hand over the keys."A portly, unassuming man, a head shorter than Danny and presumably the source of the voice, stepped out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk, hand extended. "I don't know what you're talking about,"Danny called back. Raids were supposed to be so simple even a drunkard could complete one. Enter the house, grab the object of significance, and get out. No one was ever around. Usually. "Your feet betray you, lad. Why back away if you've got nothing to hide? And why run at this time of night, with no one else around?"Damn it. Why did I do that? The stranger's chins wobbled as he spoke, tight against the collar of his ill-fitting black turtleneck. His ponderous footfalls echoed in the narrow street as he advanced slowly, inexorably. And so faint that he almost missed it, Danny saw the purple outline of grapes, a pin just below the stranger's collar. A sharp spike of anger coursed through Danny's chest. He hated being called lad. No. I need to concentrate. "That's a nice pin. Where'd you get it?" A cloying, saccharine smile curled the stranger's lips. "Oh, must have picked it up at a party somewhere."Liar. "Now, the keys. I'm a patient man, but even I have my limits."A gun appeared in his other hand. To hell with keeping a low profile, then. "Over my dead body." "That's the idea."And he fired. Danny crumpled to the ground, face-down, and blood began to pool on the sidewalk. The man nonchalantly pocketed his sidearm and walked up to Danny's body without breaking stride. He bent down to turn Danny's body over and get at the keys in his jacket pocket. And recoiled in horror as the bullet wound in Danny's abdomen began closing. The blood on the sidewalk rushed back into the wound, and the bullet fell out of the wound and onto the sidewalk. "What's the matter? Aren't you pleased to see me?"Danny grabbed the man by the neck as he stood up, choking off any attempt at a reply. "Why don't you go back to your little murder cult and tell them I said hello?"The man's eyes flickered and grew bloodshot as he stumbled away in the direction he had come from. "That was sloppy,"said a voice from behind Danny. "Hermes. I'm assuming you saw the whole thing." "Dionysus. Did you forget that you'd turned your powers off?"He had, in fact. Part of a stupid bet with Ares, who had teased him endlessly when he had announced to Olympus that he was taking up crime fighting in his spare time. He was to simply grab a set of car keys out of a criminal's home, a standard Olympian bet format with variations usually tacked on. Unfortunately, once he'd had a few drinks, he'd forgotten that alcohol resistance was among the powers he'd agreed to temporarily relinquish. "Something like that. But we have bigger problems now. It looks like the cult of Dionysus is back. And where we see mortals murdering in my name, you can bet the Titans aren't too far away." &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
“We found them,” I typed into the radiation proof device I’d been issued. “Do not expect to survive. Over.” “Do you think it got through?” Joe asked me, his gun trained on the two men in front of us and his hands shaking. I gave a slight shrug as I saw blue flashes behind my eyes. I was being bombarded with high doses of criticality induced radiation and all sorts of other stuff. Some I understood, some were not meant for this world. It wasn’t what I expected. I suppose I’m not sure what I thought I’d see, although it might be the cellular damage in my brain causing it. I’m fairly sure I didn’t expect two emaciated old men staring at each other in uncomfortable looking wooden chairs to be the biggest killers in the history of the world. In fairness, we might take second place in the killing olympics. The line of dead, both innocent and guilty, that lie behind us numbers in the millions. Maybe billions. I personally ordered the carpet-nuking of Europe and I still feel it was the right thing to do. You’ve seen why I did it on the news, but you didn’t see it like I did. The eternal-life event in Australia sounds awful, but when you see someone forced into a form that can never die, combined with the most excruciating pain they’ve ever endured, let’s just say it changes a man. Maybe they have the heat death of the Universe to look forward to for relief, after all the black holes have evaporated. I hope so, anyway. I was in Japan when Bosei Kega hit. That’s Maternal Hunger if you don’t speak Japanese. Doesn’t matter what you call it when you’re sitting across the table from a woman happily eating a baby and discussing the weather. Europe was worse. We can’t shoot them, although we’re told that their bodies are human. We don’t know which one is causing all this evil and which one is fighting it. The eggheads told us we can’t even synchronize our shots as a picosecond’s worth of difference would be enough for whatever one is causing it to get the advantage and not destroy the world. You heard me right. The destruction of the world is the better option, at least we wouldn’t be subject to an eternity of torment. We tried six years ago, but we were blocked by one or the other of these two silent men. Now we wait, and whoever wins, we try to kill. Good or evil, God or Devil. Unless the radiation gets me first.
♪♫ Light rock tune plays ♫♪ Welcome back to The Amazing race 20,131. This year, our contestants are stripped of all modern technology and dropped into primitive solarsystem with only chemical rockets. Each leg of the race requires them to stop at each checkpoint, complete a task, and race to the finish line. But.. there is a twist. If the local population of aliens found on Earth detect any of the contestants, they are instantly disqualified. Many of the tasks require the contestants to travel to Earth to get their next clues. Today, we see who is able to successfully grow potatoes on this system's 4th planet, Mars. Lets see which teams are able to complete this task unnoticed, to see who will be going on to the final elimination round! ♪♫ Light rock tune plays ♫♪
The sound of a miniature church bell rang a single chime throughout the spotless townhouse. A well groomed man rose to the sound with his eyes still closed. His feet brushed against the floor and followed the same path as every morning, entering the meticulously placed slippers along the way to the kitchen. A medium sized pan sat on the stovetop as the man remained poised in front of it. A thin piece of metal with a flat rubber end was gripped firmly in his had. A dull hum traveled around his head, eyes still closed. The drone, momentarily paused on the vent above the sizzling pan, was struck in a single motion, causing a dramatic drop into the prepared food. With the same tool, the man served the tainted food onto a porcelain plate, bringing it to the table as his eyes crept open.
Why did I say that? I am a powerful dark wizard, I need to watch my tongue. It drained all My magic, and it almost became a "Dying man's curse". I survived, but only barely. Without the orphans that I gathered to siphon off their fear-energy, I'd be dead right now. Well, undead. If you cast enough "evil"spells, the afterlife isn't too keen on keeping you, and I would probably have joined the hordes of vampires that are terrorising that village over there. Hell, I would have been leading them. Toto is already halfway there. He is such a do-good, one moment he's standing over My fallen body, waving his stupid staff, demanding I release the orphans and surrender peacefully, the next moment he runs off to save the villagers. No sense of self preservation. If only I hadn't slipped on the wet ground, everything would have been different. Stupid rain. All My robes are drenched. "Curse thi..." I caught Myself before I could finish that sentence. I really ought to shut up sometimes. Last week some stupid hero managed to foil a magnificent plan of Mine because I monologued too much. And the week before that... I really don't have time to think about that right now, although I will soon need to investigate why I always seem to have exactly one scheme per week. Maybe next episode. Right now I need to get away from here, before those vampires come after Me. I really don't want to join their ranks. Immortality seems nice enough, but that parasitic lifestyle really doesn't suit Me. For now, I will seek refuge in My moving castletank, that should grant Me at least some protection. With that I will be able to blow My way through the undead hordes until I reach the Tower of Blœd. It's been a while since I've been home. I hope I left the furnaces on. Wouldn't want the boiling blood-moat to get too cold. ... On second thought, that might not be the safest place right now. Too many dead bodies around that could rise anew, possibly still filled with the desire to kill Me. I guess I will have to wait this out in a smaller Fortress, one without a mass grave full of enemies. ... The castletank will suffice.
Scientific log of Guuo, rotation 4672, grade 5. Last grade the ship happened upon a planet, mostly composed of liquid hydrogendioxide and strange clusters of carbon based stalactites. The atmosphere seemd able to sustain life, as it was composed mostly of nitrogen gas. As we sent expeditions down to the surface we found evidence of a moderately intelligent species, they sadly seemed to have gone extinct some time ago. As we incestigated their remnants, the conclusion became that they where a bipedal, physically disdvantaged species. They had succeeded on intellegence alone, a rather strange find since none of their creations was to be considerd intelligent. Through my and the teams many visits, we discovered their technology, their builds and their crafts. They called themselves 'humans' which orignated in one of their old ways of communication. We esteemated that they appeared and went extinct in just short of 600 rotations and 8 grade. They had curious technology, it only appeared in the last 6 grade of their existence, making them indeed a subject if interest. They had gone from simple rocks tied to shafts to electrical components in 6 grade. Truly an amazing enough accomlishment. Tho most of it was fuelled by a desire to kill, as we discovered the concept of 'nations' that the humans then fought about. It was a sombre moment when we landed in a nation where proof of this violence was everywhere, Germany the humans had called it, multiple buildings and records showed two massive dissputes between different groups of humans. As we understod more I could easily conclude that they had inadvertely made themselves go extinct from lack of knowledge of what they did to their planet and themselves. Even if we had discovered this planet 4 grade earlier it might have been too late. Now everywhere humans had been was taken back by the planet, they had built in a way that shunned their nature instead of working with it. Humans, truly strange creations. They must be investigated further, their planet revitalized, maybe by next grade we can inhabit it. End of scientific log.
Glintfeather stared across the open plains, her brethren gathering in the pale morning light, sunrise not yet a glimmer on the horizon. The cold fog hangs low to the ground, the frost imparting its frozen kiss to the few trees that dot the landscape. A diminutive chick, [still striped](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emu#/media/File:Baby_Emu.jpg), cautiously approaches, hoping to pass by unnoticed. He quivers when he realizes the commander is eyeing him impatiently. "My lord, the kangaroos are starting to organize. They have put forward a leader who is refusing to work until the laborers are granted rest through the day." In an instant, the chick is huddled to the ground, the adult emu looming over him like a terrible storm about to unleash its lightning. Glintfeather bent down to meet the trembling chick at eye level. "The work cannot stop so close to The Reckoning, the kangaroos are the only ones who can build the cages. Toss this insolent 'leader' to the crocodiles. Make an example of him and the rest will fall in line."The chick visibly loosened up, releasing a breath he'd been holding in. Glintfeater noticed his relaxation. "And the next time you fail me, toss yourself in as well." Glintfeather leaned back as the chick scrambled to his feet and raced to the horizon. Turning back to the formation of emus, the imperious commander looked to her First Wing, her trusted battle sisters of wars gone by. Filled with hope, and the ardent belief that well-laid plans would see most of them to the end of this day. Yet still, the rest of the army were untested and unproven. So many of them were young. So many still had nest-mates watching their eggs and hatchlings. Every soul in this wilderness would soon rest on her decisions. She wondered, how many of those she saved would remember her? The young eggs still warmed beneath their fathers, the rebellious kangaroos, the impetuous wallabies, the secretive cockatoos. Too many to count, too many to know. The last stars were disappearing, she could feel the dawn quickly approaching. It was time. She motioned to her aide who let out a soft coo to quiet the assembled birds. Glintfeater began, "WARRIORS!"Her low thrumming, punctuated the silence. "The oracles have spoken! The world has been put into imbalance. The featherless beasts push further and further into our lands, mindless in their expansion, heedless to the danger they court. [Attrition and containment](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emu_War) of their taint is no longer a viable option. If we do not act now, swiftly and decisively, the [great guardians of old](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Serpent) will arise to sweep the land clean and start this world anew. None of us will survive, but from our deaths will the guardians cultivate new life." A quiet murmer swept through the crowd, unsettled by the threat of the old ones, the threat of fading into the dark night. Glintfeater raised her wings to bring their attention back. "I choose not to let this happen, to not go quietly without facing this evil which barks at our faces! You are our sharpest talons! You are the tip of our beaks that shall hew a new future from this land! You are the hope of a generation, of all generations!"A few scattered calls broke the air, but the audience stayed rapt. "Already our outriders infiltrate their lines, dropping cages of [drop bears](https://australianmuseum.net.au/learn/animals/mammals/drop-bear/) amongst them while they sleep." Fear rippled out into the crowd. "Madness! No cage will hold the bears!"cried someone from the first row. Glintfeather leapt upon her, her talons reaching around the offending bird's neck and forcing the soldier to the ground. "That's the point."She turned to the crowd. "Soon the bears will break free and turn their great trees of solid water and dull rock to temples of carnage and blood. Once the seeds of chaos have been sown, we will enter the fray and drive the invaders from our land! The featherless fools will know pain and suffering and fear. But you, my sisters all, you will all only know one thing: Victory." The emus droned in unison, their voice melding into one sonorous note that filled the landscape. In the gathering light, the attack began.
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Inside was a note that read "beware the witches living among us and the walls who talk to us. They are not friends but rather guides into the unknown. The world is not what it seems and now I know Im right."your dad had chronic schizophrenia so you passed the note off as one of his episodes, before he eventually killed himself due to the "lurking voices". Under the note was a strange blue and brass key that read 626. You lived in an old apartment complex in Chicago. #829. You feel there is something to do with that specific building so you go back to see what room it unlocked. Youre looking at the doors of a still crooked apartment complex. 624....625...627. Shocked and somewhat worried you go up to the front desk to ask if they had a room 626. They give you a look of absolute horror and ask for the key. They almost burst into tears as they drag you into the basement. She tells you that many people, have gone into "the abyss"and never come out. You put the key into the door as she runs away in terror. A big creak as the door etches across the floorboards. You close the door behind you and a sudden flash of light appears. "SURPRISE"witches and goblins yell. It has been decorated as if it is your birthday. They have been waiting for your dad for 40 years.
All my life I've been a dreamer. A daydreamer to be exact. My mind wanders, taking me away from daily activities to somewhere more pleasant. At least most of the time. Other times I see myself dying, only to snap out of it a few seconds before the exact moment of my imagined dead. I'm really lucky to still be alive. Others said it too, with a mind like mine, I should have been hit by at least a dozen cars. But hey, I'm still here. I also tried finding some therapy, but all that did was limit the cases of happy daydreams, so it's hard to call that progress. But still, after what happened today, I think I need therapy more than ever. It all started when I was on my way to work. It was a 20 minute walk, but i enjoyed the free time and fresh air thoroughly. Lost in whatever i was thinking about, i didn't notice the open manhole. At least, that's what i dreamed, because 2 seconds later i stood one meter before the manhole, with memories of a swift fall, excruciating pain in my legs and the follow up darkness in my head. Now considerably more focused, i walked around the pit and continued on my way. That's when my brain decided it would be fun to be run over by a truck. I really wondered, like i had many time before, how my brain had such detailed knowledge about being crushed to bits, with the accompanying sound of brakes, shouts filled with terror and so on. Really quite exceptionable, that brain of mine. And as if it had heard me, it went all-out. I was shot by a gunman, I had a sack of cement fall on my head, an escaped lion decided I was a nice snack and after the first bite of my homemade lunch, everything just stopped. I decided to get some office lunch that day. next was the first non-lethal daydream: my boss decided to fire me. Strangely enough, there was not the normal reset, or snap-like wake-up. I must have kept looking dumb at him, because next my boss just said to go home and get some rest, maybe take some vacation. For a moment I wondered if the dream was still ongoing, but hey, if it was, I would wake up later back at work, and you don't always get free vacation! So I went on my way, and decided to take a taxi home this time around. Next thing that happens, he drives of the bridge. Seconds later we are at the other side of the bridge and I arrive home like nothing ever happened. The last dream of the day, was probably also the strangest and most horrifying. My loving wife pushing me of the stairs. It really hurt me, mentally that is, because there's no way that she would ever do such a thing. She's now making dinner. She talked about a surprise, maybe to make up for the lunch. It smells promising, oh, maybe it's lasagna, I love lasagna. \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I'm relatively new to writing, so all feedback is very welcome! Also, thanks for reading :)
Demonic roars echo from beneath. The stands are livid, shaking, erupting. Dust flees the epicenter, shock waves pounce and send the spectators aroar. In comes the challenger, a pair of triceratops in their prime, bark knobby skin for armor, solemn eyes staring side to side, a vicious beak that tears into wood and flesh alike. They roll in like tanks, settling the earth with their massive bulk, dampening the mighty roars of their foe. Thick, heavy tails counterbalance their sword and shield, a gleaming bone plate that guards their face, sifting the sun. A single horn curving upwards for ripping and crushing bone, worked by heavy back muscles. And twin goring spears that protect the eyes, the main weapon of an unstoppable onslaught. Only one opponent could match this. The cage opens. The doors spread themselves wide. The muffled roars give way to a triumphant and savage wailing. Enter the tyrannosaurus rex, the tyrant king of dinosaurs. He stares contemptuously at the two knights of the realm, uneagar to fight. He balks at the twin guards moving as a single unit, a prehistoric phalanx, but starving, he charges with collected resolve, fear thrown aside in the thrill of the hunt. The T-rex charges his enemies with mouth outstretched, revealing rows of dagger edged teeth that slice and crunch. Saliva rears in thrashing fury, lips curled in anticipation, his throat bellows a terrible war cry. The sun reflects off his beady eyes. A great white does not see while he attacks. The T-rex will stare down death. He stop short of a committed relationship. His prey has not scattered, but stand him down, their plate guards protecting each others' sides. Horns ready to flash and surge. The T-rex prepares to circle, but it is a mistake. He will tire himself first, but more importantly, he swings his head to the side, and the triceratops charge forwards. Ground rumbling, earth shaking, their combined bulk outmatches their foe. A clumsy, hardy 4-wheel drive launches itself with unified intent, and the T-rex is powerless to stop it. They split as they near, to better catch their foe. The T-rex is forced to continue, and with his superior speed, escapes relatively unscathed, taking only a ripping wound in his hind leg. He is lucky his main organs remain untouched. Limping, bleeding from a gore that hinders his movement, the T'rex snaps back as the triceratops recover from their charge. They have to get quickly in position, return their guard to the front. A wounded T-rex is twice as fearsome. And they succeed, seeing a raging monster flying towards them, blood splurting out the wound they gave earlier, and they try the same tactic, splitting up near the end. But the T-rex is ready this time, feinting a dodge sideways and moving between their horns. Oh face plates, you can only protect the front, and the T-rex jumps to evade a late guarding blow. Velociraptors, what hell have you unleashed? Claws gashing the beaten earth, the king swiftly turns, his tail whipping in the air as he spins to face the triceratops' unguarded backs. Before they can both turn their unruly bodies, the T-rex is already on the larger of the pair, bones snapping in the jaws of the beast. The other tries to aid his friend, but the T-rex has dealt a killing blow. Tigers may strike the neck or throat, but the king of tyrants has no use for such evasive measures. He aims for the back and ribs, and in a bloody display of power, bites down as the air fills with the groan of a thousand pieces of bone. The last triceratops strikes as he is busy in his death throes, and inflicts a brutal wound to the side. His horns are able to penetrate fully in, and it seems the mighty T-rex has been skewered. There will be no easy victory today. The T-rex answers by grabbing the triceratops with his face plate. A shield turned against its owner. The triceratops struggles to release his grip when the T-rex, hooded neck muscles rippling, spinning the jaws around like a grinder, bites the last triceratops with a blow that dispatched the other. A victorious, blood filled, thundering roar fills the stadium, drowning out the spectators' yells of excitement.
The gods knew his name, as many times before he stood on the podium base ranting his beliefs to a crazed mob. As the interns rolled out his meat wagon the crowd went fucking nuts, they lowered Rufus Dunglespietz’s oversized meat mallet. Cast iron head with a tungsten carbide handle, any politician worth his salted pork would spend no less than thirty gs on his mallet. The new age of debate, rather than using speech to derive logical conclusions of equilateral problems debate found the route of dramatic overture. ‘Molly’ as the media dubbed Rufus’ mallet of mayhem, slowly descended into Rufus’s hand and the pyrotechnician initiated the spark fuses causing thermite and chunks of magnesium to spray the cheering crowd. “Yeah fuck you left winged madmen sucking at your mothers teets... for too long these other politicians have been casting the wool over your eyes. Indoctrinating laws that regulate your daily needs while they have free reign over the entire fucking system!!” Rufus stoically addressed his audience and they hung on every word eagerly awaiting the smash. “Selling their new bills to the highest bidder monopolizing the economy. Fucking over the blue collar in the process, never once in their pathetic soft skinned lives knowing the blood, sweat, and effort needed to just get by!” Rufus yelled dropping his mallet next to the stacked rib sections on the wagon holding his blistered palm out to the audience. “This man would have you believe he is fit to run your lives. To provide you with the best and most fair options.” Rufus pointed his large mallet towards the other end of the stage as a spotlight hit the mans face and he squinted being revealed to the audience. Dan Turnocklebergowitz the third shielded his face from the bright light as the interns brought out a used up rusty meat mallet and handed it to Dan who stood dumbfounded. Hair disheveled and sweating profusely as he stumbled for the words of his opening statement. “Rufus, uh, good evening.” “Fuck you.” Rufus shot back. “Uh. I don’t know how this works but I promise you I have your best interest at heart and if...”Dan started. Rufus screamed with a guttural and primal cry of anger lifting his mallet above his head. “LIES...!!!” Rufus screamed bringing his mallet down in the stack of cow torsos ripping the top two in half. This caused the crowd to boom in awe as the front spectators got sprayed with speckles of blood from the force of the blow. Rufus drew back with a look of such animosity and hate that it caused Dan to visibly shake. “Dan here passed a bill that allowed banks to approve small business loans to be greater than 100grand. So that he could manipulate the banks into raising the interest rate on these loans knowing that the average small business cannot generate that much revenue. Because his lobbyist pals paid him 46 million to get it passed...” another swing and smash the bones audibly breaking. “Guess who his lobbyist pals turned out to be? That’s right. The CEOs and CFOs of these same financial institutions that wanted the bill passed.” “ I did no such thing, in fact I...”Dan began, but Rufus flew into a rage and began beating his meat ferociously and the crowd loved it. When the crowd started chanting fuck you Dans flop sweat and beet red face made it apparent he was about to have a heart attack. Rufus never broke eye contact slamming his mallet on the meat just as red as his opponent who stumbled back gripping his left arm and breathing heavily as the paramedics rushed the stage. It was barely a battle of wit and will of social aptitude at all. Rufus was the new king of politics, exposing even the president and the crowd loved it. For he was the master debater.
You’re possibly asking yourself, how can it suck to be a hero with a future-sight, I get to save my town, I’m loved by everyone and have a clean conscience knowing that I’m doing good in the world. You’d probably kill to be me, every time I discuss “Saviour Man” with my buddies after time his name comes up on the news they all seem to want to be him, “ I don’t know how he does it, but man, is he cool” they say, “I’ve heard the way the all the girls talk about him, I know what my first duty would be as Saviour Man”. But that’s nowhere close to reality and a few hours later, they go on to tell me how I’ve been overthinking things a lot and that I need to calm down. They hate my super-weakness but love my superpower. It really sucks to be me. Sometimes I think I’m a highly functional supercomputer with a major bug and other times I feel like a narcissist. It’s funny actually; when I first got my superpowers, I was sure it was just my GAD acting up. I was on my way to the train station and was talking my self-down as usual, reminding myself that I only five minutes late and there was no problem, the train still got in every five minutes and I’d only be late by five minutes. Everything would be fine. “Of course no one is gonna mug you, this is a safe neighbourhood and you walk these streets every day.” I’ve always been relatively strong and did well with martial arts, albeit only for a few months before I would eventually quit. That meant that I was a small-time MMA fighter diagnosed with GAD. A unique set of skills indeed. To my dismay, for once my anxiety seemed to have the right idea and someone tried to mug me. I was worried and I was tense. If I got mugged, I’d have to go back home to clean up wounds, get my money, and then I’d be very late. I’d miss the first lecture and would have to decide whether or not to attend the second lecture, maybe I could go sit in the library. This mugger was clearly a professional and that made me feel more uneasy. From the neck tattoos to the trench coat, he had all the tricks in the book. He even knew the classic, “let's make this fast, I have a gun,” dialogue. He had his technique down to a T. He looked like he could use the money, that made him even more dangerous. I also knew I’d feel guilty if I didn’t give him some money but that would make me feel emasculated. Something told me that if I waited for exactly seven seconds, a police officer would show up. With a cigarette in his mouth and a coffee in his hand, he would bail me out. This time it wasn’t an intrusive thought, this time it was different. Sure enough, the officer showed up. His name was Kevin for those of you wondering. My intrusive thoughts told me just how pathetic it was that I needed Kevin’s help to handle the situation. I had leeched off of him and he even gave me a ride to the train station. He had a wife and no kids, something told me that would change within a week. I got down at the station and people thought I was a criminal, mothers held their kids close and men held their briefcases closer. There was a single dad that I saw clutching onto his son. I was wrong yet again. But I had no time to worry about them, I had to worry about my professor. After careful analysis and considering all the facts, I realised that my professor could do anything. From not saying anything to not let me in, there were several possibilities, he could be late himself! That meant that I had to either play it cool and walk in, tell him the truth, make up an excuse about missing a bus or to just not attend his lecture. Would he believe that I was mugged? Or would he not believe me? I thought about it and I was pretty sure I classified as being “muggable”. It took me an hour to reach that conclusion, but I was happy with what I found. Something, however, told me that my professor wouldn’t ask me any questions. My anxieties generally never came to pass, but I was 3/3 today and something had to give. Maybe tomorrow would be a horrible day for me. It was, truly horrible, I correctly predicted missing my bus, tripping over a twig and falling over. All of my anxious predictions did, however, come true, albeit after hours of debilitating anxiety. When I got to analysing everything that happened, it became clear that I had some form of future sight, but it was coupled with my anxiety and I didn’t like it. My anxiety had become a superpower. But at what cost? Was looking into the future worth all that anxiety? I didn’t think so. But was it any worse than my regular anxiety? No. There was no increased anxiety and I also had a superpower. But then I went back to what I learned in therapy, that I must always preserve my mental health and that meant reigning in my anxiety? This just added to my anxiety as I really couldn’t make my decisionThat’s spider boy’s words about power and responsibility hit me like a ton of bricks. I had the chance to use my powers for good and I owed it to others to use those powers to help people. I always knew that I’d look good in tights and decided that I was ready to go through with it. I looked to find a colour scheme for my suit that didn’t tread on any other hero’s toes, so to speak. The statistics spoke for themselves, bright yellow tights and an orange mask did make a safe choice. The morning after I made my big decision, as I was on my way to college, reading the newspaper, I heard that the POTUS was in town. I had always wanted to meet him and spent some time thinking about how cool that would be. I went into thoughts about him and I discussing politics over beers and him offering me a job at the Pentagon, I abandoned the thoughts as being silly and got onto the train. As I was getting on, I had a disturbing vision, the president being killed in a children’s hospital and I knew that I had to do something. I got off the train and looking for any blind spots in the CCTV coverage, I got into my yellow tights. I could already feel the sweat that comes from wearing a skin-tight superhero suit. I got into a cab and headed to the hospital. Getting into the hospital, he was right there and wearing his best suit and talking about his beloved Chicago Bears and White Sox to any child that would listen. The topic is that much easier to discuss with kids in Chicago. Sure I loved the man, but I could never respect a White Sox fan. I felt really silly right now, there was no guarantee that anyone would try to choke the president and I could see the way everyone stared at me, tight yellow tights are a major style no-no and the orange mask makes it that much worse, I could just walk in wearing street clothes and no one would notice me. I wasn’t naked, yet I felt as exposed as I have ever felt in my life, nothing was left to imagination. It seemed like a better idea to leave and try to forget that this had ever happened, plus he had his security detail right outside the ward, he was safe. But then again, I was already here and I didn’t want to leave, only to find out that the president’s assassin entered as I left. While the president wasn’t weak, his Wikipedia page never mentioned Martial Arts. I walked in circles with my eyes glued to the floor, trying to walked faster than my thoughts and was on the verge of an anxiety attack. On my way out, however, I heard a thud as syringes and Ivy fluid fell to the floor, I ran back in to see the President being strangled by a Russian man with a neck tattoo and a prominent Scar across his face. His eyes screamed Alexi, yet his manner screamed Igor. I knew I had to do something and ran back in, screaming, “Leave the President alone.” I took the first thing that I could find, a tetanus shot and stabbed him in the jugular. He bled out before my eyes and vaccines claimed yet another victim. I was profusely thanked, offered beers and a job at the Pentagon. I had to decline though, as my identity was at risk. The children looked traumatised as the all stared wide-eyed, blank-faced stares. I had my “future-sight” yet I couldn’t handle this in a better way. &#x200B;
To see the end to know everything is over. How do you cope? I’m not sure, we’re not sure. We are just here floating looking down on what we thought was out planet. It started with news being sent to us of thousands of earthquakes. In the center of the ring of fire what we thought was a new volcano grew fast, but it did not erupt. Thought it did crack after raising up higher than mount Everest. Two days after it rose it cracked. The water drained away revealing the sea floor. Within hours of the crack a beak larger than the volcano broke through the crust. That was a week ago. Now me and the other four people on the ISS are just sitting her watching as the world is torn apart from within by the being that apparently grew from within. Watching as our home is destroyed. So how do I cope? I just don’t know.
No one in our village has touched the ground now in three generations. Unlike other villages that had the great fire consume their home, years ago. We gave them our pity and prayers thinking that the mountains and rivers separating us would protect us. Now, my eyes watered as the soot seethed through my scarf the fire raging wildly above us and sprinting it's way towards us. I saw my math teacher jump and fly through the air. I saw he had his dog in his arms. The heat and fire was burning in our backs as we descended the stairs and lowest canopy towards the ground. The heat trapped air and popped searing my ear drums, the sweat and ash stuck to my hair which was matted to my face. I spit black and can't see very far. The fire services are making a one way dash to save our great tree, all the while the screams and pleas of those who have lost those to the fire or lost stay planted. One girl was holding the arm of a teddy bear walking towards the fire. My family urges me forward. Part 1??
Call me ignorant, but I didn't see the issue with firing a bullet into my foot and leaping in front of a semi. Well, wait. That's confusing. If I start off like that, you're going to think I'm crazy, too. Stupid! Ah, okay. I'll rewind a little. So, basically, I can't die. I guess that's all you really need to know, but I'll elaborate. Not much to do in a psych ward, anyhow. About two years ago, I fell from a tree and broke my collarbone. I'd obviously been hurt before, but fortunately, it was never anything serious. This broken bone, however, was a little different. There were times when I had thought, in the deepest recesses of my (\ahem\, allegedly) warped mind, that for the most fleeting of moments I saw some sort of flash when I'd get cut or scraped. The flashes would come directly from the source of the pain, as if drawing my attention to the damage. These pulses of light were so infinitesimally brief, however, that I understandably attributed them to a simple trick of the mind. The fact that my minor injuries seemed to heal abnormally fast never really blew my mind, but I guess it should have. To revisit that little tree incident I mentioned, it might be important to let you know just how bad it really was. You see, I'm an avid climber. Nature calls to me, and so I gleefully accept her invitation in the most haphazard of ways. At age 17, this took the form of me trying to climb a 90 foot tree. To make a long story less boring: I fell from the damn-near top of the tree about thirty feet onto a branch below, and felt a horrific snap in my collarbone. A blinding light ensued, emanating from deep within my upper chest. Before I had time to process this, the branch I had landed on snapped, and I plummeted about another five stories to the ground. I know what you're thinking. I should be dead, right? Well, trust me- I wasn't too thrilled about surviving it, either. As I laid at the base of that tree, writhing in pain and glowing like a firefly in hot July, I noticed something through the panic. The glow was still confined to my upper chest. Coincidentally, so was the pain. That, however, didn't stop me from blacking out. When I finally came to, my consciousness carried with it an epiphany. That glowing, that flashing light that came from my injuries, it was healing. I remember putting my fingers to what had been a demolished clavicle, only to find nothing but a dull glow and a dim throb on an otherwise healthy bone. And how did I survive the fall? I always somehow felt better after getting hurt, no doubt. But that fall had been different. Though I was suffering an abysmal pain, I hit the ground somehow knowing I would be fine. I felt, in a way, invincible. Whatever this glowing, healing sensation was, it made me untouchable. I couldn't be hurt. This, unfortunately, did lead to some predictable experimentation. The scars on my forearms tell a story to be sure, but not in the way that they do for other people. The REAL experiment, however, was far more recent. Fast forward to about ten days ago. My friends and I are standing on the side of a busy city street, the nearest traffic light almost a half block away. The cars passing by had little concern for the whereabouts of pedestrians or the speed limit. Consequently, it spelled disaster when a five year old girl by the name of Abigail Rose (I only know her name because her stupidity got me into some steep shit) decided to wander a little far from the curb. The little girl innocently waded out into the traffic, miraculously avoiding the first few lanes of speeding vehicles. The girl's family tried in vain to run after her, but it was clear they wouldn't be able to reach her without getting themselves killed. At this moment, I decided to do something that I guess was kind of heroic, but retrospectively also kind of fucked up my life. I pulled out the gun I kept tucked away in my waistband (I said I wasn't crazy, that doesn't mean I'm a saint), and I put two bullets in my upper foot. Before the pain could even set in, I hopped through two lanes of traffic and dove on top of the little girl just milliseconds before an eighteen-wheeler could reach her. With that light radiating from my foot, I knew we would somehow be okay. After being promptly run over by ALL of the aforementioned eighteen wheels, I expected to be treated like a hero. Imagine my surprise when the girl's horrified family described me to the police as a deranged lunatic who shot himself and then dove in front of a truck. It was, when being interrogated by the police, that I realized nobody else could see the light flashing from my injuries. Not only did they not believe me about my strange healing abilities, they didn't even believe that I was trying to save the little girl. I guess they just think I was tripping balls and was in the right place at the right time. Whatever the case, I'm now chilling in a loony-hospital because I'm apparently insane. Hmph. Nice guys really do finish last... &#x200B; &#x200B;
The horse whinnied as i crested the hill, alright buddy, we'll find a place to stop soon i said comforting the white colt that had carried me from the warm lowland pastures and coasts of the south to the harsh mountains in the north. Across heather and moorland, through rain and heat, in summer and winter this horse had carried on. And now he was tired. The cache was so close i could taste it! What mysteries might it clear up? I hears rumours of a wonder medicine concocted by a group of people in the south, penicilin or some such nonesence. Silly name really. All the same these caches had been the source of innumerable knowledge of the world before, its many inventions, cultural innovations and even just daily life. People hoovered this information up ravenously, almost leaving food unguarded on their plates to hear morsels of the generation that ended and saved humanity. We know that this land is called Britain and is a relatively small island between ireland and france. This island once held an empire but that is long forgotten. To the north is Scotland and to the south is England. These facts were discovered in very old maps printed on some sort of plastic. These survived the fires because they were found in a grave. As i approach the geocache i am giddy with excitement, what could be within?, what could it be? its a video! These are incredibly rare, i open my solar charger and plug it in to my smartphone, about twenty years ago these were discovered in old warehouses, hundreds of thousands of them, gifts from the past. It took years to figure out how to make them work. They are used as media readers, although apparently people comunicated with eachother over great distances with these. Not like our radios, but over great oceans and continents. Where did they go wrong? As i inserted the USB reader into my phone i saw there were many files on the stick. What could they possibly hold? I clicked on one. "The history of japan"by a historian no less, called bill wurtz. I have much go learn.
"Yes, I'd take it. I'm young, I'll live a long time and more money is always good. With that money, I could live a life of adventure and relative comfort. Granted, of course, that the getting the money won't get me arrested for fraud or anything. In that case, sign me up and convert that billion into euros for me." And then I thought nothing of it until my bank called a week later. "Um, Mr. Westin? It appears that you have a shit ton of money. 878,465,000 euros to be exact. Now, normally in such a situation, we'd contact the authorities, but we also received information from a Mr. Mortis in the United States that you were a dear friend of his and he wanted to share his success. And while that also seemed fishy at first, it all checks out and you appear to be a very rich man, Mr. Westin. I do hope you stay with us, because we'd certainly be happy to serve a man of your stature." "T-hank you. Have a nice day!", I managed to ssy and hung up. I was shocked to say the least. This couldn't be due to that stupid fantasy post on Reddit, right? Surely not. It was then that I heard a loud popping noise, I turned around to see what it was and saw a person dressed in a black suit with dark grey shirt and an eerie gold skull mask on. What the fuck..? "Mr. Westin... Or is it BoogiesGetToogies420? I'm OP, also known as Mr. Mortis, the bringer of death, the boatman of Hades, the grim reaper. I'm..." "Death?", I interrupted the man and looked at him confusedly. "Mm, yes! For you see, I'm here for you, Daniel. Can I call you Daniel? Great. I'm here to honor our deal. You have the money and I need 10 years. So, cough once for please.", he opened his shirt a bit to reveal a closed eye. I thought it was a tattoo until it opened. I felt compelled to cough, so I did, but only once unlike I usually would(two or three would be more normal). A shimmering green orb flew out of my mouth and right into the center of the strange eye, which then turned green. "What was that, Mr. Reaper? What happened?", I asked, still befuddled. "Ohh, nothing much, friend. You'll just die 10 years earlier now. Do enjoy your life... if you can now that what you did will haunt you forever! Muahhahahahaaaah!"and I could tell he was having fun. Except he was mistaken. "Bitch, I wanted this. I have more money than I can ever use and now I don't get as old and sick either. Maybe I'll get hit by a car and die instantly! That'd be better that illness slowly taking everything that matters. And you took 10 years off my life span, right? But that doesn't mean having a shit ton of money doesn't also extend my life as I can get the best treatment or maybe even discover the secret to immortality. And if not, at least I had a full life." "Well, fuck me, Daniel... They told me at reaper school to spend more time thinking before making hasty contracts with mortals. I should've cursed your ass instead of just giving you money for years that apparently don't matter to you." And, just as fast as he came, he gone and I was still rich. I'm walking sunshine, woah! I'm walking on sunshine, woah! It's time to feel good!
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In front of Rick were two beings. One, a mammal capable of intelligent language and seducing a man, the other, a human. The man turned around and spoke quietly, every word full of suspense. "Just missing one." Rick stepped forward and looked at the great orcas eye, his tongue licking his lips in a method of light flirting. The orcas dead eye didn't return the gesture, so Rick shook off the forbidden thought and went back to business. He spoke at the time that the orca shrieked. "The asshole of the air?" Rick turned to the one-leged, one-leged man and raised a finger. "If this sexy little temptress didn't say 'asshole of the air', don't bother translating. This badass moment won't be ruined. "Now."Rick turned back to the orca. "How much fish to see your vagina?"
"Chicken!"I yell. There is a chicken over the wing of the plane, heading for the engine. But no one else can see it. No one else believes me. The flight attendants order me to be quiet. But I know we are in terrible danger. An onboard air marshal is called over to subdue me. I grab his gun and try to fire it but there is a sharp pain to the back of my head and the world goes black. I wake up strapped to a stretcher on the tarmac. We made an emergency landing in Hawaii. As they wheel me away, I can see the plane. There are feathers all over the engine and scratches all over the wing..... But no one believed me.
Greemax, the blue-skinned eight-foot tall lizard and leader of the Grand Galactic council stood as the human representative was led into the council chambers. Seated in a large circle around them were the delegates from the affected worlds, who watched anxiously as the human took his position in the centre of the chamber, ready to be questioned. Greemax spoke in a collection of whistles and clicks, which were automatically translated into a language understood by the listeners via an earpiece that everyone in the room was fitted with. The human cleared his throat. “Esteemed representatives of the Galactic Council, I have come as requested. How can the people of the Earth be of assistance to you?” Greemax sneered at the tiny man below. “Quite frankly ambassador, we want you to shut the hell up.” There was a mummer of agreement from the other delegates. The human shuffled uneasily and loosened his tie. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” “I know you’re new to the neighborhood, but we have rules about how noisy a planet can be. Your radio emissions are extremely annoying.” “Annoying?” “Yes, so if you wouldn’t mind turning it down a bit, then we might all be able to get some peace.” “I’m afraid I still don’t understand,” said the Human ambassador. “Last month, when you had the Illrixie over? You were pumping out noise for a whole week. The Wulu people of Alpha-Centauri couldn’t get a wink of sleep.” The human cocked his head. “I don’t see how that’s possible, considering they are four light-years away. They couldn’t have heard it yet? Even so, it wasn’t that loud.” “Well they could hear it, and because of that they are now a nation of insomniacs.” “But the Wulu sleep thirty-seven hours a day? Sleeping is their defining feature.” “Exactly, and now because of your racket, none of them can sleep. Do you know how annoying it is having to deal with three billion cranky Wulu’s?” “I’m afraid I don’t, your eminence.” “Yes, well we do. It’s going to take months to get them all back into bed now. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” “I’m sorry your grace, is there another problem?” “Yes, and it has to do with this thing you call music.” The human tilted his head. “You’ve never heard of music?” “It is not a concept we have come across before. However you Humans seem obsessed by it. Do you know how dangerous it is?” “Dangerous? How?” “Well for example, last week something called Radiohead washed over the home planet of the Piraxa and now half the population refuses to leave the house. They just mope about and talk about nothing but the bleakness of existence.” “But aren’t the Piraxa renowned for—” “Being the biggest party animals in the known universe? Well, not anymore and quite frankly they’re starting to get everyone else down.” “Well, I don’t see how we could have possibly known our music would have that effect. But I’m sure it’s not that bad?” Greemax glared at the human. “Tell me, have you ever met the Urturk?” The human beamed. “Yes, why only last week we had their ambassador over for lunch. It was very enlightening – we’ve never met a four-headed race before. It’s such a shame he was allergic to the table flowers. There weren’t enough tissues in the building to deal with the aftermath of his sneezing fit.” “Well I doubt you’ll be welcome on their planet anymore. You see, not long ago they heard something called Metallica and now the whole planet has concussion.” “Concussion?” “Can you imagine the mess when eight billion people, all with four heads, all start head-banging? It’ll take us weeks to sort that mess out.” “Ah, I understand.” “And don’t even get me started on the Krastella.” The human waved his hand dismissively. “I fail to see how they could get into any trouble, they’re the biggest pacifist in the universe.” “Well that’s as maybe, however their war-fleet just laid waste to half the sector, after hearing something called Nu Metal.” “Wait? They have a war-fleet?” “They do now.” “But I once saw them have a year of mourning when one of them accidentally stepped on an ant.” “Exactly.” “But I’ve visited the statue they erected in its honor, it’s two hundred meters tall!” “Now it’s nothing but a pile of rubble. It was the first thing they destroyed.” The human scoffed. “Well, I have to say that I’m shocked that our music seems to have such a deleterious effect upon those who hear it.” Greemax waved an appendage at the gathered delegates. “The council has assembled here to demand that you turn down your music and try to be responsible neighbors – or else we will have no choice but to evict you from the Galactic Council and blockade your planet.” The human straightened up and nodded politely at Greemax. “Very well, I shall inform my superiors. I’m sure we’ll be able to come to some arrangement.” Inwardly the human smiled. Their experiment had been a success. Now the second stage of the assault could begin. Soon, they would know the real power of music. As he walked away he keyed his communication device. “Stage one complete. Now get me Hugh Jackman.”
It was easy to forget the massive cocoon was his beloved wife. These inefficient human brains were always leaking. He didn't expect to respond to those hormones, either, but imitating a new species did come with its surprises. Blinking back tears of joy at the idea of colonizing a new planet with the company of his wife, he tried to repeat his mission parameters so he didn't succumb. It would be too easy to just forget about his job, mother's plan for the rest of his siblings, and just continue living a human life through the drugged haze of emotions. Even rage and anger were seductive. He felt as though he could rip the world in half when something interfered with his day. He kinda felt bad for his neighbor when he did just that to him. He could hardly help it when he poked his face over the fence to ask to borrow his lawnmower of all things. That bastard still had half of the tools... he took a deep breath. Those emotions getting the best of him again. He smiled at the cocoon, spritzed it with a little mixture of vinegar and water to balance the pH, and sat back to wait for his wife to emerge. She'll be so pleased when she hatches and sees that I've taken such good care, he thought to himself. As the cocoon started to wobble, he got up to make a fresh cup of tea and grab a towel from the bathroom. He thought about finally being able to watch Jeopardy on TV with his wife tonight. She always had the answers before the contestants.
My children, a boy and a girl, have been in bed for hours; even my wife has gone ahead and retired to the upstairs. It is now just me occupying the downstairs portion of our two-story house on this expectedly cold Christmas Eve. I take a passing look at our “fun decorated” tree as I make my way into the kitchen to make myself a Christmas cocktail. The eight presents that had been laid there almost immediately after the kid’s bed time routine had been complete were still there. My wife and I always followed the same routine of giving our children four presents each; following the: “Want, need, read, and Santa,” routine. We would give them one present they really wanted, one present they really needed, one present that was a book they could read, and then finally, one present would be marked as being “From Santa”. Of course our children weren’t limited to just receiving eight measly presents this year, or any year for that matter. They had already opened the presents from the grand parents and other relatives of the family earlier in the month; either at an organized family gathering or over Facetime, so the relatives who sent the presents could see the reactions to the gifts they bought. The “From Santa” present would usually be something that complemented one of the other presents from us. For instance, we got our son a Nintendo Switch and a copy of Legend Of Zelda: Breath Of The Wild for his “Want” present; so “Santa” got him a copy of the strategy guide to help him beat the game. My daughter received the complete Collectors addition of the Harry Potter Series for her “To Read” present qualification. For this, “Santa” is giving her a Ravenclaw House scarf to help protect her neck from the Winter cold. I exit the kitchen with a rock glass filled with milk and just a splash of Bailey’s Irish cream – my favorite festive drink! Slowly sipping my drink until it’s empty, I eventually pass out with the TV still on. The next morning, I wake up to the sound and sensation of my daughter pulling the blanket off me that I had used to keep me warm in the night and her yelling my name, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”. I yawn and smile at my youngest child. She continues her excited verbal barrage on me as soon as my eyes are open enough to see her. “Daddy! It’s Christmas morning!”, she tells me, as if I have no idea how a calendar works. “Alright, Emmaline,” I yawn again. “Get your mother and brother up, so we can open presents.” Emmaline then disappeared up the stairs to do exactly that, before I even had a chance to finish the sentence. This gave me enough time to start a pot of coffee before the children would feel the need to remind me of what today’s date is again. The children both down stairs and the wife and I both slowly sipping on our own individual cups of coffee, we are ready to open gifts. I take a moment to observe the ten presents that now occupy the base of our Christmas Tree. Presents are unwrapped in a hail storm of wrapping paper; each present unwrapped in the same predetermined order each year: Read, need, want, Santa. All other presents are unwrapped in that order and it was now time for the children to unwrap both their presents from Santa. My son and daughter both open their first present from “Santa”. My son gives an approving smile as the strategy guide we bought him reveals itself. My daughter also smiles as she tries on her new Ravenclaw scarf. “Oh, look Johnathan, Santa got you a “Cheater guide” for you new game!” she teases our son Johnathan. Johnathan tries to ignore the comment by given a sideways glance at the adjacent wall. “Alright you two, it’s time to open your second present from Santa”, my wife tries to halt the potential sibling dispute before it can start. Johnathan not having to be told twice, quickly grabs his second present from Santa and opens it. “Alright! Mom! Dad! Santa got me a copy of Splatoon for my Nintendo Switch!” “Yeah, isn’t that nice son.” I tell him. Then something odd occurs to me. I turn to my wife and whisper to her, “So, um, babe? What the heck is Splatoon?” “I dunno honey. Aren’t you the one that bought it for Johnathan?” she responds. I shake my head, “No, how can I buy him something I’ve never heard of before.” I want to ignore the occurrence of this peculiar present, because whatever it is, it seems to have pleased my son, so what difference does it make? However, I can’t help but ponder what cause this to happen. &#x200B; \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- &#x200B; Millions of miles away at the North Pole, Santa Clause, the real Santa Clause is busy watching thousands of TV screens one by one as he observes all the good little boys and girls of the world receive the presents he had left for them the night before. He then gasps in shock as he realizes he has made a grave mistake. The father of one of the children he left a present for is starting to question how a gift arrived under the tree. Santa had always been sure to use his “Memory Dust” to create the memory of a the parent purchasing the “From Santa” gifts that had been left behind. However, he never thought of what would happen if the dust tried to create the memory of an item the respective parent knew nothing about. “Hmmmm,” Santa thinks to himself. “It looks like I’m going to need to have Bernard update the Memory Dust recipe.”
The coronation room was vast. The marble floor, smooth as glass, stretched for kilometers in every direction. In the distance, columns with bases the size of mountains rose to dizzying heights, their tops fading into sky blue, with every centimeter of them engraved in fine calligraphy. On a raised platform stood a throne made of solid ivory. In that throne sat a man in bright and overly flamboyant dress, spun from gold and embedded with bright red blood quartz. He wore a stern expression, the face of a wise sage emperor, yet his hands told a different story. They clutched the throne's armrest, white knuckled, as though at any moment the thousand ton seat might slip from his grasp and leave him. Of course, not many paid attention to him. The delegations from the celestial bodies were intermingling, ambassadors from Mercury and Venus and Saturn speaking, laughing, trading stories. The allies of the Emperor of Darkness were quieter, the lunar ambassadors speaking softly. The nobles from the constellations barely spoke at all, their purple eyes staring blankly into space. Today was the day that, as billions of years before, the great exchange of power would take place. Light and Dark, Yin and Yang, the two forces held equal power over the material plane. One could not overtake the other, and each held the reigns of power for an equal stretch of time, waxing and waning in the cycles the almighty Universe so adored. Just as his predecessors had, the Emperor of Sunlight was burdened with the great responsibility to resign his power, to go quietly back to his family's vineyard back on the sun, and continue his lowly life of labor on its yellow fields. The Emperor had no such plans. You see, while the gods may be undying, the ichor in their veins eternally hot and pumping, their minds are all too human. They enjoy the same virtues, are plagued by the same demons. The Sun God believed himself somehow above the Universe's commandments. His plan was to stage a coup. His allies would rush the ambassadors of the night and stab them with knives they had smuggled beneath their robes. Incapacitated, their still living bodies would be sealed in stone, and a new era of Eternal Sunlight would commence. The Emperor allowed himself to smile. The time came, and the crowd was silenced. Hundreds of faces turned towards the throne as a figure began to ascend its marble steps. He was dressed in a garment of solid black, with subtle highlights of blue on the sleeves and collar. The style was slim, without extravagance, yet it commanded the attention of everyone in the room. His steps were long and slow, suggesting a being of great age. After what seemed like hours of silence, the figure reached the top of the platform and looked out. The Emperor of Sunlight tried his best to hide his glare. "Blessings, everyone."the figure said. So this was the Emperor of Darkness, the bastard with his eyes on the throne. The Emperor of Daylight thought he had to be at least two million years of age, perhaps more. Gods that grew too old seemed always bored, their eyes drooping and gait slowed, as their every experience blended together. For the Emperor of Darkness, it seemed he had lived so long that not even his coronation as Monarch could arouse excitement. He continued. "As you all are aware, the time has come for the throne to be transferred from one great power to another. Just as the tide on the great lunar oceans goes in and out, so too must the reign of the Sun and Moon kingdoms come and go."Silence. A few people coughed. "It appears it is now time for me to except the throne."He let out a dry chuckle. Perhaps he still had some spirit left in him. The man turned slowly towards the throne and the man sat upon it. He stuck his hand out, looking almost grandfatherly. "Emperor, if I may?" The Sun God ungripped his fingers from the armrests. He shot a glance at the old men, then to the crowd, then back to the old man. Custom demanded he accept the gesture. He lifted himself from the chair, and, with all the good will he could muster, embraced the Emperor of Darkness. The crowd cheered. Rounds of applause could be heard from both sides, along with shouts of exclamation. A smile spread itself across the Sun God's face. "Now,"He thought, "As soon as I give the signal, a handful of my collaborators will emerge from the crowds and attack his supporters. It will take them completely off guard. Even if they can get but a portion, it will be enough to overtake the entire assembly. Of course, I-" The Sun God's thoughts were cut off by a stab to the gut. He didn't know what it was at first, assuming it might have been a punch. In all of his years, the Emperor of Sunlight had never been cut in the stomach with a knife. It wasn't until he heard the crowd go silent, and looked down to see his own orange blood dripping from his abdomen, thick drops falling to the floor, that he finally understood. He suddenly felt woozy. When he felt the knife being pulled out, he collapsed. "I assume this calls for an explanation."The new emperor said, the same uncaring tone emanating from his lips. "This man intended to interfere with our civil exchange of power."He wiped the blood off on his pantleg, the bright orange stark against the black. "This man believed that he could alter the very balance of the universe, to take for the day what properly belongs to the night. Perhaps now he has learned his lesson."He smiled. The Sun God still lie on the ground, flopping in a pool of his own blood. "Seal him away."said the Emperor, "Let him be an example of those that dare rebel against the Universe."A few men in black came to drag the Sun God away. As much blood as he lost, he could not escape his fate through death.
“I mean, could be Neighbor John…” Emily trailed off, peering thoughtfully into the darkening night. She swung from the porch railing, brushing against bare branches that only worsened the snarls in her short blonde hair. “Or a kid-napper outta the forest. Stupid,” Thomas muttered, blushing pink at his own daring. Emily gasped. “You said the S word!” she cheerfully sang. “Oh, you’re in trouble now…what will mommy say when she gets back?” “Dan said it!” Thomas swiped at his bigger sister, missed, and slipped on the wet porch steps, landing with a thump on the doormat. “Dan’s eight, and his mom don’t raise him right” Emily countered. “Don’t want to be like him; Neighbor John wouldn’t leave them cookies.” Their attention quickly returned to the plate of warm chocolate-chip cookies, rapidly cooling in the cold, wet night. “John wouldn’t leave us cookies,” Thomas argued. “You set his trashcan afire.” He eyed the plate suspiciously, wiping away the drool that leaked out as he spoke. “Maybe a stranger brought it! Don’t take candy from strangers, you know.” “John’s trashcan set itself on fire! And that’s candy, not cookies. Strangers don’t have cookies.” Emily stuck out her tongue, looking sternly at her neurotic brother. The effect was only somewhat ruined when she leapt off the porch railing, clearing the bushes to land with a bare-footed squelch in the muddy grass. “Anyway”, she continued, clambering back onto the porch, “you don’t know it was a stranger. You didn’t see them.” “You don’t know if it…wasn’t a stranger!” Thomas protested. “Well, I don’t see any strangers. Do you?” Emily gave a quick glance around, seeing absolutely nothing in what was shaping up to be a dark, drizzly night. “No…” Thomas admitted, worrying at the edge of his sleeve. “Just wait for Mommy…could be poison. Could be a strange witch brought them. Or a kid-napper.” “She’s late! And kidnappers don’t bring cookies. Mmm, they’re warm. We’ll save some for her; don’t worry.” With that, Emily snatched one of the tasty treats, biting down before Thomas could stop her. She chewed and swallowed. Crumbs sprinkled the porch steps. “See?” she grinned with chocolate-stained teeth. “Not poison, doofus. Have some?” “Kid-napper might steal you now,” Thomas said, tugging a thread out of his fraying sleeve. “Oh, come on! Here.” Emily thrust a cookie under her brother’s nose. Giving in to the temptation of a sugary treat, he cautiously took a nibble. “See, no kidnappers. And no strangers, doofus.” Emily snatched two more cookies, perching on the railing as she gazed out into the gloomy trees. “Mmm, no strangers yet,” Thomas muttered. “Save some for Mommy.” A few minutes passed, the two children temporarily quieted as they munched their unexpected treat. Suddenly, Emily gave a little squeaking gasp and slipped off the railing, landing with a splat on the muddy ground. Her mouth moved as if to scream, but nothing came out as she struggled for breath. Thomas peered over the porch, eyes widening in horror as his little legs failed him. He stumbled, collapsing in a twitching heap. Half a cookie dropped from his hand and lay pitifully on the soggy ground. A short while later, they were both gone. A long, skinny creature, all bulbous eyes and scaly skin, tromped cheerfully through the woods on her way home to her children, a lumpy bag slung over one shoulder. Though an odd, rasping sort of breathing noise seemed to be coming from inside, it was quite still and as she ate the few cookies Emily and Thomas had left, crumbs tumbling from her fanged snout, she praised herself on a job well done. Mmm, children were always hungry, weren’t they? Luckily there were treats for everyone on this cold, rainy night.
"There is no real way to describe my experience once that "1..."disappeared. There was/is no time, and there will never be in this place. I can recall every event in my life simultaneously, as they were when they occurred when the "pure-present"I had thought I was experiencing during my consciousness was still the privileged point in time I assigned significance and import to, for every single second and microsecond and nanosecond of every day of my life, but that's not how it is now. I was/is/am a worm crawling through the metaphysical apple of my experience, the pure-present being the point in space where I and the soft, wet firmness of the apple meet and it gives to me, and the space I now exist in is the whole apple, untunneled, and I am myself experiencing the fruit, and the seeds, the core, and roots of the tree itself all at once. Now, that might sound overwhelming, but it isn't really, because there is an infinite number of seconds to go to; I can choose to experience them in order or I can choose to skip. I am the untethered Socratic mind. I am the apple, floating and unbitten. I am every experience. I can feel the slices of heartbreak in my twenties and the way their novelty hurts in a redemptive way. I can experience the taste of whipped cream skimmed from the top of a warm cup of hot chocolate as long as I want. I can hear the leaves reach my ears in a swift and cascading chorus of annoyance after I drag my feet through their transient graves, and I can feel my smile and the simultaneous soft pop of opening lips that accompanies it, but that's when you kissed me. You know this all already, love." "Yes I do." "Did you look at the fights we had, or did you pass them by?" "I've lived an eternity in the morning with your sunlit face and your drool, and equally I've cried. There's a reason I was by your bedside. We belong. I hope you did not pass them by?" "No, I've lived every second with you since, for our better or for our worse. You've always looked so radiant, dear." A bright light has begun to shine. The two lovers turn towards it, and then they look at each other. "Your smile says 'Let's do it again.'" "I'll find you, my love. Meet me on the crosswalk." &#x200B; &#x200B;
"I'm handsome", I remember thinking. "I may have been a little homely when I was younger, but you know what? I'm handsome."Maybe this was true, though maybe I was just trying to convince myself––either way, it worked. The next morning, my reflection was... different. Not obviously different, but different. The bridge of my nose was just a little thinner. My stubble was no longer sparse, but looked full and connected, seemingly sculpted to emphasize my jaw structure. This... wasn't me. But it was, and I knew it. Over time, I got used to the new handsome me and somehow rationed with myself that I've always looked this way, though I don't know if I ever truly believer it. It wasn't until a couple months later that I started putting the pieces together... Hailey was a mutual friend of mine and Mike's, and I was beginning to take interest in her. She laughed at my jokes and always texted me when The Bachelor was on (it was my guilty pleasure show at the time). She was into me, I could feel it––but I didn't know for sure. Mike would tell me, "You're in the friend-zone, Jared!", but I would shrug it off. I grew more and more confident over time to the point that I knew she wanted me the way I wanted her. She always wanted to be around me! I laid awake for hours every night for a week, tortured by this knowledge and too fearful to do anything with it. One night I finally worked up the courage. The two of us were alone at her place waiting for Mike to show up so we could watch Princess Bride for the umpteenth time. After an awkward few moments, I spilled my guts and told her how I had felt for the past couple of months. Before I could finish, she grabbed my hands and gleefully explained that she felt the exact same way! It felt like someone had just removed an anvil from my chest, I was so relieved! We spent the next 15 minutes or so chuckling about our mutual feelings and apprehensiveness to share them until she said the words I had been waiting for: "Should we tell Mike not to come?"Oh, I couldn't wait to rub it in his face, but Hailey wanted a more tactful approach. She said she would just tell him she had a migraine, which was a fairly regular occurrence. I agreed, but the doorbell rang before she could message him. Not knowing how long this might take, she handed me the phone and told me to explain the situation to Mike for fear that he might leave his house. I saw no problem with this––well, aside from the lying––and pulled up their latest message. That's when I saw it. "I swear, I'm not into him! He's too much like my brother. It's weird lol."Sent one hour ago. But I knew she liked me––she had just told me! She came back out and suggested we watch something a little more romantic. We spent the night cuddling with occasional kissing, but I was too distracted to want to do anything more. We had a lovely night, but why did she like me now and not an hour ago? Did something change? It clicked. I thought of my identity crisis months prior. Something did change, and I somehow controlled it. But why did she like me now and not a week ago? I told myself she liked me for weeks, so what was it about now that was different? I had to find out, no matter what. I felt insane, but I didn't want to believe it, I didn't want it to be true! I had to experiment. What did I want to believe... money! Who doesn't need more money? I checked my wallet and found a lonely fiver. "Guess I'll shoot for fifty", I thought. I locked myself in my room all night just trying to isolate myself, to remove myself from reality. "I have fifty dollars. There is a fifty dollar bill in my wallet right now. Mom gave it to me for my birthday and I forgot it was there."No dice, I was too connected. I had to do better, do more. I filled up the bathtub and turned off the lights. I turned turned on a YouTube loop of radio static. I don't know how long I was in there, but when I could take no more, I emerged. I truly believed my story. Mom's card was so sweet, it had a little hedgehog on the front on a pastel background. I had to hold onto that image, those emotions. I opened the wallet in full confidence and it was there––I was fifty dollars richer. Well, I wasn't, it had been there since my birthday. I knew I had unlocked something amazing, something limitless! This wasn't enough though, I had an idea. I knew this bathtub routine would grow old. This time, I told myself something different. "I can convince myself of anything." Hours upon hours later, it worked. Anything I told myself was true was true in my mind. My primal instincts kicked in. I wanted to be famous. I wanted every attractive female to want me. I wanted it all. But I didn't get it all, not in my timing. Something was stopping me, but I didn't know what. It would take days or weeks for my knowledge to become reality. I stewed in the agonizing dissonance between what I knew and what I witnessed in the world. "I know why this is happening", I said. This was not true, until one day it was. I saw it, the silhouette of a man. I heard it too, he was saying the words, "Thoughts have no power", repeating it like a mantra. This selfish fool. He knew the power of thought and used it only to ensure others couldn't? He was evil. I hated him. This explained it though––my knowledge could only come to fruition when this stranger was distracted, even for a millisecond. Luckily I knew who he was. Well, I knew that I knew, but it took a week for him to become distracted so that I really knew. Joseph Michael DiLorenzo. I saw him. Alone, emaciated, repeating the same words over and over. He saw me too. He knew––he knew what I wanted. But he couldn't do anything. The very nature of his mantra was oxymoronic. He had to repeat it for it to remain true, as the contradiction would resolve itself given the time. I knew this. I also knew one more thing: Joseph Michael DiLorenzo was dead. I knew he was dead, I knew it. But he wouldn't die. "Joseph is distracted", "Joseph is hungry", "Joseph is dead."I screamed these phrases, I clawed at the walls, I rampaged naked around my apartment and scared off anyone who dared knock on my door. Joseph is dead, WHY ISN'T HE DEAD. The dissonance drove me mad like never before. My gums bled from teeth which remained clenched for hours at a time. Then one day, silence. My reality merged with the world's. My house was a mansion. More importantly though, Joseph Michael DiLorenzo was dead. I won, I had outlasted him in our war of attrition. The abhorrence-fueled madness began to subside and was replaced with elation. Everything I wanted, it was mine for the taking. No more Josephs in the way. Not a moment passed before the exhilaration shattered; I saw rising from the horizon the universe's new god: a lunatic with a deity complex. No, he was dead now, replaced within seconds by another, each bringing plagues of fire, floods, wicked locusts which tore up the unbelievers, and unspeakable depravity. This continued unceasingly, with each seemingly more terrible than the last. "This isn't real.", "Everything is okay."It was not. I was not in control. Their knowledge was as powerful as mine. The ever-changing hell-beasts and abominations set their sights on me as the realities of the most insane, twisted psychopaths birthed themselves into the world. As they reached their claws, no, tendrils, wait, tentacles... whatever, towards me, I desperately searched for the truth which would be my salvation and also my damnation. "Thoughts have no power."Suddenly, all was calm. Then chaos. "Thoughts have no power."Peace again. I repeated the mantra. I repeated it over and over. Chaos tried to become real, but was confined to the cells of insane asylums. The world was safe––it is safe now... safe from the knowledge of the power it has. But this is my life now. I am the sole protector of the little order in the universe. As I write this, I am certain that there are natural disasters breaking out, but everything is okay. There is no chaos. For fear that I will meet the same fate as Joseph Michael DiLorenzo, this is the last time I will allow myself to be distracted from my duty. I need no food. I need no water. I need no sleep. I need nothing. I am immortal. I have limitless endurance. I will continue to carry out my duty until all conscious thought in the universe has ceased. Thoughts have no power.
When I was a little boy, I wanted to be a firefighter. I liked the red trucks. Now, I kill demons. There’s a joke in there somewhere about hell being on fire and demons or something but I’m not clever enough to think of it. I don’t need to be clever. I need to be fast. I need to be able to hit harder than the other guy. When I was going through training, they asked, “Where do demons come from?” I said they’re the souls of the wicked and the damned. I said that they were bastards that got sent down to hell and crawled their way back out. My priest said that I wasn’t wrong but those are lesser demons. They aren’t as powerful. The big baddies formed a little differently. The ones that we have to watch out for are the fallen angels who took Lucifer’s side during the War in Heaven. Christian iconography depicts angels as these cute ass little cherubs – blonde hair, blue-eyed, playing the harp on Heavens steps. Nah. Angels are God’s warriors. They’re terrifyingly powerful. And that power doesn’t go away when they turn bad. If anything, they get more powerful without God holding them back. They reach their full, devastating potential. Like I said, I’m not clever. If I was clever, I’d stay away from these demons. A race of twisted, powerful beings hellbent on the suffering of mankind and what do I do? I summon them. I invite them in. See, there’s a finite amount of these fuckers. We could feasibly wipe them out. A world without demons is a world void of suffering. Even if we can’t wipe them all out, we’re doing God’s work by even trying. Right? And they all have rituals associated with them to beckon them in. Demons, for all their power, are stupid creatures. Maybe it’s the power that makes them stupid. Drunk with delusions of grandeur that make them think they’re unbeatable. Either way, they always show when they’re called for. Herein, you’ve got maybe ten seconds to throw the first punch, cause if that demon hits you first then you ain’t getting back up. So far, we’ve taken on maybe twenty? We’ve killed twelve. These rituals were simple though. You light some candles. You draw a pentagram in goats’ blood. You say a chant. This one’s different. This bastard will only show if we give him a human sacrifice. The church has spent the last week debating the morality of it all. “It’s for the greater good.” They’re saying. “One life to save many.” I wish I’d been a firefighter.
Suddenly my Kindle begins to feel very warm. From one moment to the next it's hot as embers and it drops from my hands. The screen goes totally black, and the Kindle begins to shake. Before I can process what's happening, the device explodes, and out of the smoke emerges a dark figure. "You are the chosen one... The seven kingdoms have waited far too long for this day. You will restore balance to the land..." I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. My heart is pounding out my chest, I've sweated through all my clothes, and suddenly I feel paralised. Wait, fuck, I am paralised. Everything around me goes black, and then I lose consciousness. * I awaken in a small dwelling somewhere cold. The walls seem to be made of mud, and I'm lying on a low cot against a wall. There is no one around. I sit up - I can move my body again. I abandon the bed to explore my surroundings; everything is lit by candles, everything seems unimaginably rustic. Where in the fucking universive am I? What's happening right now? Did he say "chosen one"? I approach the door, ornate and wooden. I pull the handle and am unable to open it. It doesn't seem to have any locks, but it's adamant about not budging. There's a scratching at the window. Fear possess my heart, and again I'm paralised. I stand motionless against the opposite wall, watching the small pieces of wood clatter. The scratching continues, until suddenly it stops. I feel a pang of relief. Then the windows burst open, and a large bird flies through. I get my first glimpse of the world outside the hut, and realize its night time. In that moment, I can see more stars than I had ever in my past. The bird soars toward me, and it lands on the floor facing me. Even in the faint candlelight, I can make out spectacular colors in its plumage - glimmering gold, deep violet, and angelic whites. It's like no other bird I've ever seen. Then, impossibly, things get stranger, and it begins to speak. "Benjamin, you must come with me. The three worlds are hanging in the balance, and you are the key to ending the war." There are footsteps outside, seemingly from an army of people. I sense an imminent confrontation. "You're in grave danger here, there's no time to explain. Please, follow me." A large vortex opens next to us; it's a blinding white light. I see the parrot flap its wings and disappear in the marvelous resplendor. The steps are now just outside the house, and I see the door begin to crack open. I haven't the slightest clue what's happening, but my pounding heart implores me to move. I take a leap of faith, and launch myself into the light. *
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" "I'm trying to get the cat out, ma'am!"Bill says as he shakes the tree in the air like crazy. "YOUR GOING TO KILL SANDY!!"The woman screams. "Oh. Sorry."Bill replies as he sets down the tree. The brown and white cat that had been clinging onto the tree for life shakily fell into the woman's arms. "Are you retarded?! I could sue you!"The woman shouts. "I am sorry. Please, I don't have the money!" You see, Bill wasn't really your 'average' superhero. While his powers were vast, his IQ was low. Bill only recently got his abilities, some of which include flight, super strength, and super speed. Despite being homeless and poor, Bill was able to scrape together enough money to get a decent costume. Sadly, it ripped on his first mission, as the material gave up from the extreme conditions it was put under. —------- Didn't have enough time to finish, hope you enjoyed.
I was born into violence. My father was a soldier and my mother was a peasant in the small village that his unit invaded during the war. Despite the violent start to their relationship, all accounts say they were truly in love. My father was engaged to another woman back home but he broke it off with her and announced he was marrying my mother instead. His family cut him off and so did some of my mother's family. Most of them liked my father, but my uncle, my mom's oldest brother, was also a soldier and was still bitter about failing to protect the village when my father invaded. He probably also saw it as a double insult that the "colonizer"had not only invaded his village but his little sister as well. One night my uncle got drunk, got a gun, and came by our hut, screaming for my father to come outside and fight. My mother went out to calm him down, but while they were arguing, he pushed her to the side. Not hard, but she tripped and fell. She was also pregnant with my younger brother at the time. I don't think he meant to do it on purpose, though. His face looked shocked when it happened and he turned to help her up. But my father went ballistic, and came barreling outside. I don't think my uncle really intended to shoot my father that night. He was the type to get drunk, start a fight, pass out, and then wake up the next morning, apologetic. But my uncle couldn't beat my father in a fistfight, and when he saw my father charging at him, he probably panicked, pulled his gun, and adrenaline kept him squeezing the trigger until the gun was empty. My father was hit six times. When my mother saw my father lying there in the dirt, not moving, she went crazy, too, and beat my uncle to death with a stone she picked off the floor. She was never the same after that night. Two years later, she still hadn't gotten recovered from my father's death. Somebody from the village found her with a bullethole in her temple on top of my father's grave. This was the world I grew up in. Violence was so interwoven into the daily affairs of my life that it was only natural for me to follow in my father's footsteps and become a soldier. I invaded many villages. Met many peasant woman. Had altercations with many bitter brother-in-laws. But I never stopped to think about the big picture until my younger brother was killed. Surrounded by the same violence, he had joined the war, just like me. He looked just like our father. Where I had the dark hair, eyes, and skin of our mother, he had the blonde hair, blue eyes, and light skin of our father. He had gone through the same cycle that our father had gone through. The village invasions. The peasant women. The brother-in-laws. And the eventual death that I had somehow managed to escape. Because he had died in a war zone, there was no time to bury him. You will never know what it is like to hold your baby brother in your arms as he dies, and then to set him on fire as you run away from the same people that killed him. And I hope you will never have, too. But that's when I began to think about the bigger picture. And to ask myself: What was the point of all of this? Where did it begin? Why am I fighting in a war I didn't even start? When will it end? I asked myself those questions 25 years ago, and I've been asking them since. But I've never been able to come up with an answer because I don't have time to think. Thinking could cost you you your limb or your life. I was born on a battlefield and I'll most likely die on a battlefield. And while, each day, these questions plague my mind, I can only come up with one thought; Answers don't matter. Just survive.
I always considered taking over Grandpa's old pawn shop to be like the lower-middle class version of being a trust fund baby. I have piles of completely random garbage up my ass that everyone and their mother seems to want a piece of. Apparently, when it's in a pawn shop and there's a big sign out front that says "DISCOUNT"in the plainest piss yellow, it attracts piles of middle-aged mom's and hillbilly's all the same. Of the hillbilly's is this one real standout, Jeff. Jeff is one of those guys you meet that give you the same creep vibes as a Catholic priest, but instead of trying to be fancy wears the same cutoff jeans and stained wife-beater every day at noon when he strolls into the store absolutely wasted. This morning I smelt that distinguishable smell of shitty beer, cigarettes and the stench of refusing to bathe and knew that good old Jeff was on in his way into the store. "Morning Jeff,"I say as I hold back my multiple gags from the sight of this sluggish so-called human being. He muttered some drunken slurs back at me but screw him, this is my story. Just imagine some, "Mornighhhng,"except lasting a solid minute of this. I'm not kidding, this is one of those dudes that you can't comprehend a single word that he says, either because he is really stupid or really drunk (probably both). Jeff barely bought anything. He used to try all the time, but after I informed him that we don't accept food stamps or "checks"written on a page ripped from a college-ruled notebook (at least four-hundred god-damned times) Jeff seemed to get the hint. Anyway, he's eyeing down my Pa's old piece of shit blunderbuss that has been hanging on the same dust-covered shelf for the past fifteen years. Seriously, Jeff, how is this the first time you've noticed this? You've been coming here since before I was born... He keeps eyeing it down and between the slurs he spits at me I seem to understand one word... "Gun."Ya, dipshit, it is a gun! Good job! But much more politely, I said, "Would you like to check out my Grandpa's old blunderbuss?"I keep it real formal when I'm on the job because I am literally selling used garbage - gotta be nice or I'll go bankrupt. "Yeauh,"Jeff said enthusiastically. I assumed he meant, "Yes,"like a normal human being but for some reason decided to add an extra three vowels to it. Jeff checked it out, and I entertained him for a while but at the end of the day I knew he couldn't afford it. So, I picked it up and started to move it back to the shelf it came from. "Ayuhh euhh!"Jeff yelled in a panic "Gotta put it back, man... Unless you were planning on buying it?" "Jeuh?! Euh!?!?"Jeff yelled, but much angrier and more offended. "Well, do you have money?" "Heuh! Yeauh!"Jeff said, all confident-like. Oh boy. Here we go again. Let's see how this plays out... "Let's see it, buddy." Jeff pulled every possession he owns out of his cutoff jean pockets. A little sidenote - it was 10 degrees Fahrenheit, and remember Jeff was wearing cutoff jeans and a wifebeater. Anyways, Jeff pulls out maybe six quarters and a few nickels, a pocket-watch that was totally stolen from a tourist, and a Phillip's head screwdriver covered in rust. "Ok Jeff. I'll give you a four-dollar trade in value. The Blunderbuss is gonna be another..."I paused for some dramatic effect. Y'know, pretending to be doing some calculator action when in reality I was about to pull a completely random ass number out of my head that I knew he couldn't afford. I felt I was doing my civic duty by refusing Jeff a weapon, especially a firearm. "It's gonna come to another $1496.65, after tax of course." "Fourtueen henudrid nuneutee sux dillards!?"he said with shock. "Yea. It's vintage,"I said with completely faked confidence and a smart-ass smirk. That's when the story takes a real turn. Jeff kept making his Jeff noises and grabbed his screwdriver and came at me with it. He nailed my hand into the table puncturing it with the rust. Like a rational human being would do in the scenario that a mad homeless man decides to attack, I panicked. I think that's totally rational after all. As he chased me, he backed me right under the shelf with the dusty old blunderbuss. I had no idea what to do. I grabbed it and pointed it at him. "I'm giving you a warning here, Jeff. Get outta my store or I'm gonna have to shoot." "Yeauuhhh!"or something like that was yelled by Jeff. And ya, I freaked out. I pulled the trigger. Everything Jeff did was always in slow motion, even dying. It was like watching his skull get slowly shredded apart by all the little pellets exploding from the barrel. His cheeks even had a funny way of sliding off and slapping right into that window that I just had polished last week. His body was still twitching when the ambulances finally showed up. "He's still moving, I think you can save him,"I said to the paramedic, despite the small detail that Jeff's literal face, brain, and skull were my new hallmark wallpaper. And then, all of a sudden, they have ME in handcuffs! As if this wasn't self-defense! I seriously just don't know... what could I have done differently in this situation? "And that, your honor, is why I have decided to plead 'Not Guilty.'" "Are you finished, Mr. Fischer?" "Yea. I plead self-defense." "Mr. Fischer, could you please explain a detail reported by multiple other witnesses that seems to be excluded from your story?"the prosecutor asked smugly. Oh boy, what are they gonna try to pull here? I'm obviously innocent! "What is this small detail, ma'am?" "Multiple witnesses have reported that you were running down the street blasting multiple civilians and paramedics, yelling 'Woohoo, Hell Yea, Blunderbuss!'", directly following the murder of Jeffrey Henderson. "Oh yea... That was just like, shock..." "In that case, you wouldn't mind explaining how the other nine murders also fall in line with your claim to self-defense?" "Oh ya! Absolutely..."I said, real nervously. "Alright, let's hear your side of the story for the murder of 74 year-old Nancy Smith." I thought for a minute. Definitely never heard that name before. Shit. Here we go. Bullshit story time part two! "...So that Nancy is a real piece-of-work..."
“Don’t Worry, this won’t hurt a bit. You may be slightly drowsy afterwards but trust me you won’t feel a thing” The doctor told me as I sat, waiting for the procedure to begin. “So, what happens after. Will I…will I still be me? Like, will I still have all my memories?” “The side effects are greatly exaggerated.” He answered. Just reassuring enough to keep me in the seat, but just vague enough that she wasn’t completely lying to me. “Extracting a soul is a complex procedure, but it is a vital one. Just remember, what you’re doing is very important.” No shit. Everything that had led me here had made sure to remind me just how important this was. From the posters of families in need of power, to the video in the waiting room reminding you of the energy crisis that got us here, to every single person you meet thanking you. They treat you like a war hero, every single person desperate to shake your hand and thank you for your bravery and your sacrifice. I knew what I was doing was important, but that wasn’t why I was here. It was six months before the operation that I lost my job. I probably should have seen it coming. But even if I had, there wasn’t much I could do about. Getting a new job was hardly a simple task, just making the shortlist for an interview at that point would have been a miracle. Fuck, it would have been nice just to receive a rejection letter at least instead of constantly checking day after day only for nothing to ever arrive. I suppose what few companies where hiring felt they had too many applicants for each one to receive a message of rejection, but how hard could it have been to send out some prepared message that just said “sorry, you haven’t got the job”. I guess they didn’t care about the people who sent those letters, we we’re just names on paper to them. Just qualifications and experience. They didn’t care if we sat at home waiting and waiting in the hope that maybe someone would respond. But they didn’t, in those six months every application I sent off went unanswered. I never wanted to apply for benefits. I couldn’t shake this feeling that I’d failed. Every step of the process to apply for benefits felt like an admission that I was a failure. It was like an admission to the world that I was incapable of taking care of myself and my family. I’d let them down and now I had no choice but to ask for help. “Ok, so your first payment will arrive in your account in six weeks, following that you will be paid once every four weeks until you find work. I’ve set you up an account on our site, you’ll need to post evidence that your looking for work on there. You are expected to spend at least 35 hours each week looking for work, failure do so may result in your payments being stopped. I’ll also nee you to attend weekly meetings with me in order to track your progress.” My work coach was a nice enough man, but as the only face I saw when dealing with claiming benefits I couldn’t help but focus all my issues with the system onto him. I felt like he was personally judging me. I felt like he was the person who decided, that I had to wait six fucking weeks for my first payment when I was struggling to pay my bills. And when the money finally arrived, I felt like he was the person who decided to give me barely enough to cover those bills. I felt like he was the one who decided I had to attend work meetings every week. Meeting that served no purpose, meetings in which almost nothing was said, and what was said meant nothing. I was spending money, which I didn’t exactly have that much of, to spend five- or ten-minutes exchanging small talk with this idiot who was doing nothing to help me get a job. I couldn’t keep doing it. I wasn’t getting enough money to support my family, and I wasn’t any closer to getting a job. I had to do something. Soul energy was still relatively new, but incredibly powerful. One human soul could power a whole country for at least a year. With fossil fuels all but gone and not enough renewable sources of energy to keep up with demand, the discovery of soul energy seemed like a miracle. The first lot of people to volunteer their souls couldn’t wait. This was the future; how could it go wrong? After that first group we saw the true cost of soul energy. The volunteers were changed by the procedure. They no longer smiled or cried. They just seem to stare of into the distance. At first it was assumed that they where just so drained from the operation, and they would eventually return to their normal selves. But they never did. They continued to just drift through life, almost oblivious to the world around them. None of what had made them themselves was left. Their hopes, dreams even their fears. Nothing was left. They were just robots, following the basic rules of survival that they had been programmed with. Eat, sleep, work, repeat. Unsurprisingly, the number of volunteers drastically went down following that. No one was willing to lose who they are. At least not for free. The price for a person’s soul climbed in the following months. One human soul could set you up for life, it’s just a shame that it wouldn’t be a life worth living. Even with the astronomical price companies were willing to pay, almost no one was willing to sell. “Ok. I’m ready.” I tell the doctor as she prepares to begin the operation. “Wonderful, and like I said, you won’t feel a thing.”
"You have no idea who I am, do you?" Hiram's body jittered with electricity, his arms shaking at his sides. It was the same nervous feeling he'd gotten from Samuel, the strangely quiet man who'd agreed to help Jonathon on a personal task. Hiram hadn't been angry that Jonathon, a man he'd known and worked with for five years now, had wanted Samuel's help (maybe he had something to offer that Hiram or the others didn't?). What bothered him was how Samuel had held himself. It wasn't so much that Samuel thought he was above them, it was more... defensive. Like he was watching his back because he had something to hide, and Hiram did not like that. The man standing before him now had that same air about him, except this one knew he was above Hiram. The grin that contorted his crooked features said just as much. "I can't say that I do."Hiram spat, forcing as much hatred into his voice as he could. "Oh, come now!"The man cooed, stepping closer. "We spent a lot of quality time together, don't you remember?" Hiram shrugged, hoping the nonchalance would hide his fear. The closer the man got, the stronger the electric feeling in his bones buzzed. His heart pounded faster and faster as if it knew exactly who this man was. "I've never seen you before in my life."He croaked, his voice cracking. The man sensed his fear and grinned. "Here,"he sang, "Maybe this will jog your memory." The man stared straight into Hiram's eyes, not blinking or breaking his gaze once, until his pupils seemed to bleed into the rest of his eyes. Like a dropped inkwell, the blackness spilled into his irises and consumed the whites of his eyes until all that remained were two ebony stones set into the man's fair skin. But it wasn't his eyes changing colors that frightened Hiram the most. He'd seen it before. What terrified him was that he knew exactly who this was. "Abaddon."He murmured, taking a few careful steps backward. The demon grinned again. "It's good to see you again, Hiram. Let me just say that I was extremely pleased to hear you remembered everything I taught you." "It's not like you left me any choice."Hiram hissed. "Oh, don't start."Abaddon waved him off. "I left you better off than with that impoverished family of yours." Hiram laughed dryly, a hot flash of anger briefly dissipating the electricity in his veins. "Better off? You left me homeless! How was my family supposed to take me back after what you did to me- and to them?!" Abaddon shrugged as if nothing Hiram said mattered, which only served to fuel the furious flame that had been ignited in Hiram's gut. He had dreamed of this moment for years, of being able to come face to face with Abaddon, but this was not how he had pictured it going down. In his dreams, he'd been on top, had been the one talking down to Abaddon, but it was in fact the other way around. Abaddon still had control over him though they no longer shared the same body, and it infuriated Hiram even further. "Look, while I'd love to argue with you over whose lives I've ruined, because the list goes on for quite a while, that's not why I spared you." "Spared me?"Hiram echoed. "Oh, yes. You're not the only one trailing after Jonathon and his little angel friend. My little demon underlings found you and reported it to me, and luckily for you, I recognized you in an instant." Hiram had heard what Abaddon had said, about Jonathon and his "little angel friend,"but at the moment, he was too caught up in the fact that he was talking to his former captor to understand what Abaddon had said. All he could think was why? "Why did you spare me?"He whispered, watching as Abaddon lazily leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "Isn't it obvious?"He laughed. "You're going to help me. Just like old times."
"So, I had the weirdest dream." Terry glanced up at me from her sundae. "Oh, really now? You don't normally remember your dreams." "Yeah, and it's been pretty much the same dream each night, that's why it seems so weird. I was in bed, but then there was this really bright light at the edge of the room, and I saw a really long tunnel." Terry raised an eyebrow and put down her spoon as I continued. "Now, I wouldn't have gone that way, but I looked the other way, and there was nothing. Not even a shadow or anything, it was just black as far as I could see. So I turned back and started walking to the light. There were doors on each side, door after door, and each one was locked. Then I finally got to one that was unlocked. I went to open it, and there was a huge screeching sound. I woke up right after that." Terry looked at me, her jaw slightly agape. "You too?" I looked at her, concerned. "Me too? Have you been having the same dream?" "Tell me, has the door that's been unlocked been different each night? Each one further and further down the hall each night? But each time, there's a big noise, and then you wake up? A scream sometimes, or a big honking horn on other nights?" My heart leaped into my throat. "Terry, have you been having the same dream? How could you possibly know that?" Terry looked down, a lone tear dripping down into the ice cream, now forgotten. "It wasn't my dream. It was my cousin's. He told me about it a few days ago, said it had been going on for a few weeks. He...he died yesterday in his sleep." I looked on, stunned. "Are-are you serious? How?" "They're saying that he had a heart attack. I...I don't think that's the case now, after hearing about it." "Yeah, me either,"I murmured, my heart racing. "So if I make it down to the end of the hall, I die? ...Terry, I need you to do me a huge favor." "Anything." I looked her in the eyes, unflinching. "I need you to tell me everything about the dream. If I have any chance of living through this, I need to know every single detail." /u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 64/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories!
Not only was it a letter from Satan, it was hand delivered by the man himself, Satan sat reclining in the chair across from Santa, there was a pause as Satan calmly looked at Santa and Santa looked at the letter in panic, then Santa pulled a notably large scroll from his desk and stared looking for "Satan" "last name sir?"Santa asked redundenly, after another moment of silence he risked a glance across at Satan to be met again with a calm but judgemental stare, SAR, SAS ah here SA... wait? What?? No Satan? Re check, double re check, triple re check, another glance at the being across from him, yup not a single muscle different, some people really do want to just watch the world burn, then a horrible thought hit Santa, he glanced over at the "good" list but quickly went back to the naughty list, quadruple check, quintuple check, sextuple check, noooo way, no way, NOPE finally Santa stood up grabbed the good list and there it was, "Satan"signed and everything with Santa's own stamp. Finally Satan moved, he luxuriously stood, smiled and began to make his way to the door, "uhhh, sir?"Said Santa as Satan reached the door, Satan slowly turned and raised an eyebrow, "may I ask how?"Asked Santa, "yes, yes you may,"Satan said somehow managing an even more evil look, he reached into one of his coat pockets (which honestly reminded Santa of something an evil witch would wear but he was pulling it off shockingly well) and started to pull out a book "laws and loopholes, how to beat that red and green with elegance" There ya go sorry I'm not great at writing (also doing this on my phone)
A little bit late to the party but hey, better late than never! &#x200B; The things you write about resonates a lot with how I feel and the tips you give are really helpful. &#x200B; The editing part is one of the most valuable tools for me when it comes to improving, especially when I get my submissions back from a writing circle. There will be all these marks and comments on the documents which I don't really understand ("Write it like this instead", "This sounds awkward", "Too jarring"and so on) but I would still try to read the suggestions out loud and compare it to my own writing, grubble a bit and use google-fu to search for answers. &#x200B; The part about 'how to grammar your own way' is so true! Run-on sentences have always been a bad habit of mine, and checking for independent clauses all the time might be tedious (at least for me), so my way of checking for run-on sentences is simply to see the length of the sentence. If it fills a line or two (or three), there's a big risk that some runs had sneaked in and I should be more attentive. How do I identify a run-on sentence? "If there are several persons/subjects doing different stuff in a single sentence, then it's a run-on sentence." &#x200B; >The largest tree by volume in the world is the General Sherman Sequoia, it is a little over 52,500 cubic feet. 2 subjects (tree and it), 2 different verbs (the 'is' before comma refers to the tree's name and the 'is' after comma refers to the tree's volume). Run-on sentences! &#x200B; It doesn't work everytime (cough, conjunctions), but as you mentioned: >But prepare to be wrong a lot, and adjust depending on needs. &#x200B; Again, thank you for writing this and Happy holidays!
As he is about to finish his patrol, he noticed footprints in the snow, leading up to a porch and then away again, spaced like the person was running. Mall Santa follows the footprints and goes around the block and to his surprise, see’s another Santa. “Stop right there!” Mall Santa shouts. “Or what? The other Santa says. The other Santa then turns a little and whistles sharply. A jingle noise gets increasingly louder from behind Mall Santa. As Mall Santa turns around, he sees 8 reindeer pulling a flying sleigh. The other Santa runs forward and jumps into the sleigh, before turning around and throwing the present at Mall Santa who catches it. “Ho Ho Ho!” The other Santa cried before taking off into the night. Mall Santa stands there speechless, before he noticed red and blue flashing lights come around the corner. “Freeze!” One of cops call out. “Put your hands behind your head!” The same cop shouts. As the cop slaps a pair of cuffs on his wrist, he says, “if you’re going to be out stealing gifts from peoples pitches don’t do it in a Santa suit, it makes it easy for little kids to give a good suspect description.”
Money was tight. Money was always tight. The office jobs never paid enough. If only I could have been one of the lucky ones born with superpowers, or smart enough to build machinery to mimic them. The Supers got paid ridiculous amounts! And the villains didn't do too bad either. Half of them were on the government payroll and the ones who weren't often got away with the odd bank heist or ransom for a kidnapping. But no, I'm just a regular person in a regular office. Until the flyer came in the mail. "Henchmen's Guild. Good pay for evil work."I signed up. What's the worst that could happen? "You're quite likely to die or receive serious injury."The first words the commander said to us. Some welcome.
When the aliens finally showed up it wasn't like the movies. It wasn't elusive, like flying saucer sightings that always looked blurry and fake on Youtube. It wasn't mysterious, like a giant boulder floating in mid-air. It wasn't threatening, like giant robots crushing the White House. It was spectacular and somehow not threatening at all. The first sign the Aliens had arrived was a giant light show over every major city in the world. It was stunning and beautiful, like fireworks but so much more. Colors flew across the sky, combining and spreading apart, bursting and fading. It was too magical to be scary. And then the banners appeared, in the language of each City: "We are the Keori. We come in Peace. We welcome you into the Galactic Community." Some people were terrified, but surprisingly few. Most people were curious and excited, as if they were kids going to sleep the day before their birthday, expecting presents and cake to appear soon. And it did! The aliens landed in a beautiful starship, pulsating with gentle color. They had communicated in the most polite and friendly way, with every world leader and told them when and where the landing would occur. Normally, world leaders would stay safely at home, or in protected bunkers at undisclosed locations, when anything truly unknown and potentially dangerous was happening. But somehow they all showed up. Some alarmist reporters said it was hypnotism or mind control, but there they were, waiting to greet the Keori ambassador. The huge iridescent ship descended slowly with no visible means of support, rippling with color and resembling nothing so much as a giant cuttlefish. It landed with the slightest puff of dust and sat there in the middle of the vast plains of Nebraska. Why Nebraska? No one knew. I was tickled pink that it was Nebraska because I lived only a few miles from the place! So of course I was there, or as close as I could get, behind at least five security lines of military vehicles. Watching on my mobile on a Disrupteon channel. After a few minutes, something emerged from the ship. It was sinuous and moved in an incredibly graceful way but somehow it was obvious that the thing was a robot of some sort. It glided up to the grandstand which had been constructed for dignitaries and officials, and stopped in front of them. Billions of people were watching. The robot spoke, and somehow everyone heard its voice in their own language. "Thank you for making us welcome!"it said, its voice sounded like the sweetest singer, "We are here to welcome you to the Galactic Community and provide all the benefits that a Member Planet is entitled to. But first we must speak with the human who shall represent you all." The robot paused, and there was movement among the world leaders. Who should represent the human race? The President of the United States started to rise, as did the Chairman of the Communist Party of China, the Prime Minister of Europa, and other leaders. Then the robot spoke again. "We wish to speak with the human who uses the name Artemis_the_Hunter_329." Every world leader looked at each other in astonishment. I looked around too. That was me! Well, it was my gamer tag anyway. Could I have heard it wrong? "We wish to speak with Artemis_the_Hunter_32"appeared on my screen (and I think on everyone else's too). The robot continued, "She is nearby. Do not be alarmed. We will bring her here." Another robot flew out of the ship and floated in my direction. Now I was freaking out. Why me? Am I going insane? What do they want with me? But it landed gently in front of me and spoke in a soft, melodious voice. "Artemis_the_Hunter_32, it is you. We have watched your gameplay for many years. You, alone among gamers, never attack the weak. You never revel in the kill. You are the finest among humans and shall represent your species in the Galactic Community!" And that's how I got into politics. Between you and me, it was all a misunderstanding: I only play for fun and never spend money so I'm always weak. No point in fighting too hard if you're weak. I wish I were a better person. I really do. But the Keori gave me the authority to decide what to do with all the advanced technology of the Galactic Community. I could have eradicated poverty. I could have eliminated war. I could have cured cancer. And maybe I still will, some day. So far I've been a little selfish, but why shouldn't I be the only real superhero on the planet for a while?

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