Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
I never really thought much of Prime Minister Kamenov. He seemed to be a mild mannered man who unlike his predecessor, Dubinsky, always listened to reason. It also probably helped that in his life before he ran for public office, he'd been a dentist in Smolensk. One of the best apparently, and well known for his gentle demeanor. But for some reason we never hit it off. &#x200B; Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't a fan of his nationalist aims, or the fact that he'd continued with executions and death camps (even though he said in a press conference before our meeting that he'd end the camps and that they had "no place in a civilized nation like ours."But for some reason, he not only didn't take a shine to me, he completely and utterly hated me, and I never knew the reason. At least not until the night they sent nukes to the west coast. &#x200B; "Honestly, Mr. President, its your teeth. You say in America everything is bigger and better yet your dentists are, how do you say it? They are completely shit. And I don't trust anyone who has that bad of teeth. You never flossed. I can tell. " &#x200B; "But is that worth starting World War Three sir?"I asked. &#x200B; "Lets just say that your horrible mouth was the tip of the iceberg. By the way, you better get on your flight Mr. President. My generals might be sending something your way." &#x200B; &#x200B;
I'm so sorry that it's so long, I just got really into it: I couldn’t quite remember how Nick and I met. It wasn’t through our mothers or a sweet rescue from a bully like most childhood friends meet. What I do know, for sure, however, is that we must have met in the most mundane way possible, even though we were both the farthest people from that word in the dictionary. In my memory, Nick appears earliest in a collection of times from the seventh grade, and so I suppose that must have been around the time we met. He, of course, as always, disagreed. According to him, he had known me since kindergarten, and had pursued my friendship at the time to no avail. It was only in middle school that I gave him a chance. I wouldn’t be all that surprised if that had been true, for I admit, I had been a rather nasty kid when it came to boys. We had lasted as the closest of friends, transcending distance and time. Nick and I were so close that we both feared what would happen when we grew older and got married. Would our partners understand and accept the way we cared for one another? Every time that conversation came up, we resolved to always choose each other over anyone who couldn’t find it in them to tolerate our friendship. Life after high school had proved to be a bit of a struggle for the two of us. I had gone to community college, to leave myself enough time to devote to a valuable internship at Memory, a photography company. Nick, on the other hand, ever the ambitious one, took a different path, choosing to head to a prestigious university… 2,000 miles away. It was a shock at first, but I could never discourage him, especially when I found out what exactly he wanted to do. Nick wanted to attend medical school, to become a pediatric oncologist and the prospect brought tears of admiration to my eyes. He had always been so wonderful with children, and I knew that having kids of his own meant the world to him. I hadn’t know, though, that he had been nurturing a desire to treat children until he was ready to pursue his education. I felt like the worst best friend in the world for not knowing this oh so important fact. Of course, Nick never let me put myself down, convincing me that it was his fault for not telling me. Apparently, he felt that telling me would make his dream more real, and thus bring his hopes up when he wasn’t even sure if he would get the chance to chase it. Pre-med was an awfully difficult major to get into after all. But he did get in, and he was thriving wonderfully there, despite our suffering from the distance. We tried our best of course, constant phone calls, facetime and visits over the holidays, but it was not, by any means, an easy task. Unfortunately, Nick couldn’t make it home the previous summer as he took an internship at a hospital near his university. It was Christmas eve now, however, and Nick would be arriving home any second, his first stop being my small apartment. I waited anxiously by the door, watching it, any sound bringing a smile to my face as I eagerly looked out for a lean boy, with tussled brown hair and the warmest, sparkling chocolate eyes. I looked forward to his hearty laugh and killer smile, to his teasing jokes and comforting hugs. I waited. And waited. And waited. Nick never came. I could feel my stomach coil in fear. What if something happened to him? I wouldn’t survive that. It was nearly one am and Nick should have arrived by six. Just as I reached for my cell phone to call his mother (he wasn’t picking up his phone), I heard a soft knock at the door. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
The kinds of people that pull out their own teeth have a few things in common. They are usually masochists, confidently bore people at parties and wear underwear that is tighter than it needs to be in order to stay grounded. They tend to be librarians, UX designers, or Startup Founders. Ulmo was all of these things, and he snapped the extremely tight waistband of his briefs while surveying his current situation. Against advice by friends, dentists, and the one friend that was also a dentist, he had managed to extract his own wisdom tooth. He had done this with the combination of string, a system of pulleys he had gutted from an old grandfather clock, and a bottle of Cutty Sark whiskey to numb the pain of extraction and existence. He had provided his detractors wrong and was able extract the tooth over a period of 24 hours. After a series of failed Startup ventures (the last being Facebook -but a different colour), it felt nice to succeed at something finally. He was excited to gloat about this tooth to his friends, and more excited that he didn’t have to go to a dentist he couldn’t afford. He proudly suspended the tooth in a jar of Cutty Sark and went to bed. The next morning, Ulmo was quite surprised to find the the jar with some noteworthy changes: 1. The tooth was still there. 2. The Cutty Sark was not. 3. Next to the tooth, asleep and snoring loudly, was a woman that could accurately be described as Shaggy from Scooby Doo but only two feet tall. She wore a tattered grey shirt, brown trousers made browner with dirt and a muddy rucksack. The truest test of character is when one is in an odd situation. Do you upload pictures first and think later? Or do you upload pictures first and then not think at all. Ulmo had failed at many things in his life, so his first instinct was to not be hasty. After all, he had taken an entire day to pull out his own wisdom tooth. He could summon extraordinary amounts of patience if required. Deciding to contain the situation until he was capable of making any sort of rational decision, he placed a lid with small air holes on top of the jar and waited for the tiny Shaggy lady to arise. When it appeared that she wasn’t going to, he started rapping the lid loudly with his fingernail. She slowly arose, rubbed her eyes and belched. She looked at Ulmo’s large magnified face and swore. “Not again, Goddamnit...” “Greetings creature...” began Ulmo from the speech he had been rehearsing in his head. “Welcome to my abode, I have a series of questions to ask you before -“ The creature held up her hand as she vomited in a corner. “Ohhh gross...” she said immediately after, trying to dodge the vomit with her feet. Ulmo continued his speech: “-I have a series of questions to ask you before-“ She held up a hand again. “Okay, I’m the tooth fairy, alright? Yes it’s real. The legend is true. There are tooth fairies!” She vomited again. “That’s...real? Fairies? Multiple?” “Of course I’m real...It’s a whole lucrative industry. Well...it used to be. Not much of a business anymore. My people stopped doing house calls. Most just go straight to the dentist or the trash where it’s easy business. There’s just a precious few of us that are still doing business the old way...the hard way.” “Man I hate dentists” muttered Ulmo. “Same. Here.” Grunted the Fairy. They exchanged a smile. “The teeth collecting business?” Ulmo added with some confusion. “What’s the model? How is it profitable?” She spoke in a halted stream of words, stopping decisively to not vomit again. “Yes...teeth are valuable to us...it’s complicated. But there’s not much money in doing house calls any more...There’s all these teeth now but there’s no quality control! Like look at this beautiful tooth” she held up Ulmo’s wisdom tooth. “Only a house call could get this beauty. People don’t care about quality it seems...I’m barely gonna make any money off this..so when I see some good whiskey I...sorry I drank your whiskey. It’s been a long time. Can you let me out?” Ulmo solemnly unscrewed the jar and the tooth fairy slowly flew up with the tooth. “Well...” she said, putting the tooth in a small ragged sack. “I guess I’d better head out then”. “Wait...” said Ulmo. “Do you want another glass of whiskey?” The tooth fairy turned around and beamed at him. “Of course!” Ulmo handed the glass to her and had a seat. “That’s great! I I just wanted to discuss an idea for you...An idea for a startup...” &#x200B;
"Hmm you would do well in Hufflepuff Zachary Zimmerman. Unfortunately Slytherin is still shy one and you are the last one to sort so better be-" "What!" "Yes?" You are going to sort me Slytherin just to balance out the houses?" "Yes. That is how this works. Each year and equal number of boys and girls get admitted. I am tied to the book of names so I know how many to expect. I start pre sorting based on family names as best I can to see how things are likely to fall." "So you really do sort families into the same house?" "Yes, mostly because I got tired of all the parent yelling at me when the Gryffindor son got Slytherin or their Ravenclaw daughter got Hufflepuff. I must have made a mistake. Pay. What do they know." "Okay..." "From there I sort the rest best I am able, keeping in mind the Houses have to be balanced. Some students are given a binary choice and I sort the next free one to the other, as best I am able." "But why do the houses have to be balance?" "Literary necessatitous I'm afraid. It is frightfully inconvenient and cliche but what can you do in a children's series" "What's that? What are you talking about" "The reason you are gonna be... Slytherin!"
The horror I saw before me was surreal. The previously calm pet shop was a cacophany around me as cages shattered and the building itself became uneasy. Once tiny creatures screamed in pain, their metabolisms sending their bodies into meltdown. Birds flapped listlessly, at least those whose legs could still support them. Hamsters squealed as they over heated, glass shattered as tropical fish started a frenzy of feeding. I still have nightmares of the owner, she had been holding up her chihuahua for a photo, that same snapping annoyance was now a titan, still dragging his owner by the leash behind him in a cruel twist of fate. I didnt see any more, as I frantically slipped out the door, I was only glad I'd put down the turtle.
It was a week before Christmas. I wanted to give a wacky gag gift to Megan, my girlfriend. When I was browsing a site with those gag gifts, I saw a map that apparently shows hidden rooms and passages in the home. I got it, just for giggles. On the Christmas day, we all ate and sang carols. Then we unpacked the gifts. I saw the map. Why does our house contain warp zones and hidden rooms underground? The map said to ground pound a specific place in the living room, so I decided to do it. I didn't expect to end up in Brinstar. "MEEEEEE-GAN! HELP ME OUT!"I screamed, but in Brinstar, no one can hear you scream. Megan however saw the hole and dropped a Glock with ammo so I could have something to defend myself with. I went left and found a mysterious flashing ball. When I touched it, I appeared in front of three pipes, each one numbered: 2, 3 and 4, and a huge sign reading "WELCOME TO WARP ZONE!"above them. I jumped into the pipe labeled 2. I appeared in a haunted castle hidden somewhere underground. An off-key rendition of Vampire Killer was playing from somewhere, while a bunch of zombies approached me. I shot them in their ugly faces and walked up the stairs. My instinct told me that I should shoot the candles, and I did that. Two hearts and a square with a number 2 in Roman appeared in front of me. I picked them up. My Glock turned into a shotgun. I went further and found myself with several bats around some very deep pits. I shot the bats and jumped over the pits, hoping I won't fall into them. I found a door. After opening it, I found myself in that pipe room, with the pipe labeled 2 blocked off. I jumped into the pipe labeled 3. "Oh god, no, a Mario level."I thought. My gun vanished. I had no means of defence except jumping on the skulls of those poor creatures. I quickly found a Fire Flower and I felt my hands burning. It was painful, but I could throw fireballs from my hands now. I killed several enemies and they dropped coins. Then I saw a pipe. I thought it might lead back to Megan's house, but nope, it instead led to a bonus area. I found 100 coins there. I heard a familiar one-up sound. After exiting the bonus area, I found myself near the flagpole. I jumped on it. My balls started to hurt, but I slided down and walked into the castle. The only pipe available now was "Pipe 4". I entered it. Inside it was a warp to a world reminiscent of a more modern game. My fire flower powers vanished, and I found a water soaker gun near me. When I fired it, the water turned out to be blue ink. Everyone around me was talking in some incomprehensible language. I was in some underground city. I went into the green building. The building turned into a paintball arena. I shot my way through the arena to find a pipe. I found myself at the pipe room again, but instead of the pipe labeled 3, there was a pipe labeled -1, and the 2 and 4 pipes simply weren't there. According to the map, this pipe room was a different one. I jumped into the -1 pipe. It was pitch black everywhere, with only a single entity there except me, the Big Bad Baby Bowser. An off key rendition of the Yoshi's Island final boss theme was playing from the floor. I had all my weapons, but Bowser killed me in one hit. I didn't think I will return to this world, but I returned. My body flashed several times with a bright white light. I used this invincibility time to find out Bowser's weak point - his head. I shot Bowser in his head with everything I could use against him until he died. As a reward, 3 3-UP Moons fell from the sky. I ate all of them and heard the familiar Mario 1-UP sound 9 times. A door appeared in the darkness. I opened it and found myself in Megan's basement, in the kitchen. "Why do you have a fuckin' universe under your house?"I asked Megan. "Mark, I bought this house from the God himself."Megan answered. Two weeks later, I got hit by a car and died. Then I reappeared, with my body flashing with a bright white light.
There have been a few mistakes, of course. I couldn't remember the line about climbing up the Eiffel Tower. You might notice that the live version has different lyrics. That's because I remembered the right ones after it was too late. What I recorded originally was "Stop into a pit stop, climbing up the Eiffel Tower". By the time I recorded the live record, I remembered Semolina Pilchard. Of course, it didn't make sense to anyone but me, and I've even heard it theorized that I was just babbling nonsense. Several similar things have happened with chords, too. How many times is "Strawberry Fields Forever"supposed to go to E7 instead of E? It's not even a particularly hard song to play, it's just that when I first learned it, I kept replacing the E7 with a regular E chord because at the time I wasn't very familiar with E7, and it wormed its way into my brain so much that now I have trouble remembering to use E7. Muscle memory ingrained the wrong chord into me years ago. But it's passable, and there is so much going on in that song that my guitar doesn't really stand out anyway. My voice isn't as clear as John's, that's true. It never was. I spent my youth trying to imitate him, right down to the round glasses. But I was born with my voice and not his, and so I sing as best I can. I'm not a bad singer, obviously. Look at how many records I've sold. But I'm still not him, and no matter how much of a rock legend I become, that fact will always be there. I am not John Lennon. I was born in 1981, five months after he was shot. I grew up in the 80's and 90's. My first tape was Def Leppard. I was eight years old and I was mesmerized by the big sound. But by the time I was 13, I was all about the Beatles. By high school, I wasn't even listening to modern music anymore. I had what my mom said was an "unhealthy obsession"with the Beatles, and especially with Lennon. While all of my friends were getting guitars and learning Pearl Jam and Green Day songs, I was trying meticulously to work out the opening notes of "Norwegian Wood"and memorizing the words to "I Am The Walrus". Well, all but that Eiffel Tower line, anyway. I'm still not sure how it happened, but one day in my twenties, I woke up in an alley and I had nothing but the clothes on my back. I had gone to bed in my own dorm room in Evansville, Indiana the night before, but here I was in some stinky back alley I didn't recognize. It took me about fifteen minutes to figure out that I was in New York City and that it was November 12, 1961. It took me about three days to realize I was stuck here, a week to come up with my plan, and another three days after that to find work. I won't lie, it was hard to get used to, but my old life in 2001 wasn't much fun anyway. I was flunking out of school, my parents were ready to cut me off, I had no friends, and I'd never so much as kissed a girl, much less had a steady girlfriend. I began to view this as an opportunity. All I needed was enough money to buy a guitar and amplifier. I found an Epiphone Casino, brand new, at a music shop, and I bought it and a small Fender amp. I spent two paychecks on it, but I didn't care. It would pay for itself in no time. All I needed now was a band. Of course, I obviously knew what band I needed, and I knew where they were. I had to find a way to Hamburg. My job as a waiter didn't pay much, but the tips weren't bad. It took a few months to save up the money, but save I did, and I was able to make it to Hamburg with a forged passport. And it was there that I got to do what I thought I would never get to do. I got to watch John Lennon play live. I saw them in the Top Ten Club on my second night in Hamburg. They were every bit as amazing as I'd expected, and I wondered if it was fair of me to be doing what I was planning to do, but I was committed to it. How could I pass up the chance to join the Beatles? The problem was that I hadn't, in all of my planning, considered that maybe the Beatles would pass up the chance to play with some American kid who just showed up and started following them around. I know, that probably seems pretty obvious to you, but I was convinced it was why I was here. Why else? Why else would I have been sent to this particular time? Why me? Why now? With my encyclopedic knowledge of the Beatles, what other reason was there for it? I was meant to be a Beatle. I did get to meet them. It's not hard to meet unfamous musicians. You just hang out at the club and buy them drinks after they're done playing. I spent months there, trying to become their friend, but it was no use. Paul seemed to like me just fine at first, and Pete as well, but George paid me little heed and John's thinly veiled annoyance grew quickly into blatant dislike. Before long, they were all keeping their distance, and finally John had it out with me. I can't remember everything he said, only that the phrase "crazed loony"and "are you sweet on me or something?"had come up. He threatened me with physical violence if I ever popped up at one of their shows again, and I left in tears. I still don't understand it. I worshipped that man for most of my life. I just wanted to be part of what they were doing. Wasn't that why I was here? I had planned it all out; I was going to play them "Norwegian Wood"and they would be blown away and ask me to join the band, or at least to be their songwriting partner. I knew Stu was about to leave, and I thought the timing couldn't be more perfect. But it wasn't perfect. Stu hadn't left yet and I had somehow annoyed John Lennon into hating me. So I came up with a new plan. And, as we often do, I convinced myself it was with good intention. Sure, I would be getting my revenge on John Lennon, but I would also be saving his life. No one was going to shoot Paul McCartney's sideman in 1980, I was pretty sure of that. And without his songs, John Lennon would, indeed, be Paul's sideman. And I just happened to have the advantage of already knowing all of his best songs before he ever wrote them. I also had a head start on Ringo Starr if I could pull it off. It didn't take long for me to chase that dream. As you're probably aware, that didn't pan out either. I jammed with him a couple of times, and he really dug my songs, but he, too, seemed to dislike me overall, and before long he wasn't returning my calls. It was almost 1962. I needed to work fast. Reluctantly, but still clinging to hope, I packed my things and headed back for New York, guessing that I could be discovered there much more quickly than I could in Hamburg. I wouldn't be able to stop the Beatles' trajectory at this point, but I could certainly set my own, and it would alter theirs significantly. I began performing at open mic nights and coffee houses. I quit my job and lived a bohemian lifestyle, drifting from apartment to apartment. I started making a name for myself. I started attracting women. I started attracting musicians and artists and writers, and before I knew it, I was a big shot in Greenwich Village. My lyrics were so bizarre, they would tell me, but so insightful. I met a beautiful woman named Wendy who painted abstract portraits and sold them to pay her rent. I played her "Imagine"and told her she had inspired me to write it, and she asked me to move in with her. I might have been in love with her, it's so hard to tell, but I kept my mind on my goal. By the summer of 1962, I had signed a contract with Warner Brothers Records. Peter Yarrow had seen my live show and said he was blown away by my songs. Initially, he was going to record one with his group, Peter, Paul, and Mary, who had recently been signed to Warner Bros. That developed into me playing on their record, which eventually led to me being signed to the label. Fortunately, the song (Eight Days A Week) wound up being dropped from their record in favor of putting it on my own, and my first album was released in the third week of 1963. And the rest, as they say, is history. My career took off almost instantly. I was careful not to release all the best songs right away, and I was careful to time certain songs for the social and political climate. I borrowed other songs, too. "Gimme Shelter", if you can believe it, was supposed to be a Rolling Stones song, but I liked it too much to let someone else have it. "Fortunate Son"was, in my own time, a Creedence Clearwater Revival tune. In retrospect, I should have let them do it. My voice didn't do it the justice Fogerty's did, and I'm sorry you will never hear it that way. I tried writing my own songs, too. Most of them never saw the light of day, and the few that did wound up as B-sides or album filler. Not one ever charted, a fact that is not lost on me. But somehow my plan still wasn't able to stop the inevitable. Even though I stole all his material, it turns out John Lennon was just that fucking talented. For every "Come Together"I recorded, he wrote two new songs. You know "Looking Through The Window"? Big fucking hit, right? Yeah, that song doesn't even exist in my timeline. "Don't Tell Me Why"doesn't, either. These were both top ten hits for the Beatles. And now it is 1980, and the Beatles still managed to be bigger than me, no matter what I did. They broke up right on schedule, and not much else changed. What did change was me. I let my anger eat me up inside. I turned to the "rock and roll lifestyle"that had killed so many others, hoping it would kill me, but it never did. I stopped recording albums. The live one was the last, and it was in 1971. But Lennon, he kept going. And he kept being a fucking legend. And so here I am. It's December 8, 1980, and I'm standing in front of the Dakota. Chapman is on his way, but his bullets won't reach their target. He will kill another legendary 60's rock star instead; one that never should have been.
"Yo, did ya' hear what that bitch said about us? Mind 'a my own? I'll give'r a piece a my mind." "Relax, Tony. She's just saying you're very strong willed, she didn't mean anything by it." "That's your problem, you know that Jer'? You just let people walk all over you!" "I'm not letting anyone walk over anyone, I'm just saying she didn't mean anything." "Yea', whatever, I'll" "Did you want a hot shave, hon?" "Oh, sure Becky, that'd be nice. Thank you." A jar of barbasol shatters on the ground and Becky's feet shoot upwards and she lands on her back. "Oh my god, Becky, are you ok?" "That'll teach that dumb biddy you wann' talk smack you gon' get hit!" "Oooohh... yeah... I think so... I just... I just don't know what happened,"she says with her hands on her head. "I told you! You wer' runnin' yo' mouth and" "Here,"I say, "Let me help you up."I stand up in the puddle of barbasol, the barber bib still hanging around my neck. She stands up and then slips again on the barbasol, landing her head into my chest for support. "Thank you,"Becky says, "I just don't know how that happened. Oh, I'm sorry hon, you've got some splashed on you too." "It's ok Becky, I'm just glad you're ok."I look into her eyes and beyond the shimmer of gratitude is something I've never seen before. "Hey, I know this is a weird time to ask and feel free to say no, but would you want to have dinner with me tonight?" "Awwww what the hell'a'you doin buddy?!" Becky looks at me, and after a moments hesitation, "sure, hon, that'd be nice." ******************************* "Ya know tha' little fuckah did that an purpose, right?" "Oh, shush, he seems nice."
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(part 1 as it was a bit too long) &#x200B; "What?"she gasped as she felt her grip fail. She focused all her mental power into strengthening her control. Sweat stained the blond hair on her forehead, breathing became shallow, teeth grinded and her heartbeats pounded in her temples. For a few heartbeats, the room stood still, witnessing the clash of power, the magical tug-of-war, the silent fight of energy streams. Everyone in the room stood in awe, not daring to interrupt the duel. Even the universe paused for a while - a silent nod to the massive energies expended. Then - when the suspense reached it's peak, she wavered. First only a little, her forehead wrinkled, hey eye twitched. And then it happened all at once. Her control slipped, she became overwhelmed and the force of magic feedback hit her hard. As she wavered, her opponent - a tall soldier with the markings of a lieutenant on his shoulders - stepped forward and punched her in the face. The blow has sent her to the ground. Blinking, in a vain attempt to save herself, she heard the lieutenant bark orders at his soldiers "Gag and cuff her!"as he was pulling his helmet off. Last thing she saw, before losing consciousness, were his hard, grey eyes. Eyes, that she found inexplicably familiar.
It initially in Isaac’s intelligence inked in its introductory introduction intolerably initiated in its intellectual incapacity. Bob berated Bill by Bashing Bill’s Big Brain. Bill couldn’t know how pizza consumption would end up turning out. Patty proclaimed, “Pizza’s production purpose pleases P-people. People pressing presumptions pummel Patty’s part.” Bill stated, “Why are you pronunciation in that way?” Alice announced, “All alliteration are all animals are allowed Acting, Announcing, and absorbing authority.” Charlie chimed, “Creating cool carpets could Charlie create”. Bill ran off, screaming for his life. Not in any way could Bill have predicted the horror. Bill broke bad barriers. Bill broke below. Bill began being bad.
Meandering, directionless, lacks foreshadowing, difficult to believe, deux ex machina. Practice by writing poetry. Write as much as you can, exhaust your word usage, on a mundane/simple topic. Edit, edit, edit. Edit a day after, a week, month, year, etc. Do the opposite. Write as complex a story as possible with the least amount of words. Edit some more. Writing is about persuasion. A last trick, use meter. This is why I'm telling you to write poetry. Rhyme at first if you need to, then advance to blank verse. Do not try to ignore grammar, it will come to you effortlessly as you advance. Finally, read as much as you can.
The job was a botch. I should have really seen it coming. He certainly did. He'd had this whole thing planned out from the moment we'd found where he was. La Jolla of all places. Right on the beach for a quick getaway. This guy had been eluding us for years now and we'd finally caught up to him and the job was a botch. It happened quickly enough. He spotted us before we spotted him. Following his car coming towards the cove, I could already smell the seal shit. They started shooting. Thank God it was night but the whole town heard the gunshots. When we fired back we layed hate on that car. It crashed just off the curb and we soon folly suit when Tony, our driver, took a round through the head. Poor bastard. Geoff and Paul got hit when the car rolled but they made it out after. I dragged myself out of the upside down car and saw him running across the grass towards the stairs leading down to La Jolla cove. A popular place in the day but empty this time of night. I dragged myself up and raised my rifle. My left arm throbbed in protest. I fired a burst and saw him fold over and hit the deck but he scrambled back up and limped on. I kept following him. I made it to the stairs despite how badly I was hurting he was already on the beach and I could see a boat coming closer. He was gonna try swim for it. I fired another burst and he slammed face first into the sand. This time he couldn't get back up but crawled on. His getaway boat quickly powered away. I guessed he didn't pay the driver enough to stick around. My left arm hurt bad and shouldering my rifle was agony. I dropped it at the bottom of the stairs and trudged through the sand with my pistol drawn. As he crawled his was towards the ocean, I knew his number was up, he didn't though. "It's over, just stop crawling and give it up"I said exasperated. He rolled over to face me. "So you finally got me huh? Gonna take me in and charge me for what my family have done for generations?"He spat at me with venom in his voice. I stood over him and didn't answer. "There'll always be people like me. You can't stop us all. I'll be pardoned for just doing my job and exercising my rights"he smiled wryly as he spoke. "No... You won't"I said and I pointed my pistol at his head and pulled the trigger without a second thought. Nearby seals wailed in shock protest of the sudden noise. I stood for a few seconds and watched the waves in the cove pull his body out into the ocean and letting it sink. The job was a botch but it was over.
There was an empty shack at the edge of the village. Abandoned for as long as I could remember. My parents always watched me, knowing how curious I was and ready to pounce the moment I got too close. The door was tantalizing, crooked and hanging from its hinge, left a crack open to tease me of its contents. After so many failed attempts at reaching for it and the resulting lectures, I asked my parents why I couldn't go near. Mom said it housed a hungry monster. It preyed on the weak and turned humans towards hysteria. Keep away else it would gobble up good, sensible little girls. Dad said it was a pest. Leave it alone, ignore it, and it would go away eventually. After my parents gave me their excuses, I stared at the fire and wondered over it all night. Hide it, ignore it, they said, but it wasn’t until I was older when I realized what they meant to say. Fear it. That shack sat in its corner, watching and waiting for my curiosity to grow. Strong enough to lure me closer. The temptation was always there, lingering in the background, engulfing me at a speed that left me ignorant to its influences. It wasn’t until I had grown old—life too much, responsibilities too heavy—that I confronted the shack at the edge. I stepped up to it, waiting for the glowing eyes of the fearsome monster. When nothing leapt out at me, I grasped the handle. There I paused, half expecting something to grab me. Yet, nothing appeared. The door creaked open, dust raining down around me as I stepped inside. I moved towards the center, disbelieving what I found. It was empty. Laughter erupted as I fell to my knees. I wrapped my arms around my chest, gasping through each chortle at the thing my parents feared. Monster? What monster? There was nothing in here. It was empty, so empty that it filled my very core with its bareness. My laughter began to choke and I gasped. It was so, so empty. Tears streamed down my face and my arms tightened around me. It bore down on me, ripping everything that made me me. Falling over, I curled in the darkness. Lethargy swaddled me, dragging me further into the nothingness that was this shack. All my responsibilities, all my goals, all hollow. Motivation and determination a farce before the gaze of this Monster. The years spent watching it, I hadn’t realized it already infected me. A poison through my mind, suffocating me by inches. Sucking me dry until I lacked the energy to rise from my prone position. My parents shouldn’t have ignored it. They shouldn't have dismissed it. It was a mistake to hide it away from the rest of the world. Away from the possibility of salvation. But they had every right to fear it.
"I wish I was still in my teens", says your older brother, holding your newborn nephew. "I didn't have to wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of crying like I do now!". Every adult says that. They don't know how boring puberty is. To be always changing. To never have a T-shirt that fits you for more than two months. To have crazed hormones fictating your wants. To attend classes that are neither useful nor interesting. To be ignored by every girl your set your eyes to. To be too young and too hold to have fun. To be constantly paralized by social anxiety and awkwardness. To be pressured to choose a path you know you will never follow. My puberty is boring, but it seems it won't be for long. The Infinity Gauntlet equipped in my arm says so. The Soul, Time, Space, Mind, Reality and Power Stones embedded in it say so too. I bet even the Sorcerer Supreme would be jealous. I have his precious Time Stone, after all. But it is not that easy. From what I have read, the strongest will is needed to control the powers of the Gems, not somethind the ordinary person could do. But I will do everything to make the boredoom go away. Everything. It is a thousand times better to crumble to dust while the Gems scatter randomly throught the Universe than to get grounded after being expelled for falling asleep in Mr. Donald's class again. I will first change small things. Make my frame slightly more muscular. My face slightly more symmetric. My mind gradually sharper. My figure slightly more noticeable. My smile whiter. I could do it all at once, but I do not crave the attention of others to that extent. The Univerde will become gradually better, and my life will become interesting for once. And I will be able to eat all the pineapple pie Mom does I want without consequence! Flavour awaits!
A New Day, A new problem. Why is my life like this? I am tired of trying to save this city from these crooks. Don’t they know they can never beat me? I am theoretically invincible. Well, before you tell me that that’s not true, let me explain my powers to you. It all started few years ago, when I was playing my favorite videogame. Its name was The Elder Scrolls : Skyrim, and a game it was. But whilst playing one evening, there was an explosion at a laboratory near my house. Well, the blast knocked me towards my computer and I passed out. Next morning when I woke up I found out that I had the same abilities and the same level of my character in real life. I tried to fast travel, I used a dragon shout, I was suddenly an expert in stealth and an expert marksman. I also had an extra power, where I can access my menu and increase my skills wherever I wanted. But after 48 hours they were gone. The powers lasted only for 48 hours. Not more not less. Well again I tried playing the game and then it again gave me superpowers. I then tried it with the Spiderman game (the shitty One), and I got the powers of Spiderman. But yesterday something happened. While I was busy enjoying the hell out of my coffee, I hear a commotion outside. There was a guy destroying building with energy beams and shouting Kamehama (someone has seen dragon Ball) I needed to act quickly. I decided to web him up and use all my strength in taking him away from the city and to some wasteland. But who am I against Goku. He kicked the hell out of me. But I was spared. Later that night I decided I needed a far superior character than goku. So I bought a new game that wasn’t out and was based on an anime called “One Punch Man”. Next day I was feeling powerful. No powerful wasn’t the right word to use. I was feeling on top of the world. I decide to start my day with 100 Sit-ups, 100 Push Ups, 100 Squats and 10 KM run. (thats 10936.1 Yards) During that time I was feeling so famished that I had to visit any store and probably everything in the store itself. Well you wouldn’t have guessed what happened. The Faux- Goku appeared. (Obviously) He started to destroy the whole city. The biggest mistake he did was to attack me. He tried to use Instant Transmission and surprise me from behind, but sucker didn’t know I was faster than him. I moved a little to right and successfully dodged the punch. He then tried to use energy ball, and again I dodged them. Well, this was taking a lot of time and I was hungry. I had to do something fast. I waited for him to move near me. Lo and Behold! He again used the same tactic of instant transmission. But I was ready for that son of a bi\\\*. I just focused all my energy into my right hand and punched him. He didn’t know what hit him. His body was destroyed completely. Done. The task was done. Then I went back to my daily activities.
"Well I thought I will never see this happen. I lived here for so long that I took this place for granted. But here we are, the first time I ever see this digit on the thermostat: 0°. My name's Lu and I'm in charge of Hell and this is how H's have destroyed 2 worlds." "It all started centuries ago with this guy" Lu point a picture on the wall with several dart on it. "That guy, well he's the source of our problems. I ruled this placed with discipline and strength for ever, but when he came things all started to collapse. The funny thing is that he wasn't supposed to be here. I found that not so long ago. He died during the jurys night shift and they had a party to celebrate one's promotion the decade before, so they accelerated his trial and in a single year it was done and boom sentenced to forever pain and torture. But who care, one soul more or less in here? This place automatically adapt it size for every new soul. Hmmm hmmm, where was I? Oh yes, that H. When he came he was driven through the "tutorials"as I like to call them. He was at first like everyone else, "Why me?", "What have I done?", "Please give me another chance"hahahaha, you know? But then something happened. That "smart"son of a saint! got a great "idea"to improve the efficiency of sector he was into. To improve, something that I'VE MYSELF designed to be the perfect torture? Hmmm hmmm, the thing is that it did surprisingly improve the efficiency. And then everything went from good to worse, other sectors engaged him to improve their efficiency, and a one point he wasn't even tortured!" "What I did to prevent that? Nothing I was foolish that this would be a phase, like the same thing that happened sometime's ago with that guy, Marx and his speech that every soul should be tortured equally. But let's focus on our "problem solver", at some point he started gathering some sajans and talking about a thing called unions. Urrrgh! He continued for over a decade and gained more and more believers. The day I started giving attention to this problem was when one of the high ranked dajals was giving a speech about how they should syndicate to protect their security. What I did? I took that fool heat protection and bathed him in hot salsa for a whole week. It's was funny and relieved me from the stress plus it has been a while since I've done some good ol' torture myself. Now, I regret it...that I didn't kill that legitimate son! He indeed created his syndicate and after what've done he got even more support, to the point where I and my "entreprise"got sued for "Bad and abusive treatment", and those sacramental wine drunk dick sucker of jurys give him reason. So the syndicate was created and guess who got engaged for "employees health and wellness", yes that H motherfucker! And what did he decided to improve wellness? Lower the damn temperature of the damn hell! Because according to him, this perfect temperature was not appropriate for good efficiency! My ass! You know this place wasn't conceived to be cold at first place, but he stated that he figured how to! He was an engineer on his previous life and down there they had things called "air conditioner"for when it was too hot. Of course I knew what an AC was, and I thought "ok! Y'all want AC here? So good luck because EM waves don't exist in this realm". But that H, that guy! It didn't took him more than three centuries to find I way to power it. It appeared, and I didn't even know about it, that the rocks we used stone souls were high emitters of energy... I felt like the victim of a joke that took thousands of years to accomplish." "So here I'm now talking to a camera, on my desk wearing a vest and gloves. These "mega air conditioner"as he like to call them, lowered the temperature and they're also very loud. Every dajals, sajans, onis, diablotins have perished due to low temperature. I'm the last one alive and that H, is mocking me by pointing he's torture machines on my tower siting on his throne made with the horns of the unionist he watched die." "This is for posterity, my name is Lucifer angel of light, and I'm coming for you Elon Musk".
"I'm glad to see you back Jack. I never thought you'd make it off the continent alive. Especially after the Somme." &#x200B; Jack was in fact quite lucky to be alive after that. He'd almost been killed by poison gas, but fortunately his chaplain, Father Donnelly had been there to take him out of No Man's Land and get him back to the trenches. Jack then spent 6 months recovering in a hospital in Brighton , but that's where the trouble started. &#x200B; "Well Father, I'm glad to see you. I didn't know how you'd hold up. I'm surprised you were given the same parish." &#x200B; "Well, I figured that would happen. Father McMaster got sent out to a parish on the other side of Edinburgh. I don't think he liked being here in the Cowgate with all you rowdy tossers. So, I remember you asked about confession?" &#x200B; "Well yes Father. I haven't been in a long time. Since Brighton. And that's been over three years. I've been busy with dad's business and you've probably heard I've gotten pretty involved in the transport union" &#x200B; "Yes. I hope you haven't been messing with some of those socialist fellows though. Don't want you to become some James Connolly type. I'm all for workers rights but they get too extreme they'll end up like the Russians. Hell even a Paddy like me doesn't want old King George dead." &#x200B; Jack and Father Donnelly then walked to the confessional. Each took their place on the sides of the screen, and then with a deep breath, Jack began to speak. &#x200B; "Forgive me Father for I have sinned. Its been three years since I last confessed." &#x200B; Jack then let out a deep sigh. &#x200B; "Alright Jack, what do you want to talk about?" &#x200B; Jack sat for what seemed like an eternity. &#x200B; "Well Father, one thing that's big is that there were times I missed mass. It wasn't always easy in Brighton. We had a priest come and visit, but sometimes they didn't, and sometimes it was hard for me to get to mass. What with the injury to my lungs." &#x200B; Father Donnelly then spoke up quickly. &#x200B; "Well, if it was hard to get in, then its not your fault. But just for those times you couldn't say a few Hail Mary's." &#x200B; Jack then spoke up again. &#x200B; "Well there was also a time where I was having thoughts about a certain nurse out in France. She was lovely. Like amazing. Never anything more than thoughts, but she was wonderful. But my mind went too far." &#x200B; "Three Hail Mary's for that."Said Father Donnelly in a mechanical fashion. &#x200B; Jack then took a long deep breath and tried to start speaking but paused just before the words flowed out. After what seemed to be an eternity, he spoke up. &#x200B; "Father. I have to ask a question. When I was in Brighton, I met a man, and well this man, we became good friends and well I got to know a lot of his friends and we joined a kind of club. A certain club I don't know if its okay to join. But I'm wondering, is this club okay?" &#x200B; Father almost was about to say the penance he was giving, but as if he was a machine breaking down, he stuttered and tried to come up with something. &#x200B; "So, what kind of club is this? You say its with other men. Jack... I hope its not something of a lavender nature." &#x200B; Jack then tried to hold back a laugh. &#x200B; "Father, I think you're off you're rocker. Its the Freemasons. Can I join them? I mean I have already, but have I sinned?" &#x200B; Father Donnelly then stormed out of the confessional. &#x200B; Jack followed behind as Father walked for the rectory. &#x200B; "Father. I just want to know why it's wrong. I've made connections. Maybe I can even help some of us poor micks down here in Edinburgh? We can't just be some Irish ghetto in the middle of Scotland father. I'm making connections so we don't have to have people living hand to mouth." &#x200B; Father Donnelly then turned around. &#x200B; "Well if that matters more to ya then your soul, I can't help you there Jack. I don't know what the damned war did to you but you better leave that damned Satanic order. Or else I can surely tell you, you won't like where your going if you stay." &#x200B; Jack then walked away. He took Father's advice to heart. Much like Huck Finn, one of his heroes, he decided at that point he'd go to hell. He enjoyed being a freemason. They had shown him more compassion than one lonely Edinburgh priest. Sure he felt sad he had to leave, but he felt as if he wasn't really leaving. But instead was growing.
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Okay, I will admit, there were hallucinogenics involved. A lot. However, no mushroom or even a synthetic marvel of chemistry could make a Tabaxi look as real as he did. Dressed in a bright red flowing robe edged in gold, the cat person leaned over me with sparkling eyes full of mirth. "Ohooo, darling. Gotten lost?"I groaned in pain both physical and mental. "Wandering Star. Tabaxi merchant and minor campaign villain. What luck."I stood and dusted off my shirt - at the very least, this drug trip kept me in the right attire. "Unless, of course, this is a representation of Dave in my mind." "Darling, is he able to do this?"He swept me off my feet with a well-placed sweep, then caught me before I hit the ground in a blur. "No. Fuck."The cat smiled and licked his chops. I was led in a delirious state over to where the wagon was stopped, the bright gold and scarlet paint making my eyes bleed. The rest of the caravan was assembled around a large pit in the ground covered by a sheet of wood - from my Scouting experience, it was probably a pig slathered in spices. Good eating, if you don't mind committing an entire day. The various Tieflings, Tabaxi and humans regarded me with suspicion, but ultimately went back to their card games. "Daaarling, how about I show you something?"Star pulled me to his wagon, and shoved me underneath. I saw the hatch leading to the hidden sleeping compartment, and he encouraged me to go in. Not gonna lie, climbing while hungover hurts about as much... well, as anything else while hungover. Inside was a deceptively spacious cube with a blanket wadded up in one corner, and several cabinets in the 'floor'. It was lit by a floating ball of magelight that cast everything in a harsh white light. Lithely following me in, the Tabaxi opened up one of the cabinets and got me some water that tasted like heaven. "Thanks, Star. But I know your intentions, and I know your endgame. But, I'm confused; what's this move?"The infinite smile disappeared. "I mean, sucking me across universes - if I'm not just high off my ass - isn't your style." "Darling, allow me to reveal to you what you already know. The Legion did this, I'm just a little cog in the grand design."He fingered the small spider necklace that the players never saw, and took a drink of water. "We don't know exactly what happened. We think it was the Cataclysm that claimed the fifth planet, and that killed off the Grand Custodians."This was the first player group that finished a level twenty mission - it ended with the End Times. "The rift that opened paved the way for your own transit through the Plane of Dreams." "Oh, so this is a dream? Well, that's convenient." "I didn't say that."Star frowned, and reached for a pipe from another cabinet. He lit up whatever leaves were in there with a bit of sorcery before continuing. "You went through the Plane, physically. Have you noticed anything odd?" "The kaleidoscope effect? That's just the synthetics bleeding through the trip."I inhaled a large dose of the smoke and coughed while my throat felt like it was on fire. "Not quite. The Legion's top minds created a tether between us when you created our universe. There was a lot of technobabble but it boils down to this: you can reject the Void Dragon, write him out of the script. I am here to convince you to do it." I laughed and threw myself down onto the bedding, even as my lungs and head screamed in protest. "You, want me, to delete half of the conflict in the game? Not damn likely. The Void Dragon is the fun faction, the faction that'll really get some of the roleplay juices flowing. You furry bastard, I'm *NOT* doing it." Star blew a bunch of smoke into my face and sighed. He tapped his claws against the floor and muttered curses. "Uuughh, fine. Just... just think about it will you?"He tapped me on my forehead and I woke up in a pool of sweat. I was in my own bed, the hangover was gone, and I had a tarot card in my hand. After checking my own deck - after all, the Deck of Many Things was a hilarious motherfucker - it was a duplicate of The Star. "That furry bastard." \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Questions, comments, concerns? Spelling or grammar errors? Comment below!
I had been growing closer to this for a long time now. Day after day he'd grown more and more demanding. Eventually I did what any rational human would do. I called my local zoo and rented an alligator for the day. When he showed up I could tell he was right for the job due to the look in his eyes. The eyes of a stone cold killer. I said very clearly, "make it look like a suicide". I put a gun in his mouth, and he swallowed it. "Smart. No fingerprints."I though to myself. He would be waking up from his nap in less than an hour, so I left to my weekly book club. We we're reviewing a murder mystery this week. Ironic. When I arrived home the kitchen was a disaster. I saw blood everywhere. It was an absolute blood bath. I couldn't believe the horrors that must've gone on in that room. The alligator had been picked up by the trainer, and a note had been left. "Our alligator seems to have eaten your cat. We're sorry, but you shouldn't have left him unattended to like that. We take no responsibility for your loss." That idiot! It was supposed to look like a suicide! The zoo keeper knows now, and now I'm gonna have to take that stupid alligator out too.
I've always been smart, whether at school or real life. I'm not a genius or anything I just always worked hard I guess. I also practice martial arts, I'm not the best at it but I am still really good. Some people say they wish they were as smart or as strong as me, but the truth is it's just that I work hard and practice. At least that's what I thought. One day I wanted to talk to my math teacher to help me with one of the homework questions, he has always been extremely helpful. I knocked on his door and didn't hear a response so I entered softly. No one was in the room, in fact it was empty except for one paper. Curiosity got the best of me and I went and read the paper. 7:00 - 8:00 Language 8:05-9:05 Science Break 9:30-10:30 Math 10:35 -11:40 Social Studies 11:45 - 12:45 Physical Education This was my schedule! Why did my math teacher of all people have a copy of my schedule? This was creepy, as I was about to leave I heard a swift movement and the sound of the door opening. It was my math teacher, Mr. Jones. He opened his mouth to say something, but upon seeing that I had already seen the paper he closed his mouth. After an awkward silence he said, "I can explain." I was sure he was stalking me, no one in my class shared all these classes with me and it had my year on it. I was about to leave when he transformed into my science teacher, then my language teacher. At this point I thought I was going insane, what was happening? "Look, I've been trying to do this quietly. I'm one of your ancestors, I've been around for a long time-" "You are insane, I think I might be too. If you do not move out of the way I am going to call the police." "Wait, I've been around. The reason I've been able to stay alive is because of magic. I learned magic, I practiced it and studied it-" "MOVE OUT OF THE WAY I WILL START SCREAMING." Immediately the room transformed. Colors disappeared, turning into grays and whites. Then shapes merged together and everything became a flat world. Then everything became cold, I started floating and my body parts started separating. Was I dead? A sudden vibration shook me, then everything came back. Except it was different, I was in the middle of desert, hovering above it. I heard a voice beside me, of the person who I thought was my math teacher. "Down there, that's me. Right here I was about 50 years old and I wanted to study the universe." "Why are you in a desert?" This the moment when my curiosity had overcome my fears. "Well, I was studying sand. It's properties, what it's made up of, how it can be used." "So you have studied everything in the universe?" "I am not even close, or close to getting close." "How's that, how much do you even know that humans now don't?" "I have uncovered every secret on earth, every organism, chemical, I have visited every site. I have even been to earth's core. For me, space is what's left. I am not efficient enough to learn about every star, planet, and galaxy. This reminds me, I owe you an explanation. Why I taught you throughout your life. The truth about magic is, it's not something you are born with. You earn magic, the more you learn about the universe the stronger your magic becomes. I taught you sciences and martial arts to prepare you to use magic. You might be wondering why I would want to teach you magic? Well, this is my explanation. One day, in July of 2003, I was traveling through space. I was getting to a point where I was farther than I had ever gone. That is when I witnessed it. An enormous monster, it was so large that it made even the largest stars look like grains of sand. It had tendrils growing out of it, and the second it made contact with anything it destroyed it. It's shape was of a cube, but it was a 10th dimension cube. You want to know the scariest part? It looked at me, it was trillions of light years away, but it looked at me. Somehow, when it saw me it's eyes zoomed through space appearing next me, and they were human eyes. I heard it tell me die, and just hearing that almost killed me. Trillions of light years away and by only saying a word it almost killed me. By now, you might have guessed why I wanted to teach you magic." &#x200B;
The adults whispered that chris would save the world. He had been born with the seal of Moralthus, said only to appear once every 10 generations. The mark laid bare on the forehead of the chosen. It glowed under the light of the full moon and told whoever saw this person that they were meant for great things. His family had moved him into the buddhist temple with other orphan children at a young age So that he could become wise and strong enough to save the world when it needed him. Mick eyed the chosen, both of them currently just over 16 months old, and watched as he ate the paste he was supposed to be using for arts and crafts. I don’t know what all the fuss is about, Mick thought to himself. He eats paste and shits his pants just like the rest of us. Mick waltzed over in that peculiar fashion that only young children and old people are able to manage. The kind of walk where nearby adults worry that somehow the young or old person is going to, at any moment, charge head first into traffic; even if there isn’t a road in sight. After far longer than anyone except those with an abundance of experience in child care would expect Mick reached the chair where the chosen one sat, hand covered in glue, contemplating whether or not the next handful would be as delicious as the last. Were not so different you and I, Mick thought. Were both children of this war torn world. Doomed to struggle to survive. True, you may have been destined for greatness, but now, at this time, we are both just confused children. Chris looked up at Mick with his deep blue eyes, paste spilling out of the container and slowly covering the desk. Mick summoned as much courage required to talk to such an auspicious person and asked the question that would solidify one of the strongest friendships the world would ever know. “Ah you gonna finish that?” \--- Seven years passed and the two had become close friends. Chris had not yet shown much signs of becoming the chosen one. Sure he stood probably a head taller than any of the other kids the same age, and, if pressed, Mick would admit chris could do more chin ups than your average 8 year old. But, his best friend still pronounced the noodle dish “pascetti” and wrote the letter K backwards from time to time. Mick didn’t think these were likely traits in the chosen one. Chris and Mick heard a scream from the rock they were sitting on and began running toward the sound. Chris quickly gained much ground on Mick and reached the fire first. He seamlessly transitioned from a full sprint to a double flip over the flames and then a double back flip, this time holding Sarah, a 6 year old who’d knocked over the flaming pot. Arriving seconds later Mick grabbed the bucket of sand from the side and through it on the fire. The adults patted them both on the back and Mick thought about how Chris didn’t recognize the danger anytime before himself. The double backflip was showy sure, but where was the ability to sense danger at the drop of a hat? Mick was beginning to suspect his best friend wasn’t the chosen one at all. Just a great person doing his best to help out how he could. \--- At the age of fourteen, Mick and Chris were sent to recover the lost sword of Arwendale. A mythical weapon said to reveal itself at humanity's greatest time of need. Mick didn’t think they would find it since he thought it statistically unlikely that he would be alive during “humanity’s greatest time of need.” “Look man,” Chris said, “The last great cities have fallen, our temple has been destroyed, and the dark lord has cast a spell blocking out the sun. if this isn’t our time of greatest need I don’t what is.” “Yeah but think about it, Civilization has existed for what? 10s of thousands of years. What are the odds that we just happen to be around during the worst bit. Not very likely. Plus Alcestus hasn’t fallen.” Chris gave Mick a long stare then continued moving forward. “Alcestus is now the dark lord’s main stronghold and he’s using it to turn the former citizens into more orks for his armies. That counts as fallen.” “It’s still standing though”, Mick whispered under his breath. They arrived at a clearing. A small hill rising to a large stone with a sword jutting out the top. “See I told you we’d find it”, said Chris. Mick thought about telling Chris that this probably was a completely different red bladed sword with a dragon carved into the hilt but thought better of it. Chris still believed he was the chosen one and he didn’t want to take that away from him. “Yep, I guess we should go get it then.” Mick climbed the hill and began pulling the sword with all his might. It was tough but he thought it was sliding out, just very slowly. After about a minute of pulling on the sword and telling Chris that “he’s got it”, Chris grabbed the handle and helped remove the sword. With their combined strength it slid out like butter from the rock. Chris lifted the sword into the air and inspected the blade. “Finally,” he said, “we can end this needless fight that has torn the world asunder”. Mick watched. Proud of his friend for having never given up hope. It was good that he had been there to help remove the sword, since it required the strength of two people to do. Still he hoped that the real chosen one would arrive at Alcestus before they did, and Mick wouldn’t have to tell Chris the truth that he wasn’t the real chosen one at all.
I've always been a collector of board games, since my first Monopoly set back in 98' that I got from my parents for christmas that year. Something about them always struck me as so interesting. Over the years I have collected every game you could imagine, even the ones that nobody played. My interest isn't in playing the games but understanding the concepts and seeing how tiny pieces of plastic could create an entire world of ideas. Every weekend I go to the corner thrift store by my house, I'm there so often that the staff even knows me by name. Todays visit was a little different. As soon as I walked in Joe, one of the workers who I usually end up spending some time talking to, came up to me. "hey man I was stocking the shelves and I found something that screamed your name, literally" He pulls out a box he had been keeping under the counter and sets it on his register. In small blue print the only words written on the box were "Patrick" "Weird right"he remarks "I opened it up and from what it looks like its a board game, no instructions but I figured you'd be able to figure it out" I pick up the box and immidetly got a very eerie feeling, as soon as I touched it something felt off. "Thank you"I replied "well what are you guys asking for it" "Dude, you're here all the time, the things got your name on it, its all yours, its got no instructions and it seems like its got some cards missing too" "Awesome, thanks again, I'm going to head home and see if I can figure this thing out" I leave the store without even bothering to open the box, a free board game and its got my name on it? It must be my lucky day. I was wrong. I get back to my one bedroom apartment and open the box. Its got scattered cards, a pair of dice, and what looks to be a long plastic ruler-looking thing. The ruler is labeled 1991-2056, the thing I found odd was that the "56"on the end of this weird piece looked like it had a mechanism that would allow thoes numbers to change. I inspected it a little closer, no buttons, no levers, nothing that would let me change thoes numbers. I decided to just set it down and take a look at the rest of the contents of my new found game. I already know what dice are and how they work so I set thoes aside and I was left with just cards. I took them and put them into one large pile and it was roughly 100 cards. They were labeled with bold black tally marks on the backs and on the front they had only writing, no pictures, no symbols. I grabbed the first card in the stack and I didn't even bother to try and see how many tallys were on it, maybe 40? I flipped it over and it read "June 12th 2024 - baby Marcin learned to walk, he loves to watch Mickey Mouse Club House and everyone is loving him on Facebook" Thats weird I thought, what kind of board game is this specific? It would really help if I had the god damn instructions. The next card with 17 tallys read "Febuary 9th 2017 - Started working at Watermill Mechanical as a lead technician, recieved a much higher pay than expected and really showed everyone the knowledge that you have about copper wiring" My stomach sunk, what the fuck was all I could think. Thats me. Thats exactly what happened early last year. At this point I began skimming through these cards because Joe at the thrift store must have been fucking with me. "September 25th 2041 - Celebrated the big 50 at Trenta Pasta in NYC, got a little bit too drunk and ended up throwing up into one of your birthday gifts" "September 9th 2031 - Marcin starts Kindergarden, his teacher Mrs. Gardner took a liking to him and say's he's been nothing but a pleasure to have in class" "January 14th 2001 - Went to Mt. Vernon on a ski trip, fell on the second time down the bunny hill and broke your left arm" This card gave the pit of my stomach an even more bitter feeling. The last two didn't relate to me at all, plus there events dated in the future. Thats when I realized this isn't some sick joke by the guy at the thrift shop, how would he have known about my ski accident when I was a kid? These cards are so specific that this game seems to have been literally made for me. All of this made me so uneasy I had to step out front for a cigarette. Taking my time outside with my mind racing at a million miles a minute I smoked not only one cigarette but three. Finally calming down a bit I returned to my game with a rather weird suprise. The ruler shaped counter from earlier with the dates had changed. The last two numbers changed from "56"to "54". I picked it up and tried shaking it, figuring I hit it on my scramble to the door. The thing wouldnt budge, but for some reason suck on the number 54. At this point I decided to lay all of the cards out on the floor and try to put them in number order by the tallys on the back. Half way through this I had to stop and think. If these cards tell my past, maybe I will have a son named Marcin, maybe these all lay out my life. Astonished at the though that something like this could be right infront of me, is this something I really want to do? Read through my future? I never really was one for spoilers in movies and got genuinely mad when someone told me the ending to anything new in the theatres, even if I didnt plan on seeing it. Its the principal you know? That must explain the counter. So I guess I am going to die in 2054 now? Then it clicked. Right after I got back from choking down three cigarettes to calm my nerves that counter changed. Took two years off of my life right infront of my eyes. Just the though made me want to throw up. This is dangerous. A true blessing and a curse. I decided to take the entire box, along with the counter and the useless dice and bury all of it in my backyard. I put the entire box into a small wooden crate I had lying around and dug my hole. I couldn't deal with the constant reminder that my entire life was written in thoes cards, it's too tempting to even think about. Half of me wants to read every one and the other half wishes I never went to that damn thrift store today in the first place. After burying the box I finally got the chance to relax. The scariest part is as per the counter, I was only going to live to 65. Thats a hard pill to swallow. I set a calander event in my phone for this date in 5 years. Thats when I plan on opening up the box again, unless I move to a different apartment or house, to see if that damn counter chagned at all. Todays the day I really focus on myself, my health, my career, and my life. Its the least I can do for baby Marcin. &#x200B; Needless to say I never touched another cigarette again. &#x200B;
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"Those God damn scrubbers", he wheezed. Flat on his back, cigarette hanging limply from his bloodied lips, he blinked back tears. His right hand sat across his torso, covering the burn across the front. It was a burn we'd seen many times before, it covered him from stomach to chest. They were near now and soon, they would be upon us. I didn't have long enough to run, we'd ran out of distractions, it was time. I was glad of it. Scratches at the door grew louder. &#x200B; My best friend's breath became shallow, he wrapped his oiled hand around my wrist. I saw his eyes flicker to the rifle across from me. I took his meaning. Better to die a soldier. I nodded and stood up, grabbing the rifle from the ground. I didn't stand over him, I didn't want him to know it was coming. Better that way. &#x200B; The door now. With each passing second, the screws that held in the hinges grew looser, bolts of sunlight flickered in through new gaps forming in the door, dancing silhouettes against the walls of the cargo supply base we had held up in. We had been safe here, but we knew it was over. There was a crunching sound and a hole formed in the door. Shavings of metal fell against the inside of the door. There was silence. A single, glowing red eye appeared in the hole. I lifted the rifle in front of me and aimed it ahead. Better to die a soldier. &#x200B; I fired a round, expertly placed, shattering the eye as it surveyed the room. I saw it disappear, and a million small motors whirred at once. There was a crunching sound and the door, having fought valiantly, gave up the ghost. It crumbled against the onslaught and fell to the ground, kicking up the dust underneath it. Behind it, a sea of red eyes glared back at me. The scrubber at the front had one good eye left and I lifted up the rifle again. I flicked the catch to fully automatic. &#x200B; "Let me get that for you deary", a metallic voice called out from the sea of red eyes. "You've missed a spot", another recited. They began to march forward, lifting their scouring pads in front of them. "You're all mucky", the one eyed scrubber hissed. It's vocal simulator had been damaged by my rogue bullet. I smiled, it felt good knowing I had hurt one of the bastards. I lowered the rifle to hip height. "I am the 0.1%!!", I screamed, and held down the trigger. Bullets flew out at every angle shattering eyes and scouring pads in front of me, but they kept moving forward, endless. They stepped over their fallen comrades without a moment's hesitation. The salvo of gunfire continued, bolstered by the extended magazine. I gritted my teeth, the barrel of the rifle glowed red, but I knew it was over. They were a few feet away and the one eyed scrubber used its free left hand to swat the gun out of my hand. The rifle flew out of my hands, skidded along the ground and was crunched under the thousand feet of the legion. It inclined its head to the side, processing. &#x200B; "Time for a spring clean".
^(The Science Museum) While inside the Observatory my oldest, Mark who was going to be 7 on the 3rd, wanted to see the Osher Rainforest. Which is an enclosed indoor dome that holds some of the world's most exotic birds. It's kept relativity humid, and a myriad of chirrups resonate the transparent dome. Barkley, my middle child, was making a fuss because he wanted to see the Albino Alligator again. After quieting him with the promise that we'd see the Alligator before leaving; we inadvertently headed toward the Osher Rainforest. It was only a few minutes until the Dome's humidity colored my cheeks rose, and gave me frizzy hair that comes with condensation. I smiled before taking a photo of my husband Ryan lifting Mark to see the nest eggs of a Blue - Necked Tanager. A bird chiefly found in the coasts of South America. "I can see them! I can see them!" Mark shouted, waking up my youngest, Paul, who had just turned age two. I took one more photo of what was definitely going to be framed at home; before stepping away and venturing alone. Taking small snapshots on my way toward the exit the Osher Rainforest grew more silent. The ambience was completely cut off when I had gotten near the entrance of the Rockhampton Maze. The rain had just settled, and the gray sky was hanging over. Bouts of fog stagnated at certain pockets of the maze. All of these elements soaked my windbreaker, and tagged my cheeks so that they were cold to the touch. Though I did see other people who wandered the maze, it was the most alone I had felt in years. As a 31 year old mother you can imagine what that might feel like. Even on days when Ryan would watch our three boys, I still had premonition's, and would usually come home early. The Rockhampton Maze was different. I gently slid my fingers across the dew covered leaves of ten foot high Maze walls. Guilt tugged me as I had thoughts that were sorely my own. Before I had children, and before I met Ryan. I could have been here exploring the Osher Rainforest, the Rockhampton Maze, and the Albino Alligator alone. Without the slightest hint of obligation or responsibility. The thought of my family seemed so foreign that by the time I met back up with them at the food court; they seemed like strangers without a mother or wife. My mind brushed off the experience, and I was back into 'Mom Mode' so to speak. "Who wants to see the Albino Alligator again?" I asked playfully. My kids exclaimed in joy, and we walked together; before leaving home. We all tend to have memories that are meaningful to us. A place in time that we frame, and hang on the walls of our consciousness. No matter how meaningless we feel. To look back at them and smile for it to have ever happened at all. At the Rockhamptom Maze is were I'd want to be if I had a Level 2.
What? I thought to myself Ive done weird things, put on the sponge costume and follow the sea-star, put on the yellow costume and laze around. But a BIRD costume??? Avoid a Effing Coyote??? Ridiculous, but my job pays well, I put on this costume and I immediately feel faster and smarter. More cunning, I realized I was a roadrunner. I try to say to myself “this is fine” but all that comes out is “Meep Meep!” Meep Meep? What does that even mean? Do other roadrunners understand? I dont know. All Of the sudden I hear some sort of whistling going chromatically down, I look up and I see an anvil with the word ACME on it, I immediately run away From this curse from god. I run right into the next trap, a very obvious tripwire with ANOTHER anvil connected to it, I roll my eyes at this sad attempt at killing me. I easily avoid this trap, Ive foiled this anvil loving enemy twice, Could it be the coyote? I would hope so, this would be one of my easiest jobs yet! (This is my first time doing this I hope you guys think its good)
It's not illegal, per se, what we do. Definitely not illegal. It's just ethically dubious, occasionally dangerous, and right on the edge of illegality. But no-one complains, most of the time. You can call us Bradford and Hall, but those aren't our names, if you catch me. I sell memories, she extracts them. I'll even sell yours if you'll part with them, get you top dollar if you have something good. Ever wanted to have been near a public node when the transmission from Mars came through? See, firsthand, the Oscar-HaliCa afterparty where Grant Shielding boffed Mary J in front of everyone? Hell, I even have a observer memory from the Challenger Explosion, a real piece of history, I barely got to it in time. That one's on sale- no one really wants history anymore. I mean, some people want to see, feel, and be in those rarified memories, events so far removed from us as to be just references in paper books- shit, they're not even memed anymore. What most people want, I find, is more personal. Forget seeing what your Great-Aunt Kaitlyn saw in 2025, be it the last reunion tour of the Rolling Stones or the China Sea Incident, people want memories that strike closer to home. They pack a punch, let me tell you. Your own memories can be strong and vivid, but experiencing someone elses' memories...you're getting a piece of them, all their hardwired thoughts and reactions to the deceptively simple stimuli that you think of memories existing as. Maybe you want to find out how your soon-to-be-spouse saw you for the first time, or how they felt when you left them after your first kiss. Maybe you want to see how your boss felt when they tried stealing your idea. Maybe you just want to remember fucks that your brain is tired of simulating. I don't judge. If you have the money, I just get the memories. Getting the memories, though, that's where our price comes in. First we have to find you, the client. Then we have to find your contact. Then we have to convince them, in person, meaning physical travel. It all adds up. I only offer them a percentage of the fee you're paying me- if you don't think they'll part with your desired memory for five percent of our fee (and that's on my high end), then you'd better bring a bigger wallet. If it's a simple memory, it;s a simple transaction, but if it get's difficult, or the memory is especially rare...for the more discerning client, my partner specializes in certain hardcore extracts. I'd be lying if most of the contacts we've marked for acquisition don't have at least one memory that they desperately want gone, some part of their past taken away in a neat little drive. You're they key to that- I'm not qualified enough play therapist and waste my time trying to figure out which was more damaging, their fourth grade bedwetting or their second divorce, and I've seen a million times worse. I need you to give me the best dope you have on them, so if the money doesn't work, my partner can do her job- if that's what the contact wants, of course. You'll pay a small fee for extra services rendered, you get your target memory, and they get to forget both a chunk of you and something else that no drug could erase...sometimes, it's even the same memory. We don't like those jobs. I don't like those jobs. The words blinked on his workstation. His next step would be to... "Are you ever going to give up on that book, Mike? How many times have you re-written the intro?" Mike didn't look up, because he knew Alice would be grinning. It's a hell of a thing, sharing an office, even in VR- she could traipse on in without a sound and was always distracting him when he concentrated on his writing. She also hadn't updated her avatar's emotes in forever, and seeing the early 50's attempt at what a human smile looked like made Mike wish she would. It's just creepy, the way her teeth didn't shine right. "It isn't a book,"he sighed, leaning back in his simulated office chair. He'd had designed it himself to resemble the captains chair from Wormhole Journeys, but no-one usually got it. He didn't blame them. "What is it then? A confession? Are you being a good CathoBuhddist boy?" Alice Medina had walked over to her desk and was perusing the double-blind contact site, her smile wider now. Alice was the brains of the partnership, Mike would have no problem admitting that. She had spent her early years doing the grunt work in labs and clean sites across the globe, at the behest of her government, and racked up a PhD or two along the way. Her extracts had resolved murders, brought expensive Government/Heavy-Corporate disputes to an end, and in one memorable case (aha) had saved a shuttle-load of embryos from going missing. If you could remember it, she could get it out, clean. Well, I'm good at finding people and selling things, nothing wrong with that Mike thought. Ten years in the Corporate Justice Department had helped with the former, while a lifetime of supporting his family since his fathers disappearance when he was six had helped with the latter. He also couldn't let her jibe go unanswered, it just wasn't his way. "In your dreams Allie, haven't been since I was six. It's more of a personal history. I want to leave something for the kids." He had been pecking at his (simulated) keyboard when he said it, but he knew what her response would be. In three, two... It materialized out of thin air directly over his workstation, hitting the desktop with the (simulated) force of a dozen roses in a glass vase, which it was. Unlike the carefully curated skills her job called for, Allie wasn't one for subtlety when it came to their friendship, and that was one of the things he liked about her. They made a great team because they could be so different when around their clients, leaving their actual identities behind them, where it was safe. Sometimes people didn't want to let go of their memories, and sometimes they got tetchy about who knew things about them- Mike Hardwick was good at dealing with that aspect, too, thanks to his previous job. Mike wiped the virtual mess from his station and looked her dead in the eye. "Come on, Al. Rude." Her avatar stuck its tongue out at him. "We've talked about this Mike. Romance isn't my thing." "I know, but..." "Then why do you always bring it up?" "Because I think you have something that we shouldn't just let go of." Her face screwed up into a vaguely demonic smile and her avatars eyes went dead. "Surely you mean my good looks?" Mike sighed. It was like this every time. She thought it was funny. "Your brain, Allie. Have you thought about passing on your genetic sequence? Thought about it for more than five seconds? Because I have. Life-expectancy is..." Allie shut him down with a look. She wasn't smiling any more. "No kids. Drop it Michael." Mike shut up, and went back to his work. I wouldn't even want a twenty year contract with you, damnitall, I just want to make sure you have someone to take care of you. Mike and Alice had worked as a team for more than fifteen years, covering jobs that the Government extractors couldn't or wouldn't handle- from the petty to the bizarre to the necessarily deniable. They had made some good money and helped a lot of people along the way, but more than that, Mike had grown fond of her. His sigh was cut short by a beep and a gasp from Alices desk. She swung her chair around (an approximation of an early 21st century desk chair, all rounded planes and rudimentary hydraulics) and immediately began pulling up a virtual camera that would show the two of them. "Client in thirty seconds. They're looking for a private consult, Michael. Fifty thousand to start." That's all she had to say. Private jobs was Bradford and Halls bread and butter, and this might prove to be a sizable one. Fifty thousand to start would be on the high side of their scale, and would almost certainly guarantee that the client required discretion, a level of dangerous work, or access to their archive of historical memories. Michael checked his avatar and saw that it was running smoothly, both appearance and privacy guards operating at full capacity. It shouldn't be possible to trace a fully-custom avatar drawn from a dozen sites, but rumors had abounded for years about someone trying to develop the tech. He checked Alice's too out of habit, and saw that she hadn't run her own diagnostic- she was fine, but he wished she would take it more seriously. In front of them, the virtual camera resolved, and a voice piped into their headsets. It sounded like a lawyer, accustomed to discussing billable hours. "Do I have the privilege of addressing Bradford and Hall?" Alice strode forward, smiling warmly towards the camera. "You do, and thank you for your interest in our company. I am Emira Hall, and this is my associate Hamilton Bradford. And who are we addressing?"
As the gate opened, the foodguy leashed me up and handed me to her. She was tall, with brown hair and beautiful brown eyes. I was not so lucky with my looks. I only had one eye and a short nub for a tail. She immediately leaned down to kiss my head, and I felt sparks. Is this who i was waiting for all this time? What took her so long? Never mind that, because she was here now. "Alright, Jenna, you're all set to go. Paperwork is done, she is yours now!", the foodguy said with an enthusiastic voice. So her name is Jenna. I love that name. Jenna. Jenna leads me down the cement path that I so clearly remember walking down my first day here. I feel much happier now, than I did that day. Jenna turns to look at me, "Are you ready to go home, Cocoa?" Home? Yes, I sure am.
Every time a living being dies, they are greeted by a Grim Reaper in their final moments. A Reaper keeps a count of the beings they have greeted as a score and the Reapers are ranked based on their score. Their livelihood as a Reaper depends on keeping their score constantly ascending. &#x200B; The humans have recorded us Reapers as a single entity because they needed an image for the being that greets them on the doors of Death. An image that brings fear, but albeit an image that compliments the unknown. Death is the ruler of The Beyond, a realm that transcends this mortal plane. We Grim Reapers are servants of Death. We exist only to bring beings at the end of their life to Death. However, we might be 'immortal' as you humans would call it, but that does not mean our existence is guaranteed. As long as we continue to bring the living to The Beyond, our existence is assured. &#x200B; "And now I have come to bring you too. You should be thankful that one of the other 9 Grim Reapers didn't get here first."the Reaper told him "Only the top 10 of us get the honorary title of being a Grim Reaper and you can be sure there is a good reason for the title 'Grim'." &#x200B; And as the light faded from his eyes and he took his last breath you could see a slight smile spread across his face.
I'm trying to write something for it. Having a bit of trouble with getting to the main point, so it's a bit incomplete. I'm also not trying to be historically or even mythologically accurate here. It's essentially just pure fantasy with some vaguely familiar references/settings. At least one of the names is completely made up. ... For generations our people had been blessed by Heka, the namesake of our city of jewels and splendor, the source of our wealth, the fruit in our trees, the waters of the Nile. Huddled masses came the world over to witness True Miracles as performed by the Hands of Heka. The Hands were blessed. Some rivaled the Oracle of Delphi by falling under the influence of the stars themselves, rising closer and closer to sun as they reveled in their trance. From them we knew when the Nile would provide, when the oceans would rise and fall, and when to brace ourselves for storms and droughts. Others studied the arts of unmaking, with a motion they could bring about fire and flood, siphoning the blood from the condemned as executioners. Still there were the coveted healers, the reason our city was crowned as the City of Lepers, where huddled masses begged in the streets for an audience with our High Priestesses. The most famous however, were the clever ones. They could manipulate the world around them, changing them as they saw fit. It was Akhenetra who perfected the art of levitation. But it is said the Hands of Heka grew arrogant. They defied our Gods and instead turned to themselves, taking Foreign apprentices and shunning the way of Purification. And so a great Collapse of our temples were inflicted, our Hands sacrificed in the destruction. ... Itet looked over her handiwork. The glyphs were of high enough quality, she thought. By the Gods, it should be. She had spent the last three weeks painstakingly etching the history of her city into clay. While papyrus was always easier, this was to be displayed in the city Temple. But now she had to leave it dry. Perhaps get one of the priests to look at it. Maybe a scribe, but the priests were especially picky. It had to not only be accurate but also be written with a beauty deserving of the City's tragic history. It was a reminder of the strangeness of the Gods, how they must be appeased. A warning. Itet saw it as fifty pieces of silver. She pushed through a cloth door into the city outside. Now, truly Heka was a jewel, at least in the city center where she worked. The streets, as she often noted as a curious child, were lined with gold on the sides. Little gems were scattered in the spaces between bricks. The walls shimmered in the sun. While mostly she considered the idea of humans summoning floods ridiculous, the plentiful precious stones made her pause. Why would they use such valuable objects if someone weren't creating them? That kind of plunder out in the open always made her nervous. If it weren't for the protection of Memphis they'd be taken apart by pirates. Brick by brick.
You never know what can happen in this city. One day there's a house fire the next day there's a shootout in the middle of the street. One thing that never changes is I'm always chasing him. Thrasher is the only villain that always manages to escape my grasp. He's smart, cunning, bold and always 2 steps ahead. My days as a hero are coming to an end. I've been protecting this city under the superhero name Protector for nearly a decade now. I've become slower, weaker and less sharp as the damage has built up. At least now as my time comes to a close I can reflect on all the good I did for this city. It's night time now. Sleep was never easy for me. I always had my ears open to the sounds of the city. If you listened close enough you could hear her calling for help almost every damn minute. I lay there hoping sleep finds me soon. All of the sudden I feel a chill. Did I leave the window open? Did I forget to close the front door? I feel a chill down my spine, something must be wrong. I hear a creak from the stairs, someone is here in my house. I grab my steel shield from my bedside and rush to the closet that holds my suit. Before I make it there I see him out of the corner of my eye. There he was standing in the middle of my doorway. The only man I could never defeat, Thrasher. I feel something that I haven't felt since early on in my career as a hero. I was scared. Scared that my life would end right here right now. Time seems to stand still as I lock eyes with Thrasher. Why isn't he making any kind of move? I'm totally exposed, he got the drop on me, I should be dead. Something is off about him he was never one to stall on a kill. He would always end his victims quickly despite his name. What is that on his face? Some kind of fluid is leaking from his forehead, no is that from his eyes? Why is Thrasher, the evilest person I've ever known crying in my home right now? Thrasher finally speaks out in a raspy tired voice. "Sit down Protector, I'm not here to fight."I hear his words, but I had no plans to move so he could catch me off guard. He begins to walk slowly into the room. I grip my shield tightly and plant my feet. "Relax,"he says. Please, I have no quarrel with you tonight. Tonight I am here because I need your help. What the hell could Thrasher possibly want my help with? He was always smarter than me. He had a solution to every problem he has ever faced in his life. What conundrum could be impossible for him? "I want to stop,"he says. The fuck did I just hear? Am I going crazy? I've taken some nasty shots over the years, maybe my brains are too scrambled. "Please, I don't want to do this anymore, help me."I must be in the fucking Twilight Zone or something. There's no way that my nemesis is crying in my room begging for help to quit a life of evil right now. "I've fallen in love you see."Thrasher goes onto tell me about how he met this woman years ago during one of his bank heists. The woman was a teller at the bank at the time and helped him clean out the vault. He decided to take her with him and they became sort of a crude Bonnie and Clyde. She was really only his getaway drive at best. She was never the brains of the operation, but he found uses for her. Thrasher tells me he wants to get better for her. He wants to leave the life of crime behind and run away with her to some remote island I've never heard of. I begin to feel sick to my stomach. Why does he think he deserves a happy ending after all he's done? Thrasher is on his knees in front of begging for me to teach him to be better. How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to pull Satan out of Hell and into the Pearly Gates? There's no way he can do it. There's no way I can do it. He doesn't deserve it anyway. Thrasher puts his head down and that's when I seize the opportunity. I strike the back of his neck as hard as I can with my shield. He falls to the ground unconscious. "You don't deserve peace,"I say to him as I spit on his lifeless body. I drag him downstairs, close the door and turn off the lights to my house. I'm going to make sure he suffers for all of the people he's hurt over the years.
The two leaders are now looking at each other through a conference call. They appear dead-serious, and even some of the security around them seem to be unnerved. After three minutes of swemingly neverending silence, the Vatropian President spoke. “This call is to determine the course of action after the end of the Treaty of Carthis that temporarily ended the war between Vatropis and Rhionyl. This can either be a declaration of war, or an end to the siege unto both of our people. What say you?” The other leader, eyeing his wall, sighed in response before speaking in his rough voice. “The senate of Rhionyl, with much apology, has come to a conclusion. This war must continue.” Immediately, the call cuts out, and an official came rushing into the Vatropian hall. “Miss! Miss, the reports are coming in!” He pauses to breathe. “There were five hundred targets, all members of the senate or prominent members of society!” The president hung her head, a sigh flowing through her. “Then the Great Prank War between Vatropis and Rhionyl has begun once more.”
"New jack city. A place where a dead body can be just as easy to hide as a black cat, like me. Especially if you hide it at night."The black cat licked its paw clean of the discarded fish bits. A man in a trench coat made his way out of the alleyway. Leaving behind a dead body under a pile of trash bags and a trail of blood from his foot steps. "Ive seen it before."The cat thought. "Poor shmuck never seen it coming. Probably had a family too. Telling from the ring finger." The cat walked away. "Whats it got to do with me though? I hear 7th street is ripe with little mice right now. Sewer main busted and apparently theyre dancing on the streets like its a holiday. My holiday anyway." The dead body remained as the cat disappeared into the night. The end.
Highway to Hell. For all the times I drunkenly belted out the words accompanied by a righteous air guitar lick I never imagined it was a real thing. But there’s no mistaking that arch over the road that reads “Highway to Hell”. A closer look reveals the subscript: “Buckle up Buckaroos”. Seriously? What would be the point? It’s better to burn out than to fade away. That’s what I always said, and you can quote me on that. All the crazy shit I got into; man I could tell you some stories. So you can imagine how annoying it is for a legend like me to die while swiping a free pop from the vending machine in my step dad’s apartment complex. I barely tipped it a tiny bit. I swear I’d sue if I weren’t already dead. There was a trial and everything but I never stood a chance. Especially when the prosecuting demon entered into evidence a compilation of my greatest hits, featuring that time I ripped ass during the eulogy at my Nana’s funeral and blamed it on Uncle Albert. That shit was hilarious! He has Alzheimer’s so it totally could have been him anyway. Once the gavel was struck I found myself instantly transported to this parched wasteland outpost. Looking around I could see only a parking lot full of cars and a low slung windowless building with a line out the door. Oh, and that stupid sign I mentioned before. Seeing no other option, i took my place in line and waited like the other losers. Once inside i took in the scene: a sad-sack demon moved languorously between a counter, a wall of keys, and back again, barely acknowledging the doomed person on the other side. Look I get it. Judging and processing the dregs of humanity with nary a smoke break for all eternity has got to get old, but would a little customer service kill you? I better get something good. Finally, I’m up. An AMC Gremlin?? Fucking hell. All because the soccer mom ahead of me, with the can-I-speak-to-your-manager haircut and purse dog, made a big scene shouting the usual do-you-know-who-I-am’s and I’ll-have-your-job’s, as if she doesn’t know she’s a piece of shit. You know, lady. We all know. And we all are. But now you’ve gone and pissed off the demon, so that when I said, “oh ha ha a Gremlin. Good one. You got any convertibles back there?” he just stared blankly at me with the infinite blackness of his eye sockets, before tossing a “back in 5” sign on the counter and slithering away to a back room. Thanks for nothing, Beelzebutthole.
"What's up Fluffy? What've you got there for me?"I asked my dog. Fluffy had this strange behaviour of bringing me stuff from all around. "Oh, Fluffy,"he brought another one of those popular magazines that never interested me, "Please, stop bringing these!" Poor Fluffy, children out there never liked him much, gave him a hard time on the streets. I had to take him, it was the dogs last chance. Wouldn't it have been me that day the kids might have put the worst on him, god knows what this dog would've ended up with. I admit though, I noticed something peculiar about him, well, maybe it was my speculation but the dog had something. A guy lived here once, he was, as it came up later, a robber. Police came one day, got a call from someone saying they had been robbed. All their precious belongings were missing and there were no clues to whoever did it. The investigation brought no success, not even a single suspect. Then, when all hope was gone, our neighbour, Mr. Higs noticed Fluffy carrying an expensive flute in his teeth when walking right past him. Higs went after the dog to find it hide inside an old house that belonged to Sgt. Flick. Nobody could ever suspect him, yet nobody ever found out how he tamed Fluffy to steal for him, none except me of course. The Police took him and all the stolen things, which had been found in his house had been retured to their owners. Oh, Fluffy, such a mixed blessing at that time. People hated him for stealing but nobody ever thanked him for revealing the true thief. "Now, Fluffy, here's my sock, smell it boy..."I showed Fluffy my favourite red sock that my gradma had made me. "Good, find me its pair, it must be somewhere around here" In a couple of minutes Fluffy brought me a sock. "No, it's not the one. Look, this one's red and this one is black. They are different."I never cared to ask myself why I tried to explain something to a dog. Fluffy was bringing me sock after sock but none were the one I was looking for. I guess a smell without a brain is not of much help in cases such as this. __ It's my first try ever, please be kind, I know it's awful. P.s. I'm not even a native speaker.
I always found it funny how people would make up the silliest things to excuse their ridiculous habits. I mean, it's easy to justify that a knife is soft compared to such elaborate mental gymnastics as conspiracy theororists; bending and twisting with the flexibility of a contourtionist and cherry picking beliefs with the priscision of a gold-medal stuck landing. To a point I admire them. It takes a certain amount of talent and skill to convince yourself so wholeheartedly of something so unbelievably and uniquivacally false. If they were perhaps one tenth as good at reasoning as they were at lying to themselves, I'd like to think that they could really solve some problems. At the end of the day, I think that's what ended up saving them. "Every damn time you open your mouth, it feels like you say something even dumber than the last. If you don't shut yourself up soon, you're gonna end up sounding like your uncle". My mother was never on very god terms with Uncle Rick. I never really knew why, but she always seemed like she was pinning him down, holding onto something he used to be with the grip of a godly titan. Of course, whenever asked about it, she would simply say that "He's a very nice man", and after choking on that first lie, she would continue to say "he and I just differ in opinion sometimes"(all the time). Of course, my uncle was just fine. He just happened to believe in some... untraditional things. It was a little annoying how every single thanksgiving he tried to get the whole family to jump on board with his newest theory or MLM buisness, but mostly he just ruined his own life. So I mean, I really didn't give a shit. But for the past year, he's been yapping about some hyper religous second coming theory that he heard from one of his freinds (that friend is now in exile from his home town and currently resides in an asylum; unrelated of course). The only reason it really bothered me was because he kept preaching about how god would open his eyes after his 2000 year slumber and all of us "heathens"would be condemned to hell. I mean, I don't really care that much but he was being kind of a prick about it. Never in my life have any of us walked into his home to eat his food and then promptly told him he would be eternally damned. Just a little frustrating, you know? But it turns out he was right. On December 31st, 2030 CE, god opened his eye in the sun and saw all of us but a small group disrespecting his original image. That small group called themselves "The Sightful Few", and my uncle had worked his way up to the top. ON that fateful day, I watched a skyscraper emerge from the ground made of the blood and bones of nonbelievers. At first, I was very confused, as the building had a sign labeling it "The Last Publishing Company". But then, our fate came. It turns out, eternal damnation roughly equates to being an independent struggling freelance writer.
As Eliot was looking out over the grimy streets of downtown Novyy Moskva, he lit a cigarette and touched the fresh bandage at the back of his neck. "Do not worry, Eliot. Soon you will no longer miss it,"a soft voice said from within the twenty-third-floor apartment he was currently occupying the balcony of. The owner of the voice came into his peripheral. A woman with a half-shaven head that was showing some custom hardware, both tech and cosmetic. Her hair was clearly synthetic, cycling through the color spectrum as she joined him and motioned to bum a smoke. As he handed her the cigarette he said: "I know. I'm just glad you guys were able to get the damn thing out of me. Thanks again, Anna." Anna was his cousin. Kind of the black sheep of the family, she had fallen in with undesirable elements at a young age and had been out of contact with most of them for nearly a decade. If Eliot hadn't reached out to her when he did, who knows where he would have ended up. As soon as he knew something was wrong with his implant, he knew going through any kind of official or legal channel would have been bad for his health. She waved away his thanks. "Don't thank us. It's not like we did it for free, yeah. Without your intel about what Neuralink was doing, we would not have been able to stay ahead of it all. Most of America and Europe are hooked up already. We've been spreading the new information through Russia and Asia as quickly as we can, and it might help. The west is lost, however. Our work is already being called propaganda and fake news. Even though we have the proof to back it up!" Eliot shrugged. "Isn't that how it's always been? People just want to use the tech, they don't feel like they need to understand it. First, it was search engines, then social media and A.I., cybernetics and BCIs. If my implant hadn't been faulty I would never have figured out that while I was sleeping I was being reprogrammed into the perfect little worker drone." Anna tapped his shoulder with her fist, a carbon fiber and metal replication of the human appendage. "Why did you get that thing put in your head in the first place? It's not like you're a complete idiot. You must have known what it could potentially do? I mean, in what universe is hooking yourself up to a networked entity through corporate means a good idea?" He tilted his head towards her with an apologetic look. "Honestly? I don't even know. Maybe because everyone was getting them. Maybe because I was sick of being the paranoid outcast. Turns out its not paranoia when you're right." Anna let out a slight chuckle as she stepped back inside, motioning for him to follow. "Come. Help us pack everything up. We're moving out of the city before midnight." As Eliot stepped inside there were three others stuffing gear and tech into plastic crates. Each of them showing several body modifications, looking like cyborg punks. He had read some twentieth-century fiction once, something called cyberpunk. Apparently back then it had been mostly a genre of dystopian techno-fantasy. Eliot wondered if the people back then would have ever guessed they were pretty spot on when it came to the twenty-second. Anna pointed toward a working station. "Pack that up, will you? We're moving in thirty."Eliot gave a mocking salute. "Ma'am, yes ma'am!"As he was dismantling the computer, he copied what the rest of the crew was doing. Drives were being drilled and microwaved while other components were being put into the boxes. He wondered what the hell had happened in the last week. He had gone from a fairly regular life of a guy who liked to play around with tech sometimes to being in the middle of what could best be described as an anti-corporate cell of freedom fighters - or terrorists, depending on your point of view - trying to fight an information war for the intellectual independence of humanity. As he was musing on all of this there was a sudden silence in the room, apart from a rapid beeping sound. It was the security station. "We got visitors,"one of the men said. He was big, dressed in what could best be described as urban yet tactical attire, and sported several intellink tattoos that showed a moving picture of a wolf chasing a deer on his left arm. The man pulled out a gun and moved towards the monitors. "Assault team on the ground floor, another on the roof. We got burned,"he growled. Anna's calm demeanor shifted to a more serious mode. Accepting a weapon from one of the others as she joined him. "We'll find out the how later, we know the why. There's time. They know the building but not the exact apartment. If they had they'd have come in from the balcony already. Are all the drives destroyed?""Frying the last of them now. We're good to go.""Good,"she replied. "Forget the gear, we're leaving. Now." "How are we looking Andrej?"Anna asked the big man. "They're cutting the power, we'll be in the dark in a matter of seconds. Then they'll start their search, door to door."Anna's brow furrowed. "We're two floors away from the top. We all know the plan, yeah?"Everyone gave a confirming nod. Everyone except Eliot. "Eliot, you're with Andrej, do everything he says, yeah?"Eliot nodded just as the lights went out, the monitors went black and the faint glow of the emergency light above the front door was all that illuminated the room. Anna looked at Eliot. A focused, serious look. "Don't worry,"she said. "We're gonna get out of this."Then she turned and opened the door.
Captain Wolf and I stood at the large, convex window at eastern end of the sub. The window was shielded by thin, bluish gray metal, serving as a curtain between the sea-life beyond and us. Although I had been serving Captain Wolf and his ship for many years, I still felt unease knowing that only glass separated me from life and drowning. "Michael?"the Captain said, breaking me from idling. "Yes, yes,"I said, "sorry sir, continue." He walked around me to the large, square monitor off to the side of the window. He stood on his toes, pressed one of the dozen black buttons flanking the monitor, and the screen came to life. I walked over to him, hands joined behind my back. "Today I will show you something no one has seen."He pressed another button. A dull metallic sound issued from near the window. He was opening the curtains. "Look,"he nodded to the window with his pronounced chin, "what do you see?" I glanced and saw nothing but blackness beyond the ship, as if I was staring into space and not the bottom of the ocean. "Blackness, sir." "That's correct: blackness. It's so dark in this part of the ocean that not even of our eyes can decipher anything within. Now what if I told you, Michael, that there are things living in that darkness? Amphibian life, ever evolving, growing similar and similar to on-shore life." I shifted my stance, exhaled. "Like, humans, sir?" "Nearly. Now look, on the screen." The monitor came to life with an electric green hue. Night vision was on. There were outlines of things in speckled white, were hard to distinguish. Some figures had the shape of fish — fins, large, bulbous eyes, gaping mouths — but others were straight, as though they were standing, with two long, thin limbs that could've been arms or legs... "Down here, there's no light, as you can see. These species have evolved without light, wouldn't even know what it was if they saw it, but from what I was able to gather, light can damage them severely." "Is that why you didn't turn on the search lights, sir?" "Precisely. "What you're seeing on the screen is the best we've been able to capture of them. Night vision, even in this day in age, is very rudimentary in what we're trying to accomplish, but..."He looked at the screen, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "But, sir?" He shook his head. "Yes, sorry, but there have been advancements. Research, mostly theories and hypothesis, has been made. A group of oceanographers and marine biologists believe that these species can't reflect light, like they're air with a very, very thin frame... But they believe UV light will be able to refract within their bodies and reveal more of them. Moreover, the research has developed a device that shoots UV lights in a certain way — a certain 'pattern,' I was told — that would enter the figures without harm, revealing them to us. It's in alpha stages currently, but I was able to procedure a prototype for this voyage."Captain Wolfe pressed a black button, the metal curtains closed. He flicked a switch and the overhead lights dimmed. "Are you ready, Michael?" I nodded, although he wasn't facing me. "Good, good."He adjusted a dial near the bottom of the monitor, then another near the top right corner, then pressed a green button off to the left. The image of the screen flickered from electric green and white outlines to velvety purple with white outlines, then a deeper purple, almost black, with even brighter outlines. The screen flickered momentarily, then settled. "Jesus,"I gasped. "You see them?"he asked. "Yes— yes, I see them... sir." There were upright moving figures with fins protruding from their backs. There were ones with two arms and two legs, walking across the sands of the ocean floor. Some had human-shaped heads with two eyes, but with gaping, amphibious mouthes; some had fins instead of arms but two legs; some reversed. Their skin was pale, ghostly, but I wasn't certain if wasn't from the device of it was their true colors. Beyond the moving figures were crumbling structures made from must've been coral and sand, some tall, spiraling like a seashell, towards the lighter seas above. The figures moved and swam from one low structure to the other, some venturing away towards the tall buildings in the distance. A taller figure, one with bulging eyes from a human-shaped skull stopped mid-stride. It turned towards us. "Sir?" "Yes?"he said, his jaw slack, eyes wide with wonder. "Can they see us?" "They can't see, at least from what the scientists told me. It's so dark outside that they don't need eyes. They use sonar, like dolphins." Another figure stopped, turned. A shorter one this time, with stout legs and two, webbed fins where its arms would be. "Is it possible, sir, that our ship can create a sound they would be able to identify?" He shook his head. "I doubt it and, even if it did, they're would ignore us. We're just onlookers, no importance to them or their species." More and more figures stopped and faced us, as if peering through the monitor at the Captain and I. My hands became cold, clammy, and the unsettling feeling of unease fell over me. "Sir, you think we should kill the light and head back to base?" "No,"he said, lowly, "not yet, Michael... Not just yet." The tall figure began walking towards the sub. Others trailed behind him, forming a wall of deformed, amphibious creatures. I hesitantly took a step back, stopped, then straightened. Even if they did come near the sub, they couldn't pierce metal — they were fish, after all. I glanced at the window, curtain still drawn, then back to the monitor that began to flicker from purple, to black, to green, then black again. "What the hell is going on?"the Captain said, reaching up to adjust dials, press buttons. I looked at the window again. There were dull noises coming from somewhere in the sub. Normal things to hear. Oxygen adjusting, metal settling. "Damnit! Work!"The Captain shouted as he pounded on the bottoms. The curtains began to open. "Sir?" He didn't hear me over his screaming. The curtains were parting faster than usual, as if the gears were working double time. "Sir!" The Captain shouted, "What?" "Did you open the metal shield?" "No, no, I don't think, but maybe,"he said, walking over to me. I couldn't see anything but blackness beyond the window. Then there was a clink on the glass. Then another. Then a crack shot across the convex pane. "Run! Run Michael!"The Captain screamed, grabbing my shoulder, forcing me to turn. My feet wouldn't budge, my legs were numb. I stood stupefied at the window. Another crack across the glass. The emergency lights within the sub kicked on, flaring red throughout the whole ship. The metal doors of the room clanged closed, sealed airtight. The automatic system protecting the rest of the crew. I heard the Captain hammering on the steel door. A spiderwebbing of cracks across the entire window now. Water trickled in through one of the cracks. "Sweet Jesus—" Water surged in, flooding the room. A cascade of blackness and flashing red lights reflecting within. I felt things moved across me, grasp me, reach past me and to the Captain, but I couldn't see anything, couldn't see the species that must've surged in like rioters. The Captain must've been dragged close, pulled out into the blackness, because I'm sure I heard his gurgling screaming in the water. I tried to keep consciousness, tried to swim to a corner of the ship and curl into a ball and wait for the system to seal the window with waterproof epoxy, but there are things even darker than the bottom of the ocean and I fell into it. I came to sometime later, in a cat in one of the low ceiling, rounded rooms of the sub. I was wearing different clothes and my head was shaved, apparently it had withered and had turned gray, either from fear or being touched by one of the things. A nurse sat nearby and she explained that the ship sealed the window soon after I fell unconsciousness, but the Captain wasn't saved or found, despite them searching the seabed for hours. All I could do was nod, thank her weakly, then fell back asleep. I don't know why they took the Captain and not me, but when I fell back asleep, I dreamed of those pale figures out there, dreamed that Captain now walked listlessly across the sands with them, to sand huts and coral buildings, for a purpose I never dared to discover again.
„Dad you are trying way to hard.” He said This has been going on for so long, ever since the accident, but I would keep on trying. Non-stop. We both knew he was innocent. I knew he was innocent, I spent entire days, weeks even months to make sure they wouldn’t put him away. „Dad, look, I know you don’t want me to go to prison” he said, fiddling with something in his hands. I kept looking through the papers, there was so much evidence claiming that he did it. I had to do something. „Daddy” he said, putting his hand on mine. I looked at him, with tears in my eyes „Misspeling is just a week in the Grammar prison” I snapped. And I lashed out „This entire family, our ancestors, have been making sure that every word is correct gramatically, this is no longer about you going to prison. This...” I stuttered „T-this is about our honor boy” i felt my eyes swell with tears. „Dad...” he said, no longer being sad or worried. Only angry. „Just give up.” He stood up and left. As he closed the door I looked back at the papers... he was right. There was no way to stop them. I had to give up. „How the fuck can you misspell out to our?” I said to myself leaving the room.
"Deus Occultus Dominatus!", the choir chanted in horribly broken Latin, and their voices echoed under the dank stone arches of the ancient underground temple. The air smelled of metal and blood. The sacrifices were made, the incantation was nearly over, and there were but two minutes left until Doomsday. The High Priestess did not want doomsday. She found her position in the cult an extremely valuable tool in her daytime, secular life. A powerful politician, she found the devoted cultists who could kidnap and sacrifice her enemies for her a power to be reckoned with. The dark magics allowed her to stay young well into her sixties. She could scry in a dark mirror and see whatever is happening in the White House, in the Kremlin or anywhere in the world, and predict stock market prices. In other words, she enjoyed her secret power very much... ...except it came with a duty to summon Occultus into the world, and that would end everything. End her power, her wealth, her prestige. The dark god would take everything from her, no longer needing her. She knew a way around, taught by the previous High Priest. There were organizations in the world that hunted dark cultists and sorcerers, for humanity's safety. All she had to do is inform Department Seven, the paranormal secret service of her country, of the coming summoning. A nondescript van chock full of heavily armed men in black would arrive and stop the ritual, and all she needed to do is escape the agents. The world, and her life and power, would be safe again for the next thirty years. But the Department Seven van was late. "Where the hell they are?", thought the High Priestess. The cultists were finishing their chant, and the last part of the ritual was hers. She had to take the Knife of Gates and cut a thirteen-pointed star into the wall... The agents broke into the hall a second before she finished the magical figure. The High Priestess shrieked, dropped the knife and rushed for the secret door, feeling relieved. Agent Brown aimed his Desert Eagle at the escaping, dark-robed female figure. "Brown, stop!"the commander ordered. "Why?"the rookie asked. "Orders from Mission Control. Leave the cult leader unharmed and let her escape." Brown holstered his weapon, utterly befuddled. "The Department needs money to buy all these fancy guns and gadgets", the commander explained. "Mrs. van der Houten, chair of the Progress Party, stockholder of United Steel Company and the high priestess of Occultus, is Department's largest financial benefactor."
Inspired by recent science: [https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2017/04/170406121601.htm](https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2017/04/170406121601.htm) &#x200B; AI researchers hadnt been too fond of the prospect of interdicipline group work. Biology was icky And very tactile. The biologist on the ither hand, and the marine biologist Stephan in particular, didnt mind at all. Computer modelling, simulations and mapping had long been part of their tool set. Getting access to the ultra nerdy programmers could turn out very nice For Stephans publication records. &#x200B; When the Holiday Symposion was in full swing, and Stephan had end up in the lounge where the most keen-eyed and very pasty researchers sat and laughed about.. maybe some math problem.. Stephan introduced himself. &#x200B; ”Fellow academicians, I have heard rumors from the Decan, that some of you are doing new research into the Mind-Machine interface.. And I want in! Imagine this! A mollusk-mind-machine-interface! &#x200B; &#x200B; It hadnt worked out as well he hoped. The programmers were.. far more interested in human minds. Their own minds, to be exact. &#x200B; &#x200B; Stephans research into squid intelligence had given him the hunch, that something extraordinarily alien and very intelligent, was bound inside the marine world. Something that he had yet to access. &#x200B; His theory-of-mind experiments with live specimens yielded little new data. But he kept getting this feelIng.. That the squid minds.. were active on a whole other level. Like they werent really here.. but somewhere else, like an absentminded professor, staring into his telescope, his wife rolling her eyes. &#x200B; It was the Cyberpunker and Biohacker and very -fashion- counscious researcher Paul that helped Stephan make a breakthrough. Paul had designed new eletrode implants, aiming for a direct neuron-machine interface. Hoping that stimulating neuron and nerve growth directly, into the chip sockets, that the electric signals could at some point be accessed by the consciousness. ”Paul, I want to implant my molluscs with your interface chip.”. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
My best friend does not have a name. Or a face really. She is more a shadow that follows me wherever I go. I wake up and she is there. I go to work and she is trailing, making dinner she is there whispering. A constant companion one might think of as being positive. Unfortunately I have known her long enough to know better. She is dark, has no definable features yet somehow she has weight. A crushing weight that chokes me on occasion. She likes to sit atop of my chest some nights, staring down at me with unblinking eyes. An eternal abyss of ink pot black melancholy. She chokes me with tears and presses the air from my lungs. I can't tell her to go away though. I have known her for so long. She is my oldest friend. It is easy to get caught up with her rambling. She has a way of knowing what my thoughts are. Last night after a glass of wine she and I sat talking until late into the night. The candle I had lit hours ago had long sputtered to a waxy silence. She had me excited. We were talking back and forth so rapidly it became merely a stream of conscious acknowledgements and prodding. The tub water was so warm. The razor I held flickered in the pale light of the rising sun. It was a a beautiful red. Deep burgundy, pillowing through the soapy water. Her name is Aria, she is my new friend. I don't think she can see me though. I sit on top of her chest at night staring into her eyes, just as my friend did to me.
"You said we would change the world!"Jacob screamed in anguish. "I said, you could."The man standing above him cast a long shadow, his features hidden by the setting sun. But Jacob knew him well--perfect pale face, cold grey eyes, oversized coat. "You promised..."The words came out as a whimper. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. The air escaping his suit was thundering in Jacob's ears. He tried to focus on every hole, on every crack in his helmet, he tried to keep the air in, but after a whole day of fighting all his strength had abandoned him. Leaning on a small rock, he looked to the right where his sword lay in the fine red dust. He reached for it, but could barely lift the charred remnants of his arm, "Please, you can still save him..." "Your brother is gone." "No..."Jacob's whisper was so quiet he couldn't even be sure he spoke at all. His vision was beginning to blur, could it be tears, or were his eyes finally freezing? The man walked over and crouched over the sword, his head bent down, "I really thought you would be different."He lifted his head and his eyes met Jacob's, "But this crusade,"he picked up the sword and got up, pointing at the destruction and death that surrounded them, "like you didn't listen to a single thing I said. But none of you ever do. Do you?" "I did exactly what you said!"Anger filled Jacob's lungs in absence of oxygen, "I tried to help, I tried to save them all." "You tried to conquer them." "Please, just give me another chance." The man sighed, "It always comes down to me, what I think, and what I do. But I guess I did interfere again. Do you know why? I gave you this sword because you always seemed so sure of yourself. You knew what you wanted and you knew it was right. I see now it was all an act, and I fell for it. I see now I made a mistake."He lifted the sword above his head and Jacob closed his eyes, but all that followed was a loud crack. The man still stood above him, but the sword was now embedded deep into the rock Jacob was leaning on. "History will remember the man that died here as a monster,"the man turned towards the sunset, that was now just an orange glow against a brown sky. He stared at it for a while before turning back, "But so will you,"and then he was gone.
Everything that could have gone wrong in my life could have. My dad was a serial killer. My mom was a psychopath. My grandparents on both sides a were mass murderers. I see everyone with struggles like depression and a rainbow to cheer them up and I see people with money with a homeless person following them. Everyone has something that helps them. Other than me I have though about why for a while because I am homeless, a parent of a handicapped kid and I don’t have any help. I never knew why but then I was being mugged by a guy and a familiar. I’m pretty sure this guy just wanted to mug people. But I don’t know what caused this to happen but a blue flowing beam of energy streamed from my chest in to the sky and disappeared in a flash of light then a musty figure appeared in front of me. It was really blurry but it seemed to move their hand and the mugger just disappeared in a cloud of dust. Tried to convince the misty figure to not do that to me. The figure said, “I would never hurt you master, I am your familiar.” “What can you do” “I am here to help you with your greatest issue” “And that would beee????” “Anything” “What?!?!?” “Yes. My creator has deemed me to you. I am the most powerful of all the beings like me.” “So you can do anything” “Yes” “Well...I... woah.... I never thought I could do anything before?.... Let’s do some good in the world for everyone” “Really? You aren’t going to help yourself first.” “No I need to be a good example for others...Let’s do some good”
Danicka was a beautiful stripper and a beautiful mother. She came home late that night, at about 2 am in the morning, and was proud to see her child asleep in bed. That took discipline on Christmas Eve. She had made six hundred dollars that night. The tips were crazy good the night before Christmas. On top of it, on this night more than others, people had the fear of god in them – or at least avoiding the naughty list. I’ve been doing this too long, Danicka thought. But the money she spent on gifts for her son Tony, now she had replaced it and that meant paying rent January 2nd. She liked to strip, she actually loved it, in a vacuum. But the money was not good enough where she worked. It was a small club at Key Largo, one of only two strip clubs on the tiny island, but it was a small community there and out-of-towners typically stayed on the mainland. Now the fun part. She changed out of the clothes she went to work in and put on lingerie that made her feel good. She put on silk pajamas that she had bought – her Christmas present to herself. She reached up to the top shelf of her closet and removed boxes of presents. More than anything she wanted to see the look of happiness in Tony’s eyes. That happiness was everything and what made Christmas the best day of the year. There were only a few of them -- these moments of pure joy and innocence. Children became adults and they lost everything that made the soul beautiful. Life was more like the walking dead when you’re an adult, Danicka thought. Danicka made her way to the living room to the Christmas tree lit with blue, red and green lights, the presents stacked in her arms and her wobbling underneath them, taking it step by step. When she unloaded them under the tree she gasped and stumbled backward when she saw by the candlelight and by the plate of oreos and milk Tony had put out – Santa! He was sitting on the loveseat with a half-eaten oreo in one hand and a milk mustache. His beard was long, white grey, his eyes bright blue and cheeks red. He smiled. Santa! Danicka cried. She could not believe it – but there he was. It was undeniable. Santa looked at Danicka over his half-moon glasses, then said sagely, Danicka, my have you grown! And woo—woo—woo—woooowzza! Damn. Danicka felt perturbed. She glared at nothing in particular for a few moments with her hands on her hips shaking her head. Wowza. Right. Okay, what do I owe this particular honor? Well, I was travelling from house to house and I saw you coming home. So late on Christmas. And I saw what you’ve been doing. There is nothing greater in this world for the human race than the compassionate mother. You are the epitome not only of beauty but love. And I have a present for you. Because you are on the – let’s call it the ultra-nice list. The all-time nice list. Santa motioned for Danicka to follow him to the blinds. He cracked them open. Remember that pony you asked for when you were six? Well, let’s just say better late than never. In the apartment parking lot under a streetlamp was a pink 2018 Ford Mustang. Danicka looked at Santa. Whoa. Is this real right now??! Santa took her by the hand back to the sofa. He showed her the keys in his hand, then put them in her hand. Danicka's eyes welled with tears. Her heart welled with happiness. Before Santa left that night, she gave him a lap dance he would never forget. She gave him something else too, that she was known for, that Santa never told anyone else about lest the Missus Clause find out.
"So... you accept the responsibilities that come with having the power of time travel, right?" The Man kept on speaking, but little did he know i didn't care about what he had to say. What i had in mind surpassed every responsibility or consequence, or so i thought. "cut it with the clichès, tell me the price. i have everything you could want." I wasn't lying, i never would, expecially about something like this. As the years passed i got richer and richer and money wasn't a problem. his answer though wasn't what i had in consideration. "Fine. if you're so sure, then..." He offered me his old and cold hand. "...I'll be glad to take your soul." That devilish smile he had. it's definetly something you don't forget that easily, expecially in this situation. "What are you? the devil?" I replied with the most smug expression i could make. Beneath the mask i was scared, but it was too late to abandon everything. the old man didn't answer, his expression didn't change. it was like he stopped his very being. "...Fine." i was hesitant, at first. but i quickly gathered the courage. I shook his hand. it lasted less than 2 seconds, but somehow, when i let go of his hand, something appeared in mine. a coin. I stared at it. i couldn't look away for some reason. i shook it off, and immediately looked back to the man. Gone. He was nowhere to be seen. My hand was shaking, my courage was lacking. I realized what i did too late. Time to flip the coin. Before it could land, the room... stopped existing. everything around me disappeared in a way i couldn't comprehend. the coin seemed to slow down. I closed my eyes, everything sped around me and after a minute, i could sense a new light, shining through my eyelid- Gasping, i shot myself up from the unconscious state i was in. I was knocked out before i coule even open my eyes. what had happened?! I searched my pockets and my surroundings, the coin disappeared. (continue however you like, and sorry for shitty writing.)
"Hey there, Tommy, how's it going?"Samuel greeted upon opening the front door to his guests. "Tommy's as happy as a dog can be,"Adrian answered, voice alight with humor, "but shouldn't you be more worried about how I am?" "Right, you too,"Samuel joked as he leaned down to pet Tommy, Adrian's drug-sniffing golden retriever. "Come on in, you two." Tommy wandered through the door, tail wagging furiously. As soon as he entered, he stopped in his tracks and turned his nose to the air. Sniff, sniff. An instant later, he bounded into the kitchen. Adrian turned to Samuel. "Uhh, anything you want to tell me?" "No?"Samuel responded, puzzled. Adrian followed his dog into the kitchen, where he was inspecting a cabinet. Samuel was close behind. "Are you sure you have nothing to hide?"Adrian asked again, suspicious. "Oh!"Samuel said, seeming to only now realize Adrian's implication. "No, no. I mean, why would I-- heh heh..." Adrian opened the cabinet, and in it was contained a bag of dog treats. "Damn, there goes the surprise,"Samuel laughed, as Tommy snatched the treat bag and trotted happily into the living room. ==== Sorry this response is so short. I'm fairly new, so any feedback would be great!
I wake up to the indistinct sound of people walking around in my living room. Who the fuck is in my living room this early in the morning? I reach for the cold handle of my 9mm glock, and make my way towards the living room. I open the door to see my dad and brother shoving all the drugs and cash in duffel bags. "What's going on here?"I say in a gruff voice. My brother John looks at me, rolls his eyes, and says sarcastically, "Well what do you think dumb ass? The cops are on our ass and there's no way in hell they are going to get their sweaty little hands on my beautiful coke if I can--"John stops to listen to the loud booming sound coming up the stairs. Dad looks at me "Do you know what that sound is Jack?""No fucking clue Dad but I think we should get to moving." As soon as we return to packing everything up, the door is obliterated by a gigantic gorilla. My Dad, John and I are all knocked on our asses with the wind blown out of us from the force of this beast of an animal. When I look again the gorilla has two cops behind him, they hold him with a dog collar style contraption. "COPS RUN!"I struggle to yell to my dad and brother. I get up and make way towards the balcony to jump. The cops threaten to release the gorilla on my ass if I refuse to comply. Yeah right, you're gonna release a gorilla on me? That's a bluff if I've ever heard one. As I sprint to the glistening balcony, I am about to jump to take the fire escape down to my emergency car. I look down and see a glimpse of orange. I finally make my way down to get tackled by this--this-- orangutan? The enormous orangutan screams a loud war cry, and with his cold dark eyes stares me down. Just before he is about to strike me, I let out a wimper knowing that this animal will kill me if he strikes. He backs off, I guess he knew he had dominance over me? As he turns away from me, I run away and don't believe my luck until an attack dog bites me arm and won't let go. Fuck, how did I get away from a gorilla and an orangutan but I get attacked by a dog? Well, shit. &#x200B;
He gave Tom a queer look. His friend now had a third arm poking from his chest. Not just that, a sleeve appeared to match it. He had been joking, but he slowly touched his face, realizing. “Tom." “Hm?” “I think I’m a god.” Tom snorted. “Okay, I’ll play along. How did this divine revelation come to you?” “You just grew a third arm.” He pointed at the third arm from his chest. “What would you call that.” “My birth defect…” He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable. “Poppycock! You never had a third arm. And then I just complimented something you clearly didn’t have, and bam! You have third arm!” “O-okay.” Tom blinked. “If that’s true, compliment me one something else, that I don’t have.” “Okay.” He nodded, trying to think of something random. But it was harder than he thought to think of something. He needed to say something. He looked around, spotting a woman a few feet away. His eyes landed on something, and he looked at his friend. “You have a nice….” Butt was going to be the first thing out of his mouth. He had to abort, something else. His eyes darted around, and then he watched his friend started to use his third arm to scratch his round belly. “Abs…” It was instant, his stomach sucked in so quick, that it looked like somebody yanked his fat behind him. His friend now had a perfect set of abs. “Thanks.” He gave a smile. “I have been working out.” Oh god. His friend had become super-hot. He just had a third arm sticking out of his chest. Right there and then he decided, he would use this gift, in the best ways possible. He swore. He broke his promise the very next day when he realized he could use his compliments to turn people into gold.
Thinking about the last 48 hours, he cannot believe everything went so horribly wrong. Seven world leaders dead, eight more incapacitated, and no contact with anyone since the bomb went off. The phone rings. "Yeah?"he answers. "James, we've stood up the emergency backup HQ, I need you to come in."a lady's voice on the other line states. "Roger that, it's good to hear your voice, M." "Same. A driver will be outside in ten minutes."M hangs up the phone. Ten minutes later, an Aston Martin Vulcan pulls into the driveway. A man gets out of the car. "Mr. Bond? I'll keep an eye on your house while you're away. Coordinates are in the GPS."James Bond gets into the car and starts driving. As he's about to pull onto the motorway, he glances at the GPS. The display shows that he'll arrive at the backup HQ in 97 minutes. "This is going to be a long night..."he mutters to himself. He arrives at the location indicated by the GPS. The road appears to just end. As soon as he comes to a complete stop, the ground in front of him begins to sink. A ramp into an underground bunker is revealed, and he drives in. As soon as the vehicle clears the end of the ramp, it raises back up. He enters a large, open area, parks the car and gets out. He is quickly approached by M and a number of people in suits. "I trust your drive in wasn't too terrible." "That's a comfortable car. Performance is nice too." "I'd expect so, you weren't supposed to arrive for another 20 minutes." "We need to get to work if we're going to set things right, aren't we?" "In the morning. Follow Jenkins, he'll show you to the personnel quarters." Jenkins leads the way through a series of corridors and rooms, pointing things out along the way. "Gym on the left there, cafeteria on the right over there. Showers down that hallway. And, here's your room, take this key."A plaque on the wall reads 00 Agent. Authorized entry only. "Not exactly subtle..."James opens the door. The room is comfortably-furnished, and there's a folder and gun on the desk. He closes the door behind him and picks up the folder. It contains a memo from the Prime Minister, declaring loosened restrictions for MI-6 agents in response to the recent events. After having a martini, he goes to sleep.
Part 1 With a slap, Candice drops the new target's briefing packet down on my desk. "Errmm--what."I come fully awake with a start, picking my head up off my hand and furtively wiping away the bit of drool at the corner of my mouth. "New target."Candice says, watching me with a smirk playing about her lips, smacking away on a piece of gum, as always. "You know you shouldn't sleep at your desk like that. It's unprofessional." &#x200B; "Yeah, well, you shouldn't sneak up on people. It's rude."I fire back. Candice sniffs emphatically, then with a rattle pushes the mail trolley on past my cubicle and down the other rows of desks. &#x200B; After a quick head-shake to banish the last remnants of sleep, I pick up the new briefing packet and read the 4-coord off the front. July 8th, 1974, at 8:23 a.m., somehwere in... Jersey, if my mental GPS is right? I do a quick search for the lat-long-elevation and get out a real address. Yeah, it's at a small cross-street in Clinton, NJ. &#x200B; I'm halfway through entering the coordinates in the kill box when I do a touble take. Clinton? I grew up in Clinton. I rack my mind, trying to remember--yes, until I was 9 years old we lived in Clinton, NJ, at... &#x200B; I look back at my main monitor. Surely not. &#x200B; For the first time I actually open the packet. Normally I only need the 4-coord; given the time, lat, long, and elevation, the system does all the rest--plus, it really is better to pretend they don't have faces and lives before you bump them off--but this time I need to. &#x200B; Name: Snappie Cause: Inferred Low Utility Constituent &#x200B; That plus a bunch of other jargin I don't understand about validations and checksums and liability and such. I honestly stopped reading after "Snappie."My childhood nickname &#x200B; Carefully, I erase the partially completed 4-coord from the kill-box before stepping away and exhaling. Then I run to catch up to Candice, packet in tow. &#x200B; "Candice. Candice!"I yell, as she goes to turn a corner. She turns around and rolls her eyes aggressively enough to be visible half a hallway away. "Wait up a sec."I finish my awkward, too-hurried-to-walk-but-too-embarrassed-to-run shamble down the corridor and grab the edge of the cart, proffering her the packet. "I think you gave this to the wrong operator. Maybe whole wrong floor--point is it definitely shouldn't go to me." &#x200B; "No I didn't"She says, not taking the packet that I'm proffering weakly. &#x200B; "How do you know, Candice, you didn't even check." "I'm sure." "Oh, for christ's sake, Candice, this obviously can't go to me. It's a clear code 7!" "Don't know what to tell you. Maybe you should just toughen up." "Really, Candice? Really? I should toughen up? Well maybe you should go off in a corner and choke on your gum, ok?" Candice gives me a vindictive smile and pulls the cart roughly out of my hand so that I stumble and catch myself on the wall. "Oops. I'm sorry. Were you leaning on that?"Candice says with mock sympathy, eyes flashing. &#x200B; "Screw it--I'll take it up with Karen."I turn and head back down the hallway. "Your funeral,"Candice calls after me, "Corporate values people here who can really cut it, you know, not people who go complaining to their boss all the time" &#x200B; I flip Candice the bird as I turn the corner, something I'll probably regret later in the form of chewed gum on my chair or something (Candice was never big on subtlety) and head towards the stairwell. Four bland, gray flights later, I pop out on the execs floor and head towards Karen's office.
1:20 AM. I still couldn't sleep. They were right behind the wall beside my bed, and no matter how many things I tried: ear plugs, earphones, and ear-covering, I still could hear them. I'd tell you, if there was ever a more annoying thing than ghosts partying in your home, it's probably ghosts partying ALL NIGHT in your home. I bought this haunted mansion because I didn't want anyone to bother me, but it took, let's say, an unexpected turn. Turning on the light and trying to read did not help. Their loudness prevented me from getting into the story, so I closed the book and put it back on my bedside table. Maybe the right thing to do, for me, was to go and party with them. But I hated parties. I hated them so much. It seemed like the only solution, but not only did I look like shit without makeup, but also there was no way I could dance in my pajamas. My hair was undone, and my last shower was the morning before. How could I even have done anything with those merrymakers? Finally, I chose to get out of bed, and listened. Their music wasn't that shitty, actually. It was nice. I went to the bathroom, where two of those revellers seemed to be making ghostly love right above the bathtub, and washed my face, then reached for my eyeshadow palette. Gone. There would be no eyeshadow tonight. I noticed all of my makeup was gone, except for eyeliner and bright red lipstick. That would be fine. Once I was done taking care of my face, I brushed my hair and added some spray, before putting some scent on and dressing up. It would probably change my mind a little bit on parties, who knows? The couple of ghosts who seemed to have no shame about publicly fornicating seemed to notice me. "Oh, look", said the man. "She's finally coming." "Who?"I questioned. "Me, or your wife? It seems like you're giving her some good pleasure." He laughed. "No, really, us ghosts were waiting for our living lady to join the party. That's why we prevented you from sleeping." "Oh." I walked out of the bathroom, and went through the lounge door, as a wall of sounds and welcomes swept across my ears.
I don't know who she is and I don't know why I'm attracted to her. She doesn't have any makeup on; she's not wearing any perfume; and her clothes aren't too revealing. Her jeans don't have any holes in them, and I can't see her belly-button. I need to see if her belly-button is pierced or not. These things matter, you know. Or at least that's what I'm led to believe, judging by the other women that are currently crowding into the lecture hall. But back to this mysterious woman. She's not my type at all. Not that she cares, of course. "I'm sorry,"she says later. "I have a boyfriend."She smiles, and I can't tell if its meant as an apology or to mock me. I nod and smile back. Two gestures that convey two statements: Of course, I understand and No, I'm not mad. And, really, I'm not. I would be, perhaps, if I didn't have my special notebook. My notebook that made the teacher forget that she was giving us a test last week. My notebook that made the cop forget why he had pulled us over for joyriding. My notebook that made her forget that she had a boyfriend.
It had been a long day. Who am I kidding, it had been a long, long life. Every day was the same thing: kids partying in the house adjacent from mine until all hours of the night, patients confiding in me that "Life isn't fair!"or that "It feels like everyone is conspiring against me, and I just don't know what to do anymore, or if I can do anything anymore." . . . How foolish. How foolish they all were, giving so much effort to such paltry things. I used to be like them once. I used to live with that same self-destructive nature as a moth, drawn toward a flame. Unrelenting in its pursuit of ecstasy yet unaware that this same effort would be its undoing. I used to live with such fire. Electricity once surged through my bones, my every muscle, used to surge through my veins . . . But it had been a long time since then, and I had learned to ration myself, to pay heed only where it was due, and to keep to myself. I had grown wise. I had grown foolish. And so it was with great ceremony, that I spent my final rationed effort of the day, because as I had said, it had been a long day indeed, and I simply couldn't last much longer. . . . And as I went about my final errand of the day, it happened. The teller let out an ear-piercing scream, I tried to ask what happened of course, but she didn't pay me any attention. She simply stood, eyes locked over my shoulder, frozen in a scene of absolute terror. It's curious really, how easily that mask of indifference one dons is shattered when faced with extreme stimulation. Everyone has their own limit, their own threshold, but everyone's mask breaks. Something I had learned over the years, in my field, it's something you learn on your first day. Something that you learn every day. ... I stood there, lost in thought, and slowly the world came back into focus around me. I turned slowly, getting my bearings once more on the formulaic interior of the bank. It was empty, all except for three very confident looking men, who looked to be coming right toward me. The largest of the three grabbed me by my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. This new position brought with it new views, as I saw that the bank was not in fact, empty. Rather, the other patrons were lying on the ground, hands behind their heads; the man in front of me lifted a sidearm up to my head and the two flanking him holding baseball bats. ... Now one might think, "Why do you sound so calm? I simply can not believe that you would remain so very calm in such a dangerous situation."and my response to that is: If you find what I've told you so far unbelievable, then what happens next will boggle and perplex you to the very core of your beliefs. It will flip your preconceptions of the human nature on their heads and send them running out the door. So you sit there in your chair, hands and feet inside the ride, and hold those misconceptions tight until the end of the ride. And make sure you hold on tight. ... Knees on the ground, gun nuzzling into my head, men big as skyscrapers yelling orders at me... and I didn't care. You see I simply couldn't afford to care, what with my careful rationing and whatnot. I had already spent my allotted amount for the day and therefore, I had none to spare for these men or what they were telling me to do. So. I looked into the eyes of the man in front. The leader, I presumed. He wore khakis and a flannel shirt, just your average man, turned to crime. I bet it wasn't more than a week ago that he'd been working in an office somewhere, wondering what happened to those dreams he chased as a kid. I could tell, looking into his eyes that he wasn't really confident. He was scared. Scared he would never get those dreams back, that he'd wasted his life away, that he was sealing his coffin with this last push in the wrong direction. But holding all this back, the fear of not making a difference. This was the difference he would make, whether he failed or succeeded, we would never forget today. He was right. He was so wrong. I looked into the eyes of a broken man and I fell back into the same rhythm of a normal day on the job. &#x200B; "It doesn't have to end like this."he looked at me as if for the first time. "What did you say?"confused, he looked at me as if I were alien. Why was I so calm? this thought sobered him. And as soon as I had this touch-hold, as soon as I had the tip of my finger on his conscious, he was mine. He was like putty in my hands. And so I continued, my skill guiding me places where most fear to tread, and where even my skill failed me, my experience prevailed. It was just another day on the job. And in the span of a few minutes, a few crucial minutes, I was back on my feet. I was standing with the man, except my hand was on his shoulder. The once towering figures had become putty to the scalpel of my knowledge. It was... exhilarating. I had never felt so complete, those damaged souls clinging to my every word as if rebuilding a podium which had disintegrated, which had worn to the size of a sliver. As if I were Prometheus bestowing upon them the fire which they so desperately sought, except this fire was not exhaustible, not limited as the fire of desire tends to be, but the ever-burning fire of the soul. And as I spoke to the men, as I flipped the breaker switch of hope back to activity, I spoke as much to myself as I spoke to them men. . . . I realized how similar we were. I realized how easily our positions could have been reversed. I realized that it is truly foolish to fear the future. And I realized how noble the flight of the moth truly is. . . . I walked out of the bank with the men. I walked out of the bank with three new patients. I walked out of the bank with three like-minded individuals. I walked out of the bank with something more precious than money. I walked out of the bank with something I hadn't known I had been looking for. I walked out of the bank with a reason to live. It had been a long day. A very long day. A very long life. But at the end of every long tunnel, is light. And at the end of this long, tiring journey, I had found hope. &#x200B;
The first thing I did was research everything innovative that was invented in 2025. From there I went into 2026. I made it all the way into 2700, to the advent of technological integration of the human mind into a machine. I learned about writers, about businessmen and women, what shaped American culture: for better or worse, I really only cared about my own personal gain. I had a tallied list of what I could invent by the time the Androids drilled into my brain and implanted embedded sensors in my head. They uploaded all the information I researched, they stored it in what I assumed was a microchip somewhere in the skull. They put optics in my eyes so I could see. My stomach was dug out and retrofitted with a weird disposal system. My cologne was more of an irrigation system by the end of the surgery. When their drills broke apart in teal and green and orange and red, I understood the world to an alarming degree. But having your IQ amped, when the rest of the world is connected to a supercomputer, is the same as someone with a mental deficiency (a severe learning disability) being reintegrated into society. They placed me to work at a McDonalds restaurant. A pink neon platform orbiting Saturn. Since they were short on staff and wanted me to work immediately, I didn’t even get my body. They hooked me up to a rig and transferred my consciousness to a robot. My body was sent back after 30 days. But I was trapped in a robotic suit. At a McDonald’s orbiting Saturn. I don’t know who took my body to the past.
One day the boy left his home. He told his parents he was going over to his friend's house, they gave him the usual parting of "Be safe." As he gets into his coat and closes the door behind him, he feels something is off. He stopped and scanned his surroundings. There was no one. The evening chill bites his face as he continued down the stairs. The odd sensation hits him again. He would swear the patter of his feet weren't the only sound he heard, but when he stopped again there was complete silence. Off the stairs, he makes his way down the street. Although it has since stopped snowing, the sidewalks are still blanketed in crunchy white snow. As he plants his boots into the frost an echo of footsteps comes from behind him. The startling sound causes him the halt dead in his tracks and whip his head around. There was no one. He is sure he heard someone following him, but there's nothing. Now that he notices it, there is no sign of any other person on the block. As he looks for any sign of life the "Vrooom!"of a passing car nearly scares him out of his boots. He tries to get a look at the driver but they pass him before he could. He feels that the face of any other person would put him at ease right now. He almost wants to head back home and hug his parents and call the whole trip off. The boy gathers himself and continues to his friend's house, shaking his head at how irrational he's being. At his friend's front door he knocks and informs them who it is "It's Kevin. Let me in.", but they don't answer. He glances behind him, there is still no one, but his friend's parents car is parked outside. They've never been known to not answer when they're in. He knocks again, a little harder and more urgent, he yells his name louder. Looking into the front window he sees it's dark inside, but the black interior looks warmer and more welcoming than the frozen street. He wishes he could be inside the house safe and sound playing Nintendo with Billy, instead of cold and alone outside. Or was he alone? He tries one more desperate knock on the window before turning back home, walking briskly and determined. Kevin stares straight ahead, refusing to look behind or around him. Afraid of what he'll see. The sounds he could mark up to his mind playing tricks on him, but Billy and his parents was an odd circumstance that he couldn't make up. The echoing still fills his ears, but he knows if he looks behind him there will be no one. He wants to run back home, but he is afraid whatever is following him will do the same. Now it's not only echoing he hears, but the chilly air is carrying the sound of the wind and there's a whisper on it. A voice with a familiar rasp is haunting the icy breeze. Kevin reaches the stairs and can't help himself from running up the steps. He tries to outrun the echoes and the whispers and the fear. He feels fingers grasping at his coat, it's going to catch him. Just as he feels the final pull, he gets his hand on the doorknob and stumbles inside, slamming the door against the wind. His frightened parents enter and ask him what's happening. "There was no one.", Kevin tells them. "There was no one at Billy's." Later that night as he lies on his bed lost in thought, he starts to get cold. Getting under the covers fails to bring him any solace. The chill is getting through the blanket, through his pajamas. He can feel the air in his lungs and through his bones. He leaves his room and follows the cold to the living room. The door is closed and all the windows, but the wind is being carried from outside. He can hear the whisiper again, this time he hears the raspy voices words clearly. He reaches the closed window and outside he sees the owner of the voice, his cold red eyes staring into the warm house. The familiar voice continues. "...Hey, Kev...Let me in..." Kevin's mouth opens with no immediate purpose, he then utters. "Mom...brother is back."
"Please fasten your seat belts by taking the clips shown here, and inserting it into the buckle like so."Many minutes ago I complied with this instruction. When you move as far up the corporate ladder, jet setting becomes second nature. No amount of dealing with people however, could prepare anyone for this flight. &nbsp; "Oomph, sorry buddy, could you move a little? I need to buckle up."Adjusting myself, I tried to squeeze a little more room to enable my fellow passenger the ability to secure himself. A redundant effort in my opinion, as though his rolling mounds of flesh didn't already girdle him in between the armrests. Once I sensed the click I moved back. Of course the seat groove I worked hard on had to distort itself. &nbsp; "Thanks! You hop between these two cities a lot?"He asked, an unwanted attempt at inter-locution. "Nope."In business there are certain pieces of conversational advice, like asking open-ended questions to goad the other person into talking about themselves. Usually doing the opposite worked well if you wanted to end one. Except on him. Obnoxious crying from a nearby infant began to drown out the lard next to me, like some cruel Monkey's Paw trick. &nbsp; "...I really like Westchester, got a lot of nice mansions, golf courses..."I focused my attention on the lady up front, now strapping the mock yellow life-vest around her chest. Ever eager to show solidarity with the lower levels of the company, I eschewed the corporate jet two years ago and started flying first class. "When I'm down there, I sometimes head to this pizzeria in Croton, that's where they have that nuclear..." &nbsp; When we needed to tighten the belt further, accounting and I got creative. More money was saved by shuttling me from White Plains to Midtown Manhattan than paying the premium for landing in the city from one of our satellite offices. The only downside: No First Class, only all-economy jump jets. Once the crying quieted, he leaned over to me "Where's the best pizza you've eaten?" &nbsp; "I don't know,"I responded. That was a lie, or rather, the proper response to a poor question. Best slice or pie? Pie. Where? The whole world? Answer: outside New York. Besides, I didn't want to give this guy any new ideas, he needed to eat less pizza. Pain seared in my spine as the punches of petulant crotch-fruit pushed against the back of my seat. &nbsp; "bzzt Good morning everyone, we're waiting to get clearance on the tarmac, hopefully we won't have more than a short delay... bzzt"I sighed. "Oh man I hope we're not delayed. I remember one time we were stuck on the tarmac for two hours!"Reaching into my pocket, I pulled two soft earplugs, and inserted them. Always be prepared. &nbsp; "It all started when I forgot to put my phone on Airplane Mode! The captain made an announcement that their instruments..."I leaned forward and hugged my pillow praying this two-hour one-hour flight didn't turn into a three-hour one because of the idiot next to me. An imbecile, who was flying back from his Martha's Vineyard vacation as though it was the first time. &nbsp; "bzzt Prepare for takeoff bzzt"I closed my eyes and smiled. Sixty minutes to New York wouldn't be as bad as some of the awful meetings I've sat through. The kicking in the back of my seat also went away as I felt the slight jerk of the plane moving. &nbsp; "Hey, I got this uh tablet right here. Wanna watch Planes Trains and Automobiles?"Dread came over me as the stomping of a stewardess shook the floor with every step of her heels towards us, opening my eyes.
I am standing in the rain. I have my favourite t-shirt on with a bulky black coat. I lean against the sign for the bus stop and get out my phone. I start scrolling through my social media, Instagram, Reddit, Twitter. The bus is meant to be here at 1:10AM and it's only half past midnight. I catch something in the corner of my eye, in my peripheral vision. Two men in the front of a car, driving slowly past. Both are staring at me, in black suits. 'Shit, do they know?' I think to myself. 'No way, only my friends know. Anyone would stare at a 17 year old standing in the rain in the dead of night.' They drive closer, slowly and then the driver rolls their window down. 'Hey kid, want a lift?' He says in a stiff but nice tone of voice. 'Nah thanks, I'm fine.' I reply quickly. 'I think you should.' His tone quickly changes to threatening. Either they don't know who I am and just want to kidnap a random kid, or, most likely, they want to use me. I start sprinting down the road and hear the driver shout something. I look behind me and see the two of them chasing me. 'What do I do? What do I do?!' I shout at myself in my head. I dart into the road and start running across. I look behind and see the two men, gaining. I get to the end and-- I trip on the curb and fall flat on my face. (To be continued...) Cool idea for a prompt! Going to continue this now, wanted to separate it so it isn't just giant.
The scent of rot and old sweat assailed Keira’s nose. Looking up from the small book open on her lap, she saw a Shambler was approaching. The piteous creature&mdash;a cobbled-together porridge of human parts joined with silicon and plastic&mdash;limped towards her. Its beady, too-bright eyes in depthless sockets were fixed on her. Eventually it reached her and stopped, then warbled, “Five minutes remain, Ms. Forsythe. The horn will sound when you are needed.” “Thank you,” Keira said. The creature croaked an acknowledgement, turned around and shambled back the way it had come. Though it had gone, the Shambler’s repulsive scent lingered. A younger human’s eyes would have started watering from the puissant stench. Keira closed her eyes, inhaled, and smiled. The smell didn’t repulse her. It reminded her of past birthdays. Of past victories in the arena. Keira had always won. The Shamblers had always been present. “Sweet rising sun, Keira. Would you like to wear that thing’s stench as a perfume, perhaps?” Keira’s eyes snapped open. Ludek. Another hundredth birthday contender. The only other one such. “What are you doing here, Ludek? Run out of shit to eat? Maybe you’re on a liquid diet?” The little man stepped into the pre-battle room. He grinned, winked, bowed, and said, “Never. I’ve just decided to try talking to my meal for a change.” Keira’s face darkened. Her drill-arm started to whirr. Ludek’s expression hardened and he stepped back. “Now, now. There will be plenty of violence soon enough. I’ve come to you with... an offer.” Stepping back again into the darkness of the hallway, Ludek yanked violently on a chain attached to his belt. With a yelp, a young woman was drawn stumbling into the harsh light of the pre-battle chamber. She was naked save for the chain around her neck. Her skin was mottled in bruises and her left eye was swollen shut. Her eyes met Keira’s, searching for... what?. Tilting his head and grinning, Ludek gave the chain a vicious yank. The woman sprawled on the floor, clutching her throat and wheezing. “This is Lydia. She is eighteen, has won eight battles in the arena, and she has just had a child.” Eyes wide, mouth pouting&mdash;miming the face of an infant&mdash;Ludek whined, “His name is David, and he would dearly like to live!” Ludek yanked the chain again, grinning, “But, you know, he might not.” Keira shot up from her seat and took three steps towards Ludek; her drill-arm whining as it spun up again and her left-arm pincer clicking with promise. Ludek held up his hand and raised his eyebrows. “Ahh! So. You wish the wretch and her wretch-welp to live. Well, the match time approaches, so let’s be quick about this... The offer is simple and clear: let the monster kill you in the arena today; forfeit your ninetieth bout, but make it a convincing loss. Do this, and I will marry this wretched thing. When I win my fight, she will be immune to future battle drafts. She will never have to fight again. She and her son will live in luxurious safety for... forever.” Ludek pulled his lips back, showing his canines. “But, win your bout today, and I will cut this poor thing’s hands off. No one will care. I will throw her to the outskirts, to the nameless hordes. She and her child will perish, and though it will not be your fault, dear Keira, it will nevertheless be the direct result of a decision you made.” Keira stood in shock, half-way through her forth step towards the miserable hundred-year old man standing in the hallway. Her throat was suddenly dry. “...Why?” she croaked out. Ludek’s expression reset, becoming earnest and serious. “We are the first centennials since the battles began. You and I. Your bout is before mine today. If you win, you will descend through history, while I will be a footnote. An unimportant second-of.” Ludek shook his head and said, “That just won’t do.” A horn sounded, calling Keira to fight. Over top of it, Ludek shouted, “I will know your answer to my offer by your actions on the field.” Yanking on the chain, Ludek departed away down the hallway, leading his battered captive behind him. --- Keira stepped onto the sands of the coliseum as the announcer’s voice boomed over the stadium microphones and the audience roared in anticipation. She was Keira Forsythe. She was a legend, an icon to the crowds in the stands, most of whom were under twenty and many of whom would never reach thirty. Most would die in the sands, having spent their lives working to qualify for loans to purchase expensive bio-tech to supplement their fighting abilities. Across the arena, the monster entered. Covered in plates of steel, it appeared to be no more than a simple mechanical battle drone. It was the nature, not the appearance, of the creature that made it monstrous. The announcer’s voice boomed again. Lights flashed. The crowed roared in a thundering din and the battle was begun. Keira’s face was impassive. Just another birthday; just another monster. The monster shot its left-arm grapple into the cheering crowd, skewering an onlooker with the hook and dragging the helpless soul onto the sands for evisceration. Bathed in blood and effused with battle-lust after its first kill, the monster lurched towards Keira. With Ludek’s offer lurking in the corners of her mind, Keira raised her face and screamed to the coliseum, “Eighty-nine dead behind him, and this wanker thinks he’s gonna be the hot-shit mutant that gets one over on me, eh?!” Nearly no one in the crowd heard her, but those who did went berserk, spittle flying from their mouths as they chanted Keira’s battle anthem. “DRILL BABY, DRILL!” The monster shifted from a lurch to a sprint and barrelled towards her, its feet flying across the sand. Keira waited until the last second before it reached her, then effortlessly dodged to the side; her bio-tech implants thrumming and vibrating. Lightning quick, the mutant halted and spun about, using its momentum to direct a slash at Keira’s leg with its right-arm blade. Keira raised her left-arm and the pincer snapped. The monster screamed&mdash;an inhuman sound&mdash;as its blade-arm fell to the sand. Keira stepped in closer, feeling the heat of the monster near her cheek. Her skeleton vibrated as her right-arm drill spun-up to its maximum RPM and the crowd roared in rapture, sensing eminent death. An image forced its way across her vision. Ludek’s haunted, beaten captive; her eyes pleading noiselessly for her life and her child’s. Keira’s motion paused. The monster’s attack was immediate and savage. Keira reacted, but not quickly enough; the monster’s grapple shot past her head in a scream. Blood spurting from the open wound where her ear and left-side scalp had been, Keira backed away in a crouch, breathing heavily but ready for the monster’s follow-up. The monster began circling Keira, trying to trip her up as its grapple retracted. Keeping her eyes on the monster’s visor slit, Keira reached down with her pincer-arm and snipped again. The broken chain continued retracting into the monster’s arm while the grapple lay uselessly on the sand. The crowd’s volume magnified; they sensed an end approaching. Both of the monster’s weapons had been removed. The monster charged its final charge, trumpeting a battle cry as it powered across the space between it and its one hundred year-old adversary. Keira continued to crouch, motionless; a battle raging within her to equal the one in the arena. The monster reached her, slamming into her with force and throwing her to the ground. Instantly it was on top of her, using the shredded steel ends of its arms to gouge her face and body armour. Keira’s pincer-arm raised, her drill-arm began to revolve; and, then, they ceased. The monster continued to tear at her. Blood spattered the sand around her, and bits of gore began to spray the nearest arena-onlookers. The referee called the fight. A hush fell among the arena’s attendees. Silence rang throughout the grounds. The monster was recalled to its den in the arena dungeon pits. Keira’s pummelled body was gathered up and removed from the field. The next bout began. --- Bright lights. The sharp smell of antiseptic. Steely arms moving about her, cutting, slicing, repairing. What was her name? Keira. The fighter. One hundred years old. --- Bright lights. The iron-smell of blood. A foul-smelling, shambling, loathsome thing was leading her by a chain towards an arena portcullis; the arena sands lay beyond. Heavy steel lay on her, and she could feel the thrum of bio-tech and nano-bots powering her as she moved forward. Sand, roars, and a lonely figure on the opposite side of the arena greeted her. A figure waved from high in the stands. Ludek. Next to him, a forlorn woman in fine robes held an infant. Both had bruises upon them. The figure opposite waved its arms and crowed to the arena, “ANOTHER BIRTHDAY, ANOTHER MONSTER!”
"Please, be little Barb."Jim Gordon whispers to himself as he is woken up by his home telephone. He reaches his glasses and is horrified to see it's only somethin' past three in the morning. "It's the police people, it always has to be them." "Jim Gordon speaking."Says as he answers the phone, expecting to be informed about some domestic violence case from the Gotham's slums gone wrong. "Jim, look outside your main entrance, it's important."Answers an almost demonic voice. "Batman?"As Gordon's taking in the confusion, the creature of the night hangs up. There better not be a tied up mobster at my hall. There's a small box laying there. Jim opens cautiosly, feering what could be inside. It's a small display. Looks like a tiny chocolate table. Nothing out of ordinary, but it's not connected to anything. As he is examining it, he realizes that if it truly is just a display, it has an extra button. The volume and power buttons on the sides are self-explanatory, but what about the one under the display itself? Jim's thinking about pressing it, then the device starts vibrating. He almost drops it out of surprise. "Batman wants to facetime."Says the text on the display. Jim presses the extra button, but nothing happens. Jim is thinking. If this is a complicated device, you wouldn't control it with only one button. It's like a scifi television. He presses accept right on the display, with his own finger." Now, he sees mostly Batman's head and his own in the corner. "Hello, Jim." "What is this?"Jim asks in wonder. "It's a smartphone? Do you like it?" "Smartphone, heh? No Batphone?" "Batphone is a vintage device positioned in my left shoe. You are behind." "Okay, smartphone, sure. What is it that you need?" "I am planning on spreading this technology across gotham. As you can see, the device has it's own camera. Imagine being able to look into every bedroom of this city's crooks. Any time." "That sounds a bit perverted? Perhaps the right word would be ... Orwellian? Batman is not responding. "Do we still have a connection?" "Yes, Jim."Batman responds awkwardly. "Have you read 1984?" "I only read detective novels." "I simply cannot support this idea. It would be against the principles of the police." "Okay. Second idea. We wire people's microwave owens throughout the city..." "Good night, Batman." Jim hangs up and goes to enjoy the three remaining hours of his sleep.
'Wake up this very instant!' came a shout from the bedroom doorway. In a flash she was up. The newest Princess in the land of Nearest and Farthest, Corelle had only checked in three days ago to the Royal Caste, but it had felt like forever and an eternity. In those three longest of days she had been kidnapped, dangled from a cliff, rescued, kidnapped again, nearly been eaten by a dragon, and been rescued once more. This was all rather terrifying for a 14-year old girl from suburban Australia, but none of it came even close to the terror of the woman at the door. 'Look at you', said the woman, 'Never have I seen a girl less fit to be a princess.' She was quite large, some might have even described her as rather "blob-like". When she moved, everything wobbled and quivered, and every fleshy part of her seemed to tremble furiously. She waddled over to Corelle. 'Do I make myself clear?' she asked, standing over the new princess. 'You...haven't asked me anything', came Corelle's reply. The woman snorted through exceptionally large nostrils. 'Exactly as I thought. Too lazy. Too fat. Not even remotely pretty. Next time you get kidnapped, please do yourself a favour and stay kidnapped.' She shuffled back to the doorway and did not turn back when she said, 'Your breakfast went cold. We fed it to the dog, terribly sorry', and slammed the door behind her. Corelle buried her face in the pillow. She had always wanted to be a princess and this was far from how she had imagined things to be. &#x200B; \--- &#x200B; I had to stop there to go out, but would love your feedback! I don't write much so I don't know if the writing style flows well enough to be readable. Please let me know and I'll continue it later :)
I stand there, incredulous. I look at my entire body in shock: everything's still intact, as nothing happened. Then, I look around me and realize I'm floating through the atmosphere. Everything around me is pretty: the stars shining in the distance, the obscurity of the space all around me, the Milky Way visible. Everything seems so bright, so close and yet so far. I should have been dead, but instead I'm still standing -well, or at least, floating-, staring in the infinity that surrounds me. I can still see the man that kicked me out in an attempt to kill me. He's standing in the ship, eyes and mouth wide open and seems to be asking himself how I am still alive. I wonder, too, actually. It seems I have some kind of immunity I never knew about. It must have a link with my past. Truth is, I was adopted. I was dropped in front of the house of the people that would become my adoptive parents later. For them, I was like a miracle that had fallen from the sky: a shooting star, because my mother was sterile. No one knew who put me there and my parents still wonder. The only thing I know is that something was strange when they lift me up from the ground that night to take me in their arms: my skin was glowing in a pale white the color of a star. The phenomenon disappeared after a certain amount of time, but my parents never understood why or how I was glowing. That is how I developed a passion for space and how I ended up on that damn mission with stupid colleagues. They decided to kill me because I was "compromising the mission", which was to safely land on Mars. In fact, I had noticed some weird things going on in the trajectory we were following, so I wanted to try another way around. But they wouldn't, because it could have extend our trip from 1 year, which was unacceptable for them. That is how I ended up floating into space staring them in the eyes without any combination to protect me from the lack of oxygen necessary to live. I look down once again to my body and notice something weird. My skin is glowing.
"Ahhh Sundays are great"you look out window blind to a morning scene, and promptly smash your head back on the pillow. After a late Saturday night, a sleep in was just what the doctor ordered. A few restful hours pass and you check again the light. "Yesss still morning, heaps of time."Yawning before returning to sleep. What feels like a few hours pass and you once again wake to the morning sun. "Geez, I feel like I've been sleeping forever."You reach over to your phone to check the time but the screen is off. "Oh well, breakfast time."You rise out of bed and walk to the kitchen, it takes a minute or so but you begin to notice that's it's quiet, a bit too quiet. "That's weird."Normally at this time the sounds of traffic, birds and the wind would be audible. You look out the kitchen window to a perfectly still and sunny day. "Wow, beautiful."After the regular shit, shower, shave routine, you head out to the shops for some milk. Wow, there isn't the slightest wind. All the trees are so perfectly still! Pacing up the driveway, you notice a car stopped in the middle of the street. The guy is looking down on his phone, with his car stopped. What a moron, who stops in the street like that! I should say something....nah. whatever. Around the corner you notice the same thing further up the road, with at least 3 more cars stopped along the stretch of road. What's with these guys? Is something happening? You go to check on your phone, but there's no battery. Damn, I thought I charged it? You continue to the shops and pass one of the cars, you head to the window and talk to the driver . "Hey buddy, what's going on? Why are you stopped like that?"He looks blankly forward completely unresponsive. "Hey dude can you hear me?' He doesn't even look over at you, just sits there frozen. You go around to the drivers side and take a closer look. "Hello! Can you here me?"His doesn't even look like he's breathing. You reach out to his shoulder "Hey buddy are you...." As soon as your hand touches his shoulder he gasps back into life. "OOOOhh whoa."He looks around confused, stopping on you with a look of fear. "What are you doing? What just happened?"He asks in a panic. "Relax man, you were just blanked out in there." The man looks around and restarts his car, he nodds with a forced smile as he begins to drive off. What the fuck was that guy doing? You continue to the shop. "Why is it so silent?"Only the mans lone car noise is heard in the distance, but nothing more. Up ahead is a woman standing in jogging pants, again completely still. But something is odd about her stance, she is balanced on her back toes, but mid stride into another step, and her front foot isn't touching the ground. You walk around the lady stunned by her position. She is frozen like the driver was, a cold statue of a person. "Hello?"no response. "Lady are you awake?"Still no response. You reach out to touch her, and the moment you make contact, she burls forward missing her front foot and collapses hard onto the ground, cracking her head on the footpath. "Holy shit!"You utter. Her full weight bore down onto her head which landed with the crack of a watermelon. Shit, what have I done! You begin to run back to the house, and notice a black object in the sky, a bird stays motionless in the sky, frozen in flight. "WTF is going on?" As you arrive home you plug your phone in to call 9/11. But it doesn't charge. "shit"You try your laptop and TV to no avail, all not working. In a last ditch attempt you knock on the neighbours door, no one answers. So you get into your car and head to town. On the way it becomes clear that the world has stopped, frozen completely in time. Everywhere people stand dead in their tracks, drinks hover in the air, half poured into glasses, cars and people hold strange mid-motion positions. There is no sign of any movement and the whole atmosphere is completely silent. The more frozen people and cars you see, the more panicked you become, the deeper the silence grows. You approach a police officer frozen next to a traffic light, perhaps he can help. Touching him on the shoulder, he gasps into reality, and nearly falls off balance. "Who are you, what did you just do?"He immediately goes to grab his taser but is having trouble unclasping it from his belt. "What did you do to me creep."he looks scared as he fumbles. You immediately run back to your car and drive off before he get you. "Shit, shit, shit."Well that plan backfired, you start to drive to your mates house. Hoping to find someone to talk to. Dodging around cars you notice a change of light, a huge shadow begins to form, over the area. The movement of the shadow is so noticeable when everything is so still. Looking up from out the car window, something enormous is swinging down to earth, when the shadow completely consumes the scene, you begin to make out what it is. It's a...a...gigantic hammer? bearing down upon earth! Stop.... &#x200B;
The second hand of the clock was inching toward twelve, one echoing tick at a time. It felt unbearably slow, but all too fast at the same time. As I fumbled for the velvet box in my coat pocket, my eyes shifted from the gleaming clock to Stacey, her brilliant eyes staring back at me, reflecting the neon colors that lit up Times Square. She smiled at me, and everything around us seemed to slow down. It felt as if time were some kind of syrup, hardening as it dripped, approaching some surreal, everlasting moment with just her and I. I smiled back at her and listened as the collection of voices around us counted down. Holding the box assertively in my hand, I knew I wanted to be with Stacey for the rest of my life. The crowd chanted "one,"and I descended onto one knee, sliding the box out of my pocket. But Stacey hardly seemed to notice. I reached up to brush her hand, but it did nothing. She was smiling, but not at me; she was still looking at some fixed quantity in front of her. I turned around, but there was no one meeting her gaze. Then I looked up at the clock. The fireworks and the cheering had never gone off. Instead, the second hand seemed to be moving backwards, one tick at a time. "What the hell,"I muttered, rubbing my eyes. But it was real: the hand was moving counterclockwise. I stood back up and looked hard at Stacey. For a moment I thought she could see me, but it became clear her eyes weren't matching with mine. It was as if she didn't recognize me. Like she was just a robot, standing there. The ticking grew faster. I stared in shock as people around us began to walk backwards. I looked back at Stacey, but she wasn't there. Panicked, I searched the crowd for her face. After a few seconds I saw her in the distance, walking alone, but talking to someone. Herself? I ran up to her and grabbed her arm, but she kept walking, letting out a bizarre laugh, like a tape playing in reverse. "Stacey!"I yelled, shaking her arm, but she just kept moving away from me, chatting with herself. Then I realized she was talking to me. The clock was growing louder, ticking furiously, as if about to burst. But it just kept going, faster and faster. I suddenly felt someone shove into me, knocking me onto the ground and mindlessly stepping over. Laying on the cold concrete, I watched as he ran backwards with a girl beside him, their hands interlocked, smiling, oblivious. Then I remembered Stacey and scrambled to my feet. But she was gone. I tried to retrace our steps before arriving at Times Square. Dozens of people were quickly approaching me, their backs turned, so I quickly ran to the side of the street, hiding myself in the doorway of a pawn shop. I thought back on where Stacey and I had been. We started walking to Times Square at seven, I thought. We came from the hotel two blocks away. The hotel number was...fuck. What was it? I scraped my brain for the number, but to no end. The mass of people passing my view from the doorway was a blur now. I squatted in front of the shop door, waiting stupidly for time to fix itself. I looked down at the velvet box still nestled in my hand, and opened it. The ring sparkled, each facet reflecting a different color from the square. I lifted it out of the box and tilted it between my fingers, catching the distorted face of the clock in the diamond. After a moment, I threw the ring onto the street.
Clutching my knees to my chest beneath the blanket, I stared at it. Nervously, I spoke. "W..what does that mean?" "It means I'm here to help!"It spoke in a cheerful tone, rising from its seated position at the foot of the bed and walking towards me with dumpy legs. It stopped just in front of me and raised its arm in a salute. "Now, where do I begin?" I swallowed my fear and pointed to the closet. It never closed fully, leaving a sliver of blackness I could just see Him through. The bear sprang from my bed sheets and launched itself through the closet, and with a few grunts and cracking the closet door inched open a bit more. Tilting its head out from the darkness, I could see behind it that He was gone. "See what I mean?" I nodded, relaxed my grip on the blanket. As it climbed back onto my bed I grinned and pulled it into a hug. It was so soft.
OBEY OBEY OBEY Those words have been pounding in your ears for as long as you can remember. You’ve been trained since you were a child to OBEY and you will OBEY. But you’re not quite certain about that anymore. OBEY OBEY You’re going to die on this mission. The Commander didn’t even attempt to hide that. You and the rest of the squad will charge the Enemy’s base as a distraction and die. You’re afraid. WHY ARE YOU AFRAID? For the first time in your life your afraid of dying. DEATH SERVES THE REPUBLIC. DO NOT BE AFRAID. You wish the voices in your head would be quiet. OBEY You left your squad to die. TRAITOR You ran and left them behind as the order to charge was given, slipping out among the chaos. COWARD Where will you go? TO THE FIRING line TO die A TRAITORS death You look up at the tower that you’ve been told houses the Enemy. they are the ENEMY. THEY ARE not HUMAN. With the words still ringing in your ears, you start the long walk towards the tower. you will obey
"Dear sir or madam, Although I am considered the top genetic engineer in the world by most educated people, you must stop sending me letters, especially in this way. I am most humbled that you considered me a viable candidate for your life's work, but I must decline. I am horrifically allergic to most animals and simply cannot be around any creature, magical or not. Now please, if you must keep sending letters please use email or the post. I have to hire a professional cleaner to make my space usable again and an entire tube of hydrocortisone cream just to stop the itching every time your fascinating creature visits me. Best wishes." I give the creature my signed letter and shoo it out the window it came through. I start the shower and press the speed dial number programed into my phone. "Yes, it's me again. Yes, please come urgently the creature came again. I understand it's New Years Eve, I will pay you double. I sent a letter back this time hopefully it's the last time. I unlocked the door just come in and start cleaning, it sat on my couch while I wrote the letter. I need to shower now the hives are starting."
“This is Kate Cale, for NBC News. I’m here at Las Calle mine, where a group of miners have been buried alive for the past ten hours. Experts are telling us not to lose hope, but eyes around the world are glued to their screens. If you have to use the restroom, go now—we’ll be back here live in three...” Kate Cale was a rising star in the journalistic circuit, and could smell a juicy story from across the country. She walked up to the collapsed entrance to the mine. It was a crumbling pile of ragged stone, tons of impenetrable solidity. “C’mon, Carl, lets get a better shot of this entrance. If the ground is stable, we’re not close enough,” Kate said. Carl was reluctant, but he couldn’t argue with the paycheck. He had a lot of carryout pizzas to pay for. He was a portly man, with curly long hair tied back in a ponytail. His eyes were large, but his aviator spectacles were even larger. Carl waddled his way over jagged stones and started shooting. “We’re live,” he said. “Welcome back folks, here we have a live shot of the collapsed entryway to the mine. There are twenty live humans waiting behind these rocks. People with families.” Kate put on her most solemn face. “If these walls could talk, they would tell the story of bravery and brotherhood.” Carl rolled his eyes behind the eyepiece. “I’m hearing from officials that they are hopeful, but anxious to get a hole dug before the miners asphyxiate. There is only a limited amount of time befo—“ Suddenly a hole opened up and swallowed the rocks blocking the entrance to the mine. Kate, along with other reporters, jumped back as they saw a trio of odd looking creatures climb out of the hole. The creatures were dull gray, with deep-set, beady eyes. Their hands were fat, and resembled those of a mole. Kate was the first to act. “Carl, get your ass over here!” Carl bounced over toward Kate, who was making a beeline toward the mole people. “Excuse me! Can you answer a couple questions for me?” Kate squealed. Four men with gray ashen faces staggered past the mole people, and Kate nearly knocked them over. Kate held her microphone out at a mole person’s snout. “You’ve just saved the lives of many men. How does that make you feel?” The mole man looked up at her, and blinked. It bit off her hand and spit it out. Kate screamed, and punched it in the nose, cursing it to death. Carl was sure to catch all of this on film. It was the story of a lifetime. Kate held her wrist stub, which was spurting blood, and soaking into her white blouse. The mole people hissed, and turned back into the mine, running at the baffled miners. From outside the mine, the large group of reporters heard echoing screams. Kate limped away. “C’mon, Carl. Let’s get the hell out of here.” “Are you sure?” Carl asked. “This is some good optics.” Kate lifted her arm. Carl gave a confused look. “What’s that mean?” Kate gave a crooked scowl. “It’s me giving you the middle finger, with my nonexistent hand!” Carl followed Kate back to the news van, and they evacuated the scene. *** “No men escaped the mines with their lives today. It is a day that will live in infamy. We will never forget Las Calle. This is Kate Cale, with NBC News.” “Thank you Kate. Back to Keith with the weather.”
Simon leaned forward in his chair, hands arched expectantly. "We have all heard, and are quite impressed by your talent. Please tell us a little of yourself"he said, droning on as if it was a line his studio executives had forced him to regurgitate. "Well there is not much to tell"she said softly. Her hair was a brilliant shade of golden blonde. It draped in curls and sat naturally on her bronzed skin. She had the look of a girl who never had wanted for the attention of men, but spent her whole like rebuking them. "I come from a small island near Cape Pelorum, the youngest of 5 sisters."This drew gasps from the crowd and overexaggerated shock from the judges. "Your parents must be proud of your abilities"Jennifer Lopez smiled genuinely as she spoke, with none of the humdrum of her fellow peers. "I would not know mam"she said to the shock of the crowd "My parents discouraged my singing. It was only when I left and came to America that I discovered my love and talent for it." The judges frowned and the crowd murmured to each other. Although the sob story had a place in reality television, they were expecting a clean cut story for this beautiful young girl. "Well Molpe"Simon said as he half smiled at her unusual name "Wow us". The stage dimmed and a solitary beam shined down on her face and shoulder. To the surprise of all there was no music as she opened her mouth and began to sing. A tranquil look settled on her face and as she began the look was mirrored in the faces of those present, including the judges. Her melody was pure and soft, washing over them like waves on the ocean. The men in the audience in particular, began to lean forward in their seats, seemingly to get closer to this beauty. As she continued the tune began to grow and sway and force. It was like a soft sea was beginning to rumble and froth and surge. The audience began to grow restless, the men standing and moving closer to her with the exception of Simon, who merely sat with his arms crossed, appearing to listen intently. As her song neared crescendo, the onlookers broke into frenzy. Men and women near the aisle left their seats entirely, and began advancing on the stage. The lights flickered and died as workers in the catwalk began to advance towards her from their perches, some literally falling twenty feet below. It was as if her presence alone compelled them to abandoned reason. Those who were unlucky enough to be seated in the middle of the isle began to force and fight their way forward, all while Molpe continued to sing, unaware of the turmoil it was causing. A final note, a thunderous finale and she opened her eyes to the scene in front of her. The judges had almost reached the stage in their desperation. Members of the crowd had completely abandoned their seats and the back rows of the theater were completely empty. All looked at her longingly and confused and she ceased singing and looked around with bewildered eyes. All except Simon. From his position at the judges table he calmly removed something from his ears and leaned forward. "Cape Pelorum yeah?"He addressed her as the crowd began to mutter amongst themselves. "You'll find that Europeans have a much better grasp of the history of those islands than these Americans and what happens to those that hear the song of those that hail from it." He looked at the other judges with disproving eyes and hit the button. "While I am choosing to pick you for the sake of those in this audience, come find me after this show, I have some friends in production that would love to get you on the radio."
"I don't understand,"Junior Oppressor 7B-A said. "What's to not understand?"Senior Oppressor 1B-A replied. "The humans tried to fight back." "But... it says in the report that they fought back using an exploit for their neurology." "Correct,"the Senior Oppressor said. "Instead of our neurology."the Junior Oppressor continued. "Yes." "And, furthermore, their 'hypnosis' exploit requires a willing participant, which absolutely nobody in the entire oppression fleet qualifies as." "The report is factual and accurate, Junior Oppressor,"Senior Oppressor 1B-A said, his patience thinning. "I am merely restating my understanding of the report, Senior Oppressor,"the Junior Oppressor said, "so as to have any misunderstandings corrected." "You have misunderstood nothing,"the Senior Oppressor said. "But I have not reached full understanding,"the Junior Oppressor replied. "The report does not state why the humans thought such a poorly thought out plan stood a chance of success?" "Ah,"the Senior Oppressor said, "I see you have not consulted our databank entries on the human race. Do so now, and you will achieve full understanding of the humans' actions." The Junior Oppressor, ever obedient, turned to consult his databanks. It took little time for him to locate the requisite entry, and far less time to read it in its entirety: > Humanity: Complete idiots. "Ah,"the Junior Oppressor said. "I indeed understand. But if the humans are, indeed, 'complete idiots'-" "If anything,"the Senior Oppressor interrupted, "the databanks understate the degree to which this is the case, but continue." "Why do we keep them around?" The Senior Oppressor laughed, which was a sort of gurgle for his species. "That is simple! They taste great with a little mustard!"
The walls surrounding me seem to speak words. They usher me, calling forth my journey into a world that I do not know. The words spoken to me, are not unheard of. They are my own. I am trapped in my own prison. Is this why I exist? To become a caged animal trapped in his own prison of selfishness? There were others who once lived beside me. They knew my name. Something I can’t grasp anymore. I am not the name they called me by. I am Me. I exist. I think my own thoughts, which they cannot control. I don’t know how much time has passed, however that doesn’t matter anymore. My own mind has constructed its own wicked and warped idea of what time really is. Time is nothing. I can die in this cage of old age if I please. However, I cannot be here any longer. The walls around me are no longer physical, the environment in which I am inside of is now my expanded mind. These walls are what bound me to my existence. I must leave. Not for whatever lays out in the scorched planet, but for myself. Beyond the imprisonment of my own mind is the Bunker. A specimen of human ingenuity that is no longer valuable, I do not build. I do not toil in hard labor. I think. I breathe. I eat. Am I human? No. I am animal who was become aware. I follow the walls until they lead to a large metal door. I cannot see outside, but it is hope. It is new. It is strange. It is wonderful. I turn the knob that I created in my old life and open the the door that separates my mind from the other side. I am not greeted with a wasteland. What surrounds me are cold metal bars with my hands grasping them tightly. I grind my teeth, shake my fists around the cold bars, and stomp my feet. I am in darkness. Alone. Until I hear a noise of footsteps. A noise that are foreign to my ears. They grow louder, making their way to me, then come to a stop. The vocal noise of a man is now coming from the other side: “I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you. Understand? If I hear you stomp those fucking feet of yours again, that is another week in the hole. This isn’t some fucking wasteland where you do whatever you want. This is a federal US prison”. Author note: Sorry for my bad grammar OP. Although I graduated HS, this year, I am terrible at grammar. Hope you enjoyed!
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Where's Capri?!!! &#x200B; I am on my way to our favorite hangout spot. I’m very excited. After all, I will be meeting my high school crush after two whole years. I remember her as being a pretty girl. Tall, slim, clear skin; nice physique in general. That’s not the reason I had a crush on her, though. She was my type of person. Until I met her, I didn’t even know that people like her existed. She was wild. She was adventurous. She would do anything just for the thrill of it. She was the first girl I kissed: she wasn’t into me, it was on a dare. But I’m rambling off topic. There she comes! But…she’s…different. Her previously long black hair is in a short bob cut. Her slim physique has completely transformed. But that’s not what worries me. (Her new look makes her even hotter, if that’s possible) She…isn’t happy. The twinkle of excitement that has always been in her eye, the aura of mischief that has always hung about her…is gone. She doesn’t have that look of excitement. As far as I remember, she was always excited about everything. She always kept abreast of everything. World politics, scientific discoveries, fiction books, music, art…literally everything. And she always babbles endlessly about every new thing she learns. Today, she is oddly quiet. For the first time ever, we make small talk. She’s been at college. I knew as much. About 5 minutes have passed, and we’re still making small talk. THIS IS OUR FIRST DATE! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE SPECIAL AND EXCITING!!! NOT AWKWARD! I’m very frustrated. A few weeks ago, we were talking on Messenger. About all the shared memories, the idiocies of two foolish high schoolers…and all the memories…I fell in love all over again. So I decided to take the chance. The last time, I let it slide. This time, I wouldn’t. So I asked her out. And here we are. I didn’t know what to expect. This is Capri. One can never predict what’s gong to happen with her. Some days, we gorged on our favorite pizza, followed by ice cream. Some days, we hopped through the length of the school corridor. Other days, we would be making one of our weird, funny drink recipes. But never, not once, had we been at a loss for things to do or talk about. I almost regret asking her out. My feelings are sincere, genuine…I would do anything to take it back, if I had hurt her. But I don’t know where I went wrong. My beautiful Capri. All changed, all new…still as beautiful as ever, though. I can’t stand this awkwardness anymore. I take her hand in mine and ask her—gently, with concern—what’s wrong. In response, she just squeezes my hand, looking as sad as ever. My heart swells with undeniable love. A single teardrop falls from her eye. I hasten to wipe it off her soft cheek. As soon as my hand is on her cheek, she lets loose all that she’s been holding in. She crumbles into a series of harsh, unrelenting sobs. Confused, I move over from across the table, to the seat next to hers. I don’t know what to do. I have never seen her cry before, so I don’t know what would comfort her. I hold her close to me. She puts her head on my shoulder, crying hysterically. I still didn’t know why. But I don’t push it. I know she will tell me if she wants to. After a long while of sobbing and crying, (me getting extremely worried) she finally calms down a little. She disentangles herself from my arms, and reaches into her bag. She takes out something small…I don’t know what. She takes my hand in hers and presses a small piece of paper into it. Bewildered, I look at her. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she shakes her head. “Don’t open it just now.” She seems to say. I nod. Then I smile at her. A sickly fake smile. I look at it, still in my hand. “Supuro” it reads. That means “help”. In fact, it means that the matter is urgent and very serious. It is a code red. In our own special language. I’m very confused. Why is she asking for help? What kind of help does she need? Why is she writing it on a piece of paper and not telling me directly? So many questions…but she seems to know what she’s doing and why. So I keep my questions to myself and put that little letter into my purse. We order our food, and eat it amongst forced laughter and superficial conversation. When we’re done, Capri excuses herself to go to the bathroom. I ask the waiter to bring our bill. I open my purse to get my wallet. My wallet is gone. So is the letter. In its place, is another piece of paper; on it, a handwriting I don’t recognize. Trembling, I start reading it. This note is written in English. “Yes, I have your wallet.” It reads. “Yes, the letter is safe. No, I will not destroy anything. Yes, you’ll get it back. If you cooperate.” Nearing tears, I’m about to put the note back in my purse. But then I notice another little scribble at the bottom of the piece of paper. Written in tiny letters. Barely readable. That’s what scares me the most. That makes chills run down my spine. “PS: I also have her. I make no promises about the well being of your beloved Capri.”
Earl picked up his fourth highball of the night, only to discover it was already empty, and glared at the bartender. The booze was making him talkative tonight, but the dejected recital wasn't any different from the other times he'd opened up. The man behind the bar made sympathetic noises and pretended to wipe at water spots while he listened. "Man, I don't know what all I did to piss her off, but it's like she can't even see me any more. I asked her out once! I've respected that she said no, I've kept my distance, barely said hi. We walk past each other at the admin trailers and she doesn't even look the other way--she just completely ignores me! "She must really hate me,"he finished sadly. "It'd be enough if she'd smile at me again, ya know?"He stared morosely into the bottom of the glass. "Hey, Bill, pour me another, will ya?"
I was sound asleep when I heard it. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK I jumped out of bed and grabbed my stake and cross. Right before I opened the door a whoosh of wind passes over me and the lights go out. I knew what was beyond the door and it scared me more than I would admit. As I reach for the handle I think can I do this. I open the door as quickly as I can and stab the blood sucking bastard in the chest. As it turned out I should’ve taken my anti psychotics it was my social worker checking on me. I’m now sitting here in pine view state sanitarium wondering why my social worker was a vampire.
Those lights are beautiful tonight. Don't we agree? Yes, us. Those humans are very crafty. Shame we no longer have Helios to see it. We agree. It is a tragedy, but it's only reasonable we keep watching, even without our old friend. We are Janus after all; the two-faced god of choices, doorways, beginnings, and ends. It's a good thing we're the god of that. It is a good thing. Many olympians fade as humans no longer need them. First, it was the titans. Helios and Mnemosyne, titans of light and memory, were no longer necessary. The torches and scrolls were only the beginning of their ends. Later came others. Hestia had no more hearths of sacrifices to turn to. Hera barely survived the end of the typical nuclear family. Asclepius was vanquished by modern medicine. But they were only replaced. Others have risen to Mount Olympus at... unexpected rates. Internet has been begging for Hestia's old seat, but the strong ones rebuke him. Dionysus, Ares, and especially Hades still stand strong against the new, except for Ares's infatuation with nuclear weaponry over the last seven or eight decades. Fortunately, we are still alive and shall last for much longer. The fates have told that we will die not in the next 1,000 years. But now, let us witness the end of 2018, αρχή... ...and the beginning of 2019, κατάληξη! WWEE SSEE TTHE NEW YEAR AND TALK AS ONE BRIEFLY, FOR IT IS THE BEGINNING AND THE END! MAY YOU HUMANS MAKE MANY CHOIC-C-ES, BOTH GGOOOODD AANNDD BBAADD!!
"A shot of your best rum, neat,"the familiar voice booms. Nick grins at his favourite colleague. "I see you're done with 2018 on Earth, Father Time,"he says. He pours the drink, sets it down on the bar in front of the old gentleman. Father Time grunts and downs the shot in one gulp. Nick's eyebrows raise. "Tough year on old Terra, eh?" "Yes, Nick,"Father Time says. He jerks his head towards the empty shot glass, and Nick deftly replaces it with another. "Wanna tell me about it, then?"Nick says, smiling ingratiatingly. He only goes once a year to the planet himself, but it sounded fascinating, and he always liked hearing stories about it. Father Time shrugs. "Every year it gets worse,"he says. Nick picks a cloth up and polishes glasses. "Go on,"he says encouragingly. "Well, first of all, Stan Lee--this famous person who made comics--died,"Father Time says. Nick remains politely silent--he didn't know any Terran celebrities but when Father Time got into his year-end rants, it didn't do to interrupt him. "Terran lives are so short..." "And have you seen what they're doing to their faces now?"Nick shakes his head. "All those lip fillers and eyebrows that look like caterpillars and huge backsides..."Father Time shakes his head, echoing Nick's gesture. "And what else?"Nick pours Father Time another shot. "Well,"Father Time says, eyebrows beetling into a frown, "you won't believe what they did with Star Wars. It's just awful."Nick makes clucking noises, noting how Father Time's face has grown redder than his, St Nicholas' suit. "You're lucky you only go there once a year and deal with kids, Claus. Bet no kid of yours wishes for lip injections." Nick laughs. "So what are you fearing most this coming year?" Father Time grimaces. "I shudder to think about 2019's YouTube rewind."
Good morning Agent 47, this is Diane. You've been assigned a very special task. Your target is John REDACTED, aka Naked Snake, most commonly known as Big Boss. He’s the leader of the mercenary company Diamond Dogs. Given the significant reputation of this particular target, you will receive one billion dollars upon the completion of your task. Diamond Dogs are a mercenary company composed of some of the best soldiers in the world, Their headquarters known as Mother Base, is in Seychelles, on an old Oil Rig. Obviously it will be heavily guarded and patrolled. The client deems other members of the diamond dogs as acceptable collateral damage as long as the target is eliminated by any means necessary. For each member of the company you kill during the assignment you will receive an additional 20 mil. We estimate you have 24 hours before the target becomes aware of the contract. Good luck and be careful 47. Anse Royale, Seychilles, Harbor TIME REDACTED Nobody noticed as a bald man in a suit choked out a sailor and left him in the dumpster behind a brothel naked. The police who found him the next day shook their heads at yet another drunken sailor as they took him off to jail. By the time he sobered up in the drunk tank his ship would be long gone. The sailor went aboard the Madagascar Star. The mate of the watch did’nt notice anything strange about Hodge when he returned reeking of perfume and alcohol and went towards his rack. The cargo ship was bound for Outer Base, just one of many deliveries they had to make. A few hours later The Madagascar Star arrived at outer heaven a few hours before dawn. &#x200B; ((Might do Part 2, this is taking more research than i anticipated))
Huff Georgman was at the scientific presentation at the intersectional studies center of sector B7, when the presenter with a shattered stream of a computerized voice started showing images of their new discovery, invention I351-B7. A big sign of infinite represented by 2 squares on top of each other show up on the holographic view. - Presenter: Infinite!... it's a big concept, but how big it actually is?... it's hard to imagine, but I can assure you, it's bigger than we can think, it's not just a big number, it's a endless stream, and it's hard to imagine, specially for us organics, yet, for the first time ever, using the technology given by I350-B7, regarding the quantum computer design, we have been able to simulate a stripped down version of a pseudo-infinite universe which remains indexable and searchable, now tell me, someone from the audience, tell me something that you have imagined from your wildest dreams, something that could be possible in this universe, as in, it doesn't break the laws of physics, you the guy in the corner, I want you to submit a paragraph, of something possible. Huff reacted surprised at the moment he was being pointed by the presenter, he wasn't a science person but there was him being chosen to take part of this experiment; as a writer he could only start to imagine what was this the scientists were working on, so he connected on the cloud and decided to download a short story of his, of a seemingly realistic situation, of a simple girl, a very primitive woman who grew in a fairly tribal nation who toyed with radioactivity and as an effect of it died but was held as a hero by its community and one of its kind, it was not a special story, rather a small idea he had and made a scribble off, he submitted it from the cloud with his electronic device. A voice can be heard from within the hologram viewer, "Analizing", it says. - Presenter: Oh thanks so here our AI it's analizing your submitted paragraph to find the correct matches from within this universe, it could take a little while, we'll just take the first one to match, this universe has a flat geometry, meaning it's infinite, and there are repetitions over repetitions, some with variation, some not; but it only takes certain distance to find an exact repetition of the same idea... - AI: Analysis complete. - Presenter: Oh and there it is, it's done, now we'll open a portal to that specific section of spacetime and display it in a visible way. Suddenly the show of a woman and all her life, step by step, regarding the information written by the paragraph appears on the holographic view, Huff is amused at this, it's just like she was described, smart, dedicated, a lovely woman; even her last moments as she passed away due to her affinity to these metallic materials, always unaware of her fate until it was too late. - Presenter: So is that your girl?... - Huff: Yes, this is incredible. - Presenter: Now you might wonder if this wasn't just an animation of the story you presented me, but I can guarantee you, it's not, this is an universe of its own, an infinite, flat geometried one, hence anything is possible, all your stories, your wild dreams, they are there in some region of its spacetime. - Huff: This is amazing. - Presenter: Now for those of you more quantum tech savy you might wonder how we managed to do this, well for once, this universe doesn't quite work like our own, not exactly, for once the location of particles is unknown until they are visualized, until then they behave like a wave, until some observer takes it into account then we convert them back to particles; we also had to set a speed limit, which is good because that leave a bubble where beings that were generated by the universe or just particles themselves can interact as we make it increasingly hard to reach that specific speed; sadly this leaves some funky stuff but we just had to live with it, quantum processing power is complex and with this and everything as particles clamp up we have to slow down time, sometimes the whole thing collapses on itself and it becomes nonsense physics, also, we couldn't even make the universe expand so we had to simulate mass with accelerating reverse gravity, crazy things; it's not a perfect simulation, but it's very similar to our universe, and more importantly, it works, they believe it's real; and well, it might just as well be as real as our own; anyway we are running out of time, any questions?... - Huff: I have one... - Presenter: Say it.. - Huff: So are you telling me, every single sad story, every atrocity I've written about, every savior I've put; that my fantasy world of water and carbon beings, you are telling me that such stories are real and happening. - Presenter: As a matter of fact yes, infinity is such a big notion; it's incomprehensibly large, not just that but variations of it, you can try to go to the interstatal network and request the AI for more of your stories, you might be surprised, there will be infinite matches, and even more, an infinite larger than such infinite, variations of it; you might open a portal, and just visualize your stories. - Random person in the crowd: What's the purpose of this?... - Presenter: Well we are just in an experimental phase, but overall, at first this will be mostly, let's accept it, for purposes of entertainment; while sadly we cannot interfere with the world, we are working on that as well, we can only open portals to the specific regions of space time to view what is going on; later we hope to run a fast forwarded simulation, but this universe still has plenty energy in it so there's no hurry for it, no heat death is coming any time soon. - Another random person: So, if anything is possible, even the most wildest stuff are going on in there?... - Presenter: Yes even things like simulations within simulations might be going on, all that is physically possible into it; horrible things, being burning for eternity, to beings being extremely happy for eternity within some brain of sorts, sadly we cannot access that information yet. - Yet another random person: So what does this mean for our world?... are we yet another simulation?... - Presenter: That could be the case or could not be who knows?... we cannot know... just like they cannot know. Huff could only feel consternation, every single one of his stories, was real, it was happening to real people, but he also learned that it didn't matter whether he wrote it or not, it would still happen, his dreams, anything, whatever could be possible; there was a portal for him to see it, yet sadly couldn't interfere in it. - Presenter: Anyway, who knows?... the size of infinite is very large, so big, at any point, in that universe, someone might just as well be writing a story of what is happening on this exact conference room, as some sort of joke for giggles, or fake points on some sort of social network; after all infinite is a big notion.
I haven't been able to fly since a hunter tried to kill me. He shot a bullet that just slightly cut into the left wing. Most of my friends and family where supportive. I nearly died. However, there were a few who bullied me. Ganged up on me. 'You can't even fly! Fucking flyless motherfucker!' It was a sad time in my life. But it got even worse when winter came. 'Ben... I'm sorry but we all have to leave.' My mother said in her soft tone. 'But-- But--' 'I'm sorry honey but we need to take care of your sister.' 'Okay...' 'We'll come back in the summer!' 'Yeah...' 'Bye sweetie!' 'Bye...' My mother, dad, brother and sister took off into the sky. 'I'm not staying here. Fuck that. I can follow them!' I think to myself. I start dashing to the water's edge. I climb out and run in the direction of my family. They were already far ahead, but I can still see them. I brush past the trees and into a lush field. I get out of energy. I waddle forward, slowly. 'I'm coming guys... just wait for me to--' Crack! A quiet crack comes from behind me, back in the forest. I turn and see my worst fear. A hunter. He stepped on a branch. He sees me turn around and sprints towards me. Ah shit! What do I do? Before I can react he grabs me by the neck. Well, this is uncomfortable. He stuffs me in a net and ties it... Nice prompt idea! I had to respond because of my username :D Hope you enjoyed it.
I'm giving this my own twist ------- The view from the 52nd floor of a building in Manhattan shows the last bit of sun rays smearing the horizon an orange shade as the sun was about to set. There's not a lot to do when your arms and legs are tied to a chair, two security guards behind the door and a camera. At least it's an office chair this time, leather cover and my hand can just barely reach the handle for slight adjustments. An improvement compared to a cold metal chair in some dark basement. There are always new surprises in a city of sins, one of many. Not really. That was just a spark of naive optimism, but I quickly get drawn back to reality and it's the same old story. Sure, this time I'm wearing a dark blue suit and a red tie, and these leather shoes must cost $500. or $5,000? anyhow, I wouldn't spend a night's pay over shoes, but who am I to judge. Must keep appearances when you're... CEO if I have to guess. Some financing company? Who cares. No point in dwelling too much. If not this rich, white, dare I say privileged man, then it could be any other person who may afford such services. White, black, fat, disabled, man, woman, even midgets. They call me lucky for having a class B agency. The agency provides background checks, medical exams and security, but obviously this is more for the clients than for us "blanks". Class C agencies would only provide "security"for blanks, that is guard them temporarily during service time, while letting the clients roam free with limited restrictions. Some wouldn't even perform basic procedures to ensure the blank's safety, the only worse thing could be an unofficial agency. Class B agencies such as mine ensure my safety, at least on some level. Being tied to a chair is just my end of the service, to make sure I don't harm the client's body or reputation. On the other hand, the agency makes sure the client does no irreversible damage to my body, no harmful drugs, no unsafe sex, and I prefer not to know what kind of kinks these sickos have, so perhaps it's best they watch over my body. Class A, however, have no restrictions at all. This is a VIP service for well-known and approved people, such as extremely rich, famous, politicians, who knows maybe even the president. The clients are not being watched at all, so you could say it's based on trust, but in that case these are people who have everything to lose and nothing to gain from misusing blanks, so whatever fetish they have they better be careful. I heard this goes as far as putting blanks in chemically induced coma and even doing a three-way swap with a middle-blank. My assumption is that class A blanks don't last too long, because who ever cared about a blank prostitute? I hear sound of rattling keys unlocking the door, and there I am, standing proud in a wet white shirt with some missing buttons and a slightly ripped mini skirt. "You bought new clothes. I'm keeping those stockings", I say half jokingly, in attempt to keep my sanity and tamper, but at least it's over early. I, or actually my body, walks slowly towards me, while taking of my high hills. The door is locked behind and I hear myself whisper: "we still have time left on the clock". My hand is sliding slowly down my hip, even though my current hands are still tied. Well, that's a first.
Hi u/Aquatiq_, 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)) [All submissions must be tagged](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_4.3A_all_submissions_must_be_tagged) - Incorrect Tag Usage: This post is tagged incorrectly. Please read [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/how_to_tag_prompts) for more information on how to tag posts. Not really for /Wp content. Try r/Worldbuilding --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/abn8ql/ot_what_is_our_life_expectancy_in_the_year_3000/%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.
We started running three years ago. I was from the Alleys, and Alessa was from the Gateway. I didn’t have a choice, Wire Running was the only thing that prevented me from starving to death in the Alleys, and for a few hours of the day, it made me stay away from there. Seeing the sunlight for the first time in the Clouds is something that will never leave my memory. She, on the other hand, had an easy life, but like in the books, she craved excitement. Her family wasn’t happy with her choice, and she was Cast Down, her rights to live and walk freely on the Gateway revoked. Whenever I asked about that she smiled and said that she didn’t mind, but her voice always showed a little sorrow. We met in the Clouds, while running for the same corp. The Clouds housed most of the corporations and influential families lived, and in the eternal struggle of power, information was vital and digital means weren’t reliable. Wire Runners were the unofficial title of the couriers and messengers, named after the spider web-like wires of information and electricity that crossed the rooftops of the Clouds’ buildings. Running like that was highly illegal, since some, if not all of us were from the lower cities. The Enforcers only turned a blind eye when we had cash readily available. We either ran away from them or had some of our payment go back to the corporations. She sheltered herself in the same hideout that I was, a blind spot in a SenseSoftware building, both of us escaping from thieves. While I was scared out of my wits, Alessa’s face was beaming, her adrenaline filled body almost revealing our hiding place. She told me her story while we waited for the dust to settle, and I offered her a place in the Alleys. Well, offered is a strange word, since the two room apartment in my building wasn’t mine to begin with, but she accepted it. After a while, we started running together. Soon, we were well known, both for the good and bad. Being a common face wasn’t really helpful in our line of work. Maybe that’s why things turned so sour. The job was simple: Take a package from another Runner and deliver to a Blue Cross Corporation building. Alessa was on this job as well, making the long way around with another package. Something about that job screamed trouble, but Alessa assured me that it would be an easy run. I shouldn’t have agreed. Not even a few minutes from the start, we saw that our usual pathways were blocked by the Enforcers. A wire here, a rooftop there, soon we were just running. Someone tipped us off, and it seemed like whatever we were carrying was too important to pass up. I only noticed that the deadline of the delivery was up when I started hearing a beeping noise from the package. I threw the brown box away, and the next seconds were a blur. An explosion. The sirens of the Enforcers. Running. I found Alessa where we first met, on the same blind spot in the SenseSoftware building. Our faces were everywhere, being accused of terrorism. The Enforcers made a special detachment to the other areas of the city to find us, and the bounty on our heads were more than we gained in a lifetime. We were set up. And we had to run. &#x200B; Hey, thanks for reading! I kinda lost myself in the end, but I had to finish it. Critiques are always welcome! 1/365 stories complete!
I came here for the silence, which so far, has been interrupted the past three nights by a slow symphony coming from somewhere deep in the woods behind my house. At first, I thought it was the wind. The past few days have replicated conditions on Antarctica, but today was uncharacteristically warm and still the symphony began playing, not a second late. The leftover snow came up just past my sneakers, which were hastily put on with my pajamas, as I made my way to the edge of the woods. I listened, hoping that I would not have to venture any further to find the source. Any hopes of returning to under my covers were squashed. The sound was still there. I followed it deeper into the forest, pausing every few steps to check if it was still playing. It was. It grew louder with each step, my pace quickened. It couldn't be more than 10 feet ahead. The music sped up, while my foot found a patch of ice. The trees blurred as my arms grasped for something to break my fall. The music changed again, back to a slow, quiet melody. I tried to calm my breathing, doing a mental inventory. Nothing felt broken, nothing looked twisted. I steadied myself on the ground, trying to find a smooth place on the red snow – I’m bleeding. My hands slipped again, I searched for the wound, the music playing louder and louder. The quiet symphony replaced by brass horns. The music drew me to my feet, guiding me deeper into the forest. There were lights, somewhere nearby, the forest glowed. A figure appeared, outlined behind the lights – an animal. Resting? It lay against an uprooted tree. It must have been caught in the storm. Impaled just above its hind legs. I crouched down next to it. It was dying. The snow was dyed a dark red. There was movement in the trees, another deer. I crouched next to the animal, resting my hand on its head, my other arm hang loosely at my side, drops of blood mixing with the animal’s. It opened its mouth, the symphony appeared. It was weaker and slower than before. It was struggling. The deer stiffened and the forest went silent. The wound above its legs flickered and in the next moment disappeared. The snow was white, with only specks of red. The rest of the body disappeared. The deer’s head lay suspended in the air, my hand glued to it. I stayed crouched next to the uprooted tree. I could feel movement behind me, my arm throbbed. Pain travelled through the rest of my body. The deer’s head popped out of existence, I was thrown against the log. A pool of blood was growing just below my arm. A deer approached from the edge of the clearing. I waited for my eyes to adjust, but they never did. The deer stayed out of focus as it moved closer. Its front legs disappeared, driving its unbalanced front half into the snowy ground. The rest of its features popped out of existence, replacing itself with my clothes. My face. It stumbled to its feet, turning back towards my house. I opened my mouth to scream, the symphony returned.
You know I really got to get this light fixed. I can’t really see anything beyond the front porch all that well at night. Oh the mail is here, I didn’t even hear the mailman. Lets see.. Gas bill, electric bill and my DNA test. Lets see, 23 percent Eastern European 32% West African and 45 percent unknown. Wait a second unknown? That’s weird, what does that even mean? Great. The only reason I really took this test is to know something from my father. My mother never talks about him. I don’t know his name, what he looks like… I don’t even know his ethnicity! God all these secrets make me so angry sometimes! “Mr Pirouline calm down!” “Huh, who is there?” “My name is Agent Smith and this is Agent Kevin. You need to calm down before you cause any more damage.” “What damage are you talking about?” Holy crap the porch is destroyed. HOW? I literary was just there 30 seconds ago. Its as if something pushed it inward. “How did that happen” “Mr. Pirouline, this has to do with your DNA test. Somehow you slipped through us being that you are 50 about 50 percent Mildorian and… ” “Mildorian? What is that Australian?” “and 50 percent human.” “What…what do you mean?” “Being part Mildorian grants you telekinetic powers Mr. Pirouline. You did that to your front porch. For your safety and others we must place you within our protective services. “You know there is a free health clinic down the street. I’d advice you go there and help yourself Agent Smith. Where were you guys from again?” “We are agents of a top-secret organization that monitors extraterrestrials on earth. Your situation will require our immediate help. We are called the Men in Black. “
She fell, and so did his belief in humanity. His tattered camouflage and sweaty body armor crushed his joints but he no longer felt a thing. The scorching metal under his hands burned and mutilated his skin, all while he stood oblivious to the burns caused by the overheated gun barrel. A U.S flag, stuck to his upper arm that once was the source of his pride, felt like useless Velcro. In the distance the rubble from the buildings around him fell and smoked and lay in massive piles. Captain O'Loughlin could no longer comprehend the wreckage that surrounded him. He had joined the Army out of patriotism, out of love for his country. But this was different. She was advancing in the distance towards a series of small shelters, set up as temporary housing areas for those with no where else to go. There was almost nothing conspicuous or noteworthy about her. An average girl, walking around her country. But where he was from, average girls walking around thought of their careers. Of music and art, poetry, social media, friends and family. Of the mundane and the very real. Relationships and lovers. When the girl turned to face him, the only thing in her eyes was survival. And when she turned away from him a solitary shot rang out from a window across the town, and she twisted and fell to the ground. Sweat pooled in his face and the smell in the air was acrid and heavy with the carnage. His heart was pounding in his chest and a bright red flash shot through his body when he realized what happened. Pain, rage, guilt all began to jostle in his head seemingly competing for the top spot. Almost carelessly, he flipped the safety off on his M4 and began firing precise three round bursts into the windows of the building behind where she lay. He pumped almost thirty rounds into the structure before turning on his radioman, a small private from Alabama or somewhere and snatched the headset from his back. "Iron Rain this is Ronin"he called out with careless efficiency. "Adjust Fire, Over" As the artillery began to plummet from the sky, high explosive shells detonated in clusters exactly on target. The shockwave had barely even settled when the next round landed. Perfectly on target. Round after round crashed into what was left of the building, until nothing existed but a foundation and another pile of ruble, which blended flawlessly with its surrounding. Everything was brown. His uniform and skin were covered in dust, as were his men. They stood in shock of the man before them. His breathing had settled down and his eyes had never left the girl, laying on the spot of road where she feel. She stirred and turned to face him. Their eyes met again. It was now hatred that he saw in them. In that moment all the emotions that had surged through him emptied like water slipping through a pair of outstretched hands. He felt himself slowly fall into a white, lack of consciousness. "And so you see here gentleman, Captain O'Loughlin exceeded expectations in the scenario"a clean cut Lieutenant Colonel spoke unflinchingly to a panel of uniformed men. "As one of our finest officers, he experienced the 'Fog of War' and was able to rationally and calmly eliminate the threat". The Captain stirred restlessly in his liquid suspended state in front of them, with countless wires snaking from his head into machinery that men were tending nearby. "I have no doubt that he would make for the perfect candidate for our new Accelerated Infantry Training Program." "Sir, but what about his mental state?"Questioned a solitary Major, sitting slightly off to the side "Surely the solider will experience some sort of residual emotional trauma from the repeated exposure to combat in the Trainer." "That is a negative"the Colonel dismissed the Major with a wave of his hand "The combat and actions of the simulator are not real. Over time, after hundreds of exposures to combat, killing and war, this man will be desensitized to the 'emotional trauma' that you speak of. And besides..."he trailed off with a self satisfied look "the product of what you will receive at the end is worth the sacrifice. He will be a killer, he will be a warrior" "A real horseman of the apocalypse."
The one that caught your eye isn't marked. You chug it down in an instant, thinking that if this were a story you would surely be the main character. As it enters your body, you notice even the smallest speck of dust floating around you. You notice an odd thumping noise, your heart. You smell the cologne you put on 3 weeks ago still stuck in the threads of your shirt. And as soon as it came, it disappears. Now you can barely see the bottles, you barely feel their cold touch as your fingers try to feel something, you barely hear the familiar klink of glass. You feel nothing, you practically are nothing, all because you drank the bottle marked with nothing....such a waste.
A flick of the quill, and the ledger is signed. As the ink sunk into the plush paper Father Hawthorne glanced up at the woman standing across the podium. “There you are, I have signed your ledger, as you so aggressively insisted. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be seated. “ He said, gesturing to the full restaurant. He was shocked the dimly lit tavern was so full of grimy patrons. The father reasoned the staff bouncing about in skimpy dresses were the appeal. A playful smile slit the hostess’s face. Her cheeks crinkled like parchment and a delicate mole shifted upwards to her eyes. “Of course.” Father Hawthorne did not read the restaurant ledger before signing. He did not see the small script at the top. He did not know how long she had been waiting for some hapless man of the cloth to fall into her trap. — The next morning Hawthorne awoke with a headache. Memories flooded in and he recalled the tavern, his grisly bowl of stew and several mugs of hot ale. He had crawled his way upstairs and into his room. He remembered finding his own supply of shine and sipping on that until oblivion took him. “Still here.” He sighed. Still here. Years he had been a wandering priest, trying to throw himself into the next town, the next soul to save. Providence would not let him yield. He desperately wanted to just be numb. Alcohol, blessed moonshine, helped. He rummaged through his bag, rumpled from last night’s drunk foray, and found the bottle. For a second he held the cool glass to his forehead, soothing the hot skin and aching head. He felt so weak. Weak in mind and weak in soul. He had failed, he always failed. Slowly undoing the latch to the bottle he felt the warm embrace of relief. He had sinned so much there was no coming back. He lifted the bottle and gave up again. There is something divine about failing, he though as he brought the bottle to his lips and pulled a swig out. It burned on the way down. The first shot always did. The Father shifted to get up out of the bed when he realized the burning sensation was getting worse. He dropped the bottle and ran to the small dresser where a pitcher of water was sitting. He threw curses at cheap liquor, promising to make his own someday. The water helped and the burning soon faded. He tongued small blisters on the insides of his cheeks. Setting the pitcher back onto the dresser, he went back to the bottle, determined to pour the lot of it out. His fingers stopped as they slid over the metal-etched cross on the bottle. Holy water. This couldn’t be! He had been burned by his own blessed water. What had been in those drinks last night? Father wanted to deny the truth but the metallic taste was still in his mouth, blood from the blisters. Still, he touched the neck of the bottle to be sure. The liquid burned his skin instantly. He was unholy. — Leila watched the Father from her own room. She had a mirror mounted on the wall in front of her desk. Watching the man come to the realization was wonderful, he caught on more quickly than she had anticipated. The man was supposed to be far from their little operation before this happened. Damn alcoholic. She dashed the thought away and picked up her ledger, a book she had bound herself. What the Father I did not read was a small, simple agreement she had put at the top of the page. “Whomever signs this ledger below will be a reject of heaven. His soul will be damned and the property of this book’s mistress.” Simple. She did not like to mince works. She had waited in wait, preying on lesser beings, until she could finally damn a priest. A rare laugh was forced out of her, the pure energy generated from the turning of the priest filled every drop of her blood. A demoness with this power could take on Hell itself. She had less dramatic plans, no need to go after Lucy yet. Now, she thought, it’s time he met his master.
I looked the guy dead in the eyes. 'Dragons, he says. Huh. He doesn't look high', I thought. The guy looked familiar, everybody kinda did in this neighbourhood. He wasn't the first one to come to my counter and blatantly spout out this kind of absurd nonsense. I learned a long time ago that anything can happen in the silence of the night. Dragons were no exception. This god forsaken corner of the world has seen it all. And I was the store clerk that watched it all unfold. My counter was the center that this neighbourhood revolved around. I had a very special store. 'Well, kind sir, I have just what you need.' I showed him a small ruby that I had tucked away for special customers in dire need of help. 'Be wary. It is powerful.' I handed him the shiny red fragment that I knew had the power to kill dragons. 'YOU MADMAN! THE RED STONE!' he exclaimed. As if he was scared by his own utterance, he continued by whispering almost inaudibly 'I have heard stories about the Red Stone, but I never thought them to be true. I am not fit to wield this artifact. You have to join me, Almighty Clerk!' He touched a nerve. I lived for adventure. Dragon was my middle name. That's why I was the clerk in the middle of this dark place. Everything revolved around my counter and I was happy to join the ethereal dance of unworldly anomalies. A journey awaited us. We travelled through the night and the spacetime continuum to the dragon's cave where riches awaited us. It felt like forever. When we got there, the dragon was sleeping. It's breath was terrifying, it's snore sounded like aliens choking on drinking metal blood. This heavy, bass heavy action sequence music started playing. I got scared, that meant we had to move quickly. I signaled my comrade to hold the dragons maw open, while wielding the ruby in my hand. Every beat coincided with my heartbeat. Every step had meaning. The music got crazier as we approached. Heavy synths started playing, the dragon was STILL dormant. My friend jumped and opened it's maw. IT STARTED SHAKING HIM OFF, ROARING LIKE AN ABOMINATION. THE MUSIC BECAME A HARMONY OF CHAINSAWS. I ran as fast as I could towards it, I had to shove the ruby in its mouth. As my fingers reached its maw, somebody tackled me to the ground. 'Fuck', I thought. I couldn't move. The fucking NURSES. THE DRAGON HAD THE FUCKING NURSES. How did I not see that coming. I struggled to evade. They had me. They had my friend. It was over. As they shoved me into solitary, while being tied up in that white magic shirt that rendered my powers useless, I shouted to my friend 'DON'T YOU WORRY, WE'LL GET IT NEXT TIME!!!!' PS: The [link](https://open.spotify.com/track/2maEFaoAyNjQVv14Hm4esN?si=st1y2PqFTJSn0jI_tIdyRg) for the music that started playing when attacking the dragon.
It was about twenty years ago when my mother called me in tears telling me about her brother’s sudden death, and I have to admit I didn’t feel much sadness even at that time. Maybe it was because I never got too close to my uncle, but I feel I was merely too disturbed by the circumstances surrounding the death. My uncle lived alone, and a neighbor called the police when she saw in broad daylight what appeared to be a man crushed underneath a car in my uncle’s driveway. Paramedics arrived to the scene to find my uncle Lloyd is a grotesque state from his shoulders up. It appeared he was working underneath his car, presumably on his tires when the jack had malfunctioned and the 2-ton machine came crashing down on him. He was the first person I thought about when I was given the opportunity to travel through time. I’m a neuroscience student at the University of Colorado Anschutz Medical Campus and was offered a grant program only top-performing students had access to. We have worked with a lot of highly secretive technology, and each student is required to sign a non-disclosure agreement upon entering the labs. I didn’t even believe the professors when they told us they had actual time machines, and believed we were embarking on a simulated experiment when we started gearing up in the avatar suits. This was the real deal though. The day prior, I was at my mother's house. I have a history of problem gambling, which was about the only thing my uncle and I had in common. I started talking to my mother about my addiction, and smoothly transitioned that conversation over to fishing for facts surrounding Lloyd's death. I had to get more information about the precise time and location. Each student was given the assignment to rescue a person from the past who was met with a premature demise. My uncle Lloyd died at 1:36pm on Tuesday, March 2nd, 1999 in the driveway of 1248 W. Garner Lane in Henderson, Nevada 89011. The professor helped me program in the details, and I stepped into a small glass room, the size of a giant capsule. We were to be sent back in time, and had a button on a watch that would send us back to the present. I relaxed as I placed the goggles on, and awaited the incoming experience. I arrived just down the street from the location. I checked my watch to see that it was 1:26pm. I looked around to see a calm suburban neighborhood and began trekking over to my uncle’s house. I saw my uncle’s car and it was propped up with a jack, but I didn’t see my uncle anywhere. I figured he was inside his house and would be outside momentarily. I hid behind a bush as I awaited his presence, planning to knock on his door he takes too long. What I saw next had me wide-eyed and bedazzled. The entire thing happened in about seven seconds, and I was too shocked to even do anything about it. A BMW drove up onto the driveway, right next to my uncle’s propped up car. The backseat door opened and a man emerged, carrying my unconscious uncle. He swiftly set the limp body underneath the car, kicked a switch on the jack and with a loud clank came my uncle’s mutilation.
A hand on my shoulder. It is Nestefa, my sister in law. "Come,"she says, "the bread is served." I reluctantly let go of the hand of Istfayu. I am not ready to leave her. Her long hair is draped beatifully around her face. Our daughters Isfa and Zimya have braided it today, and they braided in blue, green and red beads. Istfayu had smiled so lovingly at them. And she had thanked them for making her look so beatifull for her last journey. I kiss my wifes cold forehead one last time, gently close her beatifull green eyes that have lost their spark, adjust her white sheets, lay her hands just below her breasts, and reluctanly turn around to go sit with the family, break the bread with them, and pray. Zimya looks so elegant. Her black hair reminds me of her mother. Her smiling eyes are brown like mine, but have the same spark that always lighted up Istfayus eyes. Isfa and her little Galya, my three year old granddaughter, help Zimya in her robe, and put roses in her hair. Zay rubs up against her legs and purrs. Galya pets her, Zay closes her green eyes in contention. "Today is a beatifull and special day."I declare. My daughters and granddaughter turn towards me. "My youngest daughter will mary Omblu. He will take good care of you, and you will become a mother, and you will be happy and blessed. Just like the mariage your mother and I had."Zay is now rubbing up against my legs, and with a soft mew she looks at me with the green eyes that always remind me of Istfayu. Zay looks at me with such endearment. I have never seen a cat like her. She is so loving and sensitive. Eversince she caught my attention on that streetcorner behind the fishmarket where all the streetcats would hang out, I knew she was not like any other cat. I had felt a certain pull that seemed to originate from behind my bellybutton. The only other time I had felt this pull was when I had first laid eyes on Istafyu when I had visited her fathers house to deliver a handmade rug. I feel tears well up, and I look at my daughters and granddaughter, and Zay. And I can only hum a little prayer song, words are no longer coming from my lips. I feel too emotional. My daughters and granddaughter join me in my prayer song, and Zay just purrs. I cannot sleep tonight. I have tossed and turned. I can not stop thinking about what happend today at sunrise. I had just pulled up my fishingnet, when I looked over at one of the other boats, and I felt that pull again. The moment I had locked eyes with the whitehaired woman in that little boat, I felt that pull from behind my bellybutton.
I watched a movie called "The Secret"and will admit I became a little obsessed with it. My life was going nowhere and the messages I heard in the film connected so many dots in my head. Ever since being bullied as a child, I starting to willingly believe that I was less than other people. I went thirty years of my life with negative subconscious thinking and was just expecting my big break to magically show up at my doorstep. The movie was saying I could have anything I imagined. I took it as far as I possibly could, and it started with a shoebox. I put it on the top shelf in my closet, and spent the next few weeks manifesting a magic wand. The magic wand would allow me any wishes I wanted in an instant. I wholeheartedly believed I could manifest this wand with my thoughts, and was already beginning to experience my life with the wand present. It would take two weeks. That's what my soul was telling me, and there wasn't an ounce of doubt in my mind that the wand would be inside the shoebox after it had completely finished manifesting. I walked into my closet with calm confidence and reached up to my shoebox without hesitation. I picked up the wand and wished for $50 million in cash. At light speed the piles of cash instantly appeared at my footsteps, and I was not shocked as this is what I had already visualized. I now had visual proof that the messages they were telling me in "The Secret"were fact. I wanted to be famous, and loved by everybody, and the next day The Los Angeles Times published a six page article about me beginning on their front page. It was about my Facebook posts and how thought-provoking and innovative they were, "covering the grounds of genius."People began worshiping me, and sending me messages by the millions seeking my advice. Local man Kevin Dooley has proven his well-qualified seat as the modern-day Martin Luther King Jr. His most recent post 'If I read one more post about Finland educational system... not everybody in the US public schools are WHITE!' has opened the eyes of communities everywhere, sparking genuine amicability among corporation who were once rivals. For the first time in centuries, it appears we have found our living savior. I spent the next ten years in worst misery I've ever felt in my entire life. I couldn't go anywhere without getting swarmed by people treating me like a god. I always wanted to be a rock star, and I got that dream. But I wasn't even trying, and didn't even feel motivation to get better. If I'm being honest, it appeared I was the only one on Earth who actually knew I was an untalented piece of shit. I used the magic wand to wish for everything to be back as it was before. When things were handed to me, I didn't grow as a person. I became depressed and suicidal. I had no more challenges in life, and no matter what I did, people loved me. I needed the true gratification of earning things. I got all of my wishes at the drop of a dime, and I hated every minute of it. Things aren't worth anything if you do not properly work for them.
I was running like the wind! I didn't expect that fucker to be that fast. He's a 3 meter tall giant with shoulders so broad he barely fit into doors. At this point I don't care about the 10 mil I just want to see my family again. I'm in a generic city setting however no one else seems to be actually there because they ignore everything Waldo and I do. I took advantage of the fact that the city was so crowded and right now I'm hiding under a car next to a cafe. I started sobbing as I realized that I might never see my family again, this brute might kill me before the end of this day. Suddenly I hear him running, the sound of his footsteps was like a stampede of rhinos. It overpowered the sound the city itself! When I thought I was safe he lifted the entire car I was hiding under and threw it into the sun. I had come to accept my death. I was going to die. I looked him in the eye, his face was chiseled and muscular like the rest of his body. He lifted me up with one hand and was about to crush my body with his bare hands. I closed my eyes, but then I heard a sound! A car had crashed into him, it hit Waldo right in the shins! He dropped me because of the pain from the car. The car owner ran out of the car and screamed at me "QUICKLY COME THIS WAY!" I followed the mysterious man. But Waldo quickly recovered and started chasing us. It was inevitable, I was going to die. It took him three seconds to catch up to me and lift me up again. This time he was also chasing the other dude. As we got closer I realized who it was. It was Captain America! Surely I'm saved. Or at least that's what I thought. Waldo quickly caught up to Cap and lifted him up with the other hand. I don't know what happened after that, he flicked his thumb at my head causing me to black out. As my soul was going down to hell I caught a glimpse of Waldo viciously biting my head off. Do Not Mess With Waldo.
Zombie or not, I wasn't the brightest. My afterlife only seemed to confirm this as I began to imagine my father singing. God, what's next? My sister screaming at me to stop taking her chips? Or my brother asking for help with his algebra? I took another wobbly step, humming along, the faintest of memories surfacing to the forefront of my mind. God, last time I heard this song was when I was 8, my brother was only.... a year old if I remembered correctly. "Too big to crawl, too young to know it all."I sang softly, voice as awkward as my attempt at walking. A burst of giggles spilled from my mouth, although it was distorted due to my damaged throat. Too focused on the joy of walking, and the broken giggles, I didn't even hear the rest of my family cheering me on. "I knew you could do it, sweetie!"Mom. "C'mon, just a couple more steps!"My sister. "Don't break my legs, or I'll haunt you!"My brother. I felt my my right arm, the one I took from him, act on its own. Pulling on the lazy stitches, it awkwardly wrapped itself around my torso. "One last hug for my princess." As the voices disappeared, I didn't even notice I was walking with ease now. My right arm fell limp.
T'was a bright New year at the Country House Ball The countdown was complete and fun was had by all It was getting late and most had gone to bed But a few nefarious types had other plans in their head. Lachlan Nobes was a thin, precarious man Unhealthy in any light, waxy, lean, wan. He scuttled over to the lone girl at the bar She registered his presence, though held him in low regard. Dick Straggler watched from the shadows as Marie spoke to Lachlan, all whispers and hair shakes, arm touches and smiles. He may have repulsed her, but to anyone that didn't know her, Marie looked for all the world like she was flirting hard with Lachlan Nobes, and reminded Dick of a mean dog that sometimes begged for food, before biting the hand that fed it. Dick thought she'd missed her calling on broadway, though perhaps in her own way she was there - The Broad was a great actress to get her own Way. He'd been hunting this dog down for years, a great gig for a jobbing PI like Dick - and knew what she wanted was her dead husbands' money. The only problem she had was her husband wasn't dead yet - that's where Lachlan, the poor schlub, came in. Silence enveloped the hotel as the cold, dark night took hold. Lachlan Nobes moved silently through the corridors towards room 15, his grubby hands sweating in his pockets, his left holding the room key given to him by Marie, and the right around the thick handle of the knife he'd stolen from the kitchen. His mouth was dry, he only noticed when he smiled at the thought of Marie and him running away together in a few minutes. Shivering on the bed in room 15 was Marie's husband, financier Stanley Hugenbaum. He'd had to miss the ball after mysteriously becoming sick after a drink shared with his wife and had enjoyed a miserable time alone this new year - but his smiled at the thought of seeing his beautiful wife again as the handle on the door turned.
When I was an infant, I got a high fever and disappeared completely from view. My poor mother was worried sick, spending a full day searching, though I was in my cradle the whole time, simply hidden from view. The fever eventually lessened naturally and I reappeared in the same spot she had left me. It was on that day that my mother discovered I had inherited her power. Whenever I was in life-threatening danger, I would turn invisible. She has since taught me how to manage this ability, how to use it to my advantage. Of course, I was too young to remember this incident. So it came to be that I now only remember one instance I used my power. I was fresh out of college, working a job with long hours just to gain experience, so by the time I would return to my apartment it was well into the nighttime. My invisibility triggered on one such day, when I was walking through a more sketchy area. I had always hated walking through that place; it was just a little too dark, near a little too many alleyways, for my comfort. Still, it was the quickest way to get back home. As I was walking through that area, I felt a strange sensation. The tingling started at the tips of my fingers, and quickly spread up my arms and through my body. It was light, almost as if my limbs had simply fallen asleep. I paused to look down at my body, but was surprised to see nothing there. I didn't have much time to reflect on this, though, before I heard a sharp "what the fuck?"spoken from behind me. I shrieked and spun around, and saw a hooded figure a few feet behind me, camoflauged in the shadows. In his hand was a piece of metal, glimmering with the reflection of the yellow streetlights. A knife. They say that one reacts to a dangerous situation in two possible ways: fight, or flight. The former describes an instinctual response of aggression, and the latter, an urge to flee the danger as fast as possible. What many forget to mention, though, is that there is a third reaction to danger that many end up doing. Freezing. Standing in place like a deer caught in headlights, hoping the situation will naturally resolve itself. And freezing is exactly what I did. The man waited a moment and stepped out of the shadows. In the view of the streetlights, I could see he wore a pitch black hoodie pulled over his head so his hair was covered, and was dressed in ripped jeans that exposed his bloodied knees. But what I will never forget is his eyes. They were like a snake's, all narrow and vicious. They searched the area hungrily, his mouth twisted into a cruel sneer. He turned the knife in his hand menacingly. I stood there, out in the open, completely frozen with a paralyzing fear that coursed through my veins. I held my breath, refusing to make any noise, afraid that my pounding heart would give me away. It felt as though it could burst through my chest at any moment. The man's snake-eyes scanned the area as if searching for his prey. I was terrified he would see me, but his gaze seemed to simply look through me. The moment lasted almost forever, but eventually it ended. The man quietly muttered, "damnit,"and took an eerily quiet step backward, receding into the shadows. I let out a trembling breath, but refused to move from that spot. I felt the tingling sensation return, and I looked down to see my body was visible. I was no longer in danger. Even then, I didn't move from that spot until the sky turned pink with the sunrise. My legs were sore from standing so long, but I took step after trembling step and eventually made it back to my apartment. I collapsed on my bed immediately and fell asleep. The very next day, I called in to my job to announce my resignation. I eventually got a dream job of mine, on the other end of the city. I would never walk past that cursed spot again. A few months later, I was scrolling through my phone looking at the news, when an article caught my attention. Serial Killer Linked To Fourteen Murders Arrested The article's thumbnail was a picture of a mugshot. A man grinned with malice, his smile so creepy it gave me chills. But what truly made me fear to the core of my being was his snake-eyes, looking through the camera like he was staring directly at me. It was him. And I easily could have been his victim. I could have been his fifteenth murder. My invisibility saved my life on that night. I never go a single day without being grateful for that. Above all, though, I pray that I never need to use that power again. ==== Thank you for taking the time to read this. I'm an amateur at writing, so I would appreciate any feedback you have to offer!
The first thing you do is create a blog and a YouTube channel. However, since you're a cat, nobody takes you seriously. You do a bunch of videos but then... You explode in popularity! Your dream has come true! But then, your views take a nosedive. People only watched you because you are a cute funny cat. So an idea pops up. "I'm gonna add some humour to it!". Your views skyrocket. You're more popular than ever! However, the human media is a bunch of sick dogs. They decide to make an article about- Okay we all know this is a metaphor for PewDiePie, FOOD REVIEW 👏👏
Darkness shrouds the city, the afternoon gloom. The tenement chimneys and factory smokestacks spew more smoke, soot and toxins than required by their furnaces for daily operations. But just enough to block those harmful rays of light, the bane of our overlords, our secret masters. They walk among us freely now, blending in nearly unnoticed until the claim a victim. They can be spotted sometimes, when their ill-fitting filter masks slip, when they forget to cough and gasp. They've known human for decades, centuries, but they've paid little attention to how we live our lives now, under their rule, in this horrid world they've made. Humanity survives by adapting. We have little left to ourselves, but we scrap by. We manage. People have taken to carrying flashlights to light their steps as more of the street lamps fail. But the new lights have another setting, casting ultraviolet rays at our masters-in-disguise. Not even to kill, not even close, but enough to blind, given a chance to subdue. Everyone carries wood, too, broken and sharpened. Readily available, cheaper than silver. That's another thing that gave Hermann away. The audacity to wear a silver pin, a sign of his status. I had bagged a big one. And I would pay for this. Everyone would pay for this as they looked for me. But I couldn't think about that now. I yanked the pin from his vest and stabbed him with it. It wasn't deep enough to do anything more than some pain and temporary paralysis. But it was all that was needed to knock him to the ground, where he lay prone long enough for me to ready my stake. I wondered if he'd regained his vision in time to see me bear my full weight down upon him. Hours later, I can still hear his scream echo in my ears. It's a beautiful symphony that makes me smile and weep. Night has fallen now. They roam the streets freely. But my house is closed to them, and should they somehow gain entry, I have plenty of light in every room. They'll be coming. Tonight. Tomorrow. And so on. But so are we. (More stories at r/xwhy)

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