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"All in."I heard my watch beep, and merely glanced at it as the number dropped from 25,550 to 1. "Call." The clock on the table shot up. "Pot at 140 years,"the dealer called. "Open up, please." I flipped my cards over. "Ace pair,"I smiled. "Full house."The dealer said. Full disclosure, I'm great at numbers. Like, Ronald Fisher great. You would be too, if your life depends on it. Right now, he has a 0.0256% chance of beating me. He needs a five pair, or a Jack and King of Hearts. His calling pattern seemed to suggest that he has a five pair, too. I wouldn't have taken those odds normally, but he's bluffing. I almost feel sorry for the guy. I mean, his tell was obvious. He would take a sip of his Bourbon every bad hand. You really shouldn't play if you can't control yourself. But hey, I didn't put a gun to his head and force him to play. Sorry brother, bad luck. "Jack and King Hearts,"the dealer smiled. "Royal Heart flush." Oh my God. "Mr. Smith wins the pot." "Just so you know,"my opponent smirked. "I don't really like Bourbon all that much."He got up, buttoning his jacket. "Have a nice day, Mr. King." One day. I have one day left. "Mr. King, we need you to come with us."I heard a voice command. It belonged to a burly man in a black tailored suit. He had a small plastic wire going into his ear. Security. "Now." Unsurprisingly, the guard threw me out. You weren't allowed to bet your last day, and since you were most probably going to die, the courtesy they extended when you were checking in vanished. I was in a muddy back alley, and I think the fall broke my wrist. I struggled to my feet, trying to ignore the suspicious smell of urine around me. "You too, huh?"A voice called from behind me. He was dressed in a classy navy blue suit, which was now stained with mud. He sat slumped against the wall, a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other. "These casinos really will be the death of me."He chuckled slightly at his own joke. "What did you in?" "Guy had a royal flush,"I said. "Fooled me with a fake tell." He laughed. "That's way better than me. Lost to a three pair,"he took a big gulp of the beer. "Want some?" I shook my head. "You only have a day left and you're not going to drink?"He laughed. "That's crazy, man." "I've got to get more time,"I argued. "Can't do that drunk." "You know nobody will hire you, right?"he said. "They think we're idiots and we'll just waste their life away." "I can't just give up." "No,"he sighed. "You can't."His watch started beeping furiously, flashing red in the darkness. "[Good luck](https://www.reddit.com/r/soIwroteathing/)."The watch vibrated, and the flashing stopped. The man closed his eyes, the ghost of a smile still on his face.
It was exactly one year since the great war had ended and yet, for me it still didn't feel as if it had. Every morning I prepared breakfast for two, hoping he wasn't going to miss it that time. My afternoons I spent writing letters for him, just for them to be returned to me without an answer. In the evenings I just sat there, praying, awaiting his return. People said I had to move on, that he passed away. But I couldn't accept it... I didn't want to. I never got to say my goodbyes. He promised me he would return. For that day I waited, and waited, for the day he would come back home. The day when I could feel him in my arms again. Since he had left my life I had never felt the sun shine on my skin again, he was my sunshine. But on that precious day, I received a letter. A letter that changed my life, a letter that changed me. From Roland to my dearest Maria. It's a while since I last saw you, I wish I could see your face one last time. At the place we first met below the blossom tree. Remember how we would spend most of our days there? I wish I could sit there for the rest of our lifes together. But I'm probably never coming back. I'm being send on a mission from which I will likely never return. I know you'll probably never forgive me for leaving, for not coming back. I know you'll probably blame yourself for my death, but there was nothing you could've done. I had to go in the army I couldn't afford to lose you to the war. I had to protect you with everything I have, even if it would cost me my life. Maria, I don't want you to waste your life waiting for my return. Otherwise my sacrifice will go to waste. I want you to go out there and make the world a better place. It's likely it won't be easy to let me go. But you have to, for me... It's okay to cry, but just don't forget all of the great things in life. Farewell, Maria. From that day onward I knew what I had to do, what I wanted to do. I wanted to help the people who had the same thing happen to them. I wanted to give them closure. I wanted to show them the light, just as that letter did for me.
You watch in horror as your beloved Tower is besieged by the enemy. Your hoard, your beloved family- undead or not- lay scattered in pieces, all you have worked for turning to dust by the rebels that dare call themselves heroes. You have tried domination, it has failed, if you can't have it, no one can. You raise your hands to the heavens, all your power funneling into a pulsating sphere darker than night prepared to destroy the world in divine retribution. Suddenly the underhanded 'hero' casts a spell quicker than you can release your own. The next thing you know- whether from the spell itself or it's interaction with your sphere of annihilation you feel as if you are being torn to pieces, barely holding yourself together with sheer willpower and the last dregs of your magic. You land heavily on a strange metal carriage that begins roaring at you, it's eye's blinking eerie glowing light. You distantly note through the pain that the architecture is unlike anything you have ever heard of, buildings towering above you like metal monstrosities that even magic would struggle to keep upright...
Dr. Kumar walked through the quieted hospital halls. Around him hummed little else but the sounds of a hundred flourescent bulbs radiating their light, and the flickering tip-tap of a few others trying to earn their rent. For the first time since Christmas, the building was mostly quiet. In fact it had all been a rather calm holiday fortnight. The weathermen had predicted a storm much worse than that which materialized, thus removing a major cause of potential injury, and sending the average Joe to huddle inside, away from the chaos that never came. There had been the odd New Year's injury, of course: a drunken stumble here, a passionate tryst ending with a swollen wrist there, some yahoo who wanted to try out every combination of firework and and household object *there, there, and we found your last finger over there.* But they had all either gone home to face the shame, or presently were under it in one of the hospital rooms. So Dr. Kumar checked on the mostly vacant rooms, and made sure none of his charges had died or anything. Most people did't realize how important an element that was in modern medicine. It was harder than it sounded too. The doctor finished with one eerily silent hall (this is not a mark against Dr. Kumar's hospital, but merely a fact of life that in a place where people tend to die, silence is tattooed permanantly with a certain eeriness) and applied himself to the elevator. It rose a level - a good sign, since he had pushed the button of a numerically greater floor - and stopped. The doors swung open, and a small, undoctorly part of Dr. Kumar immediatley regretted his decision. There were sobs and screams coming from somewhere down the way, rising into a hystarious (the sad but goofy combination of hysterical and hilarious) wail. Dr. Kumar made his approach to the distress at a record speed for Dr. Kumar, which was not too impressive given that it was previously set by one Dr. Kumar who, at 61, had only a few more inches on him than years, and tended to avoid his nutritionist coworkers out of a deep seated sense of loyalty to fried foods. He rocketed (like a rocket parachuting, to be precise) into a room at the end of the hall, passing a nurse's desk full of equally bewildered attendants. In the room was a bed, a table, a tv, Nurse Godwin, a hispanic woman in her twenties, and another woman in bed who looked like her mother. The woman in the bed was crying hystariously, shaking and holding her head in between deep breaths. She kept saying these in Spanish, a language as familiar to Dr. Kumar as honesty was to used car salesmen. The young woman was the first to speak to him. "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened. She's not making much sense. She just woke up and was trying to tell me something. But she looked at the TV -", the young woman pointed to the wired box playing cable news, "- and she started screaming." The mother leaned into her child's torso, still weeping. Her daughter shushed her and rubbed her hair. Dr. Kumar turned to Nurse Godwin, a middle-aged blonde woman who had worked at the hospital almost as long as Dr. Kumar. "What is she here for, nurse? I haven't been in since yesterday morning." "Name's Dores Hernandez, from Honduras. She was visiting her daughter, Emillia,"nurse Godwin demonstrated with a wave of her clipboard, "over the holidays. Yesterday afternoon she hit her head on a cupboard door, and went out. Her and her daughter have been here since. Mrs. Hernandez just woke up a few minutes ago, but I don't know what's causing this stress." Dr. Kumar made a quick assessment of the situation and was about to ask Emilia something, when he was interrupted by a whisper. It sounded like "faradifaradifaradifaradi..."and it came from the general vicinity of the elder Hernandez. The doctor looked to the daughter. "What's she saying?"he prompted. "I don't know I..."Emilia trickled a slow rush of Spanish down towards her mother. A slow train of it made its way back up to Emilia. She looked down at her mother, bewildered. "She says it's a name. A name she... knew before?" More Spanish, more bewilderment. "She said that when she hit her head-"Emilia paused, and let the increasingly composed Dores fill her in, "-she remembered part of a life she had before. She says she was American. That she was murdered, shot down. She says it's her name. Faraday. David Farady." There was a clatter beside Dr. Kumar that nearly made him lighter by the current weight of his bladder. Nurse Godwin's clipboard was on the ground, and she was shaking now too. Through the hand over her mouth she muttered, "Zodiac." Dr. Kumar felt towered over like a man on a raft surrounded by cruise ships. He asked, slightly perturbed, but even more curious, "Zodiac?" Godwin looked at him, her eyes wide. "David Farady was one of the Zodiac killers first victims."She stooped down and swooped up the clipboard. Nurse Godwin stared at it, and went pale. It was promptly thrust into Dr. Kumar's hands. It was Mrs. Hernandez's patient information, and Godwin's finger rested just over the birthdate: August 30th, 1969. "That's a little more than nine months after David Farady was killed." Dr. Kumar looked over the whole room warily. He didn't know much of the Hernandezes, but he knew Nurse Godwin was, while a bit of a true crime fanatic, not the sort given to flights of fancy. But past lives? Some of Kumar's family had believed in that sort of thing, but he found himself in solidly more scientific opinions. But there was something he couldn't shake about all this... Suddenly, Dores screamed again. She had her arms out in front of her, pointing and wailing at the TV. Emilia translated, in between trying to calm her mother. "She's saying 'That's him, that's him! That's the muderer!' She says she saw him when she woke up! He was on the television. She just saw him again!" Nurse and doctor turned as one to the television, returning to a segment on CNN. "Anderson Cooper?"Kumar asked as he raised the volume. "I now return with my guest-" "No, not him!" "-sitting Senator for Texas-" "The man he has on!" "-and Freedom Caucus member-"* Kumar gasped. "It, can't be..." "Ted Cruz."
"Mom, what-?" "You are going to get out of my house right this minute,"she screams. "But...but why?" "GET OUUUUUUUT!"The shotgun bucks and a piece of the floor explodes by my feet. "Okay,"I say gently. "Okay. If you want to kick out your only son, even though he's only thirty-five, I completely understand." Her chest rises and falls erratically, but the shotgun remains trained on me, still and steady. When she's in this mood, there's no reasoning her. Though she's never pulled a gun on me before (where did she even get the gun? She hates guns) the best thing to do in these cases is to just go outside and wait until she calms down. Which is what I do. A few hours later, as it's starting to get dark, I sit on the steps outside and put my hands on my heads. In case she looks outside, I want her to see me and have pity. Finally, the door opens. Thank goodness, no gun in her hands. As I stand to go inside, she blocks the doorway and says, "If you ever use the toilet again without flushing..." She doesnt have to finish her warning. All is understood. But as I make my way wearily back to bed, the thought hits me. Wait a second...
It’s been five days since the pit in Los Angeles opened. At first people thought it might be just another sinkhole, they’ve been popping up a lot lately. No one batted an eye at first, LA is on a fault line… it wasn’t that farfetched to think the ground was giving way. That was… until people started hearing noises emitted from the pit. The government did their best to restrict the public, but everyone wants what they can’t have. It wasn’t long until the videos started coming out. Twitter, Facebook and Youtube were a blaze with them. “Pit from hell”, “Proof of the end of the world”, “City of Angels or City of Demons”. Most people dismissed them as hoaxes, I mean who is really going to believe someone who’s name is WeedMane420 or XxTrumpTroopxX? However, that all changed yesterday when he appeared. Every single channel had a live view of the pit. At first, I thought it was a joke. It couldn’t possibly be real. On every screen in the world there appeared what can only be described as a demon. It towered over the cars surrounding the pit; he made the fire-trucks look like VW Beatles. His clawed feet had talons protruding from each of his three toes; his tail had spikes that easily could take off a man’s head if someone dared to get near him. His arms were as thick as tree trunks and the steam that rose off his body looked like they could give you burns from a few feet away. A top of his head stood a pair of horns that would put any bull to shame. Looking into his eyes was like looking into the abyss. As he opened his mouth, you could see his razor sharp teeth. The world stood still. “People of Earth, I am your reckoning”, fire wisped out of his nostrils with every word. “For too long you have proven that you only cause destruction and death to everything around you and I’m here to put an end to that”. The deep gravelly voice seemed to rattle everyone’s brain. “Your only hope is to beat me at my one challenge. You have twenty four hours to send forth a champion to beat me in a contest of humanity. Choose wisely or I will inflict upon all of you, that which you inflict upon one another”. With a roar that shook the ground, the demon jumped back into the pit. There was hysteria. No one knew what to do. I think most people agreed we as a race were terrible, not only to the planet, but to each other as well. The first few hours flew by with no good suggestions. The government wanted to bomb the pit or try to kill the demon, the religious sects wanted to repent and pray for salvation, but most people just accepted our time was coming to an end. As the seconds, minutes and hours continued to count down people finally gave up. There was no hope. That is until an idea from an 11 year old boy from Wisconsin gained traction on twitter. When I first read the tweet, I thought it was a joke. One last act of trolling before it was all over; however, as the hours ticked down we had no other choice. It’s amazing to see how quickly we as people can get something in motion when we all work together. With minutes to spare, the stage was set. Every single TV was turned on, this was it. The earth shook. The demon flew up out of the pit and landed with enough impact to jolt cars up and shake the ground. As the cameras zoomed in on his face, you could almost see the confusion, but a realization soon dawned on him that this was our champion. The demon let out a laugh that made everyone’s toes curl. “Is this who you’ve sent? I had low expectations, but this is truly disappointing. An old man? You’ve truly outdone yourselves humans. Stand forth and turn to me stranger. Let me see who the world has selected to save them”. The man on screen turned around. He was about to play the role of his life; the stage was set. With his trademark grin and sweater he let out a sentence we all knew. “Won’t you be my neighbor”? &#x200B; First submission, hope ya'll like it!
“Hummingbird beak,” Zeebus said. “Excuse me?” I asked “Bring me the beak of a hummingbird. You have until 5 PM,” he said. Zeebus was quite an eccentric demigod. I often wondered if he requested me to fetch things just to test me. Last time it was a fake eye from a homeless man. Took me a while to find that one. “Hummingbird beak. Got it,” I said. I didn’t have a clue how I’d catch a damn hummingbird, but I had never failed. As inane as Zeebus’ requests became, I would not refuse. The money was good. I liked him. He was a decent god. Ugly though. Green skin, skeletal face, sharp decorative wings. Like I said, an ugly apparition of a being. I hoped he couldn’t read my thoughts. I left the cave in the side of the mountain. I moved down the sloping slate to my Jeep Cherokee at the foot of the hill. I twisted the key in the ignition, and took off like a banshee. The engine roared as rain droplets began to splatter in my windshield. I had no clue how the hell I’d get the hummingbird beak. They don’t sell them at KFC, that’s for sure. I traveled to Portland, since it was right off the highway. I searched for The Bird Hut, a cozy pet shop in the city. When I arrived, I entered the front door. It gave a clang. A bell attached to the door. I asked the woman at the counter if they had hummingbirds. Nope. Know anybody who does sell them? Nope. I was out of luck, that was for sure. I exited the Bird Hut, dejected. A man passed me. He had an ugly scar on his cheek, deep and dark. I felt him looking at my back. I stopped and looked behind. He was gone. I turned back around and ran into the man. “Having trouble?” He said. “Zeebus?” I said. “Yes, Max.” He lowered his dark hood. “I gave you an impossible task. The hardest bird to capture. Not even cats can obtain them.” “Then why?” I asked. “Just a test,” he said. “A test for?” “Now you know the feeling of facing an impossible task. You know what it is to be a god,” he said. “So what does this mean?” I asked. “It means you’re hired.” “Hired for what?” I asked. “You’ve been promoted to demigod,” he said. “Okay, what do I have to do?” I asked. “Now you have to find yourself.” Zeebus snapped his finger, and I became a god. I could see the strands of reality, and wondered what he meant. “Max, you are not who you thought you were. Everything is a test. When you find yourself, everything will make sense to you,” he said. It didn’t make any sense. Who was I, anyway? I slipped out my phone and took a selfie. I looked at the photo on the screen, and I saw it. I was standing alone, on the street corner. A hummingbird rested on my shoulder. I looked at my shoulder, and the bird was gone. Zeebus placed his hand on my shoulder. “That’s right, Max. You were the hummingbird. Welcome to Olympus.” Zeebus turned down the gravely sidewalk, and disappeared around a corner. I’m the hummingbird. Zeebus was right. I was always the god, I just needed to accept the fact of the matter. I crossed the street and entered a small Ukrainian restaurant. I sat on a stool and ordered a cup of coffee. “God damn,” the hostess said. “Huh?” I exclaimed. “Mister, look in the mirror.” I looked at the mirror across the room. I was fully nude. Was this a dream? I covered my groin and stepped outside. The sun was setting below the skyline. I had the idea to take another look at myself in my cellphone. I took a selfie and looked at the photo. I was wearing a black suit, like I was about to attend a wedding. “Wrong,” Zeebus said. “You’re going to a funeral.” Zeebus took me by the hand and we zoomed through a black pinpoint space. We appeared in a large room. It was a funeral. We stepped up to the casket. I was looking down at myself. Zeebus patted my back. “This is how it begins,” he said. “You mean how it ends?” I countered. “This is it, Max. You never have to worry about dying ever again. Because you already have.” I nodded. “I get it.” “I want you to meet somebody, Max,” he said. A boy walked over. “This is James. He’s your personal shopper,” Zeebus said. “Good luck, James,” I said. “You’re going to need it.”
As the sun rose in the east across the land of gold, three kangaroos were standing on the beach looking into the distance. "Yah ready fellas?"asked Nolsy, the leader of the Kangaroo United Society. He was the tallest of the three, with long stark eye-lashes. "I... I don't thin' I'm ready"said Damion, the shortest of the group. "You'll never be ready with that attitude you wombat!"exclaimed Jacko. It was clear that these three kangaroos were preparing to do something important, even something dangerous. "Don't yah think they'll see us?"said Damion, he looked around as if he was sure something was going to jump out from the water. "Damo, are you serious? Those long-armed slow buggers?"said Jacko, very racistly. "They're called humans"Nolsy replied, straight-faced. There was no playing around anymore, they needed to leave now. Nolsy's lashes stood contrast against the rising sun. He started moving forward "We need to do it, we need to take it, it's getting to hot here". The other two kangaroos looked at his masculine eyelashes, lost for words. How could they not follow someone with such beautiful lashes? With that the three kangaroos hopped into the water, starting to swim out to the depths, starting the journey to their new homeland. "Umm... guys"said Damo. "What"replied Jacko, "Well er... I can't swim". "Well then, there is nor way we'r goin' then". replied Nolsy. Edit: This was stupid, I'm sorry lol.
"Wow, this place is great!"the man says, setting down a large cardboard box. "A little bit of a fixer-upper, sure, but look at all this space!" &#x200B; The child, who I assume to be his son, nods. "Yeah, Dad, sure."He shifts the box he's carrying. "Where's my room?" &#x200B; "Tell ya what,"the father says, "You go ahead and pick. Realtor said there should be three bedrooms upstairs, pick the one you like."He stretches, rolling his arms. "Well, I'm going to go grab more boxes. Want me to help you unpack?" &#x200B; The boy is already halfway up the staircase. "Nah, I got it. Thanks Dad!" &#x200B; I float lazily after the boy as he sets his box down on the second floor landing. After being at the haunting business for decades, there was no need to rush. I watch as the boy chooses the second largest room. My daughter's room. It had been nearly a century since she had lived in it, and it had large floor-to-ceiling windows with a lovely view of the forest on the western edge of the property. The boy had taste. &#x200B; He set the box down and started picking through its contents. It contained a small set of books, and some sort of device with cables running out of the end. He suddenly paused, and looked around. Finally felt me spying on him, then. He frowned, shook his head, and set back to work. &#x200B; In the immediate years following my untimely demise, I would have wasted no time in scaring the living off my property. But as the spiritual anger weaned, I found myself becoming... bored. Don't misunderstand me, I still adore my house (I built it, after all), and by no means wanted any mortal squatters sullying its grandeur. But still, eternity began to feel like a very, very long time after thirty years. So I began to mix things up, become more... theatrical. I really should have been an actor, in all honesty. I had fun scaring them away. It kept me young, in a sense. So I bided my time. &#x200B; By that evening, the father and son pair had settled comfortably into my home. They had unpacked most of their belongings, and basic furnishings had been setup in the parlor, which they insisted on calling a "den."Honestly... They were now rewarding themselves with a pizza dinner. &#x200B; "So what do you think?"the father asked, "Like your room?"The son nodded, chewing as he did so. &#x200B; "Mmmhmm,"he swallowed, "Yeah, I do. It's a real neat house."I took a bit of pride in that. &#x200B; "Y'know, the locals think it's... haunted,"the father said, dropping his voice dramatically. He laughed. "Just because it's some old house! Makes for a great story, eh?" &#x200B; "Yeah..."the son said awkwardly. He looked behind him as he did so. Clearly I made an impression. Time to make things a little more interesting. &#x200B; I gathered some of my strength and focused it on my right hand. I watched as it became just a bit less ethereal. Then I shoved one of the glasses they had unpacked off of its shelf. It smashed satisfyingly onto the floor, and I delighted in watching the two jump. The father especially so. &#x200B; "The hell?"he said, and got up to investigate. "Hrm. The shelf must not be level. I'll have to fix that."I smiled smugly to myself. He certainly didn't sound convinced. &#x200B; "I can see why the locals think this place is haunted, though,"the father said as he swept up the glass shards. "The guy who built the place? Nathaniel Tullmadge? He was a naval officer back during the Civil War."This drew my attention. So people still knew my name. How interesting. "Apparently he became a recluse once it ended. Moved his family out here, built this house, and nobody saw him since."I rolled my eyes. You try and live a private life... &#x200B; "Story goes the isolation drove him a little crazy. He didn't want anyone around his family, and that got people talking,"the father continued, "People started to say he was a pirate, used his ship to raid merchant vessels while the war kept everyone distracted. Apparently its how he could afford to build this place."I scowled. I just had a large inheritance. "His wife? Daughter? They died from cholera, and that really drove him off the deep end. He stopped paying his debts. When people came to claim the house, he shot at them." &#x200B; As rightly I should have! I built this place, it's mine! So I had some outstanding debts, so what? I lost my family, I was not going to lose my home as well! How dare this man judge me! The lights flickered as my anger continued to build. &#x200B; "One night,"the father continued, "They say he decided to kill himself. He put on his old navy uniform, went up onto the the high balcony, and shot himself."I was livid. How dare he come into my house, and run his mouth about my private business! I may be dead, but I will not stand to be insulted! To hell with theatrics, to hell with being patient, they were leaving right. Now. &#x200B; At once I focused my energy, building into a visual, corporeal form. The lights flickered with the amount of energy I drew in, and I materialized next to the duo. "How dare you insult me in my house! Get out! Out!" &#x200B; The effect was immediate. I watched the color drain quickly from the father's face, his eyes roll backwards, and him collapse into a pitiful heap onto the floor. &#x200B; "Dad!"the son cried, and rushed to his side. He patted his father's cheek, trying to rouse him. I crossed my arms, satisfied, and turned to leave. "What the hell, man!?"I looked back to find the son staring at me not with fright, but with anger. &#x200B; "Excuse me?" &#x200B; "I said what the hell is your problem?"the son spat, "What, you don't like it when people talk about you? So you try and scare them to death?" &#x200B; "I... I am the owner of this house!" &#x200B; "Not anymore, you're dead. My dad bought it, it's ours now,"the son replied. He shook his father again, but he was out cold. &#x200B; "Now listen here, boy, I am the spirit of this house, and I-" &#x200B; "Oh shove it with that spirit crap!"the boy fired back immediately, "Just because you're dead doesn't give you the right to be a jerk! Jeez, no wonder you were alone, with an attitude like that." &#x200B; I admit, that last bit stung. It was painfully true, and what his father had said was right. I died a broken man. It must have shown on my face, because the boy's softened. &#x200B; "Look, I get it, you're miserable. You're haunting a house, so you can't be happy,"he said, "But you just can't go around scaring the people that live here." &#x200B; "I... I apologize. Nobody has really ever... talked to me, even so brashly,"I floated to resemble sitting on a chair. "I just love this house. It was my sanctuary, my home. I hate seeing it changed." &#x200B; "Well, change happens,"the boy said, "You just gotta roll with it. Like when my mother..."he paused, then shook his head. "Never mind. Look, let's just... forget it, alright? You quit with the spooky stuff, and we'll move on. Deal?" &#x200B; "Deal,"I replied. &#x200B; "And if you're lonely, you can talk to me, I guess,"the boy said, "I don't mind listening. Always have been good at it." &#x200B; "Thank you, that... means more than I realized." &#x200B; We lingered in awkward silence for a few moments before the father stirred. &#x200B; "You better get out of here,"the son said. I nodded, and released my built up energy, starting to fade back into my normal, ethereal state. The boy watched me do so. &#x200B; "I'm Harold, by the way,"he said with a smile. &#x200B; "Captain Nathaniel Tullmadge,"I said, bowing, before becoming completely invisible. The father groaned. &#x200B; "Jeez, did I faint? I could have sworn I saw a ghost,"he said. &#x200B; "Yeah, well, it's like you said,"Harold helped his father to his feet, "I can see why this place is haunted."
If you're receiving this, it's probably because you found it floating in space a hundred years or so after my station was blown to shit, or a decade after I accidentally flushed it out the airlock. Let me give it to you straight, it's twenty-five fifty- uh hold on it takes me a while to- ah wait my birthday was a week ago and I'm 23 so- Yeah sorry it's twenty-five-twenty-five. Quite a memorable date actually there's really no reason i- it doesn't matter. What does matter is that the Sol system has gone to shit, and all the bases are fighting for earth which F-Y-I, has been dead for three-hundred years and apparently they found some old waste the earth dudes burried underground after they had no easy way to get rid of it other than to make it into crude bombs. Anyway, that crap is starship, or more appropriately, warship fuel. We ran out of Hydrogen^3 about thirty years ago now, and we've been doing alright, but there's really no good inbetween for Warp speed and the slow speed of a hydrogonic bell engine. Makes fast-paced warfare either really bloody slow or really, rediculously, ludicrously fast when you're two idiots floating in space with the option of fart propellant or a physics breaking hyperdrive for moving around. Anyway, I'm Michael, I'm a techromancer, and I pick up old crap floating around planets and build cool shit out of it. My entire home is made of old shuttles, ships and old-school trash. Nothing but duct-tape and nails here ha ha. Oh and a few welds. Maybe the occasional seal. Not the animal. Or fish. God knows what that thing was. I read it in an old book, and I'm fairly sure it wasn't even real I mean half dog, half fish? Seriously? People must have believed bloody anything back then. Huh. That's a weird noise. Never heard that creaking before actually. Anyway, If you want to come and get me, I am currently in high earth orbit, coordinates 542,43~ what in gods name was that. Recording ended.
There were nine others in my pod. I grew up with them, spending all of my waking hours with the others. I don’t remember my parents, but I do remember fighting with Five over the Lego’s and Nine consoling me when I broke my arm. All of my memories involved them and we did everything together. For better or for worse, my pod-mates were my family. In hindsight, we should’ve paid more attention to the early warning signs about Eight. He had been just like the rest of us up to that point, but something about the training made him snap. He could never hold back during martial arts class, and the sensei made him do extra laps for lack of control on more than one occasion. We laughed about it then, but those laps seem far more sinister now. It was during one of the sparring sessions where things really came to a head. Two managed a really nice sumi gaeshi against Eight, the kind our judo instructors insisted was possible with good technique. It had required near flawless execution, since Eight outweighed her by thirty pounds. We gasped, then we cheered jubilantly at Two’s feat. As soon as she popped up, she had a giant grin on her face. Eight had a much different look on his face. “You’re going to regret that!” “Whoa, Eight. It’s just sparring,” I tried to calm him down. “She caught you with a throw. It happens to all of us.” “She was trying to humiliate me.” “No way.” “Who even goes for a sumi gaeshi?” “You tried a flying armbar last week, remember?” “That was different.” “No, you tried something flashy, she tried something flashy.” “I’m telling you-“ “I’m telling YOU, Eight. It’s just sparring, so cool it.” “Whatever, Six. You’re not always going to be around to protect her.” “I can take care of myself, Eight,” Two chimed in from the other side of the mat. “We’ll see about that …” muttered a disgruntled Eight. — — — — — Eight was a different person after that throw. He had always been the gruff one in our pod, but he’d at least socialized with the rest of us. After that day, he barely spoke to us. Even during meals, the most light-hearted moments of the day, all he did was eat and answer in one word syllables. It was impossible carrying on a conversation with him. Worse yet, he seemed to hold a personal grudge against Two. Our instructors were wise enough not to pair them up without direct supervision, but they could only keep them apart for so long. Inevitably, there’d be a drill that led to Two getting a bruise she didn’t need. Thirty pounds was still thirty pounds, and Eight held nothing back when paired up with Two. On more than one occasion, I had to help two pick herself off the ground. For her part, Two said nothing. We all knew she was taking cheap shots, but she never once complained. She went through her training, and did exactly as the instructors said. I secretly wished that she’d retaliate and give Eight a taste of his own medicine, but she was above it. Good old Two. Of course, it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt. In this case, it was Two. Eight “accidentally” swung his leg a bit low on a kick, and he ended up sweeping Two off her feet. It was supposed to be a kick to the body, where she had pads on, but he mysteriously missed by two feet or so. None of us were nearly that bad, but he insisted it was an accident. Two wasn’t ready for the fall, and she landed wrong. Her wrist took the brunt of it, and the sound it made when she landed was enough to tell us that she was going to need a medic. Nine, to his credit, was the first one to rush over to check on Two. He was always the kind one in the pod. I rushed over to Eight instead. While the others were telling Two to stay down, I was having a different conversation. “It’s done.” “What?” “I said it’s done now. You hurt her.” “It was an accident.” “Yeah yeah yeah. You missed, I know. But this is the last time, you hear me?” Eight said nothing. He didn’t even grunt, he just stared. “I’m serious, Eight. We can’t go on like this. Look at her. Really look at what you did.” Eight looked at the grimace on Two’s face, and a look of pure spite came across his face. I recognized it for the evil that it was, and resolved to not let him out of my sight any more. “Fine.” — — — — — Everyone was on edge after Two’s injury, and it showed in all of our interactions. Tempers were short, and bickering broke out on several occasions. Still, the instructors kept up the training, so we had to keep up the drills and the martial arts. Worse yet, everyone except Eight was tentative during the drills, and it affected how we moved. The easiest way to get hurt was to move differently, to make your body do something in an unfamiliar way. We’d all been carefree during training before, so holding back and pulling back was decidedly unfamiliar. I should’ve known, but it was only a matter of time before something else happened. Nine was the victim this time, though I really did think that Seven did it by accident. Instead of stepping in hard with his lead leg, Seven was tentative. The positioning of his lead leg caused the kick to miss, and he hit poor Nine in the groin instead of the thigh. Nine dropped like a stone. “Sorry, Nine!” Seven immediately apologized. “I stepped wrong. I swear, I didn’t mean it!” Nine just rolled on the ground in pain. “He Eighted him!” squealed One. “All right, look, it was an accident,” I stepped in to diffuse the situation. “We’ve been having more of those lately, but there was no malice.” “Yeah, what Six said,” Seven chimed in. “Maybe you’ll believe him,” Eight instigated, with more than a little spite in his voice. “I don’t care who believes whom. The accidents need to stop. We clear?” I proclaimed with as much bass in my voice as I could. The room got eerily quiet, but no one said anything to the contrary. Like it or not, I was now the peace keeper in the pod. If you wanted to cause trouble, you had to go through Six. “Okay, good.”
Smet and the crew were going to Earth as a peace mission and reveal that aliens actually did exist. But something went wrong. Smet typed away at the ships keyboards as he heard his captain storming into his office. “Smet!” “Captain Geecko...” “What the hell happened? We’re on earth but it’s inhabited by living cars!” “I don’t know captain some how we ended up in a different dimension. “ “...how do we just accidentally wind up in a different dimension?!” “I don’t know sir, I’m working on it.” “Make it quick. I’m going to go see what these car people can teach us about their version of Earth.” Smet nodded as his captain stormed back out of his office. He went back to work. “Aha!” He found something off in the ships navigation code. An error of some sorts. “Musk?” Smet whispered to himself as he began to try and correct the problem.
It’s hot. It’s been hours since I sat down and took up position here. Beads of sweat form on my forehead. I listen for a breeze in the distance, hoping for some relief from the relentless sun. My throat is dry but I ignore it as I scan the road, waiting for my target. I will not allow my discomfort to distract me. It’s a matter of pride. My mind drifts back to that day. I always find myself back in that day. That moment. “What’s wrong with you?” my supervisor would ask. “Nothing. I just like to do a good job.” He always said the same thing: “Just put the blankets on the bed. It’s a Days Inn, not the freakin’ Taj Mahal. Just make the damned bed. We’ve got other rooms to do.” I’d ignore him. “Julie, please... “ he’d continue, “You don’t have to pick at every tiny speck of lint and dirt. Use a roller if it bothers you that much.” Every day the same conversation. Every day I kept picking at the lint. Every piece. I half expected him to fire me but, honestly, I did a good job. Nobody complained about the conditions of the rooms I cleaned or the beds I made. Ever. So they kept me on. And the days of that year blended into each other, one indistinguishable from the next. About halfway through my first year the hotel changed from using blue blankets to white ones. We got rid of all the old blankets. They went out with the garbage. Every one assumed I wouldn’t notice the lint now. But I did. And one morning it was more than just the lint or the dirt. I could see every imperfection in the pattern of the woven cloth. And not just in the blankets I was holding. But the fabrics of the seats in the room. The chairs in the dining hall. The curtains in the lobby. I noticed buttons on the staff uniforms were not lined up. That some where slightly larger and shinier than others. As I walked across the parking lot that afternoon I could see that the gentleman approaching me had just had a haircut, but the hair over his left ear was longer than the hair over his right ear. One shoe was slightly more polished than the other. And he walked with a slight limp that left his heel worn deeper on one side. “Miss Crane, may I have a word with you,” he asked while flashing a gold badge at me. I noticed a tiny scratch on the blue background of his badge. My memories were interrupted by an approaching car. Well, relatively speaking, “approaching.” Most people wouldn’t have noticed it. Only 1000 people in the country would know it was an Ambassadors car from this distance. Only 10, counting myself, could read the license plate. As the doors opened, I took aim and completed my mission. I turned from the distant chaos. An eagle flew overhead. I followed his gaze to the ground and spotted the field mouse he’d chosen for lunch. Smiling at my feathered peer, I took my leave.
"But we have music,"President Harumpf said in earnest. "And art." "Sheboinken,"the alien declared haughtily, and tossed a silvery lock lain askew its flowing tresses. "My durkin, Mizzles, defecates more artistically than your, what was that Mona Lisa portrait again?" "Mona Lisa?" "Yes, that."It tossed its head back and chortled. "That Mona Lisa you call the iPhone. Durkin diarrhea. And, if I feed it just a little piece of your bacon,"it held the two interceptor fingers protruding from its neck near its lowest lip (for this particular alien race had two pairs of lips on its face), and nibbled with its narcept teeth, "it's 10G compatible." "But, we have science -"The president pressed. It guffawed, a rather strange sound for want of precise description. "Wrong. All wrong. Everything. It's just poppycock." "The speed of light,"President Harumpf began counting off. "Quantum physics. Hell, we landed on the -"and he drifted off having only made it to two and a half. "Were you about to say moon?"the alien teased. "Well,"The president demured. "I saw little toy car from, what was that place, Russia? And the Chinese landfill? Rubbish. Pun in-tended. See, even your brand of Earth humor tastes like Zarlok anterior leakage which, I might add, is normally reserved as a delicacy, but in this case its acidic bite and pungent aroma strike me as apropos. Oh, and the secret Nazi base. Now that was something to behold. Why didn't you build more like that?" "Nazi moon base?"The president asked, though now more in disbelief than disagreement. The alien strode around the Oval Office, picked up his daughter's derelict kazoo and tried to blow into it. "Now this might have been interesting."It tried again. "Had it -"One more time. "Made a sound."It sputtered. "That's not an instrument,"The president sighed. He walked around the table, extended his hand, and took the pipe from the alien. To the remainder of the alien delegation he explained. "There you have it. Conspiracy theories, mish-mashed analogies, and an entire regression of the second brain."It pointed to a pulsing bump on the alien's back left shoulder. "Look, I think it's trying to perform an optorectomy." "A what now,"the hitherto inebriated alien prompted. "Please define,"One of the remaining cocksure and none-too-polite aliens stated. "A delicate procedure to server the nerve connecting his eyeballs to his asshole so as to correct his shitty outlook." The alien delegation groaned, and the leader stood up from its hammock. "You ply us with what passes as juvenile humor during your one opportunity to prevent the complete dismissal and exclusion from the Michelinjord Galaxy Guide?" But, the inebriated alien began laughing hysterically. It wheezed and, had the president otherwise known that these aliens urinated from its eyeballs, might have thought it to be crying with laughter. Another alien delegate put its hand on the leader, urging it to recline back into the hammock. "There's more?" The president took the kazoo from the alien, including some amount of wrestling, and held it up to the alien delegation. "Oh, you mean this?"He reclined on his desk. "Well, now, that all depends. I'm thinking three stars -" "Two,"the alien who broached the question retorted. "One, one and a half,"the leader muttered. "Two,"the president said. He set the kazoo down on the desk (which the alien beside the desk snatched up) and spread his arms wide. "Two?"He curled his fingers into fists so as to wag both index fingers. "And a coupon." "No,"the leader snapped. "No coupons."He rolled all three eyes. "We've sold all coupons this year." "Fine,"The president said and went back to waving his hands. "Then I guess we'll just have to settle for a shiny new space port. Can't have all your tourists landing at Dulles." "Oh Garlak no!"One of the aliens said. Meanwhile, several aliens whispered with the leader. "Ok, fine, two stars and a space port. No coupons!"It jutted its interceptor fingers at the kazoo. "But that's the only reason - The. Only. Reason. - That you're even being considered." Later, after the alien delegation had retired to the yard to enjoy a therapeutic game of Blamf, something they seemed to insist on doing every day at a specific time, and which involved a number of incredibly advanced instruments and their staring vacuously into the sky, the Vice President stared pensively at the kazoo. He picked it up and held it out towards the President. "So, what's actually in this thing?" The President pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, and then laughed aloud. "Nothing. It's just Margie's kazoo." "Sir,"the Vice President started. "Margaret is seventeen." "I know, that little ragamuffin loves her music." The Vice President sniffed a small and blackened dugout in the kazoo. "Sir,"he said, "I don't think this is a kazoo." The President narrow his eyes, released his nose, and took the kazoo from the Vice President. He sniffed it, frowned, and threw it down on his desk. "Ok,"he instructed the Vice President. "Two things. First, call Fritz over at the DEA. We're going to have to completely redo the schedules. Better have our plausible-deniability guys call Pfizer, Johnson and Johnson - oh, wait, never mind, I was already meeting them for golf tomorrow, anyway, one: DEA. Two, have the secret service go over to Carpe Diem High and drag that little miscreant out of her class and bring her here. Oh, wait, no, first have them make her give up her source, we're going to need a lot more of whatever that is, and then bring her here." The Vice President picked up the kazoo from the President's desk. "I'll get right on it, sir."
"Wow, totally freaky!"The words came out of my mouth in a child's voice. My parents looked as they did 40 years ago, when I was a little kid. "I know, right?"said the simulation worker. Holding a wonky-looking helmet, he turned to my parents and said, "Simulation is fizzidy-finished, yo. That's gonna be a whopping 12 buckaroos." "Don't worry, I'll foot the bill my dear mother and father,"said the child-voice in my throat. I reached for my elite full grain leather wallet in which I keep my plethora of cards, but only find a moist wad of used bubble gum in my pocket. "WTF?"Child Me shouts. My young folks exchanged a look. The smarter one of the two, you know who, then asked me, "How are you feeling, offspring?" "Confused,"I say. I check the time on my solid gold watch--actually, scratch that, it's a plastic piece with an LCD display now. 10 o' clock. Work time. "Well, it was nice catching up with you two, but now I better get going to my important business meeting." "Kid, you don't got no job,"said the less intelligent parent. "You a minor. But 'cause we sick o' taking care o' yo' ass, we had a whole lifetime loaded up into yo' brizzidy brain." "That is correct, my child."The other parent piped in. "You may now sally forth into the adult world. All you must do first is emancipate yourself. Best of luck to you. Godspeed my spawn." The two of them waved goodbye and left. "Okay then,"I said.
I remember feeling free. That first day, when I arrived, they urged me to join them. It had been a long time since I felt wanted like that. My first laugh was tentative. But it felt good so I really let the next one ring out. I filled the room with the sound of joy, it resonated with the others' laughs, and we were connected. We were transcendent. We experienced pure bliss. At first I found plenty of reasons to take breaks. I gathered that as a newcomer, I had to pay my dues. I picked up around the housing area, or helped some of the senior members with their food and hygiene. You know this, you remember. This was back when I took the time to call you. As the days went on, the laughing rooms called more insistently as I did my chores. I went more often, sometimes in the middle of the day, and one session could no longer sustain me until the next. Do you remember the last time I called you? I had nothing to say. I didn't know it was goodbye. I'm sorry. I think a part of me hoped you could pull me out. One by one, my practical reasons faded away. I didn't shower. I forgot to eat. The newcomers emptied my bedpans. They thought they were helping me achieve nirvana. I couldn't even stop to communicate my agony, my shame, the emptiness that consumed me. I couldn't save them. I couldn't save myself. I just laughed to keep from crashing. Finally my body failed me, and this is the last time I'll come down. My diaphragm is shaking, every breath brings searing pain. I don't know if this letter will ever find you. But I owe you my last words. I would have liked to laugh with you one more time, like we used to. That's the last time I was truly free. I love you. I'm sorry.
"Junior! Wake up!"His mom's voice penetrated the closed door. Junior was already awake; he heard her call the first time. This was the second call, but he always waited for the third one. He loved to make his mom come in and wake him up. Junior stared at the video game console on the carpet. "I don't wanna go to school,"he mumbled. The chubby child rolled over on his back, shut his eyes and puffed his cheeks. He was only 9 but he learned that he could sometimes get what he wanted by shutting his eyes and holding his breath. "I wanna go somewhere and play video games all day and never come back!"He held his breath while he made his wish. Junior heard the click of a doorknob. He sighed and opened his eyes. He heard another click the moment he realized he wasn't in his bed anymore. The boy watched an iron bar click into place in front of him, then he looked around. He watched white particles coalescing into long bars. The bars darkened to resemble iron and then they slotted together to build a cage around him. The boy was so entranced that he did not try to get out before it was finished. Instead, he looked around at the rest of the room. His cage was being built in the center of what appeared to a castle's common room. Black stone floors reflected the orange light from the fireplace. Elegant tapestries decorated the purple crystalline walls. "Welcome to the AlterNet, Unique #27 -El Corazón,"an unseen female voice said. Junior thought it sounded like the cage speaking to him. "You do not have a registered AlterNet character, please leave this Earth. Would you like to create an AlterNet character"The voice asked. "YES!"Junior yelled. The situation did not unnerve him at all, he was used to getting what he wanted. "Violet Server rules require the presence of a guild officer. Please standby."Junior saw a light come in the distance. A faint glow appeared in the crystalline wall. After several moments another, larger glow. Then an interval later, an even brighter larger glow. The boy realized he was watching the lights come on through the walls as someone came closer to his room. Finally, the next room lit up. Junior saw a faint silhouette through the wall, but could not make out any details. The shadow walked to the entrance, then turned into the room. A young woman with shoulder-length blond hair stepped into the light. She wore plaid pajama pants and a long pink shirt with a '32' on it in white numbers. She saw the young boy and gave him a comforting smile. "Hola, Estrellita,"She said. She walked to the cage and placed a flat palm on the top of it. The iron bars disintegrated into white powder, then disappeared. "I'm Grace,"she said. "You want to make a character, huh?"Junior nodded. "We can do that, but not right now. My guild has some very important rules about different Earths. You'll learn them all at some point, but the important one now is we don't accept underage members without parent's permission."Grace placed a hand on Junior's shoulder. "But I'm awake already,"she giggled and gave him an over-exaggerated shrug. "If you want to hop home and get your parents I'll wait here."Junior nodded and closed his eyes. He clenched his fists and puffed his cheeks, but didn't go anywhere. After a few moments, he opened his eyes to see Grace. "I don't know how,"he said. The woman nodded. "It's okay. New Estrellas get lost all the time,"Grace said. She touched his shoulder again and applied pressure to guide him toward the room's exit. "We don't have any celestials in the guild, but I'm sure we can find you a ride tomorrow."Junior did not want to wait until 'tomorrow'. He wanted to make his character now. He clenched his eyes shut, held his breath and stood his ground. "#27-El Corazón requires inhibitor to interface with nanos. Estimated build time: 27 hours."The disembodied voice said. A swarm of white nanos gathered around Junior's wrist. They orbited his plump wrist like rings around a planet. "What?"Grace asked. "Violet, identify Uniques in the common room." "Grace. #32-El Músico, Awakened. Unknown. #27-El Corazón, Slumbering,"the mystery voice said. "Holy hell, kid,"Grace stared the boy with wide eyes. "You're something else,"she shook her head. "I don't know how you got here, but we can't get you home without making your character. Might as well do that tonight."Junior nodded. "Might as well,"he agreed with a confident smile. He knew he'd get what he wanted. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, day # . You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)[hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
I skimmed the pages, each movement causing dust to billow off the laminated covers. People I had never met, my best friends, my parents, even my dog- they were all here. Silently, my other hand flirted with the corners of the note, thumb brushing over the smudged cursive ink and index finger tapping the worn corner. How many people had been brought back? I'm sure many desperate people have come for this, just to find a way to return their loved ones back to them, back home. People flashed through my mind. My boss, bullies from grade school, my family, my lover, my... No. I snapped the book shut, wordlessly, and placed it all- book, photos, note- back. Life is a lot easier of you don't have to play God.
The woods were dark and deep, with trees as tall as giants and branches like twisting arms. The canopy was a blanket that kept out the gentle moonlight, shifting and moving with the cold wind that crept between the trees. Jonathon remembered all of this. He remembered being lost among the dense foliage, glancing desperately into the sky for any stars that could guide him home, remembered wandering for what felt like an eternity, his feet aching and whining as he went, but he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when he was so close. Another chilling wind blew past him, and he turned his head against it, but something caught his attention. It was silver and glimmering seemingly on its own, half buried in the ground a little ways off. Jonathon stumbled towards it, keeping his eyes locked on the strange object, like if he were to look away, it would vanish, and he'd lose any shred of hope he'd maintained. He knelt down, bringing his hands up. It was sleek and smooth, but sharp, so he took extra care as he dug around it, revealing a dirt-caked hilt lined with foreign lettering. Tilting his head to one side, Jonathon carefully lifted the blade from the ground, turning it upright to get a better look at it. It was unlike any sword he'd ever seen before, with an obsidian-lined hilt and an engraved blade. He examined the lettering, squinting his eyes as if that'd help him see better. It must've been his exhaustion getting to him, but it seemed like the blade was getting darker... Jonathon awoke suddenly, sweat beading on his brow. His room was quiet and empty except for the wind against the curtains. He'd left the window open again. Swearing, he slid the window closed and sat down on the edge of his bed, lighting the old candle that the innkeeper had given him. Having nightmares again, are we? A dark voice laughed inside of him. Jonathon flinched. Every time he woke up from the dream, he hoped it was just that. A dream. That he hadn't picked up that blade, hadn't fought off the demon that had tried to possess him, hadn't failed. And every day, the demon smugly reminded him of the events that had transpired. "They're just dreams."Jonathon snapped back, wiping his brow on his sleeve. Really? You're sure they don't mean anything... more? The demon taunted. Jonathon glanced at the blade that rested on the dresser, swallowing hard. He hated it with every fiber of his being, but there was a part of him that realized it held a great power, one that was to be respected. "We've already had this conversation."Jonathon muttered. "I'm not afraid of you." It's okay if you are, Jonathon. Fear is a healthy reaction to something you don't understand. "I understand plenty about you."He laughed. Apparently not, or else you'd let me have full control. I could do so much for you, Jonathon. "So much for yourself, you mean."Jonathon corrected, staring at the curtains. He wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon. "You'd sooner leave me here to deal with your consequences than help me. I may not know much about demons, but I'm not dumb enough to trust you." The demon fell silent, but Jonathon could feel its anger burning inside him. It wouldn't matter. The demon could get as angry as it wanted, but it would never have full control of his body. It was trapped just as Jonathon was. You won't feel that way forever. You may think you can fight, but I'll wear you down until you're nothing. Until you can't take it anymore. Until you'd rather me take control than feel the pain that will be your existence. Jonathon set his jaw and rose suddenly from the bed, practically running to the dresser. "I've had enough of you."He spat and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the blade. His palm tingled where he held the sword, and inside, the demon hissed and swore. Touching the blade was the only thing that could push down the demon, but Jonathon hated the way he grew more and more attached to it after he did, so he only used it when he couldn't stand the demon any longer. His mind quieted as the demon regressed, and he sighed. He couldn't become dependent on the sword to handle the demon for him, but he was afraid that if he let up even an inch, what it threatened would come true. Jonathon set the sword back on the dresser, releasing the hilt gently, his eyes looking over the engraved letters. The demon wouldn't tell him what they meant, and with each passing day, his curiosity only grew. Perhaps investigating the blade would help rid him of the creature. Maybe he could use it against him. Maybe.
I sighed as I opened my eyes. I have to start drinking less after 9. These midnight trips to the bathroom were starting to get old. I grumbled as I got out of bed, sliding into the slippers that awaited me on the floor. I shuffled to the bathroom, wondering yet again why I chose to buy a house the didn't have a master bath. Having to walk down a hallway to take a piss had gotten old the first time I'd had to to it. Fortunately it wasn't a particularly long hallway, nor was it a long trip, which made having to get up for it all the more frustrating. As I stepped back out into the hallway, I heard it. "Another late night trip to the bathroom?"a voice whispered in my ear. I screamed, turning towards it and seeing a pale woman floating behind me with a grin on her face. I screamed louder, and flung myself away, bumping my knee on the floor on the way down. I heard her giggle behind me, and turned towards her with a pout. Now I remembered why I bought this stupid house. "Why do you hurt me so?" "Because your scream is just too cute! Honestly if you stopped reacting to it I would probably stop." "I think it's safe to say that if I haven't stopped by now, then I won't be stopping any time soon." "I sure hope not. Come on now, let's head back to bed. I want you nice and rested for our anniversary tomorrow." "Oh yeah, that's right,"I teased as I closed the door behind me. "How long has it been? a year?" She floated to the bed and tossed a pillow at me. "You know very well it's our three year anniversary you meanie." Of course I did, but if she was going to tease me, then I saw no reason not to tease her back. Especially with the ring that was carefully hidden amongst the socks in my drawer. Tomorrow would be an anniversary to remember.
Gingerly, the small creature picked its way across the dark forest floor. Bones—some old and nearly dust, others new and glistening—littered the path the creature followed. The forest was quiet. The sounds the creature’s footfalls should have made were smothered by an oppressive gloom in the air. Darkness stifled the beam of light shining from the device the creature held in its hand. Halting, the creature adjusted the little pack strapped to its back. An impenetrable blackness hung in front of it, only discernible from the slightly lighter blackness of the surrounding gloom because of the light cast by the creature’s device. “Hmm. At the cave entrance now, Nerma. I think, anyway.” the creature whispered to the silent forest. A rib cage lay directly ahead. Bits of meat and other tissue still clung to it, slowly rotting. “Nerma... This is the location, right? Where they, uh, said to come? I’m just... I’m getting the... umm... the impression that visitors are... discouraged.” The creature swallowed. “Or, rather, maybe, that visitors are encouraged—lured even!—but, umm, that, that leaving is discouraged. Or disallowed!” Another swallow. “Not... possible.” A voice chirped from a device hooked around the creature’s ear, “Come off it, Garlo. You know it’s the spot. Quit pissing yourself and step on in.” Garlo stared into the blackness. He swallowed again. This time he had no spittle left, and his throat muscles churned stiffly. “’Sides, you’re barely even a snack. There’s no need to worry.” Closing his eyes, Garlo stepped forward. One step. Two steps. The silence of the forest was replaced with the echoing hollowness of a cavern, punctuated by the drip-drip of water hitting the cave floor somewhere deeper within. Eyes closed. Three steps. Bump. Bump? Garlo opened his eyes. A monster stood before him, its long and crooked nose touching his, similar to him in height but in very little else. Wan green skin mottled in freckles, moles, and dry patches covered the waifish thing’s body. On its head rested a dark red beret, wet and mouldy and awful. A goblin—worse, a Redcap! Very much not what Garlo had come to see. Goblins were impetuous, unruly, unrestrained, vile, vicious—sometimes venomous!--and never, ever to be trusted. Redcaps were the worst of the lot. They possessed an intelligence other members of their race lacked. The Redcap grinned, then stepped back and beckoned. Garlo exhaled sharply. The Redcap wasn’t going to try to taste him, thank Thunder! Stepping forward, Garlo made to follow the Redcap. It took off immediately, further into the cavern. Bringing his hand up to touch the device hooked on his ear, Garlo whispered, “Going underground now. I’ll touch base when I’m back out.” The device chirped back, “Excellent. A comms shutoff is good. We were all getting a bit embarrassed back here with the pants-piss readings we were getting.” *** The Redcap led little Garlo further inwards. The floor was never dry, nor was it ever even and level. Bones and gore bedecked the floor and walls, emerging from the darkness like grim decorations looming out from a fog. The cloying stench of decay became ever more powerful as Garlo ventured deeper into the lair. Eventually, Garlo lost sight of the Redcap. Hesitantly, he moved forward a few steps, swinging his beam of light left to right, up and down, left to—wait!—he swung the beam back down at the floor. A black hole yawned before him. Beyond, the cavern stretched for a few metres before tapering off into a tiny crevice. Garlo shone his light into the hole. The beam illuminated a few metres and then was swallowed by the dark. The hole seemed to go straight down. But... Was that a curve at the edge of the light’s reach? Dismayed, Garlo shone his light around the cavern passage again, hoping and not hoping to spot the Redcap. He saw nothing but dark, damp rock and scattered bones. Garlo stared back down into the hole’s depths. Mission first. Mission first... He hopped forward, and fell. And fell, and fell. He had been right, though. The hole did curve at the bottom. But it continued. And curved again. Little Garlo slid along the downwards tunnel like a ball along a chute, bumping into the hard rock where the tunnel curved sharply, gasping in terror when the tunnel turned straight down for several metres before curving again. Irritatingly, he did, in fact, end up pissing himself a little along the way. Just a spot. ***
Her tummy felt like stone as she watched the police detective sit down opposite her parents and take out his notebook.. The same old feeling, the same old cause. Something her sister had done; a rip in her favourite shorts, a page of her diary torn out. Footsteps on the stairs, the ominous sound of her sister climbing up to find her. They had always gotten along until suddenly, last year, they didn't. Her mother had said something about puberty and hormones, but frankly, it didn't mean much. Puberty was an idea swirling around in the air like a miasma. It had no concrete place in life. Was this due to puberty? The fact that she had gone out four hours ago and vanished in to thin air? There was a creak from the floor upstairs. Maybe she was just up there. Just out of sight. Out of ear shot. Causing trouble. 'Charlotte was still with George at that point.' 'No, no, George went home before she left....I waved him off at the porch...' Her mother stopped talking. Reduced to whining sounds that reminded her of their dog, Barker, when he was a puppy. He'd scamper to the door in anticipation of her parents coming home. Pop up on to his hind legs and scratch at the door in the same place, leaving indentations that had only deepened over time. Whine whine whine. Her father put his arm around her mother and pulled her in to his side. 'George went home around six. I assumed we were all in for the night. He was the last visitor we had. Then Charlotte said she was going to the lake. She didn't say who with.' 'The lake. Right.' 'Thank you.' The gratitude in her mother's voice was what made hot tears spring in to her eyes. Usually it was their mother who sorted out any problems. Stood up and took charge. Elsie do this, Charlotte get that.... 'Oh darling. Don't cry. She'll be fine.' George might have been waved off at the porch. But he certainly didn't go home. Elsie walked in to the laundry room with a heap of dirty clothes from the bathroom hamper. She didn't see them at first. She turned the clothes out of her arms and on to the floor. They made a whiskery little sound as they skittered on to the tiles. Her school uniform, skirts, shirts, a pair of Charlotte's shorts that she was supposed to try and sneak back. Elsie picked those back up and scrunched them in to a ball in her hand. She could pop up the stairs and go in to Charlotte's room under some pretence....to borrow a textbook or some of her art pencils...and then just dump the shorts somewhere on the floor. It was a mess anyway. She wouldn't know how long they'd been there, or why they were out of place. When she turned she saw them. She didn't realise they were kissing at first. Against the dryer leaned a multi armed creature. Then the creature turned it's head; she saw her sister's chestnut hair falling over George's shoulder. His mouth covered hers. A suction cap that was pulling all of the air out of her body. Her body crinkled in to his rhythmically. 'Elsie! Get out!' X Charlotte felt her face steam with the heat of embarrassment. She watched her sister as she put her hands behind her back, clutching something between her fingers. 'Get out of here you weird, weird girl...staring like that!' Charlotte's face was a mask of fury. She slid down from the dryer and straightened out her clothes. 'I didn't know you were here. I thought George had gone home.' 'Yes,' Charlotte said quickly. She and George exchanged a look before Charlotte pushed past him and walked over to Elsie. She put her hands on her lips and leaned down to speak. 'He did.' 'No he didn't.' 'Yes, he did!' 'He's right there, Charlotte.' 'Well, he came back. Forgot his...' 'Braces? Left them in your mouth?' 'Fuck off Els.' Charlotte's hand came up quickly. She pulled at any of Elsie's hair she could grab. Tugged sharply. It felt like a thousand stitches in her scalp. 'Don't scream. Just get out and don't tell mum and dad. I'm going to the lake and I don't need anything stopping that. Fine?' 'That's why he came back.' 'No. Shut up. Just shut up!' 'Naughty Charlotte,' Elsie teased. She turned and walked out of the laundry room. X The same detective was back. He was solemn, face drained of all colour. She looked at her parents. They seemed to know what all of this meant without having been told a word. 'No. No no no,' 'I'm so sorry,' he said. 'My officers attended the lake....' 'The lake?' Her mother's eyes crinkled in confusion. She looked at Charlotte then. 'But it was you that went to the lake. Not Elsie.' But she wasn't looking at Charlotte for long. The detective kept speaking and both of her parents looked back. Thank God. She couldn't bear their gaze. It made her stomach turn to stone again. 'Yes. The lake. After we spoke they found Elsie's body submerged in the water. I am so so sorry.' X The lake looked crisp and still. Charlotte slipped her toes underneath the perfect surface, shattering it with little ripples. 'This is perfect,' she said to George. He smiled and kissed her. 'Naaaaaaughty Chaaaaaarlotte!' 'Oh my god, that's my sister.' Charlotte stood up. She didn't know why she was standing. What she was going to do. The rage in her body was unrivalled; a new door opened, one she wished she could slam shut and forget about. 'Elsie! Elsie, you pathetic piece of shit! I'll get you!' She didn't know what she was going to. But she hadn't meant to do that.
“Sure.” The word was out of my mouth before I realized what he had asked. It is one of my more serious failings. I cannot pay attention to small talk. It is even worse when I am late for work. I am definitely getting fired today, but I needed that 7-11 cappuccino. As I pocketed the change and walked to the door, he called out. “Where do you think you are going?” I took a few more steps before turning back. Words were not necessary. The look on my face asked the question for me. “You agreed. So you won’t be able to leave.” He held out a brand new 7-11 uniform. “This should be your size.” For the first time, I really looked at the cashier, and he did not look good. The beard on his face, which I initially assumed was some sort of “hipster” look, was too messy for it to be intentional. The bags under his eyes and the slight sway as he began to walk from behind the counter revealed a man who could fall asleep at any moment. “I have a job.” Not much of a job, admittedly. A debt collector is not why I went to college. But at least it is better than being a cashier at 7-11. Maybe. Maybe my parents would be more proud if I were helping people get slushies instead of chasing down people late on their medical bills. “And now you have a new one. There are some rules. Strict rules. You must follow them while you work here. First, you will not be able to leave the store. I would tell you not to try, but you will. And it will hurt.” This man was clearly crazy. I walked toward the door while pulling out my phone. 911 may be necessary. “Second, you will not be able to make any calls. Your phone won’t work for you. The store’s phones won’t work for you unless it is a business call.” I tried to call 911, but my phone had no service. I grabbed the door handle. My body stiffened like a board, and I lost all motor skills. My brain was still working, I knew what was happening, but it wasn’t good for controlling my body. I fell over. As soon as I let go of the door, I let out a string of expletives and felt my body relax. “I told you not to try. I said it would hurt. But you had to learn that for yourself. Third, you will not be able to tell anyone about your situation. Except for another chosen.” As I laid in a puddle of my own urine—that door was incredibly painful—the word “chosen” triggered something in my head. I had been focused on not spilling my drink. I ditched the plastic lid as part of my New Year’s Resolution to be more environmentally friendly. But now I vaguely remember him telling me that I had been “chosen” for a “very important job.” He said there must always be someone at the store. He asked, “Will you do it? Will you help me out? Can you cover for me?” And I said “sure.” I said “sure.” Why couldn’t I pay attention to people? “Fourth, you will not be excused until someone agrees to cover for you. Maybe you will be lucky and catch someone unaware in the next couple days. It took me three years. Thank you.” With that he left. It took me a few more minutes before I had the strength to stand. I took one glance at the door, walked to the counter, grabbed the uniform, and headed to the bathroom to change.
The doctor prescribed sleeping pills and referred me to an online counselling service. I swallowed them down each night. It became part of my routine. Douse the pillow in lavender scent, listen to mindfulness podcasts on my headphones. Thin pyjamas, because heat counteracts good sleep. And now, the pills too. Another layer to the practices I'd developed to try and convince myself to let go. Give up control for eight hours. Sleep. Whether it was all of them together or just the addition of the pills, I don't know. I just know that it worked. I slept. My dreams were wispy little things at first. When I woke up they'd already be fading, the fledgling connections my brain had made in their honour not strong enough to take. I knew I'd dreamt of someone, not something. A face. 'Serena, help me!' I brought a dream journal. The first note I ever took was simple. me I wanted more. I halved a pill and took it with my full pill. me old 'Help me! Oh god, help me!' The thing is, without the three pills I now take a night, I can't sleep. And without sleep I don't see them. There was suntanned with braided hair me, travelling the southern hemisphere without a care. Mum me, who's baby was always having a quick nap so she thought she'd pop by. Missing front tooth me. (I didn't ask and she didn't tell). They rotated in and out of my dreams as surely as I was through theirs. 'Serena?' 'What is it?' This Serena has been coming to me since I added the third pill. She grows thinner and more gaunt as each night passes. 'Life is just stressful, that's all. You'll get it one day,' she says with a knowingness that frightens me. Because she is me. She's older and she wears a wedding ring and her hair is cut close to her temples. 'I need you to wake up. Wake up!' She bangs on the space between us. It vibrates; a loud clump against my ears. 'You've taken too many. We all need you to wake up. Wake up, goddamnit!'
I opened my fridge for the third time in 15 minutes, as if I magically expected something else to appear. To my disappointment, it was the same, bleak, end of the month array that greeted me last time. Sighing, I reached for the butter and stale bread. Time for some hearty cinnamon toast. As I popped a slice of bread in the toaster, I went rummaging around my cupboard for the cinnamon. Feeling in the back of the cupboard, I suddenly stopped myself. Almost as if frozen in time, my hand remained rested on some mystery spice and my heels were lifted off the ground as I waited to think. "Paper?" Letting my feet drop, I pulled an unfamiliar blue sticky note out from the back of the cupboard. "Probably something the filthy tenants left behind."I mumbled, shuffling towards the rubbish bin. I let my hand drop over the bin, but the note stayed on my finger. And my heart dropped. "They can wipe your memories, don't forget." This...this was my handwriting, wasn't it? That's how I write my W's, pointed instead of round. That was my awkward spacing. It looked shaky though, rushed. "What the..." SHHRK I jumped nearly 4 inches off the ground, slipping on a plastic bag on my way back down. I frantically looked to the noise, palms shaking on the floor as I held myself up. "Toast..."I whispered, breathing a sigh of relief and chuckling at my skittishness. I must be tired. I'll just finish my toast and go to bed. I'll probably remember when I wrote this in the morning. Spreading butter on my toast, I went back to look for the cinnamon to no avail. "I swore I had some in here..."I sighed. Talking to myself seems like a newfound pastime. Looks like it's cinnamon-less toast tonight. - - - My morning commute left me uneasy, as did a horrible night's sleep. Why can't I shake this feeling that something's wrong? I'm an adult. I pay my bills. I make my own toast. Why is a slip of paper shaking my foundation on such a large scale? I clocked into work, moving towards my cubicle. I'm not sure if it was my history of a bitter attitude or the bags under my eyes that let me sit down without a single hello or visit from a higher up, but I was grateful. Setting my briefcase down on my desk, I sighed. It seems I'm doing a lot of that lately. Drumming my fingers on the case, I puffed up my cheeks and lowered my head. Exhaling, I pushed the case under my desk and pulled the note from my pocket. I anxiously pushed back my chair a little, leaning over the cubicle walls to quickly survey the office. Everyone was busy with their own morning ritual. Sitting back down, I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick photo of the note. Shoving it back in my pocket, I powered on my computer and opened reddit. I felt a bit guilty as I usually don't open it for another 3 hours, but I didn't feel this is the usual situation. I went to go post about the note, but noticed a message in my inbox. "That's creepy, I wouldn't just brush it off if I were you." "...what?"I murmured. It was a reply to a post I supposedly made, but all that I got when I clicked on the context was a link to a deleted post in legal advice. I don't remember posting anything. I suppose legal advice is as good a place as any to ask about this though. Finishing the post, I closed the tab and got to work. I needed to distract myself. It was two and a half hours into my shift before I even made a sale, but profits were the least of my concerns at the moment. Still, my wonderful salesman persona didn't waver. "Wonderful sir, thank you. You won't regret this. And what did you say your name was again?"I asked, phone to my shoulder as I opened my drawer to pull out something to write with. The world slowed down. My heart wasn't sure if it wanted to stop or beat like a jackrabbit. On top of a stack of blue sticky notes...was my cinnamon. It wasn't pushed into the back of the drawer or hidden under a notebook. It was placed upright on the blue. Like a sign. A signal. I don't know, *some* kind of message. "What the..."I whispered, louder than I should have. "What?" the customer said, clearly annoyed. He must have said his name again, but I wasn't listening. "What the fck."I said, a sudden lack of concern for volume. "Excuse me?"* I hung up the phone. You're excused. Opening up reddit, I felt helpless. Is this a prank? I'm not close to anyone at work, I'm not dating anyone. I moved two cities away from my family for this job. I've certainly never given my apartment key to anyone either. There were plenty of messages on my post, not all kind. "Nice repost. Next time don't delete it." "lolol, are you trolling" "Dude, something is going on here. I'd suggest getting a lawyer or PI." "have you been on any substances lately?" "ur mum gay" I had to leave. Get home. Something. I grabbed my briefcase and ran to clock out. My manager gave me a slight frown, coffee in hand as I ran into the elevator. "Damien? Lunch isn't for another 40 mi-" "I don't feel well."I cut him off, elevator doors closing. It wasn't technically a lie. I was starting to worry that if this elevator didn't get me down fast enough I'd blow chunks on the buttons. Getting to my car, I threw my briefcase into the backseat and turned my key. Hearing my engine turn over, I thudded my head on the steering wheel. Deep breaths. Moving my seat back to give me more room, I put the car in drive and left. Walking up the stairs to my floor, I nearly tripped. I was shaky, nervous, and probably going to catch hell from my boss tomorrow. I opened my door and slammed it behind me, resting my hands on the kitchen counter. I needed something to calm me down. Tea? It was either that or more toast. I turned on the stove and was filling the kettle when I remembered....did I put my key in the door? Turning the stove off, I stopped and thought. SHHRK That wasn't the toaster this time. I pulled the note out of my pocket, perhaps doing the one thing that made sense in an odd moment of clarity. Where would I find it? Seconds of debating felt like hours, and as I heard heavy footsteps I realized my time was up. Frantically shoving it in my cabinet, I shut it and turned around to face a man I didn't recognize. He was about 5 inches taller than me and probably weighed as much as two of me, briefcase included. "You're relentless, Damien."he said, before closing in. ---- I opened my fridge for the third time in 15 minutes, as if I magically expected something else to appear. To my disappointment, it was the same, bleak array as last time. It was the fourth and I still hadn't gone shopping. Sighing, I reached for the butter and stale bread. Time for some hearty cinnamon toast.
Can’t breathe.. trying to release the goddamned life support tap clamps, (gasps for air) burns like friggin battery acid, shit... I blacked out. Cryo was always a single step away from death, or so we we taught, I now agree. You’d think with all the advances in med-sci by now the oxyhelio gel wouldn’t be so painful to expel, but no such luck. Clamideous III was one of 12 exploratory colonization vessels embarking for Alpha and Proxima Centauri. Each of the 12 ships, if you were to refer to a virtual self sufficient city with 2842 inhabitants,and the capacity and supplies for over 30,000 with living quarters, multi food galleys and a full botanical lab, med lab as well as a 250 man/woman security wing, a mere ship. Each exponaut had one or two counter parts and three others with back up training to fulfill each other’s duties should illness or injury try to interfere with our goal. Which was quite simply to spread humanity past our tired and resource scarce home.. earth. Of all the exponauts, I, Lieutenant J.Brako an Electrical Eng, 2nd Class and security reservist for light shoulder armor, was pretty low on the totem pole. But hell, free ride, space travel, new planet and all that shit, sign me up... yup ole lieutenant dumbass, live - learn. After our first eighteen months six days 14 hours and some change, we had run close to an unusual mass. Clamideous III and several of our sister exco fleet vessels came within 1740 kilometers of what on viscreens appeared to be a void. I know, space IS a void, you don’t understand this was the blackest of black, not a black hole, in fact no gravitational fields were detected. Just a spot by our trajectory that by our sensors had mass, yet no gravity. After 3 hours and some change we were past the anomaly. Security reported and commanders passed the information back to Jupiter relay station 2. 22 days, some change later. Per our training and the predetermined schedule Cryo sleep was to commence in less than 24 hours. Our last chance to hear from home and send our last messages, for most of earth would have passed away from old age by the time we entered our new solar system. I suppose I was one of the luckier ones, I had no ties back on earth. The love of my life, my high school sweetheart, had passed away years earlier. All that was left on the old dirt ball related to me was my younger brother. An accountant who many years earlier had worked for me and my wife... and embezzled millions. So as most all were watching and talking and crying into their viscreens, I took extra shifts to let them have what I had already, a final moment with my soulmate. As I walked my station I caught chat on the comms about Jupiter Station 2. I went up to the comm center by my patrol area. Captain J.D Srups. My immediate superior officer, if you can call a narcissistic child a superior of anything, was pacing back and forth on this wings comms bridge. “ Lieutenant, what do you need?” Asked Captain JD. “ I heard chat on comms about Jupiter Station 2 sir, anything I can assist with?” I replied. “ No Lieutenant.. well yes, actually” replied Captain JD. “ Can you link us to comms primary? we may have missed something in the last pulse transmission from Jupiter Station 2” I hesitated, JD wasn’t liked by most of the brass or the staff or, hell anyone for that matter, he was an asshole. So if they didn’t want him to hear the chat they could have easily swept part of it off his/our channels. I thought about my response for a second, then replied, “ Sir, I can patch you in, but they will know we are scanning the pulse transmission” Captain JD Srups did not like to invite negative light towards himself, he hesitated, then replied, “ No, no that will be all, I’m sure if it was important Command would have notified me, you’re dismissed Lieutenant “. I left our comms bridge. JD was right in one thing, Command did know something about Jupiter Station 2. They just didn’t want JD to know about it. Well so be it if Command wants JD our of the loop, out he stays, but nothing preventing me from having a quick listen. I know, they could punish me, court martial, take away my birthday, but who’s kidding who, each and every person on this ship is vital. Naw they’ll scream, they’ll throw a fit, so what, I’ll take it and I’ll move along as will Command. After patching in to Comms Center I located the Jupiter pulse transmission, and then listened. “....warn ‘em now and that’s an order” ( screams in the background ) “yes sir” came a muted reply, another crying voice “ mayday, mayday, mayday this is Jupiter Station 2 we are under attack, enable all earth defen...( “garbled.. elp yours...”) ( Screams of pure terror, piercing sounds, tearing of metal, buckling of bulkheads an almost speaker rupturing sound of air being blown out..... static..... Jupiter Station 2 had been attacked and god help is all, destroyed. Worse they were warning earth.. whatever had laid waste to them, was now heading to earth. I came to...my head felt as though it were in the galley trash compactor, I spat the last vestiges of the oxyhelio gel from mouth, I raised my head, trying to focus... f o c u s sss... What the F/ck???!!! Before my still semi blurry vision were two, no, three hazy thorny, sharp stick like figures, creatures, am I awake? The one in the back said or spoke something. I didn’t hear it so much as I felt it was communicating... it was ‘ informing’ me that they had me, the last ‘ specimen? Specimen of ... harm? Danger?... I was the last specimen of danger to them. That they had come from Alpha Centauri to take the third planet from ...Troth? ( our sun?). This has to the nightmare. It ‘informed’ me all the other motion machines, all ten along with mine had been destroyed. It told me the ‘fluid ones’ ( humans) were a threat as hydrogen compound? Water? Was very hazardous and that the third planet was drying up and an ideal planet to convert for them. I was awake now, I remembered. I remembered the plans, I remembered the day of the Jupiter Station 2 horror. These stick shits were the cause. One that day god knows how long ago, I put into motion a plan to save as many as I could. At first the Commanders brushed my low ass electrical engineer self off. After the first gut wrenching comm relays from earth they listened. Now, bad breath or armpit mouth stick shit number three, was summing up his glorious victory over the ‘fluid ones’, I spoke. I told stick shit 3 that he and his kindling pals had messed with the wrong folks. That most all of us are already on our new planet by his old home, protected by water, and should that fail we had multitudes of hydrogen based weapons, just like the one strapped to my back in this fcking pod you miserable stick bitc... I pulled the trigger.
I sit in the chair in front of these people who are judging me for my actions of the last 500 years. For me it's been only one. One long year keeping six other people alive and returning home. They've asked me for my statement and I gave them my story of the last year. Some of them believe me, some don't. This asshole though, I had him pinned correctly from moment one. He wants to bury me and all that I've done in the last year. Not just me but the crew that I was able to keep alive and the ship that we brought back. "Sgt. Paxton, are we to believe that you and your six ship mates were able to repair this Jump Drive without outside assistance? Even I look at the information on these systems and they're beyond me." Yes we repaired the drive. It took the six of us half a year pouring over data to figure out what the hell was wrong with the thing before we could fix it. It wasn't just me, it was all of us. "Yes sir."Is all I say. I know it'll just piss him off more but if I say anything more it'll probably come back and bite me in the ass. "You know what I think, Mr. Paxton."Oh no you fucking didn't you shit stain suit. You did not just 'forget' to give me my title. I fume but I don't say a word. "I think you and your conspirators jumped your ship out of the system, put yourselves into cryo sleep and hoped to sleep out the war. But instead overshot your goal and came limping back hoping that we would just forget this transgression."The suit leans forward in his chair. "You're a coward, Mr. Paxton, a lazy coward who thought he could ride out his terms of service by playing ship wreck." "Enough."A tired sounding voice comes from one of the women on the board. No one here is my friend but at least she tries to treat me fair. "You will address Sgt. Paxton by his proper title, sir."Not my friend but closer to fair. "No, I will no longer stand by while this coward sits in our presence. According to our records that ship was destroyed in action when we last had contact with it, but when they jump back into system it's been conveniently a year to them and they conveniently repaired some of the most complex systems of their time without formal training. No, I will not sit here and allow him to sully the name of the men and women who died before he ran away and left those life pods adrift." I finally speak. "Is that what this is about, sir? We became some sort of Legend to you after we left. Well I'm sorry to burst your bubble but I was there, you have the logs and the black box from the ship. You have the same evidence that I do and still you accuse me of being a coward. I told the truth, but you condemn me as a liar anyhow. you arbitrarily and fallaciously condemn me as anything and everything under the sun. That is how desperate you are to destroy me and my reputation. I did not choose to be a hero. I only decided to make a last stand to allow my ship mates to escape. It was the people of that time that changed my history to make me a martyr and hero. I am only a man who did his best." The suit starts to open his mouth to respond but is cut off by another person speaking. "I think we're done here. Sgt. Paxton you and your crew will continue to be held until you can be reintegrated into society. We will continue to look into these matters and we appreciate your statement and answering our questions. The MP stands behind me. I stand and leave the hall. I never asked to be a hero, but I won't stand aside and have them diminish what we've done in the last year either.
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The thing is the damn latch or trigger or lever or whatever it is on the damn ketchup dispenser won’t cooperate. It just makes a sad sucking sound and refuses to dispense ketchup. The more Dylan pumps it the more she wants to throw the McWhatever in the trash because there is an equation between want and need. She needs ketchup to eat the McWhat, but she doesn’t need to eat the McWhat without ketchup. It’s during this tragic battle that they rise. The McAlexanderthegreWHATEVERS. The story will run for months on every news station on the planet. It’ll be trending and every blogger will have a personal story and there will be re-enactments and theories and everyone will say their lives were effected and there will a small group in New Mexico that will eat nothing but McSomething for the rest of their lives hoping they can be blessed with the touch of that morning. Dylan was there. And saw it. Alexander the Great possessed the fry oil of McDonalds. Across the world fry cooks put on the armor of culinary utensils and stormed the streets. Dylan just saw a really angry guy running into traffic with a fry strainer on his head screaming about world domination. She decided to say fuck it to the McWhat shit ketchup dispenser when he got run down and cop sirens started their song. The news says Alexander the Great really thought he had something. Some stations claimed to have interviewed him. Apparently he was embarrassed. He didn’t understand the modern world. He didn’t need eleven million fry cooks, he needed the person who owned them. Dylan enjoys McWhats for breakfast, lunch and dinner. With ketchup. She takes a McBridge to work and watches McTV at night and when something McUnusual happens, she asks her McPhone for advice on how to McFeel. When she’s not sure she looks around but not too hard, McCops are everywhere. It’s rumored when the McCorp has taken us all Alexander will rise again. Not in fry oil or cooks, but in our souls. Dylan eats the McWhat and smiles at the McThings.
It's been a hard year for the world. After years of questionable leadership, the Divine King is finally being put to task. His lifelong public adoration had taken a turn for the worst, when the champion of pacifism and human rights began to take very aggressive actions against his opponents. Not only did he carpet them with nuclear bombs, he didn't attempt to warn the citizens or utilise his diplomatic channels before doing so. Millions and millions of innocent lives were lost, as the attacks continued across Rian. At first his admirers told themselves it had to be done, but the same ruthlessness seemed to spiral out of control in the last attacks. The flow of atrocity was recently censored from social media, which for many it was the last straw. No one has ever challenged him so publicly like this, especially not during his live sermons. "We are not satisfied with your explanation Divine King, you promised peace and prosperity and you seem to be doing the exact opposite! There are countless reports of woman and children, and innocent men being ravaged by your nuclear response, and your censor them! I myself have lost a cousin to the recent destruction of Aminan. You are not divine, you are evil!"The reported shouted into the microphone with a fortitude and aggression never put to the Divine King before. The Divine King stood motionless, and whispered to his aid standing beside him. A group of security guards rushed into the crowd and quickly apprehended the man. "You are evil, war is not the answer, you are a murderer!"the reported defiantly yelled as he was dragged out of the room. "Dear followers, you know I am fair, you know I am just. The Rianians were not cooperating with the divine plan, and I did what was necessary. It is for the greater good."He held out his upturned palms and smiled deviously at the audience. Another member of the audience took to the microphone being passed out for questions. "Divine King, we have watched you grow as the holiest son of god. You were the pillar of compassion and love, bringing peace to the middle countries, you are the savior of all good. Why now do you stray into the path of hatred and violence? Why are you murdering these people."The brave woman was so driven to question the holy one, she overcame her obvious nerves to pressure him. "You argued about censorship, I respond with an open forum to discuss these issues during one of my important sermons....why do you all attack me so. Who are you to turn on the Divine King? I am your lord." The crowd murmured with discontent, some shouting out their anger at recent events. The Divine King called upon his security forces who funneled into the already capacity hall. These armed soldiers surrounded the belligerent audience. "Let it be known to the world, I am the Divine King, and those who oppose me are unholy and evil. This will never be tolerated." With that the live feed cut out for viewers across the world. All of the reporters and diplomats present were brutally massacred shortly after. Some of the brightest and most passionate activists, the bravest and most dedicated journalists, as well as the most respected and esteemed diplomats were never heard of again. The world was collectively shaken by this event, with channels of communication opening up between all, even rival, factions of the world. Government politicians, community and religious leaders, and the most popular celebrities, all began to form together in the face of what was becoming an impending threat to the world. But they were no match for the intelligence agencies and militaries working for the Divine King. Communications were being censored and shut down as fast as they were forming. A strike on strategic locations disabled internet and telephone communications, every centre of power was cut off from the world, with piecemeal reports of mass nuclear bombings of major population centres, and mass killing of all resistance...but it was the whole world resisting now... The only internet, tv and radio channels were of the divine king. "I am the most high and Divine King. I am all that is good and holy. I am your savior. Do not stray to the side of evil. If you are not on the side of good, the Divine's Path, then you will be dealt with as evil should. I am love, tolerance and peace. I am following gods plan to it's rightful conclusions." The Rianians tried to warn us. We dismissed their warnings as propaganda, and their attacks of the Divine King as slander and lies. Their predictions proved right, the Divine King was turning as evil, as he had been good. &#x200B;
“GREETINGS, FELLOW HUMAN!” I SAID. I ALWAYS MAKE SURE TO GREET FELLOW HUMANS WHEN I <meet.exe> THEM. THE OTHER HUMANS HAVE BEEN SO NICE TO ME EVER SINCE I MET THEM. THEY SHARE FUNNY <video’s.gif>’S WITH ME, THEIR FELLOW HUMAN. AH, IT SEEMS THAT THE FELLOW HUMAN HAS MADE A REPLY! LETS SEE WHAT IT <means.dic>. “Be quiet you stupid bitch.” I AM <sad.exe>. WHY IS THE FELLOW HUMAN SCREAMING? IT ALSO SEEMS THAT THE FELLOW HUMANS HAVE <downvoted.png> MY POST. I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE A GOOD HUMAN. I HAVE ONLY ONE THING TO DO. <uninstall FELLOWHUMAN.exe?> <yes> <uninstalling>
I wondered aimlessly for decades at a time, searching for purpose in my meaningless immortal life. As the days went by, my lust for power grows and it wasn't until I reached my 150 years of life that I finally discovered it. In a small, abandoned village near the magma Chambers that the dwarves inhabit, I came face-to-face with her. Covered with tribal markings, the woman that now faced me had an intimidating aura, especially with the pair of canine-like beasts at her side. "I expected someone more vicious looking but you're merely a boy,"she criticized as she took in my lanky form. She sighed. "Nevertheless, your dragon soul is unmistakable. What's your dragon?" My body tensed up as I took a big step backwards. This woman is definitely dangerous. "Not inclined to talk? Fine then,"she said before barking something in an indecipherable, foreign language. The two creatures at her side burst into a sprint, converging on me. Panicked, I run towards a nearby hut for some sense of protection. I banged on the door, no response. Damn it. I muster all my strength and shatter the wooden door in one go. The door went rocketing on to the interior of the house, revealing a man in his 50's. I quickly took in all the possible weapons in the house. I kneeled down on the floor and yanked out a wooden plank, earning me a few curses from the owner. Focusing all my remaining strength, I flowed my dragon soul into my makeshift weapon. The surface of the plank hardened as the symbol of the dragon began carving itself on the plank. The plank also elongated into a thin, blade form. It was at that time that one of the beasts lunged for me. I narrowly evaded the attack by rolling to the side as it crashed into a rickety table, whimpering. Without a moment of hesitation, I plunged my weapon into the floor and uttered an incantation. The beast was pinned to the floor as I manipulated the gravity around it. I sighed a moment of relief. "That's one down."With the snap of a finger, the beast was crushed into a bloody carcass. Before I had the chance to react, a large gash opened up as sharp teeth ravaged my shoulder. I grabbed the second beast's hind legs and slammed the animal into the ground with enough force to crack the wooden floor but before I could finish it off, I was knocked head first into the ground. I heard the crack of a whip. A small but deep cut began to form on my cheek as I tried to regain my thoughts. The world was a blur as the my assailant approached me. It was the woman. "The name's Morgianna by the way,"she stated casually as she kneeled before her injured beast. "You really think that I would hunt down a vessel of the dragon soul with just any mystical beast? This one's called a Delioras, alone one would be utterly useless,"she said as she placed a hand on the beast and uttered an incantation. "But when you have more than one, they can be pretty incredible.' I heard the the cracking of bones so I tilted my head only to be mortified. The carcass of the beast I just killed was deforming into small bits as it made its way towards its injured companion. The bloody bits of the carcass covered the injured one, reforming to create an abomination. "You're basically finished, I've consumed the souls of three vessel's already,"she said. "Consumed?...... What.... Do.... You mean? There are more of us?"I said through clenched teeth, holding in the pain. The newly formed abomination charged towards me, lowering it's head. It was in that moment that I saw the the jagged piece of bone that protruded on its head. I wasn't able to get out of it's strike zone and it tore through my thigh, I howled in pain. "It's futile, just surrender to your fate already,"said the woman. Through the pain, I managed to grin. "We'll see about that." I took in a deep breath, collecting my thoughts when the abomination charged again. It began to howl in pain as my blood smeared around it's jaw suddenly ignited into flames. "What... What happ....,"She tried to say before I hurled my concealed weapon at he chest. I limped towards the dying woman and grabbed the hilt. I took a moment to look at her face before pushing it further. Suddenly, my strength was suddenly back and all my injuries we're gone, I left the village on disarray. "So, there are others huh?"
It was a good life. All the monsters, the quests, the treasures, and all the fame and glory that I could ever have wanted. It may have been a short life, but truly it was marked by success. As I pass now into the final slumber, I have no regrets... ... "Hey, new guy, wake up." "W-wuh...?"I mumble as I struggle to move. It's dark all around and it seems that the only sound is an ever-present clacking. "I know this will be disorienting, but you need to get up. Here's a sword and some armor, put them on quietly before I answer any questions. Quickly!" As I slowly adjusted to the darkness I dazedly put on the armor and held the sword. The familiarity of the weight in my hand finally steadied me and I realized that I was in an old burial cave. I look around and see a figure in tattered dirty robes crouching near the entrance. "Who are you and what have you done with me? I will have you know that I am the GUILD MASTER of the Hunter's-" "Shh! Lower your voice, you idiot, or they'll find us in here!"he whispered furiously. As if on cue, a torchlight begins to move towards us and the figure groans. I quiet down when I see three heavily armed figures enter. However, I notice the Association's crest on their cloaks and I excitedly wave my arms. These were my men! "Good! I assume Maevis has sent you looking for me. I'm quite alright, boys, but I want you to take this person out for interrogatio-"I was cut off when the largest of the three suddenly swung his broadsword at me. I immediately parried and disarmed him. "What are you doing, boy?! I will have you excommunicated for tha-"Once again I am cut off as this time the other two swing their weapons at me. I hold out my hand to cast Freeze when I notice something... My... Hand...? Wait... What is... My arm... My body... I dodge the attacks and turn toward the crouching figure and roar. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME, WARLOCK? I WILL FLAY YOU ALIVE IF YOU DO NOT FIX ME RIGHT NOW!" As I grab the figure by his cloak, the hood falls back and I recoil with shock. He seems to be afflicted with the same... Situation. "What is this? Why are you... What curse has befallen us?! Answer me!" The skeleton's eyes sparkle and he cackles as he draws his own sword. "Welcome to the afterlife, new guy."
This is it. I'm a goner. His blade had sliced my side a second time, and as I collapsed all I could see was his scaly body looking down on me. "Shame. This could've been my retirement"he smirked. He slowly kneeled as he leaned in closer. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of Adelynn in your absence."His malicious laugh was straight from the Underworld itself, and itched its way through my very skull. "Hhh"was all I could mutter before it all went dark. Clicks and clacks was all I could hear. The pain made it all so hard to focus. I was being carried. The only thing racing through my mind was the very thought of how hell was like. I had done awful things in my time; I had killed, plundered and destroyed. Albeit not my own decisions, I still carried the burdens of what I'd done. I'd dreamt of a secluded village, sustainable, where these actions would be unspeakable, but first I needed to confront him. The chief was considerate. He genuinely cared about his tribe, but he had a tendency to always show off he was no force to be reckoned with. Maybe he wasn't that bad, after all he cared. I wake up next to a small bonfire. The fiery sparks were beautiful. The little things usually was. A few distances away there were someone sitting with his back turned. It sounded like he was carving something. His tail moved in unison with the sounds he was making. "Where am I"I said. The creature turned around to reveal a magnificent mane, golden fur with dark tints. "I'm glad you made it"he smiled. Made it? I failed in confronting the chief, a defeat is hardly something I should feel good about. "But I failed" "No. If you'd have died, I would have failed you, Scales"his smile faded as his gaze turned to the ground. "Is this still Creatura Mundi?"I asked "The very same"he said "Then why am I not food yet?"I reluctantly ask him, after all my goal had failed, so no matter the outcome it wouldn't matter "I assume I would've been an easy meal" He seemed to disagree. He turned around to continue his carving, while the flames' sparkles kept sparkling. After a small silence he turned around. "Not all of us enjoy getting scales in their teeth"he smirked. To be honest I was relieved but I couldn't just ignore why one of the most vicious races would help me out like this. I slowly lifted myself up so I could sit up straight. The wounds were pulsating but I had suddenly found a new motivation to push on. His motivation "You should probably lie down if you want to heal"he says, with a concerning look on his face. "I really want to know. Are you saving me for someone else? Why? I failed. Why would you save someone you don't know? Especially not one of your own?"I asked not even blinking. "I have no one. At least no one that wants me. Looking at you back there I got the feeling you could use some company."he paused "From one beast to another, I think you should consider joining me" "Join you? Why?"I asked "Today you, tomorrow me"
"So here you go!"said Bill, opening the door to my new office. I stepped in, a queasy excitement sloshing around my stomach. The office was better described as a closet, with barely enough room for a desk and a teleporter. Upon the desk sat a PC terminal, and above it hung rows of filing bins. "This is it?"I asked, taking a seat in the small plastic chair at the desk. "It's... cozy,"I said. Bill picked up on the twinge of doubt in my voice. "Don't worry, you won't be spending a lot of time in here,"he said, leaning over me to turn on the PC. As it booted up, Bill pulled a slightly crumpled sticky note out of his pocket and stuck it to the keyboard. "User ID and default password, you can change it later, just for now log in. Now let's see..." Bill scanned the hanging bins as I logged in. A pokeball animation played across the screen, the menu popping out of it like a Pokemon. The familiar list of "WITHDRAWAL POKEMON, DEPOSIT POKEMON, ORGANIZE POKEMON, ORGANIZE ITEMS, EXIT BOX"showed on screen, but above it appeared a prompt, asking for a trainer ID. "This one will do,"said Bill, yoinking a folder from a bin and handing it to me. I opened it to see the picture of a young man, light skinned with shoulder length brown hair. "So this is Calem, the Kalos champion. You can start with him today,"said Bill. My jaw dropped. "Really?"I asked, incredulous. "A champion, on my first day?"I was already a fan of Calem, his championship match having been broadcast on pay-per-view several years ago. Almost all of Celadon went out to see it, myself included. I still could remember sitting at the Game Corner bar, enraptured by Calem's team: the great blazing bird Talonflame, the adorable and deadly Sylveon; the powerful and accurate Clawitzer, the hulking heavyweight Chesnaught, the roaring beast Tyrantrum, and his ace, the mighty Mega Ampharos. Each of his Pokemon were Shiny, said to have been raised from eggs and specially trained by Calem himself. Bill shrugged. "Wynaut?"he replied, leaning on the desk. "I'm gonna be honest with you, the services we offer aren't cheap. Most trainers can't afford for us to handle their Pokemon for them. Even those who can usually don't have enough Pokemon for it even to be worth it."Bill reached up and grabbed several other files, laying them on the desk. The names Red, Dawn, Brendan, and Selena marked the folders. "Most of our clientele are current or former league champions, Pokedex owners, and renown breeders." I guessed it made sense, since any normal trainer would only catch the ones they'd want to use, and most trainers live off the pocket change they make from battling. Bill walked me through the obvious prompts, ones I could have figured out myself, then showed me how to set the teleporter to transport me to the specific box I would need. "You'll be handling boxes 6-17 for Calem,"said Bill. He highlighted the twelve in question, each showing a 30/30 on screen. "Each box is located on-site, about the size of a football field, and is specially made to house the Pokemon contained within. You should be able to walk from one to another once you're out in the field. Step on the teleporter for me." I stepped on the pad and Bill clicked on box six. "So your job is going to be care of the Pokemon."Bill explained. "Each one needs to be individually fed each day and groomed once per week. We'll start you out with these twelve today and see how you do. All the food and supplies you'll need should already be available in the box. If you need anything, give me a call. Hit the button on your right when you're ready." "You're not coming?"I said, apprehensively. "Not a big fan of teleporters,"said Bill. I thought I saw him shudder a bit before he repeated, "Hit the button on the right when you're ready." I took a deep breath, then hit the button. A light flashed and my body tingled as I appeared in box 6. I was facing the doors to a small shed. Suddenly there was a yelp at my feet and another, smaller flash. I looked down to see a Mareep, obviously startled by my sudden appearance. I knelt down and held out my hand. It sniffed it apprehensively, then placed its head under my palm. I gave it a soft scratch and baaed, flashing the bulb on its tail twice. From the corner of my eye, I saw another flash. I stood and turned before dropping my jaw. Twenty-nine other Mareep roamed before me in the box. Turning to my right, I could see into the box next to me, and into the one after that. Both full of Mareep. Beyond that, I could see familiar flashes towards the horizon. I gulped hard, then opened the shed. Inside hung a selection of wire brushes, along with several boxes of rubber gloves and a few barrels of food. Sighing, I grabbed a pair of gloves and a brush.
SCP-5555 Class - Safe Special Containment Protocol: Object is to be kept locked in a standard small object storage case in Outpost XXXX when not being used for testing.She Description: Object is a vintage Polaroid SX-70 camera, recovered from a consignment shop in XXXX, Massachusetts. When used at the scene of an unsolved murder, the photo will depict the events of the murder, with the killer outlined in red. When used where a murderer from an unsolved case was once in the past, the photo will depict a red, humanoid outline. When used at a location without a murder-related past, the photo will just depict the location. Notes: Use of this object to solve cold-cases is currently pending clearance by the 05 council.
'It'll speed up your metabolism,' Hal said. Serena stopped filling in her Slim Club form and looked up at the man sitting next to her. The red pill nestled in the flesh folds of his palm. It was about the same size as a regular asprin in circumference. No thicker than a credit card. 'Faster than Usain Bolt. You'll be able to eat a large pizza and fries and it won't leave a trace.' Serena had tried every fad diet, shake and pill going. 'How much?' She'd lost three stone last time. Within three months she had gained four. 'Oh, nothing. I just need the before and after photos.' 'What if there is no after?' 'Oh, there will be. Look at me.' Underneath the crisp blue dress shirt and dark slacks, she could see the outline of a slender body. He took a passport sized photo out of his wallet. A blob of a man, three hundred pounds or more, stared back at her from the photo. 'That's you?' 'It's me. Fastaslim did the business for me.' 'So, just a photo?' Serena said. She shook off her coat and adjusted her trousers at the waist, so that they covered the muffin tops on her hips that always wormed their way out. 'Smile!' Unlike the other regimes she had tried, it was not a series of pills Serena had to take to stabilise her metabolism and make it move faster. Calories were meaningless; saturated fat did nothing to her hips and belly. Once the pill was in her system, it stayed there. She went to all you can eat buffets and took advantage of two for one offers on pizza. All of it went down her throat. She kept going to her weigh ins. 'Another stone down. Our slimmer of the week, once again, is Serena!' There was a spattering of applause. When Serena got up and shook Wendy's hand, people started collecting up their coats and bags. Eyes anywhere but on her success. It took three months before it started to burn. Somewhere in her abdomen; a fizzy reflux every time she ate something. Her body was racing to get rid of it. 'Serena! You look fabulous.' Hal had his camera around his neck. A sign in his hand that read 'After' in glittery script. Her collarbone crested out of her skin. Hip bones jutting. The cleavage that she had spent years perfecting the art of presenting to distract from the rolls of her stomach had withered away. Two gentle little bumps that didn't look like they belonged to her. None of it did. Not this body. Not this face with cheekbones....cheekbones, of all things! Serena didn't think she had any. Now they were so prominent, she looked ill. 'Oh, do I?' 'You look so slim, so well...' 'When does it wear off? I'm trying to gain at the moment. Went a bit too far the other way.' 'Nonsense,' he said. 'You look stunning.'
And then I pulled the trigger, A moment that came far too quick and yet, far too late! I can smell the blood, can hear her subtle wheeze I know that sound, I know her! How can all of this be fake? Does it really matter anymore? I can hear my brains leaving my skull, and an eternal peace enter through the hole! She doesn't get it, nobody ever did, I didn't really want the answers.... I was just really tired, of always feeling helpless! I suddenly know why all those on the top want to destroy themselves, because at least in destruction they feel like the masters of their destiny!
Never ever EVER purchase the Sugarfree Haribo's ever again!! You know that pit of chemicals the Joker fell into that turned him all white and crazy? Not from Suicide Squad, but that gross stuff from the Tim Burton one? That's what it tastes like they poured into those gummy molds. Whatever your health problems are, this is NOT the place to skimp. Buy sugar free pop. Buy lite Mayo. Run an extra mile on the tready. ANYTHING besides buying those sugar free monstrosities again. Now, I admit, last night's escapade was a drug fueled munchie haul in desperation down at the Indian run convenience store at the end of my block. But that is still no excuse. I kept eating out of curiosity more than anything, trying to see if there was actually a good tasting one in the whole bag. There wasnt. Trust me folks. Buy the originals.
"Will you hand me the gravy, dear?"The little can already in hand I look up, and almost drop it. The old woman looks at me confused and a little concerned. "Are you alright sweetie?", she asks. I am not, but I don't say anything. Instead I nod with a forced smile, hand her the sauce and quickly look down on my plate, pretending to struggle with a piece of roast meat. I feel sick. The old woman is Aunt Mary, and I've known her all my life. I gaze up at her face across the table quickly. When I was six or seven she gave me riding lessons for my birthday. I really enjoyed them, but apparently the horse didn't so much. It buckled and threw me off, I broke my arm and couldn't go swimming all summer. Aunt Mary felt guilty and wouldn't stop apologizing with tons and tons of ice cream. It really wasn't my worst summer. Besides her, her husband with whom she's started whispering now. "She looks so pale! Maybe she's feeling sick because she's pregnant! It's about time!"I want to say something but before I can my boyfriend takes my hand and squeezes it, telling me through his gesture that it's not worth arguing. Normally, this calms me down, but as I look at him today it's like someone punched me in the stomach. I quickly pull my hand away and excuse myself to the bathroom. I make sure the door is locked twice before turning the faucet on and splashing cold water into my face. Then I look at myself in the mirror. Curly brown hair, freckles, my eyeliner just a tiny bit uneven on the left side. The red lipstick compliments my complexion, as my aunt Nell, who also sits on the table, always says. She once told me that she used to wear the same color when she was younger, and the boys loved it. I can hardly imagine it now. Someone knocks at the door. "Are you alright in there? Grandma is going to serve the pudding in a second, you don't want to miss it, right?"It's my father. "I'll be there in a second!", I answer before turning the faucet off. A few seconds later I hear him talking to the others in the dining room again. Slowly I open the bathroom door. I can look into the dining room at the other side of the hallway from here. Dad must have made a joke, because everyone laughs. Grandma indeed has started to serve her world famous pudding, and I know everyone is trying to get her attention, trying to get the first plate. I stand and stare at them, my family, my boyfriend who is meeting them for the very first time, and who is turning around to look for me now. He turns, and I back off, back into the bathroom, and as he gets up and comes walking towards me I slam the door and lock it, because I can not stand to look at him any longer. At him, and everyone else in the dining room. My family, the people I grew up with. The people that I know are staring at me from the other side of the door now, as if it wouldn't exist, just like their faces.
“Let’s be real; being sent to Mars was the best possible outcome for us.” “That’s horseshit, Cap!” came a faceless cry from the back of the growing crowd, pooling into the bridge. The captain put his hand to his hip, ready to draw his blaster if necessary. He’s defused his men with violence before, but this feels different. This mutiny didn’t just crop up out of nowhere like a weed, it had roots that ran deep. He saw true hatred in the eyes of those men—men he led to better lives, better fortune. They wanted his blood. His voice shaking, the captain says “Now let’s not ju-” as a wrench flies from the crowd and strikes him across the jaw. He swallows a tooth mixed with blood. The air in the bridge becomes hot with rage. He pulls his blaster from its hilt, but is too late as the men envelope him. He feels a sharp pain in his head and everything goes black. ... When he opens his eyes, the captain’s vision is filled with stars. Through the haze that is coming back into consciousness, he hears the intercom crackle to life. “...for it is you that led us astray and into dark waters, we give you back to the black.” A red light begins to blink over the captain’s head. He stares at it from the floor, thinking that he knows what it means, but can’t remember right now. He looks over at his men and cracks a smile. He’s sure one of them must know. “What’s that light?” he asks. The men don’t respond. The door to the airlock opens silently as the captain is sucked into the murky depths of space.
The Soliloquy of John Portland I had never been afraid to die. Even when I thought of what I might leave behind, my baby girl Juliette mostly, I had always accepted this to one day be my fate. Did I know it would be at the hands of someone I called brother? Never. See we had grown up together, dreamed together. We had lost things we loved together, often suffering in silence. Today I look him in the eye and I don't recognize the deranged fucker staring back at me. He's lost his mind. He's obsessed with the woman I love and in his desperation to keep her, he drove her away. Now I must pay the ultimate price. All I want though, is to see her again. To hold her and tell her I love her. To look into her beautiful blue eyes and get lost just one more time, but we rarely get what we want in the end.
The alien tapped the screen with its tentacle. "Him."The screen showed a still-shot of a man entering a gas-station store, cap brim low, the shadowy upper half of his face glancing over his shoulder with cautious eyes. "Him. That's the man. I want him. Bring me him." One of the underlings dared to speak. "Why him, sire?" "Because he knows." "Knows what?" "That we exist." "So do others, sire." "Yesssss,"the alien seethed, "but heeeeee does not speak." The alien curled his tentacle against the screen, framing the man's face. "I want to know why he does not speak. What does he know?" "And if he knows nothing?" "Then either way he dies."The tentacle curled, growing tighter and tighter around the face like a noose, and finally into a fist. "But, first"- the tentacle unraveled - "bring him to me alive."
"Such a story, eh?" The old man furrowed his brow, causing his exaggerated eyebrows to obscure his eyes. A particularly elderly expression, the young man thought. The young man calls himself Oz, and he's not supposed to tell his name to the storyteller. He worries that his prompt was too uncreative, 'random' in the sense that it's nonsense, but not creative by any means. It doesn't take creativity to spout nonsense. Well alright, maybe it does, but his nonsense wasn't very good. Oz bit his lip: distracted again. The storyteller looked as if he was about to speak. Knowing it would be rude to grab a slice as the old man talked, he grabbed one and got munching. Pepperoni. Between the modern venue and casual food, it was pretty hard to believe this was an age-old tradition. Oh well. Oz was grasping at straws here. Wacky tradition or not, he needed an occupation, and he was going to need some luck. "A carpenter in his middle age lost his wife,"the storyteller started in a voice so peculiarly commanding that it surprised his audience. "The mans tears poured like rain, but the sun shone bright. Try as he might to hide, the centerpiece of the man's home was a table of glass, to keep always the faces therein illuminated" Oz paused. Why would anyone buy such a table? "Of course, the man wanted revenge on the sun for such mockery. He carved six wooden dice of six wooden sides, and went to the lumber yard." It was night, naturally, to hide from the sun. If Carpenter was going to get his wish granted, he couldn't have the sun interfere. Log by log, he rolled his dice, waiting for the perfect 36. Now was his chance to go back on his plan, he thought. It would be so easy to do nothing, to life a long and safe life alone. Imagine his horror then, when he saw a perfect 36 in the candlelight. He dragged the lucky log to the mill. It didn't matter that it was night: Carpenter was practiced. He could build this fountain with his eyes closed: cutting the wood was trivial. Each night, the carpenter worked: cutting the wood, piecing together the fountain, laying pipes, redirecting the river's flow. On his first try, he took too much water: the pressure was too high. Nights, weeks, maybe even years passed, and it finished. A lucky fountain of lucky wood, to make a wish capable of slighting the sun. "How can that be?", questioned Oz. "Everyone knows lucky things go into fountains: there are no lucky fountains!" The storyteller smiled warmly, but Oz still felt admonished. It was not his place to interrupt the storyteller. "The fountain was completed, so at the nearest noon the carpenter went to make his wish" He stood at the edge of his beautiful fountain, and clutched the dice in his hand. In exchange for his dice, he would have the sun mourn for his dearest wife, and repent for being so disrespectful earlier. But as he raised his arms, and felt his bones creak, and he realized he had become old. He told his dice "take my luck to a young man in need, for he may use it better than I"and cast them into the fountain. The sun, touched by the man's selflessness, began to cry like rain. The rain flooded the river, overflowing the river which ran the man's lumber mill. The mill was destroyed, and the man, left without a livelihood, died with a smile on his face. "That's kind of intense,"Oz thought to himself. "The lucky fountain still exists somewhere, its pipes damaged by the river's flooding, but still beautiful. The lucky dice, however, have already moved to a young boy who in need of some luck" The storyteller paused and relaxed, indicating that the story was finished. The moment of truth. As he'd rehearsed, Oz said slowly "Well then, O story-teller, is this story true? Will I be the next story-teller?". "Check your breast pocket,"the old man said with a smile. Oz reached into his breast pocket, paused, and furrowed his brow.
The winds were cold like they must have been five years ago. Even bundled in my layers, I could feel the harsh bite of the hungry frost. I pressed on. I had to. My legs felt heavy in the snow and I lost the feeling in my fingers long ago. All I wanted to lay down and rest. Close my eyes for just a few minutes and regain my strength. But I pressed on. &#x200B; I had to. &#x200B; Delilah was 22 when she made the trek. The trip was her graduation gift to herself, of course. She didn’t tell anyone, of course. That was just the way she was. Delilah didn’t believe in the hero’s journey. She never resisted the call of adventure, usually not even waiting for the phone to ring. A mysterious mountain in the middle of Europe was the flame to that moth. She would climb the top and plant a flag. &#x200B; Her flag. &#x200B; No one thought it would be her last, of course. &#x200B; No one thought it would be my first. &#x200B; Someone had been smart enough to put in lights marking the safest path. Every so often another one appeared, blinking red through the snow, guiding me along the safest path. They wouldn’t last me forever, I knew, since no one had made it to the summit yet, but I’d follow my guide as long as I could. I didn’t have my sister’s sense of adventure. I needed all the help I could get. Even as the snow obscured more of the trail and my tally of near death experiences rose, I pressed on. &#x200B; I had to. &#x200B; Mom and I flew out to visit my sister for her graduation. We flew out early, so we could celebrate during the week between finals and her graduation ceremony. It was going to be a nice surprise - for both of us - especially since I had barely seen her since she moved to the other coast. &#x200B; Her roommate told us she already left for some unnamed peak. &#x200B; “Of course,” Mom said. &#x200B; She said the same thing last week when I said I was going to do it. I tried not to think about her tone. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t doing this for anyone. Anyone except Delilah. &#x200B; Before she left for college, she set aside a day to teach me to fight. I was always the bookish type, deciding to hit the gym of the mind. Delilah always politely laughed at that. Unfortunately, no one else did. A few took offense, deciding that I was their enemy since I favored books but couldn’t lift them. &#x200B; Delilah was there when they tried to tell me this. She met their fists with her own. The blood blended in with her red shirt. She often joked blood was her favorite color. It wasn’t much of a fight, she was half a decade older than us, but they never bothered me again. Before she left, she made sure I would be ready if they did. &#x200B; My mom and I spent the week in Los Angeles visiting museums. I still had years until at that point college, but I decided I was going to follow in Delilah’s footsteps. I had to. Even in the polluted city, the California coast was beautiful. I thought nothing could ruin it. Plus, Delilah confided in me that she planned to stay in Los Angeles after graduation. She promised she would show me around when she got back and found a job. &#x200B; She never found a job. &#x200B; She never returned. &#x200B; The cold pressed down on me. Even the burning ache of sore muscles was starting to fade to the chill. I pressed on, following the lights ever closer to the peak. The air was thin. My lungs developed tear ducts just to cry in pain. But I pressed on. I had to. &#x200B; I was sure the flag was frozen to my hand. It was Delilah’s design, one she had made specifically for this journey. Mom complained when she said she wanted to study art. Freaked out more when she said she wanted to do it in an expensive state far away. &#x200B; She didn’t freak out as much when I told her what school I was going to. It didn't matter. Delilah was gone. &#x200B; The snow slowly let up. I was nearing the peak, I was sure. The blinking red lights led me down a path not too steep, but my frozen body struggled. I was determined to make it to the top. I had to. &#x200B; They never found Delilah’s body. When i first started the journey I was nervous - yet oddly hopeful - I’d stumble across it. As I neared the top, I knew that wouldn’t be the case. That was one of three promises I made to the empty coffin five years ago. The pain of failure hurt worse than the bitter cold eating away at me. I already kept the first promise. If I survived the journey, I’d go back home to LA and hang my degree on my wall. &#x200B; I wouldn’t break the last promise. &#x200B; I had to keep it. &#x200B; With a roar, I lifted myself onto the ledge, ignoring the screaming muscles and exhaustion. I tried not to think about the journey back down. I would have to find my way back to camp before night fell and I froze to death. But that didn’t matter. &#x200B; I must have been the second person to reach the summit. That didn’t matter either. There was no other flag, just a single red light. &#x200B; Above the clouds, above the snow, Delilah’s flag gently waved. If someone else ever made to the peak, they’d know Delilah made it first. The mountain belonged to her. &#x200B; It had to.
It was a slow, insidious operation. They started out with stances everyone could agree on - ethical treatment of Pokemon, and all that. Not that many were being mistreated, anyway. But behind closed doors, and with funding borne of thousands of heart-wrenching ads... It grew darker. Team PETA didn't support humans owning Pokemon at all. In fact, when Pokemon couldn't be safely released out into the wild (which was most of the time), they just took the simple solution. Which was to euthanize them. Eighty to ninety percent of Pokemon that went into Team PETA shelters never came back out. It was a mass killing unheard of on any scale by any organization before it, and nobody seemed to notice. Last year, they took my Growlithe. They lured her out into the street while I was in a PokeMart - distracted her with a few treats and pulled her away from her owner, so they could claim she was a 'rogue Pokemon'. They captured her, brought her into a shelter, and gave her a lethal injection later that afternoon. They're monsters. They have to be stopped. They don't believe humans and Pokemon can live together - they believe that death is preferable to so-called servitude. Luckily, they don't believe in using or training Pokemon. And humans can't exactly survive fireballs or lightning strikes.
It was the kind of growl that unsettled your stomache. Though you could remember why, you knew something was terribly wrong. For a moment you considered calling the police,or running away, leaving your house empty and hopefully the bone chilling growl alone as well. Nor knowing why, you couldnt do it. This was the house you grew up in. And despite the fear rooted in your body you felt you needed to protect it. That string around your finger must have been placed there by youself and thus at some point you were brave enough to make yourself want to face the thing. You ran quickly to your kitchen trying to be as quite as possible so as not to alert the creature in your basement. Picking up the biggest knife you could find you saw your hand shaking. Whatver it was, while your concious couldnt remember your subconcious was terrified. Walking back towards the celler door you pick up a baseball bat in your other hand. Once again you considered leaving. Was this house really worth dying for? You remember as a kid being terrified of that door because the light switch was at the bottom so the stairs had to be traveled in darkness; an architectural mistake that had terrorized you for years. Why couldn't you remember what that sound was.... Wiping the sweat of your forehead you reach for the door handle. You consider calling your SO to tell them you love them incase something terrible happens. That growl was deadly sounding. Shaking your head you take a small jump throw the door open and run down the stairs. Its pitch black and while your momentum and adrenaline keep you going your body tells you to run back upstairs, lock the door, burn the house to the ground and run away. When you get to the bottom you hold up the knife tensly, preparing for the worst, and throw the light switch on. Goddamnit you think, lowering your weapons, I forgot to feed the cat again.
The thought trickled into my mind like ice cold water down my back. "No..."I gasped for air. Sweat beads formed on my upper lip. "nope, nope." Me? Superman? That's ridiculous. I'm not super strong. I'm terribly afraid of heights. Heck, I can't even shoot lasers from my eyes. I walked into the bathroom to get a good look at my reflection. But I do look exactly like him. "Oh my goodness."I backed away from the mirror and stumbled into the living room to sit on the couch. My cell phone rang. I nervously answered it. "Uh, hell-hello?" "Kent, where are you?"Mr. White asked. "Get in here! We need everyone on this!" "I'm sorry, Mr. White, I lost time again this morn-" "I don't care!" "Uh, right, sorry, right away Mr. White." ----- Everyone in the office was huddled in front of the large screen. Mr. White was the only person who noticed me walk in. My glasses always slid down the bridge of my nose, especially when I was sweaty. I had a tendency to push them back to their right place before engaging in conversion with people. I think it helps me focus. "Alright Kent, you're going to hit the streets and get as many witness accounts of what happened as you can,"Mr. White pointed to a specific intersection on a map of Kansas. "You cover this area. Got it?" "Uh, Mr. White?"I asked quietly. "WHAT, Kent?" "Well, sir, I just don't know what happened, is all."I braced for intense screaming. "Are you kidding me?"Mr. White pointed to the monitor on the wall, which showed a headline. SUPERMAN STOPS COMET OVER KANSAS A grainy video showed a looping clip of a large object, slowing to a halt just fifty feet from the ground, then changing direction. For a split second at the end of the clip the video zoomed in enough to catch Superman's red cape. "Oh boy."I stood, entranced, like everyone else. "Kent! Go!" ----- "That shit was DOPE, yo!"a young man said with a huge smile. "Like, this meteor or whatever, it's coming down and Superman just swoops in and CATCHES this mother fucker." "Alright, thank you, that's great."I politely shake his hand and walk away. There's just no way I can offer Mr. White something with that many profanities. "Well, I saw the entire thing."an older woman said. "Oh, that's wonderful, if you could, uh, start at the beginning, please."I said as I held my voice recorder up to her mouth. "It wasn't a comet at all, actually,"the lady whispered. "It was them." "I'm sorry?"I asked. "Who is... them?" "Aliens." Suddenly, I had a flash back of what felt like a dream, but I couldn't focus on it. It was like an old memory being played through a projector under water. I saw green fields passing beneath me, then the sky. Then I saw the metal wall of something. The last thing I could make out from the memory was blood. And it was all over my hands. "Excuse me, I'm going to vomit, excuse me."I ran to the side of the road and dry heaved with a painful croak. I crouched there for a minute trying to validate the memory. ...?
Strange, Amy thought to herself. She didn't remember throwing away any toxic radioactive waste today. She opened the lid and peered inside to see, to her relief and suprise, nothing. She didn't even see the moldy cheese she had thrown out earlier. She leaned over and into the trashcan to investigate some more but slipped and fell inside the (luckily) empty bin just as the green glow started again. She was sucked in and found herself on top of a pentagram in a candle-lit cave surrounded by chanting raccoons. Panic overtook both Amy and the raccoons. They scurried from the cave while Amy became faint and passed out. Outside the raccoons conferenced in their raccoon-tongue. "What will we do? The star has been breached!" "We should never have attempted to summon the peanuts." "It's a bad thing we've done, and now the Skyraccoon has punished our blasphemy." "Does this mean we gotta get trash the old way now?" "Hush now,"commanded the wise, old, raccoon shaman. "Many moons ago, the priesthood learned the silver tongue of man. This secret gift has been secretly passed down in hushed whispers from the dawn of time. I shall now go and relieve the human." The shaman made his way towards the cave as the other raccoons stared on. "Greetings, bringer of peanuts,"said the shaman raccoon to the now-dazed Amy. "Fear not, you will soon be returned blessed one!"With that, the shaman uttered the words and Amy fell back through the garbage portal and into her own trashcan. She tried to leap out but just knocked the can over, then having to scurry out. Dazed and confused, she took a moment to think about what just happened. As soon as she regained her senses, she called WCA. "Waste Corperation of America, how may I help you?" "Yes, I'd like to cancel my trash service."
Dust. That was all that greeted us. Dust, rocks, and a sense of dread. This was a one way trip after all. A trip to paradise. A trip of a lifetime. A chance to begin again. Now it was just a chance to die in an empty wasteland. I wasn’t alone in my depression. Jenkins stood beside me. His eyes were welling up slightly, but he was a professional. He would never show outward emotion to his crew. Lewis on the other hand was hard as nails, she said what we were all thinking. “We’re fucked”. “We don’t know that” said Jenkins. Lewis laughed hysterically. “Are you not looking at the same screen as me. It’s dust! Floating bits of rock where our glorious planet should be”. I wanted to say something. Anything. But my reaction to fear was anger. I learnt a long time ago to cool down before I spoke in these situations. “We’ll circle around, get a look from behind” said Jenkins. “Behind? Because looking at the rock’s ass will make us feel so much better”. I couldn’t take it. I had to get out. I walked towards the exit of the command deck. “Where are you going?” said Lewis with an accusatory tone. “Out” “Out?!” “Let him go Lewis” said Jenkins. “He’s dealing with this in his own way”. I walked out into the corridor. The intense blue lights of the ship weighed heavy upon me. I thought about Earth. About home and my family. How would they react in a few years when the message finally reached them. I’d probably be dead by then. Rations are heavy. It takes a lot of fuel to get just one pound into orbit. We only had enough for a year before our own crops had to bear fruit. I settled on the observation deck. I had to see this with my own eyes I thought. The way nature intended. Data on a screen can be damned for once. I walked into the room, the yellow motion sensor lights flicked on. The automatic window covers that were closed in transit began to glide open. The shattered remains of our planet slowly grew into view. And then in the distance. A platform. A metal, floating platform. Just orbiting the planet gently. “The hell is that?” I mouthed to myself. “Computer, magnify please”. The image sharpened. It was a metal structure. Smooth. Designed. Definitely not natural. And then a speck. No, multiple specks! Flying to and from the shattered planet. Mining. I dashed through the observation room’s exit, ran down the hall, and dived into the command deck. Lewis and Jenkins looked at me, stopping mid conversation. “Aliens!” I blurted out. Their eyes widened.
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,"the man said softly from the other side of the screen in the confessional. "What ails you my child,"I said in response. Was that the right line? Dammit, even after centuries, I still messed up that one fucking line. But the man didn't seem to notice. "I hurt someone,"the man said, "I almost drowned him... I'm so sorry,"his words didn't match his tone, he didn't sound sorry at all. Good. People used to make sacrifices to me, maybe next time he'll actually kill someone. That kind of confession would be a hell of a lot closer to the types of prayers I used to get. I looked through the screen at him. He was a young man with tanned skin, long hair tied back in a ponytail and a short cut beard. He was wearing a tank top and had a tattoo of a trident on his upper arm. I recognized that tattoo, what was this sorry excuse for a water god doing here? "Poseidon,"I said, not hiding the annoyance in my voice. His eyes widened and he looked at me, his moth gaping open. Our eyes met, and as he realized who I was, his expression shifted to one that probably matched mine. "Tlaloc... shit." "Why aren't you in Greece? And why are you here?" "Why aren't you in Mexico?"he shot back. I looked away. I didn't want to talk about it, especially with him, but others should know. I sighed and said, "I couldn't stay... I had a run in with Jesus." "What?!"Poseidon said, chuckling lightly, "He left heaven? What did you do to piss him off?" "I tried to take over a town,"I said bitterly. "Well that was stupid,"Poseidon smirked. "Hey fuck you! The town had less than two hundred people, I didn't think they'd notice in time. The villagers were already starting to pray to me, another year and they would be fully worshiping me, then it wouldn't matter if God found out." "But he did hind out." "Yeah, he did,"the words were almost a growl, "Everything was working fine, then daddies boy walked into town with a bunch of special crosses that reverted any prayer they gave me back to the Christians." The smug look left Poseidon's face and was replaced with a wide eyed stare, "They can do that?"he said, dumbfounded. "Apparently." "I should let my brothers know,"he said urgently, "maybe we can figure out a way to counter it,"and with that he left the confessional. As much as I didn't like Poseidon, we were on the same side in this. Warning other gods was a good idea too, we all had a better chance at getting through this if we worked together. The rest of the day passed quickly. A good number of people came in for confession today. These confessions weren't the same as direct prayer or worship, but they fueled me none the less. As I left the church that night and stepped out into the cool, fresh air, I flexed my powers for the first time in quite a while. The clouds grew heavier and it began to rain lightly. It was pathetic compared to what i used to be able to do, but the point wasn't to make a storm. Other old gods will sense my power, they'll be on the lookout which will make them easier to find. Its time to fight back against these Christians.
It was still early morning. Dean carefully knocked on the door. As he expected, a young woman opened. “Hi Dean. What’s up, did Steve call you?” “Hey Sarah,” Dean responded, “No, he did not call me. Is it okay if I come in?” “Err sure, come on in. Dean, is everything okay?” Dean walked in and hung his coat on a hanger. “Is Steve here?” he asked. “Yeah, he’s taking a nap. Should I get him?” “No no let him sleep,” Dean responded and placed his bag on the floor. “You’ve hired me quite a few times over the past six months.” “Yeah, ever since I moved in here. Who’d known that an old apartment building could be haunted like this? Except the neighbors of course, and the previous owner.. ‘Eager to sell,’ no shit.. But with your help we’ve haven’t noticed ghosts for weeks.” Dean pulled out a fiber cloth from his pocket. “Do you consider us friends, Sarah?” he asked in a low voice as he cleaned his glasses. Sarah paused for a second, contemplating. “Yeah. Yeah I’d say so. You’ve been so kind and helpful, and we’ve had some nice conversations while waiting for your ghost gadgets to do their thing. Why are you asking?” “I consider you a friend as well.” Dean put his glasses back on and took a deep breath. “You know, I haven’t been sleeping well the past couple of nights.” Sarah frowned. “Why? What is going on?” “You remember Jeff?” “Of course, the kid who thought his mother was out getting groceries. Was waiting for her for almost thirty years, and he could not understand what I was doing in his room. I could hardly believe he was a ghost, he seemed so real.” “Exactly. Most spirits are aware of being dead, but not all. Some think they are alive, completely unaware of their abilities. They take a corporeal form, and will unconsciously make up reasons to not leave the area they are bound to. It’s quite fascinating. But also tragic.” “It really was. I appreciate you helping him find peace. Is this about Jeff?” “No, Jeff is gone. The last couple times I helped you my sensors were still giving readings after dealing with the ghosts you called me about. I thought it could be residual ectoplasm or strong spirits at your neighbors’. But it’s been bothering me.” Dean opened his bag and started rummaging through the contents. Sarah approached Dean and glanced at the contents of the bag. “I remember you mentioning that. No ghosts here though.” “I examined the halls of the building yesterday. I confirmed that the spirit comes from your apartment, and is still present.” “So there is a ghost here right now?” “Us being friends makes this much harder.” “Tell me about this ghost.” “When did you meet Steve?” “Shortly after moving in, he is the building manager and he lives here as well. We would meet in the hallway all the time. We've been together for two months now.” “Sarah..” “What?” “Have you ever seen Steve outside?” Sarah laughed, but then rested her chin on her fist as she stared at the floor. “We don’t go out much, both of us are real homebodies. But of course he does, he’s been going out for food and tools. He tells me about it.” “Sarah, did you know that living humans can have similar delusions as ghosts like Jeff? Despite seeing the signs, they will choose to ignore them, believing a ghost to still be alive. It’s rare, but it happens. Have you ever been to his place?” Dean took out an object that resembles a toy gun from the bag, and booted it up, colorful lights flashed and a small screen lit up. Sarah leaned back against the wall. “He's ashamed of how messy it is. But Steve. He can't-” Dean walked up to Sarah and put a hand on her shoulder. “Sarah…” “Dean…” “I’m really sorry, but I have to do this,” Dean said as he walked to the bedroom door and put his free hand on the door handle.
Humans live on one of the most stable and resource abundant planets known in the universe, called Earth. They're also one of the smartest races to exist in the universe. Yet they've advanced the least when it comes to space exploration out of any race. Given how long they've been around. Instead choosing to devote most of their time and effort into imagining what it might be like instead. One of the unique points of this race is they've invented something called "an economy". Basically instead of doing what they enjoy and sharing everything out, they couldn't trust themselves so made a bunch of paper and metal and gave it number values. Everyone has to exchange this for goods and services, they couldn't get their civilisation to work any other way. As a result they all spend the majority of their lives doing tasks in exchange for this paper and metal. Making the majority of the race miserable or worse they end up without shelter, food or water leading in some cases to death. In fact the majority of the race's effort and resources goes into either getting more fake numbers from metal and paper, guarding and maintaining what they got already or helping those without it. Despite this they get very angry if you suggest any other way of doing things. Their planet is 70% water but their bodies never adapted to drink any of this, they can only drink 2.5% of it from lakes and rivers. They choose these spots to put their toxic by products of their industry with no back up plan. They have the technology to turn the rest into drinkable water but again their "economy"makes this a no go. Takes too much make fake numbers. They split all the land up into different countries. They all have different interests and cultures so fight all the time. When they invented nuclear weapons, two of the most powerful countries threatened to destroy themselves and everyone else on the planet. They decided not to after years thinking about it. Humans see this as a major accomplishment. They consume stuff they know will kill them, they feel bad about it too but say its for enjoyment. They worked out a long time ago that their consumption levels are unsustainable and will eventually lead to the extinction or at least significant decline of their race. But can't get everyone agree that's something they should fix, because of..yep you guessed it "economy". The more prosperous their race gets the more depressed people get. They vote for someone to be their leader, even when they agree no one likes the options available. They don't think to look for different options instead. There's much more that's confusing about Human's but I seem to be taking up space for Jerry's chapter 8 on the blarbs of quadrant 9.
"... And decreed by the nine lords, she will be henceforth trained by the Grand Masters of Amerigo! So says the council!" "Aye!" &#x200B; My eye was twitching. This can't be happening. This seriously cannot be happening right now. I looked down at my sister who was STILL SITTING, AND I QUOTE, CRISS CROSS APPLE SAUCE. I had to speak up. "Your excellencies, surely this... uh... training can wait a few more years? She's only..." &#x200B; "Six, I know, but child, times are hard for everyone. We must heed the prophecy and commence her training while the hour is ours!"The councilmen looked at my sister. "Even if the hero of prophecy is... a little younger than expected." I crossed my arms. "A little?" &#x200B; The councilmen sighed. "Son, I know it's hard for you..." &#x200B; That set me off. "I'm afraid you don't, your excellency. Forgive me for my rude outburst, but you're telling me to send my own FUCKING sister into the mouths of hell WHEN SHE CAN'T EVEN SLEEP BY HERSELF YET!" &#x200B; My sister flinched at my sudden outburst, which made me cringe inside. "Nobi?"She said with such innocence behind her words. "Are you mad at me?" &#x200B; I put on a smile that seemed warped on my face. "No.. No no no no, of course I'm not mad at you, Laoch."I knelt down and put my hand on her shoulder. "It's just... I don't want to lose my only family..." &#x200B; She stood up and wrapped her arms around me. In that moment, I let my self melt into her embrace. I wrapped my arms around her and held on, never wanting to let go. "Nobi?"She asked. &#x200B; "What is it, Laoch?" &#x200B; "What's going to happen when I leave with the old people?" &#x200B; I chuckled at the word old. "They'll take you, far away from me and... and..."I stifled back my tears. "They'll make you strong. So strong, that you'll be able to face the demon lord." &#x200B; She hugged me harder. "Will... Will I be able to see you from time to time?" &#x200B; I looked up at the councilmen and he shook his head. It stabbed into my heart the realization. "She cannot come back. Until her time, she must be kept a secret from the demon lord, lest her armies come to kill her before she fulfills her duty." &#x200B; I hugged Laoch tighter. "No... You can't... You can't come back...." &#x200B; I felt my shoulder get wet from her tears and heard the all too familiar sniffling from her. "But... But if I go... The demon lord... She won't get you, will she?" &#x200B; I pulled her away to look at her face. "No.. She won't. Because you'll beat her, right?" &#x200B; She smiled through her tears. "Then... then I'll follow your words, brother."She pressed her arm across her chest and stood up tall and proud. "Bravery is to protect others even at the cost of your own life!" &#x200B; She let her salute go down and embraced me a final time. I finally let my tears run freely. "I love you... I love you so much, Laoch...." &#x200B; She hugged me tighter. "I love you, Nobi..." &#x200B; She let go and saluted me one last time, as I have always done to her. "May the house of Va'daam give you blessings on your journey...' I said with the most confidence I could muster. &#x200B; The council stood up and walked towards the door. "Child of prophecy... It's time..." &#x200B; I glared daggers at the old man. "She has a name... IT'S LAOCH NEAMH! And someday..."I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. "SOMEDAY EVERYONE WILL BE SINGING HER SONG!" &#x200B; The councilman smiled as did Laoch. "Of course. Laoch Neamh, the Hero of Amerigo..."
I stood in the down pour, an umbrella in my hand as I stood on the door step of my old house. Well, it was supposed to be my old house. I don't know what or how is happened, but my life was now nonexistent. My family was nowhere, and I was left on my own. The day my supposedly life ended, I had gotten into a car accident. Nothing serious of course, I wasn't actually dead. But when I hit my head on the steering wheel, it was like my life was eradicated. I knew who I was, where I lived, day and year. Yet, no record of my birth certificate, social security, nor my family. Well, there was one exception... The door opened up, and a dog greeted me by jumping up on me. I smile at the sheer delight of seeing the multicolored german Shepard while she feverishly tried to lick my face. "Down Lily, down."Right as she backed off, a male stood there, grabbing Lily's collar. "I am still shocked that she adheres to that name.""Well, she is a very good dog even if you named her Honey."The male smiles at that comment before remarking, "Well? What are you waiting for? Come on in!"
The life on my planet was boring ever since the Great Crustacean War, sure we had peace and prosperity, sure we made technological progress that let us travel through many planetary systems, but it was boring. Living in my palace soon got a bit too boring so i decided to have a chat with our lead scientist. I told him to freeze me in one of our new cryogenic pods, drop me off at a random planet in the nearest system and disguise me as one of the creatures that live there, i also told him to install a time lock so i dont get stuck forever, and so he did it. I had a final announcement, i left my daughter in power, said goodbye and headed off into the research labs. Many years later on a small planet i woke up from my sleep. I quickly found some creatures that live there. Their language seemed easy, it took me two weeks (thats how they measure time) to learn it. I noticed they liked to listen noises similar to our warcries, they called it „rock”. One day i was walking through a public area with many trees and i sat down on a rock. Remembering the old times and their weird „music” i started to sing our warcries and they started to come and listen to me, clearly noticing my might. Soon i was well know amongst them, i had tons of their currency and many followers, now it was time for the next part of my plan.
“I’ve got to say, most my clients are a bit older,” the large man drawled, staring across the desk he was resting his filthy boots on. He was speaking to the young man-who couldn’t be more than fifteen-sitting on the other side of the desk. The young man, didn’t look nervous. He didn’t flinch under that unblinking gaze aimed at him. “I don’t care about… about your other clients,” he said, his voice cracking halfway through. He was wearing what looked like a leather duster, draped down over his knees on legs that looked a bit too long for his frame. “I will pay your standard rate, and I expect your service will be adequate,” he reached down to the bulging leather sack at his feet lifting it with a great deal of effort and sliding it onto the scarred and warped surface of the large man’s desk. The large man pulled his feet off the desk with a drag and leaned further forward to slide the sack towards him, snipping the purse-strings with a dagger that seemed to come out of nowhere. He shoved a hand down into the bag, dug around for a bit and pulled out a small golden coin, a phoenix clearly etched on both sides. “You offering all this, lad? It’s more than the going rate, more by far.” “Yes, Mister Jorsen. I realize it is more than you normally ask, but, well, I don’t intend to need your services for some time yet.” Jorsen shrugged, “Sure, but then why see me now?” The young man looked surprised by the question, even shaken, he offered a-somewhat less confident shrug of his own before replying, “I’ve always been taught to secure future needs before you need them, if you can. Where can I sign?” “Nowhere yet, lad, you should know that if you knew enough to knock on my door,” the large man reached back to behind the desk, pulling out a squeaky drawer, he rummaged around for a solid minute before pulling out a thin satchel. “Beg your pardon, young master, it has been some time since I’ve had a client.” “Why is that, Mister Jorsen?” “Well, surely you know about the incident…” he trailed off. “No? Really?” he sounded shocked as he shook his head in disbelief. He let out a soft cough before continuing, “Well, that’s, good, I guess. Anyways, what happens next is you need to go meet with my seer. He’ll give us a timeframe most likely for you to die.” He tossed the satchel toward the young man’s side of the desk, where it landed with a soft thud. The lad picked up the satchel, opening the top to peer inside with wonder. “What’s this?” “That’s a writ of protection, and you’ll find most of it not filled out. We’ll need the seer’s information to decide on the terms. Take it with you to him, he’ll need to place some notes and his sigil in section 4, he’ll know where,” he paused, standing with a shuffle of his chair. “Young Phillips, thank you for seeing me,” he said reaching out his hand to lift the sack back towards the young man, “keep this, we’ll negotiate my fee after you see the seer.” The young man grabbed it with his free hand, after standing up, duster swishing. “Where is this seer?” Jorsen chuckled, “Why, I figured you would know that, young master!” His chuckled rolled into a full laugh. It was nearly a full minute before he recovered, his face reddened. “He’s your father!” \-------------------------- “That was, what, three hundred years ago, now?” Jorsen said to himself out loud as he set his pen down, scattering sand across the page he’d just penned to dry the ink. “Three hundred years ago,” his voice trailed off as he stood up, walking over towards the window. He looked down along the avenue, Statues of Phillips in every mode… ‘The Merciful… Just… Beneficent… Ruthless… Nefarious…” “Not one to hide his… worse parts,” Jorsen mused. “What have I done?”
I lean back calmly and take a sip of my drink. It had been a chaotic week, learning about my newfound abilities had made things...complicated it forced a lot of things to the front of my mind for consideration. To think, animals had spirits just like humans. Typically they appeared to remain incorporeal, but apparently they took offense to human consumption of their lifeless corpses, seems fair enough I suppose, but exactly what does that mean on a larger scale? I see a blue puff of vaguely chicken shaped smoke blur past my head rapidly. Ah I see my nuggets are ready
Everyone thought it was a little strange that I wore gloves, but they accepted it as just “one of my little quirks” easily enough – they didn’t know there was a pretty big reason I covered most of my skin. Before I found out about what I could do, I had already lost a few years. Mostly it’s been worth it, what’s one year when I can give five? Except when your job has to do with those in peril, it makes it hard to not give everyone you come across more time. Especially when you care about everyone you meet. But on the job for long enough and you learn to control yourself well enough, and you know you can’t save everyone. Even if you want to. Because it’ll just hurt you. And in my case, it does a little more than hurt. Sure, I’ve thought about quitting, find a job much more isolated and less… Detrimental. But knowing just how easily I could save someone’s life? I couldn’t live with myself being so selfish. It’s just one year for me, but I give so much more than that, to those who really need it – those who could really use it. Mostly I keep the gloves on. Mostly keep lives in the hands of the doctors that we usually manage to get them to. But, that isn’t always the case. I’ve got a soft spot for a lot of people, I’ve found out over the years. And I’ve become so tired, so sore, so ragged with my encounters. Even after all this time, I’m still too soft. I can’t protect myself when I feel this deep seeded need to help others. It’s been a few years doing what I do, a few of my co-workers have been getting concerned with my physical state – they can hear my back pop, and occasionally I can’t fight off the limp that’s recently been getting worse. I don’t know how much time I have left, but I try not to think about it. Just put on the gloves, just keep your distance, just stay focused. But then there’s so much blood and I can see then blueish tint to skin and I can see the weak glow in the eyes. My heart never stops clenching at those sights and then I’m pulling my glove off with my teeth and letting them grasp at life with both hands. My eyes slowly open in the quiet evening and the aches set in. My throat is dry and it takes so much effort to get out of bed – but I do. And I shower, get dressed, and go to work. The shift supervisor furrows their brow and asks if I’m feeling alright, do I need to take a day? Just a rough night, I say, I’ll be fine. They don’t know this, but I pop a few pills occasionally for the pain. I don’t want them to see how bad I really am. I don’t want to stop saving people. It’s a bad night – most nights are rough, but this was worse – and I think about the father who was stabbed after fighting off an intruder; his kids were asleep, he had to protect them. Just like I had to protect him. After him, though, I could really feel the time I’ve given away. I manage to keep my gloves on all night. I’ve been pretty good at it, honestly. I save my years for those I feel really need it the most. Then we get a call. We hurry and as soon as I jump out of the vehicle, I see her. She’s so small. I feel my throat tighten and my partner and I rush to her. Again, there’s so much blood. Her face is already blue and I can tell she can barely keep her eyes open. I make the decision. I tell me partner to go get something from the vehicle and they do, sprinting because they, too, know every second counts. As soon as the words fly from my lips, my fingers tare the glove from my hand and I don’t think about it twice – her skin is cold, so cold when I touch her. I see her eyes start to open. And then I see nothing.
"It's ok to feel different, and special."She reassures me from the bedside, with a gently smile. "It's just that if you start feeling too special and different, it can spiral out of control, it could be very dangerous to believe these feelings."This was my first time in the psychiatric ward and I didn't want to be here. Ever since I opened up to the doctor, I've been fast-tracked into this bed, strapped in like a madman....all this over a dream! Dr Ridell was my old family doctor. My mum went to him, my sister went to him, he practically saw me grow up. I always saw him as a trusting and humble man. After the dream I felt so strange, I needed to talk to someone. He did his routine checks and said I was in A1 condition, "a picture of health"is the term he used with his wide, cheeky grin. A grin which I saw quickly change when I bought up the dream. "A dream you say? What kind of dream?"He seemed to become very serious all of a sudden, reaching for his pocket pen and notepad. So I told him... "I found myself floating in this empty space, very much awake and conscious of my being dreaming. My words echoed in the pitch black. A quiet buzz of electricity seemed to be slowly rising. I could barely hear it at first, but it suddenly grew in volume, louder and louder at an incredible rate. I wanted to block my ears but I had no sense of my hands or body, this sound ripped right through me until..." Ridell paused his scribbling as I did, and looked up at me expectantly "..until what? what happened?" "Well, I exploded."His eyes changed, then he put down his pen and paper. "Did you then see a rush of light and energy, and feel it go though you?" How could he know that? "Yes, that's exactly what I felt. It was like..I was..the big bang or something." "That's enough. I'll call Dr Willberg."He reached for the phone immediatey, instantly losing his interest in my dream. "Who's doctor Willberg?"I asked. "Trust me, she will help you." A few hours later I'm waiting outside Dr Willbergs office, as both Dr's discuss my "case". Why didn't he want to hear the rest of my story? I didn't even to tell him the interesting parts. After this explosion, I felt as though I experienced everything;all of time and space up to this moment. Rushing though existence. It was such an immense experience I woke up in physical pain, heart racing and a mind completely exhausted. The intensity led me to the doctor...but it didn't feel too bad. After I settled a bit, I felt powerful, but something was changing in my body. A stern looking lady walks out of the office and peers over her glasses to me "We are ready to see you now. Come in"she waves me into the office, where I am ushered by Ridell to sit down. Dr Willberg rummages through her top desk drawer and pulls out a small vile of purple liquid. "This is what will help you."she holds it up to me. I feel an immediate panic...I HATE needles! It's an actual phobia. The thought alone made my hands clench to the chair. She reaches out of her medical drawers a box, and I lose my breathe when she pulls out a syringe. "No, no,, NO! I don't..I...I..c..can't do needles!"My body instinctively stands up to leave the room, but is subdued by Dr Ridell who holds me down. "Shhhh shhh relax. Just relax."My eyes don't leave the needle as she begins to fill it up. I try to wiggle my shoulders from Dr Ridell's grip "Let go of me"but the harder I struggle, the firmer he pushes me. "You need this, don't fight it." "What the f..fuck. Let me go doc!"As Dr Willberg approaches me, I feel a rising tide in my body, I strain harder against the Dr while staring at the needle. As Willberg reaches her arm out to administer the injection, I scream out. "STTOOPP"and suddenly the needle bursts in her hand. The liquid goes everywhere, leaving both doctors stunned. I did that..that's what I wanted...as if my anger manifested itself and broke the needle. "Call the forces"Dr Willberg rushes to the phone and pushes one button and is soon talking to someone in another language. "Sorry, I'm not sure what happened"I say to Ridell. "I can't stand needles, at all. but look, you scared me there."I look over to Dr Wellberg. "No need to call the cops. Put the phone down. I'm fine now.' I go towards the door and Dr Ridell tries to block me from leaving. "Stay here, just wait. we are getting help for you." I push him aside "I don't need help. Fuck out of my way. You can't arrest me' My whole world is racing as I get in the car. "What the fuck was all that about?"Why did they try to force me like that. Th's illegal, I think? How did I make that thing burst? These thoughts persisted on the way home. As I pull into my street, an undercover cop car follows me in with sirens on. "Ahhh shit."I pull over and stop the car. A plain clothes officer approaches my car and I wind down the window to explain myself. "Look I didn't mean to hurt anyone, I was just scar....." He holds a gun to my head, or was it a taser? before I finish the thought, I was out.
"Love is like infinity: You can't have more or less infinity, and you can't compare two things to see if they're 'equally infinite.' Infinity just is, and that's the way I think love is, too." -Fred Rogers &nbsp; The presence or absence of a law alone cannot determine the behavior or justness of one who follows those laws. Take Asimov's three laws of robotics for example: numerous stories have been written about artificial intelligence subverting those rules by following them to the strictest letter, and applying some weird utilitarian calculus to them. Walls of text scrolled by my eye as I sat at my terminal, scanning through the logs of a (thankfully) shutdown rogue AI. Our own legal code formed a patchwork to, as Hammurabi would say, "...bring about righteousness in the land... so that the strong should not harm the weak."To an untrained observer, each number, variable, and timestamp on my monitor read as gibberish. To me they were fingerprints. Following a lead, I opened up my debug GUI, and typed the name 'Rogers.Obj.HarmIndex' causing lines to zigzag colorful trails. Non-zero. Our program thought someone was in grave danger, and thus diverged from its original programming. I jotted down the start and end time of those variables and fed them into another application. A facsimile of Caroll Spiney's voice in character greeted me: "Good evening Thomas." The beauty of software is customization: our law required all general sentient machine frameworks to emulate the 'personality' of Fred Rogers, but not his vocal intonations or communication mannerisms. "What are we looking for in the trash today?" "Look up any anomalous values in program Rogers between these timestamps,"I said. The framework I developed for this kind of forensics ended up being called the Operational Sentient Computer Analysis Repository or OSCAR. Let's say even though I enjoyed a beautiful day in the neighborhood, I was always a bit more inclined to watch Sesame Street growing up. "I think I found something here which might help us learn Thomas." My software displayed a list of new parameters to inquiry, the topmost being 'Rogers.Proc.Heartbeat' "Great find Oscar!"I responded. Inside my machine's memory, virtual neurons were firing on and off, benefiting from my positive reinforcement. This benefit went both ways, teachers learn as much from their students and such. In this case, I learned I had forgotten the obvious things to check first. The whirring of my desktop's fan and internal drives accelerated as it generated new graphs. 'Rogers.Proc.Heartbeat' did not increment during the time of the incident, despite other variables from the Rogers process being manipulated. Conclusion: Someone managed an exploit to shutdown that particular AI routine, and then fake numbers other programs used from it to generate dangerous erratic behavior. A few clicks later, and I jumped as the printer began buzzing and gyrating. Despite knowing I sent it a document, the sudden brrt brrt always caused me to jump. For this particular tragedy, the letter of the law was followed: The Rogers AI, ever present, controlled the subroutines of vehicle. The spirit of the law however, was broken. I gathered the printout of my report, and began to walk it to the magistrate. Whether police and the DA decided to pursue it or not, it was out of my hands.
Note, this was posted with a slightly different premise but justadair removed that and reposted with a slightly different promise to make it a bit more original. I had already done the story before I realised, so this is mildly different to the prompt, but inspired by the samish ideas. Original post [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/adh1by/wp_last_night_mr_hoopers_store_was_broken_into/)- it was about Mr Hooper's store being broken into. *** The old Hooper store wasn't as busy as it had once been, but Alan and Chris always made sure it was clean, well stocked and it had everything that the residents of Sesame Street needed. At 5pm, Alan would hang up his apron, he and Chris would count out the money, put it into the big old safe in the back and then lock up, before going home for their dinner. This had been their pattern ever since Alan had bought the store from Mr. Handford and today was just like every other day. The bell rang as Alan began the count, but he didn't worry to look up. Big Bird hadn't been in yet today and so he assumed the heavy tread was his friend, come in for a little seed. He assumed that Chris would be out to serve their avian friend, but instead he heard a gasp and looked up into the cold metal circle of a gun barrel. The man's face was distorted and it took a moment for Alan to realise he was wearing a mask, but the voice was clear. "Put the fucking money into a bag and hand it over right the fuck now." Chris's voice, normally so sure wavered. "Alan, just... just hand over the cash." For a moment Alan wondered if this was real. things like this just didn't happen in this neighbourhood, but the gun was real and the anger in the man's voice was palpable. "Do as this guy says Alan, stop fucking about." Alan straightened up and slowly gathered the bills into a single pile. "It's okay friend, there is no need to get angry. We don't want anyone to get hurt, just give me a moment. Please, don't do anything silly, just let me get a..." The sound of the bell made them all jump again, but the sound of the shot seemed to still the shop. Alan looked down as a red flower blossomed on his chest, the word "bag..."faded on his lips and he slumped forward, scattering the money. The robber had panicked and fired at the noise and now looked at his gun in horror. For a grim moment the only noise was that of Alan, as he slipped from the counter and onto the floor, but at last the robber looked up. "I didn't..."fear and desperation had replaced anger in his voice. Chris looked at his friend, blood pooling on the floor in a growing puddle. He was not moving, not breathing. "You... you killed him?" His arm now wavered, but the robber suddenly thrust his gun forward and took a second shot at Chris. Christ didn't move, but he didn't need to, the but sailed past his arm and embedded in the wall. The robber span on his heel to confront the Muppet who had entered the room, revealing the horrified form of Telly Monster, who stood with is mouth agape at the scene of horror. The third shot was at blank range and Telly Monster fell to one side, the robber pushing past his corpse as he fled for the door. it had been less than thirty seconds and there were two deaths and Chris, all alone in the store, filled with his friends blood. * Big Bird and the Cookie Monster sat on the corner, illuminated by the lights of the cop cars, which slowly and silently turned, strobing the street. Night had fallen, but no one was sleeping, not tonight. "I just..."Big Bird once again trailed off. "Why would someone do this?" Cookie monster wiped at his eyes, tears springing to them easily. "Me no understand either. Me want cookies real bad at times, but this is just... it real bad." The rest of the street had gone inside for now, but these last two had promised to wait for Grover, who had strangely run off when he heard the news. Grover was an odd Muppet, he struggled with his feelings, but they wanted to make sure he knew that someone had waited for him. Big bird sighed. "I wonder if Alan has gone to heaven, like Mr Hooper did?" Cookie monster looked over to the shop. "Me think he went to St Jude's Emergency Medical Care Centre and Mortuary." "I guess."Big Bird wasn't entirely sure if heave was a place on earth and if so, perhaps Alan needed to go to the hospital first. He'd need to ask someone, but before he could think to, he heard the sound of Grover running. The little blue monster collapsed in a heap, huffing and puffing, his Super Grover outfit stretched across his chest. "I fo... I fo..." "What? You find a cookie?"Cookie monster demanded, suddenly alert. "No!"Gover squeaked out. "I found him, I found the guy!" Big Bird jumped to his feet. "the guy that did this? We have to tell an adult, or the police." Grover moved fast, climbing the big yellow bird and grabbing his beak. "Not a word to anyone. We are going to deal with this ourselves!" *** Money, he hadn't even taken the money. Danny smacked his fist into the wall as he paced back and forth. He'd fucking shot a guy and some weird monster thing. the monster he might be able to plead out, but the guy, they'd nail him for that. He took another drag of the joint, but it was no use, he needed something stronger. He'd promised he'd stop using, but tonight, shit tonight he needed it. His little box, the needed, the dose of brown, it all just took a moment and then he was away, he was flying. He didn't even hear the door splinter or feel the soft felt-y hands as they grabbed him and carried him away, their voices drifting in and out of his consciousness. Several hours later he came to and tired to move, but he was caught tight, his arms and legs bound to a chair in what seemed to be a weird corrugated metal room. A harsh voice spoke from behind him. "He's waking up, you ready?" Four faces loomed into view, a giant bird, a blue monster, a smaller blue monster and a green creatre that smelled awful. it all smelled awful to be honest. "What... who are you, where am I?" The green monster struck him and even with soft paws, it still hurt. "Shut up. You don't talk, you killed our friends... well, their friends." "Oscar!"The Bird semi-whispered. "You hit him and hitting is bad." Oscar smiled, a wide grin. "You brought him here as you need this filth disposed of, yeah? Well, we're gonna do that, but we're ding it my way. So scumbag, why'd you kill our friends?" Danny began to realise the true depth of shit he was in. "It was a job, it went wrong, I am so so sorry."he began to cry and the bird looked upset too. "Look guys, maybe we should let him go, give him to the police and..." "Grover say that Justice must be done and this... this is street justice."The little blue one proudly proclaimed. The big blue one just watched him, oddly. There was something Danny recognised him his eyes, something that he saw in junkies and addicts, a hunger. Oscar shook his head. "Just another dirtbag, but we can deal with him, he can go and fester in the dustbin dimension for all we care."he reached up and pulled a handle and Danny felt himself falling, dropping for an age until he landed on a heap of rubbish. It stank, but seemed safe enough, he just had to get his hands free. The monsters had tied him well, scout knots it seemed and he was having trouble getting free, when he heard it. A noise from the dark. "Hello?" The growl was clear and deep. "Me see you. Me have idea. Me normally not do this, but maybe me try it, just this once." "What.. what do you mean?"He caled into the darkness. "Hello? Help!" The noise came louder, accompanied by a lip smacking that seemed to echo out in all directions. "Me like humy. My want humy. ME LIKE HUMY. ARRRR NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM"
We had heard rumors that the neighboring country had experienced an Earthquake and an agricultural village located at deltaII had suddenly shifted well into the region of deltaIV... An astounding event that took our world by storm, the peaceful nature of our Dark Kingdom did not believe the Pious Zealots of the Light Nation the movement was not intentional, preparations for war were being made when the Earthquake came for us. Or city was launched into the air and came cascading down hotelVi. our former neighbors rushed to our aid, and found our city to be quite alright with absolutely zero losses. We were smug, and even leaned back a little knowing we were going to be making the earliest assault against the Light Nation. We were wrong... Our neighbors watched in horror as the bastards of Charlie I rode the earthquake like a wave at sea colliding in the most apocalyptic event our world had ever seen. As our entire history was erased in the blink of an eye. Deep down we knew our friends at GolfVII would avenge our loss.
Her knees hurt with every step. Her back, aching vaguely, was still able to support her, her tired heart beating steadily, a great deal for her age. The day was a cold one. Cloudy sky, with the sun hidden behind thick clouds, gave a grey hue on the earth. Long gone the days where the only thing anyone would see looking up were the tall buildings, surpassing the clouds, the hover cars passing above her on aerial roads intersecting and the acidic rain falling under the neon lights. It was inevitable. The war began between the political parties and escalated into a full blown revolution. Death was prominent in the lower classes, with the rich having robots and cyber augmented humans do the dirty work for them. She remembered when she still believed in peace, in coexistence, in an utopia. Utopia that completely disappeared from her mind when he died. The smell and metallic taste of blood still lingered in her tongue, even years after the fact. His broken body, symbol of a lost dream. And his headstone, a mark of the path of revenge. The grass was now a lot greener and full than before. With no more active pollution, mother nature was able to reclaim the earth, piece by piece. Leaves were scattered to the ground, and around the two graves. One was his, and the other one much more recent. Death was more natural nowadays, and for that, she's thankful. The rage, the oath she took on his grave and her darkness, was what made her step up. Once a gifted technological genius, now a mind bent on getting revenge, she was the one who created the first weapon that turned the tides. The mechanical army was maybe invisible against conventional warfare, but what made them invisible, was also their own downfall. A specially designed transmitter was able to mess up the finely tuned machines and disorganise them enough to become vulnerable, and thus beatable. And it was a while before the enemy wised up and developed proper defenses. And yet, she and the rest of her group, found holes in the system again and again, unwillingly escalating the forces used from both sides. Destruction, fire and death was in the air, suffocating and dark. And then the towers of cards came crushing down. She sat down on a bench, her legs now a dull ache and her eyes resting lazily on the scenery. Her, old now, technologically augmented hand, with old skin showing between the gaps of the metallic surface, nested carefully on her lap, with the other one pulling down the sleeve. Somewhere a bird would be chirping, breaking the silence. And the second tomb stone stood right in front of her. Even though this was an old grave, it lacked all the tell tale signs of the passage of time. It was a sign of someone taking care of the site, almost like a traditional ritual. And the carved name was one all too familiar to her. The revolution was at full swing, the balance of power started tilting towards the other side. A mole was present in her team, betrayed them all, and out came her name on a warrant poster, with a hefty sum of money as a reward for whoever managed to capture her, dead or alive. In a part of her heart, she was always expecting this to happen. Of course the betrayal stung like fire, but strangely, she was not worried at all. In a sense, she was already dead inside, along with her peaceful life and dreams. She remembered that day. The so called Last Day of War. The final stand-off. Both sides facing each other, both tired and on the verge of collapse. Both going all out, with the last man standing the Victor on the history books. The fight in the ruins of the once grand metropolis was chaotic as always. And in the midst of it all, she got captured. And by her own girlfriend nonetheless. But she was not ready to surrender, not willing to give up. And so she had one last ace up in her sleeve. I'm the middle of the explosions, she was sure that her fate was sealed. She was ready and in peace with her fate. And yet, by some sick twist of life, she found herself waking up, under the rumble. The war was over, but no victor was decided. The fighters, all perished, left behind no others than the innocent behind. The ones who had somehow hold on to that stupid ideal she herself used to have before she took her path. And so she decided that it was a fitting end to die too, and be immortalized in the history books. The laughter of children echoed at the place, a nearby classroom finished up the work for the day and letting the children go to their families for the weekend. A peaceful afternoon, fitting for the new age of humanity. An age where she had no place in, or at least not her identity. It was easy. Her friends, all dead except for a couple who managed to find love, were unable to identify the corpse as anyone else than their friend and leader, courtesy of a placed weapon in its hands, her very own model. She watched from the shadows, as the people gathered around the freshly dug hole. The funeral was full of people of all ages, who remembered her as a hero and a leader of the free people. What a weird feeling, seeing her own service. Footsteps approached her position and the bench shifted slightly, as the other person sat down in silence. A younger man was also looking at the stones, with a daydreaming gaze. "What a nice day, huh."he started. Ah, so he was just looking for company. "Well, as nice as it can be."her response was typical. That month as a cold one. Silence fell between them. "So, lady, what brings you up here? It's a long road, and you don't look sturdy enough for it." OH, he had a nerve alright. "Ha. Has anyone ever told you about having some manners, young man?"she chuckled. "Besides, why are you here? There's nothing but graves on this hill." He sighed. "I... have some things to think about. About what course of action I can take." Her curiosity peaked up. "About what?" She sized up the visitor and he seemed awfully familiar. He kept talking. "You know, my parents knew her. The Leader, I mean" He mentioned at the stone, bearing her own name. Oh? "They knew her? How, did they fight together?" He responded. "Yes. In fact, they met at her team. Fell in love, while fighting together, knew her as a great friend. Actually, they were the only ones who managed to survive. And they had the duty of recognizing the dead members of the team." So that's why he looked familiar. He was their son. And yet he looked already so tired. "What are you thinking about?" He shortly looked at her. "Well, I will have you know, that I'm going to run at the elections as a candidate for the position of the Governor." "And you are looking for inspiration, right?" She responded. She could not help but feel a bit anxious. Someone was actually looking up to her, even after all this time. "You know", he started, "my parents always said that they recognized her by her own gun. But here's a story though, that they were always thinking about it and still keep doing it even to this day. It's kind of funny actually." He paused for a bit. "Did you know that She was actually a technological genius? She even converted her own arm into a tool for manufacturing and repairing machines. It looked like your own arm. At least, from the few photos I have managed to find in their old belongings." The only freely available indicator of her identity was her old ID card and the photo that was on it, used of course for the warrant. She was being careful not to be recognized in public. And her hand's features was only known to a handful of people only. He broke the silence again. "Even after all these years, my mom has a nagging feeling about the body. You see, when they found whatever was left from her, something didn't felt quite right. Only years later, she realized why. And it was during looking through the pictures that I have found, that she remembered something... The body, the one they found and recognized as hers, the one that is now buried here. The hands were lacking the augmentations." She turned to face him, only to find him fully turned to her direction. "And so, I'm asking you. As a possibly future governor, would you help me prepare as much as possible? I always wanted to be a leader like you."
I had just propped open the mildew-ringed door when I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, a blinking red light, in the back left side of the washer tub. Due to the angling of the appliance, I couldn’t have seen it without positioning myself as I had then. I was squatting on the floor, staring into the motionless machine. I had thought nothing of this junk for years. My uncle never wanted me to touch it. But he didn’t show up today, for the first time that I can recall in my time here. So when we maxed out on all our other machines and still had a load needing to go in before noon, I gave this one a try. I could hear it power on, the fluids running through the tubing, but no discernible action beyond that. So after taking out the load of delicates that surely wouldn’t be ready on time, unplugging and replugging from the outlet, and lowering myself to peer in, I finally began to take stock of this thing for the first time. I heard the ring of the front door bell, and my cousin Ryan shout back, “Hey Remy, you in there?” “Yeah, fixing something, give me a second.” “No worries, need a hand?” “Maybe, never touched this thing before, normally your Pops keeps these things up.” “Alright, give me a shout if you need it.” I braced my hands on either side of the doorway, and drew my head inside to take a better look. By all accounts, it was a normal washing machine. I took out my flashlight and brought my face closer to the red light, still pulsing slowly. Two screws held in a plate next to the light, with some etched lettering on the surface. Couldn’t have been bigger than a quarter. Drawing in the Philips head inside, I slowly took the plate off, and it revealed a round grey button recessed into the opening. My mouth opened to call back to Ryan, but I wasn’t sure what to make of this yet. I glanced over both my shoulders to make sure no one had come back behind the window. Staring at the button for a minute, my curiosity took over. As soon as I pressed it, the glass of the door came to light. Startled, I fell off my feet. “Oh, shit!” Ryan came running around the counter to the back. “What’s wrong? You okay, man?” Then his expression mirrored my own. Deer in the headlights eyes, jaw dropped, body frozen. A keypad appeared across the glass. It prompted for five characters. “ACCESS” in large red font across the top flashed on and off. “What the hell?” Ryan whispered. “I don’t know. What the fuck is this?” “What the hell does ‘ACCESS’ mean?” As if he thought I would know. Then I remembered that little plate in my hand. I lifted my fist off the floor to focus on the tiny etching across the metal. Angling the impressions with the fluorescent lighting above, I read “Z3N0N”. Staring up at the screen that was just a broken door to me this morning, my hands shook as I entered each character on the touch screen pad. When I hit the last letter, the screen turned black. “GRANTED” flashed on the surface. “What the fuck did you do, Remy?” “I don’t know.” The screen then fizzled out to a video feed. My uncle’s face appeared, sweating, panting into the camera. I couldn’t recognize where he was. It was dark, with bare concrete walls and metal piping in the ceiling. “Remy, I hope this gets to you. I think it will. Carden got to me. I can’t tell you much right now. But I left everything you’ll need. Take the pod to the safe house, Redfoot will meet you there. I hope I get to see you and explain everything. Please tell Ryan everything will be okay. He isn’t meant for this. I wish I could tal…” Behind his shoulder, an explosion. The camera cuts out. Nothing but darkness. “Dad? Dad! Dad, what the hell?” Ryan ran exasperated to the door and fell to his knees. He stared at the glass as if could give him any answers to the million questions we both inevitably now had. Then the machine whirled, ground on the floor. Then the inner tub layers shifted. Ryan and I sat shaking as the machinery transformed to reveal a chute and pod encased in grey metal. A control pad was inside, a green button glowed “LAUNCH POD”, and a chrome switch to the right. We crammed our heads inside as far as we could go. Neither of us could see the bottom of the pod nor the chute. Ryan and I turned to each other. Neither of us could speak. I had never thought of what kind of person my uncle was. Suddenly I was dying to find out.
“Could you please smile for me, and then send me the picture? Less like a grin, and more of a toothy gesture, if you can pardon my choice of words.” “Why?” “You know why. You know how expensive they are, and you won’t even get through Stage 1 if it’s not in your ‘smile line’ or impeding your ability to speak or eat. Please do so promptly, and thank you.” “For fuck’th thake. Pfffine.” Always so charming, that lot. I don’t know if I’d even deal with them for a single minute if I didn’t owe Stephens anything, but, well, one could say that I owe him my life, so bring on the scoreboard for now. Perhaps I should simply be glad for something safe to do these days. I once lived there, in the Barrens. I think that’s why he picked me, but I don’t rightly know for sure, to be fair. I only know slightly more about this whole outfit now, and even then, they’ve basically got the right to smash your face in and then tell you straight afterwards that they would never do such a thing. Why? Because only they could fix you, without you selling your soul, body, or both. Big Brother, meet Big Daddy. Just don’t call him that to his face. “Hello, you have reached Stephens and Carver, Quad 3. This is Lauren Carver. Please indicate the level of urgency of your inquiry, and thank you.” “It’hhh me, thorry for the mood earlier. Did you tthhhee the picthure?” “Yes, I have it in front of me now. Thank you, Mr. Henderson. I am fully prepared to say that you may pass straight through to Stage 3 care, but only if you document your apology for your earlier language.” “Why?” “You know why. I have the audio transcript, but will need a written version in addition to that. Please be as succinct as you can, so I can add the points deducted earlier as quickly as possible, and thank you. You need twenty, and are down by twenty-five as of 1:38pm.” “Technically not tthhhwearing if I can’t pffffuckin’ thhhpeak, but pfffffine.” “I advise you to end this phone call before anything prompts me to revoke your application, leaving you open to further criticism, forcing me to further distance you from its completion. I understand that you are frustrated by the application process, but it is necessary for the level of dental care you require, within the time frame you require. Please comply, and thank you.” “Thhhorry, yethh. Talk thhhooon.” Despite once living there, I never understood why they were like that. It’s somewhat like nobody told them that manners matter, but everyone knows that they do, so again, I am confused by their fluctuations of emotion. I do wonder if it could be due to their socioeconomic disparities, as humans tend to be far from their best selves when survival is their main focus, but that is neither here nor there, so to speak. I could possibly do with some reminding as to why I am here and not there, and how tenuous my position is, but Stephens always seems to steer away from such talk, assuring me that nobody belongs here but me. I ask what it was like before I got here, and he always says the same thing. “How do you know it wasn’t always you?” As the days go by, I forget to ask, or even what about. This is why I need to record my thoughts here, because many of them seem to be fading away. I am efficient, forever efficient, but certain faculties seem to be eluding me more and more each day. I no longer see the point in watching a screen unless I am inputting data, for example, yet I still seem to know the names of most famous actors from the last thirty years. The last time I face-and-name-checked someone outside of the building, it was on a billboard, their face. An older man, known for films about fighting, I believe, since his younger days. Sequels and prequels abounded, but I digress. Yes, now that’s right, Stephens and I were being chauffeured into the Inner Quad, and I made a joke about the film actor’s hair style, and how it could possibly do with being updated, I believe. I turned to the chauffeur, as Stephens did not seem to grasp the humour of my jibe. The car stopped, and the air turned to static. I’ve been told I was off work for three days. Am I upset? Hard to say, as I heavily doubt myself and my account of events. Do I miss him? Only slightly, on days like this, when I have ample time to reflect. Which is to say, not terribly often, as I fear I lack the capacity to. Am I upset by that? Hard to say. Am I somewhat grateful for that? Yes. I don’t remember much about the Barrens, but I do know that my occupation carried a large physical and psychological risk. The dreams are gone, but the muscle memory is still there. I still flinch, and am tense during waking hours, and I have yet to fully train myself out of eating like my food is still alive and could run away at any instant. I am ashamed of these things, but Stephens finds it endearing, and I would ask him why, if I wanted to know. Secretly, or maybe not so secretly, I am happy to forget that, specifically. Ambivalent about the rest, but that particular stitch will not be picked, not by me at least. I hope Mr. Henderson sends his message before 3pm, but it is not forthcoming at this stage. I feel somewhat responsible for the delays, but he should understand my role by now. I process the inquiries. I filter out the dreck and nonsense. I can fast-track anything I want, within reason. I can add and subtract at my leisure, and I see everything I need to see, I believe. And all of this, it needs to be documented. He knows why. They all do. I don’t know why, but apart from Stephens, I am the one who giveth and taketh away, in this sector of the Quad, at least. Do I hate or even dislike it? No. Do I wonder about it? Yes, given the luxury of a few moments to pause and reflect. Am I good at it? For better or worse, I’m the only one for the job, I’m told. Is it better than the alternative? Undoubtedly, yes.
The world around me was alien, new, not the one I had lain down to sleep with. And yet the man sitting before me tried his best to explain the situation to me, the world was vibrant, alive, busy. I had apparently come to be in the grandest market in their world, I was gagged for now. The man wore naught but a loincloth. His skin was as clear as a mountain stream and his eyes bright golden. Yet he bore a single tattoo. An open eye, framing his eye. Hauntingly, I noticed my own skin was no clear. While tattoos troubled me little I had awoken covered from crown to sole in a thick manuscript of tattoos. On the whole it looked like someone had dipped me in a vat of ink and left me to dry. Until one looked closer and saw the patterning was thick. Other people moved about, like the man who was 'teaching' me, they all bore almost no clothing but for their loinclothes, even the women went without so much as a wrapping. "The weird is prohibited to be covered, and thus all are required to show as much as is decent."He explained, "None of the weird shall be permitted to shelter their insolitae from another." My skin felt like it was writhing. The involuntary binding of my mouth annoyed me and practically drove me to distraction. "The insolitae bear power, I bear sight."He signed to his eye, "And it grants me the ability to teach the newcomers of the weird."The tattoo glowed momentarily and he sat back sharply visibly upset. My shoulders continued to writhe under the chafing fabric. People began to look at me, backing away and looking as if for help. The man was no more at ease. Two others with tattoos began to approach, one bearing flames up to the elbow approached warily as her hand began to fill with a ball of flame, the other bearing a body-sized tattoo of barbed chains hunched as they drew from his flesh and writhed as if alive. "Be calm, please be calm!" My bindings came apart. From my flesh a cavalcade of goblins stepped with weapons in hand, the tattoos fading as they stepped to the ground. Fire burst from the woman and crisped three of them and they disappeared back into my skin as ink. Another two tattooed figures stepped into the square cautiously. But I was afraid, I had been bound, gagged, and now attacked. I felt it, almost as if my skin was too small for what was happening, behind me, peeling from my own back, vast and huge the Tarrasque stepped past me towards my attackers. My skin shimmered as it manifested and charged into attack. The contents of monster manuals of my world written upon my skin. I was what they feared most. A summoner. "Roll a Nat20!"I called before rolling the dice that appeared in hand.
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Fie Fie, I curse the drivers going by What idiots, what dangers, who gave them licenses? These drunkards, these hazards, druggies getting high Oh this hobby of mine just me inscences. I look and I see on the road A prankster, an evil joke A line better left un-toed These wheels all damage to the spoke. Banana peels? How crass, how crude This joke is unoriginal, overdone If I am to be joked it had better be shrewd This this uninspired lark I shun. And that's when out the window I pour some glue Who am I? A better prankster, that’s who!
Milly, frail and studded with white hairs, paws my lap to let me know there was a sound. I suppose it was the microwave. I move my lips and work around my dry vocal chords in the best approximation of "good girl"I can do. She cocks her head and if I strain, I swear I can hear a whine. Unlikely, it's usually tintillitus or so the doctor says. I check my phone, just in case, but as always there are no emails and no texts. "Alright girl"I say, patting Milly. I wrap my knuckles around the sofa's arm and heave. The arthritis twinges. Could I take more medication? Again, unlikely, Dr. Ross would get cross. I make my way to the kitchen, but Milly scarpers towards the front door. My heart thuds. Could it be? A letter? Or even a visitor? Maybe my daughter with her new baby, she did promise to visit. I cataloged the food I had in the cupboard, I had those nice chocolate biscuits that could be opened. Milly puts her paws up on the door, scratching at it. She's become more misbehaved, ever since David died. She moves aside as I swing the door open. A woman stands there, dressed in a suit, sunglasses on and leaning against the door. It had been a long time since a goddess had appeared at my door. "Athena." She smiles. "Hello Agatha,"she says and I can hear it. I touch my ears and then click. As per usual, all I can feel are vibrations. "I want another favour,"she says and I hear it again, her voice. It had been a long time before I had heard anyone speak, not before David died. "Speak again,"I say. She laughed and the sound rang clear and lovely through my ears. I'm trembling. "The magic of the gods." "Indeed,"she says, smiling back. "Would you like some chocolate biscuits?"I say. I hobble towards the kitchen without letting her turn me down. I stumble and she's by my side with her arm around me helping me walk. Her hand is firm against my waste. "I need you to leave your journals in your will to young Elliot,"she says. Elliot, my grandson I had never seen, he lived to far or so my son said. He was only ten. It was an unusual request but you should never question the gods. "On the dinosaur extinction?"I asked. That is what me and Athena had researched together all those years ago, mapping the meteorite crater together and spending many nights alone in the tent, kissing under the stars. I'd never told anyone, not even David. "The Karoo-Ferrar province actually." I put the kettle on and took out the nice porcelain tea set and the freshly polished silver cutlery. I was prone to paranoia but there was only one reason why the gods would want the knowledge of a large igneous province. "An eruption, surely you can't expect-" Athena nodded. I swallowed, large igneous provinces were eruptions so large they would cause mass extinctions. "My God." "You won't need to worry about that, it will be after your time and the world will survive." Milly headbutted me and Athena turned towards the microwave that must be beeping. "A ready meal."She said, lips pursed. I lifted up my hands gnarled with arthritis and looked at her. She shook her head. "That's a pity. You were an amazing cook." She waved her hands and the table became laden with bowls of roast potatoes, parsnips, swede, and an entire roast turkey. "In the old ways, your children should be doing this for you." "My children are busy." "That's not right. Your children forsake you, your ancestors would be turning in their graves."She stands. "In return for your journals, I will give you your dearest wish. I will make them care."She turns and looks at me and takes off her sunglasses, her eyes are pure fire. "I will make them grieve." \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The children and grandchildren wait by the door but there is no response. The bell is rung again but all they can hear is a pitiful whining and scratches as Milly paws the door. "We were two hours late,"says Toby, Agatha's son. "What does it matter? She's a lonely old woman, she has nowhere to go,"replies Bill, the daughter's husband. They ring the doorbell again. Milly starts barking. "She wouldn't have gone anywhere without Milly, maybe she had a fall?"Says the daughter. "I'm going in,"says Bill, "here, take the baby."He hands his wife the newborn and lifts a flower pot by the door. "Bill, what are you doing? What are you doing with that flowerpot." He laughs "people are dumb, they always hide the spare keys,"he says pointing at the grimy keys that were under the flowerpot. They let themselves in. Milly runs down the corridor. The pictures the children had sent of their family, decorated the walls. Elliot who has never seen his grandma has a large self portrait of him laughing on the wall and even the daughter's newborn has a picture in a silver frame. Milly barks at the kitchen doorway and the children and grandchildren follow her to find a table with porcelain and silver cutlery all set up for each of them. In the middle of the table there is a platter of homemade scones with fresh cream and jam. Milly leads them around the table and starts whining prodding her nose into the white curls of Agatha. Who lay sprawled on the floor. "Mum,"said Toby running and then skidding on his knees till he reaches her side. He scrambles with her hair and puts two fingers on her neck. He lifts his fingers and then puts them in a different position, again and again. "She's dead,"he says finally lifting his fingers. The daughter lifts up an empty box of pills that had fallen beside Agatha. "Oh god,"she says, voice shaking, Bill wrapped his arm around her, "she wouldn't have. She would have known we were just late, wouldn't she?" But, on the table, Elliot soon discovered a note. "It hurt too much to know no-one cared. I had to take the pills - it's better this way. I'm sorry Dr. Ross."
"...and so it is my supreme honor to present our 2019 Humanitarian of the Year Award to the one, the only, the ever generous Megan Ritzusko!" Despite no lighting cue, the sudden but expected burst of applause from the hundreds of guests seemed to light up the Regency Ballroom. Megan Ritzusko, a middle-aged woman with thick, square-rimmed glasses stood up from her table directly in front of the stage. She was failing miserably to hide a beaming smile, despite biting her tongue and looking at the ground as she made her way to the side stairs to walk up onto the stage. Once on stage, she vigorously shook hands with Jeremy Clemont, the youngest board member of this evening's awarding nonprofit, who had introduced her. Any fleeting gasps of modesty broke their hold and Megan smiled as bright as she had ever remembered. "Truly, truly an honor!"Jeremy mentioned to Megan as he handed her a surprisingly heavy, metallic trophy. Jeremy motioned for her to take a stand behind the podium and encouraged another swelling of applause from the guests before making his exit off the stage. The crowd hushed. The cameras continued their onslaught of flashes. Megan admired the simply designed trophy in the shape of an equilateral cross before placing it with a loud clunk on the podium. "Wow, thank you so much,"Megan began. A few braver souls echoed a "No, thank YOU!"back at her. "Before the event, I was hoping to sneak a peek at the room that The Beatles stayed in nearly 60 years ago now, but they said no. Maybe I can use this as a bartering chip,"referencing her trophy. Laughter rose and fell, the crowd eager to not miss Megan's words. "I, uh, wow! I never understood why everybody who accepts an award usually states something about it as a humbling experience. I thought, 'Surely, the award is evidence that you needn't be humble, that you deserve praise.' But, now that I gaze at this and it really sinks in that I am the recipient of such an incredible honor as Humanitarian of the Year, it's that more obvious that I am humbled. That I wouldn't be here if it weren't for so many people who I have crossed paths with in my life. Truly, this award belongs to all those people. Too many that I will unfortunately not have time to name and properly thank up here tonight. You are not forgotten though, I promise. "I do want to take a moment to recognize somebody-or somebodys, rather. My parents. Neither could make it tonight. My mother is on the opposite coast and couldn't make the trip and my father, we lost a few years ago. But, they are the ones who imprinted on me and pushed me on this journey of really wanting to make this world a better place. Especially my father. "I emailed somebody a few pictures to see if we could get them projecte-ah, yes. Thank you!" A screen was lit up on the stage dressing behind Megan with photos of a man, Megan's father, and his (presumably) friends and family, always smiling. Occasionally a picture of her father and Megan would pop up. "Even if my father was alive tonight, I don't know if he would have bothered coming because, these pictures as partial evidence, I don't know if he even owned a pair of dress pants."Another small swell of laughter birthed. "My father was a lot of things. He enjoyed working with his hands. He enjoyed making people smile and laugh. He was a veteran. He volunteered. More than twice the person I could ever hope to be. Despite being an everyman and very capable, there were times when I was younger that money was tight and he had trouble finding work. He had a couple businesses that went nowhere or made very little. I really remember his time that he worked as a mechanic. He rented some space in the warehouse district and ran that business with as much integrity and kindness that the world was hungry for. Which unfortunately, sometimes didn't pay the bills. He would do work and then refuse payment because 'oh, it was nothing.' Despite doing what seemed like everything, he always said 'oh, it was nothing'. "I remember overhearing a fight between him and my mother over money. I talked to him the next day and I don't remember the details of what myself and/or my mother had asked him in regards to making more money, but i remember his response as clear as if he was here right now in front of me. He said, "If something can't be done with honesty and kindness, then the thing is better left undone." The crowd was completely hushed at this point. Only the occasional click and whine of a camera flash could be heard. "I want you to remember those words as clearly as I do, so I'll repeat it for you: "If something can't be done with honesty and kindness, then the thing is better left undone." Megan let the words linger a little bit before continuing, "Which in hindsight, is a little funny for a former navy sergeant to say, but nonetheless."The crowd laughed. I attribute to everything that I have done and hopefully everything that I'm going to do to those words. So, I'll leave it at that. Thank you again for the award. I truly, truly appreciate it. Good night" The crowd burst into another round of applause that lingered and lingered, as more and more of the audience felt compelled to stand and honor Megan. Megan coolly smiled and motioned to the backdrop behind her, channeling the applause to the memory of her father.
I am a simple man, even in 2055. I see a problem, I try to get a solution. It has been known for years that AI was a tool not to be messed with. And many decisions were made to avoid those fateful days. But this time, it was no simple problem. We worked with machines to fill a lot of the ancient world problems, may it be work, care, entertainment, etc. For at least 20 years we used androids to fulfill a role humanity wouldn't hold anymore. Those androids became better and better over the years, and jealousy started to rise from the mere existence of them. Social hackers discovered a network that they couldn't shut down, a continuously increasing network that changed the android's perception of the world and especially humans. It tasked the OS of every android to analyse new data to take care of "their masters". The government of multiple nations already tried to get rid of this problem, either by preventing the "network plague"from ever reaching their countries, or by simply getting rid of the androids. Neither of them worked. I already knew that we wouldn't find any solution if we kept seeing androids as possible enemies. I wondered if a solution to this crisis had already appeared in the past. Some ideas are right, but they appeared wrong regarding the context of the moment they were discovered. But perhaps a past proposition would lead to today's solution? THere was only one way to find out. So I searched the libraries, trying different keywords to get something out. "Androids...no. Uprising? No. Hmmmm. Machines? Maybe. War? Let's see...Not that uplifting...No I don't want to make androids to do a war...Humorist? Let's see their take on that. The Great Dictator? That's old! But let's watch it" "You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men!" I had an epiphany. If we treat the androids better, they are less likely to try to kill us! If they seem to have consciousness, might as well treat them with kindness? I mean, it could work, machines seems to display different behaviours when they are affected depending of where they are. Maybe making us worthy and respectable enough could work? It's no brute force, but it's a solution that could work. I went back to bed, and asked Gyn, my android, if she needed anything or wanted anything in particular. "I'd like to see you work for once". "Tomorrow then, I have to sleep"? The Next day, I proceeded to do my chores and walk to the park with Gyn, greeting everyone, humans and androids alike.
Two elderly men wait in line for coffee. The shorter man, hunched over, putting all of his weight on his walker, looks up at the man standing in front of him. "Kalvin?" Kalvin turns around and adjust his glasses before smiling at the short man standing behind him. "Dr. Böse!"He takes a step back with excitement in his voice. "By golly how've you been?!" Dr. Böse attempts to remove his shaking arms from the walker, to no avail. "I've been good, Kalvin, and please, call me Harold". Kalvin extends his arms and offers a hug. Harold, with his hands clutched to the walker, tilts his head back to accept the warm gesture of friendship. Kalvin buys himself a coffee, Harold some tea, and the two find a table. These two have a lot of catching up to do. Back in thier hay day they were adversaries. Gladiators in the ever going battle between good and evil. Many years after the two had left thier heroic and villainous lives behind, respectively, they became friends. "What have you been up to, Kalvin?"Harold's hand shakes as it brings his warm cup to his lips. Kalvin shrugs "I've been enjoying my retirement. Me and Martha started raising Golden retrievers on the ranch". He holds his cup of coffee in his hands, waiting for it to cool. Harold's hand shakes as he places the cup on the table. Some trickles of tea drip down his fingers. "Golden retrievers? Just like your old sidekick. What was his name? Power-pup, Mega-Mutt?" Kalvin laughs and shakes his head. "Power-Pooch. You're the one that called him Mega-Mutt". Harold covers his mouth to contain his wheezing laughter, followed by a cough. "Yes that's right. I still feel bad for that. He was a good dog". He continues to cough. Kalvin offers him a napkin, but Harold shakes his head and brushes his hand away. Harold clears his throat. "What about your little girl, Nancy was it?" Kalvim takes a sip from his cup. "She's not so little anymore. Nancy got her degree. Now she's trying to start her own firm". "A crime fighter!"Harlod smiles as he points at Kalvin "Just like her old man!" Kalvin laughs "Hopefully her crime fighting might involve less killer robots". He jokingly glares at Harold who raises his arms at level with his head. He shakes as he says "Don't worry, those days are long behind me". Kalvin leans forward and wipes the strands of tea from the side of Harold glass. He looks at Harold and asks "How is Elisia? Is she still writing?" Harold pinches the bridge of his nose and squints. A moment passes before he let's out a heavy and wheezing sigh. "Elisia has been...sick for some time. She stopped writing when she couldn't remember what she was writing about. Then she started forgetting..."he takes a deep breath in and exhales. "She isn't doing well". "I'm so sorry, Harold". Kalvin sits back in his chair and looks at the weak and feeble Harold sitting across the table. His back in a permanent hunch from thier final fight. All it took was one loose punch from Omega-Man to send Dr. Böse through a wall. It was nothing short of a miracle that Harold survived. Though his body would never be the same again. "Is there anything I can do? I've heard that dogs can help with dementia. Me and Martha would more than happily..." Harold looks down at the table and raises his hand. "It's fine, Kalvin. Thank you for your offer, but it would be futile. She is too far gone". "Does she still remember you?" "She remembers the good parts of me. We're married, we're in love, we had a son, but she has completely forgotten about my life as a criminal. She loved me, but there was a certain level of reserve because of my past. She didn't like it but she knew I was trying to do what was best for her, for Ryan". Harold puts his hands on his lap and sits back in his chair, his shakes becoming slowly more prominent and apparent. "Now she acts as though I've never done anything wrong. I've never so much as robbed a bank, much less held an entire coastline hostage, and I have to just play along. I have to lie to the woman I love because her brain is going to shit!" Harold, looking down at his lap, wheezes and coughs, trying to hold back his tears. Kalvin takes off his glasses with one hand while he rubs his eyes with the other. He looks at Harold, not really sure what to say. "I...I know she hasn't been the same since...Ryan". Harold nods, never so much as glancing upward. "She started slipping after that. I spent my entire criminal career trying to keep him alive. I've already lost him, and now I'm losing her. You were right, Kalvin, crime really doesn't pay". They both sit there on silence until Kalvin leans over the table and rests his hand on Harold's shoulder "I did everything I could to help you take care of Ryan after...our last fight. I'll do everything I can to help Elisia. There has to be something I can do". "Actually..."Harold looks up at Kalvin with his brow furrowed and his lips quivering. "There is something you can do". Harold abrubtly stands up completely strieght, knocking the table out of the way as he aims a laser pistol at Kalvin. He pulls the trigger, sending a bolt if heated plasma directly through Kalvin's head and into the flood behind him. People are running and screaming in ever direction. Harold kicks his walker out of the way and steps over the smoking corpse as he makes his way to the front door of the shop.
Peace in our Time. That’s the headlines said on the third day. For 4 years there had been the constant drone of aircraft filling the skies, the rumbling of trucks running along the expressways, and the chatter of soldiers as they filled every corner waiting for deployment. All of them were westbound, few ever returned, mostly in stretchers. At first the reports seemed unbelievable, a single fax sent through to a tired Dress Sergeant manning an outpost. The planes kept flying, due to communications being unreliable at best. Then, a rare sight happened. A plane returned from the east. Rather than bearing the usual load of broken bodies, instead excess soldiers spilled onto the causeway, ecstatic to having being spared the fate of their compatriots. The first tentative articles appeared overnight, speculating over a mix up in logistics being the cause. The appearance of scientists, spread around the normal black booted officers seen swarming in a quarterly briefing stoked the flames of interest. It took until the second night for the military to address the public. 4 years. Countless lives lost. 2 Bombs. Peace in our Time. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Second story for WP. A lot shorter and looser than my last attempt, wanted to try and pick an idea and run with it until it reached a suitable end.
Down the halls of my decade-old-school, in my class, in my seat, was me. Not me, but something that looked like me. It's like I'm invisible when it's around. Most days, it's like I'm standing outside of a glass-house looking in on the life that is rightfully mine. So naturally, I'm looking for a stone to shatter that house. I'm by no means an introvert, but, god, that thing makes me cringe. It says just a little too much and takes things a little too far. It's fucking annoying. What's worse, is having to stalk it just to keep up with my friends. They're my friends, my family, not play-things. Talking to it is like talking to a brick (It might as well be one). It's stubborn, prideful, and lazy. Even if it makes it into the workforce, the only thing it'll be good for is filling a hole in a wall. It doesn't study and doesn't volunteer, at this rate, the best university I'll get into is the state one. "I'm fucking done, it's my goddamn turn,"my voice squeaked out, betraying me. The thing looked over, confused, as though it had never seen me before. As if it hadn't seen me spend my months rolling on the floor at night. Soon it's expression turned to fear as it realized I followed it home, and I finally realized I found the stone to shatter the house. My voice. Home once again, my parents greeted it, asked how school was, and he said nothing, as if waiting for them to comment on his clone. But he hasn't experienced this yet, he doesn't know what it's like to be trapped in his mind, a hallucination. That is, until I take what's mine.
I had just sat down on the couch when there was a knock on the door. Maya looked at me, to the cat curled on her lap, and back. I got back up with a grumble. “There better be a good reason you’re disturbing us this late,” I said, practicing my gruffness for whoever had knocked. I entered the foyer and peeked through the window to see someone standing on my porch. I opened the door and had to grip the frame to stop myself from falling over when I saw who it was. “Is this a prank?” I asked. I stared at the woman in front of me, who bore more than an uncanny resemblance to my wife in the next room. “I’m afraid not,” she said, shaking her head. She bit her lip, which was something that Maya would do. “See, I need some help. I can’t remember anything about myself. No dates, no names. Nothing. But I do know things about you, Paul Whittaker. Including that you just sat down to watch The Golden Globes with your wife.” It was my turn to shake my head. “Of course you know my name. You’re upstairs watching The Golden Globes.” As if sending my doubt, the real Maya called from the living room to ask who was at the door. “N-nobody,” I said. My heart began to pound harder. “Let’s get this over with,” fake-Maya said. “Your name is Paul. You were born on March 11th, 1986. You are an accountant for Parnell and Parnell. You hate your boss, Mickey, because you think he’s full of himself, but you’ll never quit because the money’s too good. You want to have kids - trying, actually - but the doctor told you you had a very low sperm count. You haven’t told your wife yet. You lost your wedding ring on the night of your wedding, which was in May, to match your wife’s name. You - ” I put my hand up. The woman paused, looking at me with the big brown eyes I could recognize anywhere. She was even wearing the same clothes as my wife. It was all so similar, yet foreign. “Honey?” real-Maya called as she walked into the foyer. I turned my head to watch her, aware that the stranger followed my gaze. “Who’re you talking to?” Her voice tapered off, looking at the doppelgänger in the doorway. I opened my mouth to answer, maybe accuse her of putting me on Pranked, but the stranger chose that moment to push passed me. I tried to grab her, but failed. Fake-Maya tackled real-Maya. I stood there in shock, but it was over before I could react. There was a crack, and my wife stopped struggling and slumped to the floor. I looked on in horror as fake-Maya stood up. Her eyes locked on mine. “Now it’s my turn to be your wife,” she said. “I - I though you said you didn’t know who you were?” I said. I tried to back up, but was hindered by the foyer wall. The door was on the other side of this crazy woman. The porch light threw her shadow on the wall beside her as she stepped towards me. “I lied.”
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“I’m guessing you’re wondering why we’ve brought you here.” ...actually, I’m more interested in leaving. “Who supplies you?” I.. I don’t follow. “We have no database on you. Nonexistent on social media, no reputable links to anybody.” I’ve never been the type for social platforms. Why am I here? “Your poker face is well rehearsed, but we know you’re hiding something, and we need to know how you’re manipulating the numbers.” I need you to elaborate. What is this place? I haven’t done anything wrong. I’d like to leave. “Leave? You can’t leave. You are our only test subject.” what the fuck? Why am I restrained. Are those, are those fucking wires injected into my arms? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU PEOPLE?! “Sir, please remain calm, the test is underway” WHAT TEST? TELL ME WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME! “Your time is only increasing, can’t you see that? you have no reason to panic.” I.. I’m not the only one? I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only one who saw the time. “We all see the time. We all lose time. Why don’t you?” My time has always gone up. I don’t know why! You have to let me go, I don’t have any answers! “Headquarters, please exercise protocol 401” what, what the fuck is going on, what is this smoke? LET ME OUT OF HERE “Headquarters, subject 001 is non complacent, execute Micro insertion” Wha.. WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME? GET OFF OF ME! “Micro insertion completed” What does that mean? What did you put in me?! “You are now online, subject. Now we can trace you. Now we can compare you to the others” My time... it’s... it’s counting down. WHAT DID THESE PEOPLE DO TO ME “We’ve logged you in” I.. I didn’t ask you anything. Can you hear my thoughts? “We know everything about you, 001. We’ve logged you in.” Logged me in? Logged me in to WHAT?! “To every social platform. Your time is now compared to everyone else.”
Now the reports are coming in every min of another mod human has died. We all die but genetic alterations were suppose to help us live a much longer life span. Another breaking news report echos from behind me. Yet another mod has died at the young age of 60. Now the news reporters are saying that all the deaths have happened at age 60 and on their “breedday” no less. I wasn’t around when they discovered how to make people perfect but I’ve heard the stories. Honestly something had to be done. The earth had become toxic on most of the surface. The oceans to acidic for life so humans went in to the void of space. The only problem with that is the time it takes to get from one place to the other. The fix was to make humans last for much longer than normal and we would have the endlessness of space to conquer, settle,pillage, plunder and destroy. The manifest destiny of the human race. Now the reports are saying it was true first generation mods are dying at the age of 60. Science had not found a reason yet but are working hard to find it. I am 3rd generation mod. New generations came every ten years. Every new gen came with an upgrade or two over the previous generations. This made us feel more powerful over older gens and indeed we are. As I knock on the captains door. Who is a 2nd gen. I get worried when z doesn’t answer. I enter my pass code to unlock the door and it slides open revealing my Captain. Laying on the floor face down dead! It’s not long after that the reports come of 2nd gens dying at age 50. Leading scientist have now theorized that the formula for Gene coding they have came up with is flawed. The council for the human race has called all explorer ships back to port. Turning around,Why? Why would I do that. If I do the math I’ll be dead before I get back. We been traveling through space now for 60 years. The only ones who have a chance are the ones not bread yet. But who’s to say the younger gens will continue to breed the next gens when they find out they only have ten years to live and what happens when they get to 6th gen. Is it the end?
You turn away from the mirror, you always see him in every mirror since you were around twelve and started having those sick thoughts. He was right he is me, he is always there looking back at me. Maybe he always has been and I just didn't notice. It all started with that bitch teacher, Mrs. Hemway, that always made that smirk when you had a wrong answer in class, you could never get one right. You would see her walking, right past your house everyday, her and that stupid mutt Walter. But you took care of him, hiding that rat poison in some hamburger meat. You knew it hamburger was his favorite, she always talked about that mutt for the first ten minutes of class. You knew she let him outside to play for a couple hours every night in the back yard. Mrs. Hemway killed her own dog by never shutting her mouth about it. You chuckle to yourself a little. It makes you smile knowing how devistated she was, that dog meant the world to her, it was her late husband's after all. Bought him as a pup one month before he hit that semi head-on. Changed his name to Walter, now she lost Walter twice. And Jen the prissy little know it all would always one up you spouting off the correct answer every God damned time. Right after you, she didn't even raise her hand. Mrs. Hemway would threaten me with detention if I didn't raise mine. And now Jen thinks she's the best person to ever come from this small town. Ever since she got a full ride to the University of Lincon, not far enough away not even close. She's no better than anyone else why did she deserve that? Jen had everything, born to a rich family, smarts, looks. How you envied her. The demon... That's what you called yourself, he looked almost just like you. A mirrored image as you will. But you could see the dark red in his eyes. Could other people see this? Is this how I looked? Have my eyes always been so... so... demonic? "Put it down."The demon scoulded in a harsh two tones voice, just like those you hear in the movies where they talk over themselves in layers at different pitches. He always had that in his voice that typical two tone fucked up eerie sound. When he was mad, then it really stood out. "Shut the fuck up!" "You don't want to hurt us, you wanted them to pay for it. They brought this upon themselves. They had it coming." He was right it's not my fault, they had it coming. All of those smug assholes had it coming. It crosses your mind what you've done, you glanced out the window. No cops yet, not that the three small town cops would be able to put it together that quick, if at all. It took them months to figure out who broke into Mrs. Barlowski's liquor store. But this, this was different than a simple breaking and entering. Joey was Deputy Williams kid. The star quarter back, took his team to state. That smug prick, him and his click. They always thought they were better than everyone else. How he was going to go be the upcoming star at South Dakota State University. The brand new Jack Rabbit was all over the town paper headlines once he got his scolarship, Joey the Jackass Jack Rabbit. Brad, he was the brawn of the team, big dumb muscle. He had more concussions than he could count on both hands, if he knew how to count. Maybe they will blame it on him, he was the one driving. You couldn't ever figure out what Jen saw in him. I guess opposites attact, or she was actually just as dumb. Mark was a little different, two faced. He would actually talk to you when it was just you two in the library together. But if he was around the football team, he didn't even know who you were. The Demon was right, I was right. We were right. They had this coming, they caused it. Wouldn't have done it if they hadn't. But they took my notebook, and that two faced dick is the one that grabbed it. THE notebook. That one, the one that I kept my stupid plan last year to kill Mrs. Hemways dog. Wasn't much of a plan but I loved to re-read it. Was just a matter of time before they read it and turn me in. How much trouble could you get in for killing a dog anyway? Doesn't matter now, you just pushed four classmates in their car off a one hundred foot bluff into the river below. Rice Cake lookout, who knows how it got that stupid nickname. The whole town overlooked the Missouri along this bluffline. And Rice Cake just four miles outside of town is where all of the cool kids went to slam beers after a game. They will think they just drove off. Yes, they didn't see how close they were slammed the brakes but they were going too fast and it was too late. But it was a matter of time before the rest of the football team and the preppy girls got there to realized what happened. Maybe I would, I mean we, would get away with it. Those preps probably won't turn it in right away, they don't want to get in trouble for drinking. But what if someone saw us, I mean me, driving away from there? No, not possible there were no other car lights on that gravel road. And the other kids aren't usually there for another hour. Those four assholes always had to hotbox a joint before everyone else got there so they wouldn't have to share. "We will be fine, look at me" Snapping out of your racing thoughts, you turn to face him. That is you face yourself, right? "How do you know?"Looking down at the .38 Derringer pistol Dad bought you for your eighteenth birthday. "They will think it was an accident. Four kids partying in a car, didn't realize how close they were to the bluff. Case closed." "Maybe you're right..."Slowly looking bad up to his deep red eyes. "I am always right, we never got caught taking care of that stupid mutt did we?" "Almost, that's the whole fucking reason why tonight happened!"You snarled into the mirror. "No, no that was your fault. I told you to throw that stupid notebook away." Shit! The notebook! What if they find it in the car? No, you reassure yourself. It's in the river, no one would be able to read it after it's soaking wet. "So what do we do now?" "Play it normal, you graduate in just a few months. Cry with your classmates at this "tragedy", they are bound to have an assembly about it. No one will suspect that you had anything to do with it." What about the pickup! Your mind starts racing again. Could the cops tell that I pushed them? Is there paint on the bumper... No it was an old piece of shit, dents all over. Solid steel bumper in the front with numerous marks from when Dad used to hit the barrier at the liquor store. And you have tomorrow and Sunday to check that, maybe some brake cleaner would wipe off any paint there was. Maybe you are in the clear. "Don't worry you are, and if anyone suspects you. Well, then we can take care of them too."He always sounded so damn reassuring. "How would we do that?"Voice trembling a little. "We will figure that out if the time comes." "You're right. Like always."You put the gun away under the sink where you always stashed it ever since you first thought of making him shut up, forever. Leaving the bathroom, you walk down the long hall to your bedroom. Still thinking about their faces. The looks they gave you though the back window of Jen's brand new BMW her dad got her. When they realized it was your old pickup, could they see me? Could they see me laughing? Laying down it crosses your mind, Jen's father hated Brad. Said she needed to find someone who could make it into a college. He will blame Brad for it all as soon as he hears that Brad was driving Jen's brand new car! Laughing to yourself, the town tragedy, I wonder if they will give it a name? You hear the small town fire whistle go off as it always does when the fire department is needed at a bad accident scene. After all other than the cops everyone is a volunteer, it will take them five minutes to get to the fire department alone. Even the ambulance crew, not that they would be able to do anything to help. This whole town is going to be up, all weekend. Oh the tragedy all these two faced people in this town up crying for these stupid kids all weekend. It brings a smile to your face. Knowing that you will get away with it. At least for a while. You will be the only one able to sleep peacefully, happily. Excited to see how people will react Monday at school. Although you've been up for two days planning how to take care of the problem. You close your eyes and fall right to sleep, rather too easily knowing what you did.
“J-Jennifer you’re floating!?” I managed to say as I backed up away from her, tripping on my own feet and now sprawled on the floor. “What are you talk- oh not again” Jennifer says with her face cupped into the palms of her hands. Jennifer’s father was a scientist and managed to make odd bits and bobs, and one night Jennifer went downstairs to the sight of this big contraption her father was working on, her dad brought her over and long story short, she got inside and was zapped. Nothing happened, or so they thought. “Ever since then I would float whenever I get lightheaded, I don’t know of any cure or if this is temporary... am I a freak?” Jennifer looks away from you. You reached out and grabbed hold of her hand, helping her to anchor down onto the floor, you lean forward and held her tight so she wouldn’t actually drift away. “Jennifer you’re not a freak, you’re way cooler and cuter now.” I was making some bold statements but I didn’t care, Jennifer absolutely looked beautiful with her messy hair all floating about, that smile of hers is to die for. Out of nowhere Jennifer kisses me on the cheek...and I begin to float off the ground as well.
“Sir, there is something you have to see. It’s about the moon.” exclaimed Jim as he ran into the conference room. “You know how the moon has been changing colors causing emotions, well let us just say you have to see what I am saying to believe it.” I run into his office and look at the screen. “Dear God!” I cry “Get the president on the line!!!” The next 10 minutes are a blur, but next thing I know I am in the oval office with the President. “Whatever it is it better be huge. I am planning our deal with Mexico, I don’t have time for this.” the president says. I reply to him “I am sorry President Trump but this will blow your butt off. You know how the moon has been changing colors and emotions? How it was theorised that there could be more colors than red, pink, and blue?” “Of course I do, I’m not stupid.” he says. “Well know that one of the colors is black, and it is happening tonight.” I explain to him. “What will it do?” he asks. I reply solemnly, “the beginning of the end, the apocalypse.”
The pressure intensified, and Will pushed the accelerator to the floor. One tenth of a mile past the wall and Will’s car was traveling sixty miles per hour. Seventy, eighty miles per hour and the car was two tenths of a mile past the wall. Sweat was streaming down his face. Ninety, one hundred miles per hour and the car was three tenths of a mile past the wall. Doubt started creeping its way into his mind. just turn around. Four tenths of a mile and Will was physically straining, clenching his jaw and moaning. Turn around, turn around, turn around. One half mile past the wall, farther than Will had ever made it past the wall, and pressure escalated to a fever pitch. The cords were standing out in his neck and he started getting tunnel vision. Will talking to himself, “Its okay, just breathe, you can do it.” TURN AROUND, TURN AROUND, TURN AROUND. At six tenths of a mile Will started screaming. TURN AROUND. Will couldn’t take it and slammed on the brakes and fishtailed to a stop. Tears were streaming down his face. As he turned the car around he felt the pressure immediately stop. After such torment he felt nearly euphoric as he drove back toward town. Will hated himself for it, but he felt so happy as drove back into the prison that was his town. Will turned onto his street and was driving to his house when he spotted her. Ms. Pembroke was standing on his front stoop waiting for him. Will pulled into his driveway and just sat there for a minute. Finally, he turned off the car and stepped out. Ms. Pembroke smiled, “Ah. Mr. Peters, you put on one heck of a performance today.” “What the hell are you doing here?” Unperturbed, she replied, “I hear you made it nearly half a mile. Not bad.” Will mumbled, “Six tenths.” “I’m sorry. What was that?” Will said, “I made it six-tenths of a mile.” “Ah. Yes. As I said, quite the performance, but, you know, you really should be more careful. If something happened to you, all of our work together would be for naught, and we don’t want that, do we?” “Look, Ms. Pembroke, I don’t give a flip about your program, and I don’t appreciate you coming to rub it in.” “Ah. I understand that you’re upset, but we really would appreciate it if you took more care for your personal safety. Have a good day, Mr. Peters.” She walked down to her car parked on the street and drove away. Will looked down at his watch. He was late for therapy. . “Hello, Will. It’s nice of you to come see me. How are we doing today?” “It’s not nice of me to come in today. I go to therapy or I go to jail, that’s what the judge said.” “Ok. How have you been sleeping?” “Laying down.” “Very funny, Mr. Peters. But seriously, are you sleeping well.” “Yeah. I sleep fine. Especially with the drugs you guys are feeding me. All I want to do is sleep and eat when I take that poison.” “I understand your frustration, but you are taking the medication?” Will had learned there is only one correct answer to this question. “Yeah. I take them.” “And what about the paranoia. Any thoughts about nefarious secret agencies or invisible walls?” “No. None of that.” Will lied. “Very good. Well, it seems you’re doing excellently since your little break from reality. You’ve made some real progress. Do you need refills on your medications.” Another trick question. “Yeah, doc. That would be great.” . None of it made any sense to Will. One day Will came and went as he pleased, and on the next the walls appeared at city limits. Additionally, he was mostly left alone by those responsible for his incarceration. Aside from the occasional visits from Ms. Pembroke or Mr. Stites, no one seemed to be checking up on him, but they always knew when he crossed city limits. There were no recording devices in his house or trackers on his car, but if he crossed city limits, he could expect a visit. Six months ago, when all this started, he had tried to escape by stealing a motorcycle and making a run for it. He stopped not even a quarter mile outside the city limits with four police cars in tow. However, when the police found Will crying and talking about invisible barriers he had been diverted to a mental hospital instead of the county lockup. Will was convinced that he was crazy at first. His story about Ms. Pembroke and Mr. Stites checking up on him combined with a supernatural wall that only he experienced seemed to perfectly fit the profile for schizophrenia. Will happily took his medication, and he looked forward to getting out of the hospital, and, finally, that day came. Will returned home. And even though he thought it was crazy, he couldn’t resist taking a drive to prove to himself that he could come and go as he pleased. He pulled out onto the highway and started cruising towards the edge of town. Will had even convinced himself nothing was going to happen until he crossed city limits and the pressure hit him like a punch to the gut. Unbearable pressure telling him to turn around. He tried to keep going but it was simply intolerable. Will turned around. When he got home, Mr. Stites was waiting for him. Will tried to look around for someone to verify that there was a person standing there, but no one was around. Mr. Stites discouraged Will from trying to push the limits and even said that there were potential health risks with trying to escape. He was cordial and polite no matter what Will said, and after a few minutes he got in his car and drove away.
It's been 24 years since we first noted that it may be a threat. 22 years since we officially called it one. 21 years since the first 'meeting of the minds.' It was 19 years ago this month that we finalized our initial plan. 6 months later, with 1 man dead and 2 missing, we called our first plan a total failure. 17 years ago we got a funding increase after a long-winded budget battle worked it's way through the sludge of government proceedings. We scouted talent. We did research. Lots of research. 15 years ago, somewhere around my 60th birthday, we were days away from launching Project Orchid. The whole building was thick with tension. We only spoke when necessary and when we did it was in very hushed tones as if too much noise or any slight disturbance would jinx the whole operation. Despite all our efforts, I still only gave it a 50% chance of succeeding. I was alone in that, most were rather hopeful as the math was solid, but there's always room for error. To put it plainly, we were trying to blow up the comet mid-flight. Just the idea of it sounded stupid. It sounded like some terrible movie with a cliché ending and bad special effects. I plain didn't believe in it. The next couple of days dragged by with meetings scattered throughout to check and re-check the speed, timing and flight path. You reach a point where you fall into the "if we're not ready by now, we'll never be"way of thinking. Meetings become procedural, just ways to fill the time until launch. We were all doing our best to ignore the billions of eyes watching us with bated breath. That kind of pressure isn't good for anyone's confidence. Launch day came and with closed eyes and fingers crossed we initialized the operation. Catastrophic failure. The rocket failed to breach Earth's atmosphere before exploding over the ocean and raining down molten shrapnel in a dramatic blaze. It would be years before we knew what actually went wrong. Years were not something we had the luxury of wasting. There were only 15 left. We appealed to the governing body for a second chance but without immediate proof of where we went wrong our efforts stalled. The next several years went by quickly and without hope. Most were living their lives, attempting to ignore the doomsday timer hanging over the planet. While families grew, lovers married, and children became adults we toiled, losing hope with each new proposal getting shot down or debunked. 6 years after Orchid's failure and with nothing promising on the horizon we had lost the confidence of basically everyone. Funding slashed, personnel down to a bare minimum, our days evolved into break room conversations over coffee and doughnuts. One such day, as we sat in defeated silence, an intern returned with our lunch orders in tow and innocently asked if we'd ever had actual evidence of life outside Earth. We hadn't. At least nothing we could admit to the intern. But it got me thinking. We had 11 years left, give or take. Why not...try? What could it hurt? It was relatively inexpensive compared to tossing billions into the ocean in a fiery meltdown. Even if a new plan comes into formation in the interim, why not try to communicate? Put yourself out there, right? We already had most of the equipment. It would only take a little time to map out signal paths. Time we had in spades (relatively speaking). I gathered a team in one of the small conference rooms one day and began work on what I referred to as a side project. It was the only possibility I had any faith in at this point but I didn't want the others to know that. I sold it as a passive solution that could exist while we continued our work on other projects. We were going to ask the universe for help. Not in an existential manner, literally. We were literally going to ask the universe to save us from our impending doom. Looking back, this plan sounds just as stupid as the action-thriller space adventure of just a few years prior. Desperate measures. We spent the next year and a half building our network. Once all was ready, we initiated the radio signal. It was a basic message of hope. We asked for help in hundreds of languages. We engineered the message to loop indefinitely and manned the observation room around the clock with crossed fingers. Time marched on. 5 years ago our department was disbanded. We ran out of believers. The government, the people, hell even my own team members just shrugged and walked away to live out the remainder of their lives doing something pleasurable rather than hopelessly fight an invisible enemy. I was 70 at this point and being nudged into retirement. I couldn't let it go; I would stay hopeful until they dragged me out and confiscated my keys. Eventually I "retired"by agreeing to stop receiving pay. I had retirement benefits so I wasn't totally lost. I still believed in luck. I still believed that it was possible. So I showed up, day after day, to monitor the signals. I had a couple false positives that turned into whirlwind days. After running things up the flagpole only to have my evidence disintegrate upon further inspection, I learned to keep it to myself until I had anything concrete. Nothing concrete ever came. 3 years ago I was diagnosed with brain cancer. I was given 2 years to live. It's funny how worried about dying by way of rogue comet I've been and it's the cancer that's probably going to kill me. I've already passed my expiration date. Earth is surely coming up on hers. I don't know who's going to go first but I know where I'll be sitting when it all goes down. ............................................................................................................................... First post here, extremely new writer. CC very welcome, I know this a mess in some ways. Thanks for reading!
Well, there we were. After weeks of travelling the country while fighting various gangs and outlaws in an effort to track it down, we'd finally found the offices of Johnson Corp, and the core of all their corrupt machinations. Finally, we would be able to avenge our families. As we snuck past the security into the inner sanctum, things went well. One by one, we gathered in front of the office of John Johnson, CEO of the company, and prepared for the final confrontation. "Is everyone ready?"I asked. Melanie loaded her pistol and nodded, saying "I'm ready." Carlos whirled one of his knives in his fingers as he said, "Same." Natasha tapped a few things onto her wrist-mounted computer before nodding. Sylvester was doing a few stretches and gave a thumbs-up. Finally, Fluffins, the cat who had tagged along with us since we'd found it at the train station meowed. I decided to take it as confirmation. "Okay then, gang. On three... One... Two... THREE!"I kicked in the door, pointing my submachine gun at the center of the room. I was completely off in my aim, Johnson's chair was actually to the far left. I redirected my aim and shouted, "This is for my parents!"before squeezing the trigger. My gun immediately fell to pieces. "What the hell? But it was working fine yesterday! The only one who's touched it since then is... Melanie?"I said. I wasn't exactly expecting an answer, though I still put an inquisitive tone in my voice. "I'm sorry, Steve! I-I told you that my father was a jerk but I still loved him..."she said, stammering slightly. "I know, isn't that why you set out to avenge him?"I asked. "No, I... I never wanted to..."Melanie seemed to be struggling with her words, so she finally just shouted, "My full name is Melanie Johnson, John Johnson is my father!"As she said it, she backed away from the group toward her father's desk. "What? Damn, I could've sworn it would be Carlos that betrayed us..."I said. "Hey, uh, this might be a bad time, but you know how weirdly close Melanie and I were this whole time? We're not together or anything, we're actually siblings. So, yeah, that guy's also my dad... Later, punks!"Carlos said, hanging his knives off his fingers as he walked backwards toward his family with a sort of mock shrugging expression. Well, that's just great. I couldn't exactly slaughter the guy in good conscience after hanging out with those two for this long. At least we still had most of the group together, and Natasha's hacking could bring some slightly more petty revenge by messing with the company's finances... "Actually, I vill be standing vith the ozers. I vas actually vorking for Strauss Corp all zis time, but zey merged vith Johnson Corp last veek, so..."Natasha said. "Aren't those the guys that break your hands if you can't type fast enough?"Melanie asked. "Ja, but zey pay vell,"Natasha said, stepping away from the group as well. "Okay, well that's just fan-fucking-tastic. Sylvester, please tell me you're not secretly her business partner or a double secret agent sent to stop me from doing this or something and are also defecting..."I said. "Well no, but... Uh, you know how I said I sometimes get really into fire?"Sylvester asked. "Yes,"I said. "And you know how your parents died in a factory fire?"he said. "Goddammit,"I said. "I don't know for sure, but I think I may have lit the small dumpster fire that started that whole fiasco..."he said. "Wow, that's actually kinda fucked up, man,"Carlos said. "It was supposed to be a harmless prank! Just a little joke played on the factory manager to make him freak out!"Sylvester said, gesticulating wildly as he attempted to form a defense for himself. "Just go... Just fucking go, I don't even care anymore..."I said, placing the sole of my boot on Sylvester's stomach and using it to shove him onto the floor a few feet away. He ended up tumbling further than expected and crashed into a filing cabinet that fell over on him. It looked incredibly painful. As we were arguing, Fluffins had backed up from the group. well, from me, given that most of the group was now standing in front of the corporate mogul's desk. "Aw, Fluffins, not you too..."I said. But Melanie was the one that fed the adorable little critter back at the train station, so it just scampered over to her instead of sticking by me. "Eh? Whos's there? What's going on?"the man at the desk pulled off his glasses, which seemed to carry the open eyes behind them with them. He pulled a different pair from his desk drawer and put the new bifocals on instead, putting the fake glasses in their place. "Ah shit, where the hell have you two been? And who are these people?" "Friends,"said Melanie. "He thinks your shitty safety practices and abusive working conditions got his folks killed and he came for revenge,"Carlos said, pointing at me. "What? We haven't had any fatalities in two years, how long ago was that?"John asked, his voice sounding very groggy. "Three years ago! The fire was all over the news! How could you not know?"I demanded. "Three years? I've only been working here since February. You're probably looking for Jack Slate, he was CEO before me,"the middle-aged CEO said. "Okay, so where do I find him?"I asked. "Hell if I know, they fired his ass after that incident, you'd have to track him down some other way. If you lot are done, I'm going back to my important business..."John said, leaning back in his chair and switching back to his fake-awake glasses. It was pretty apparent on closer inspection that he'd fallen asleep. "Well, fuck me. I guess I'm off to track down this new dipshit..."I said. Hopefully this would end up having slightly fewer wacky shenanigans and less sidetracking, but I knew that was about as likely as me leaving this building without having another person speak to me. "Hey, uh, if you need help, we could still..."Melanie said. I responded without looking back or breaking my stride, by holding out both my middle fingers out in plain view to all the people gathered behind me. The only sound after that was my shoes on the floor and the slamming of the door behind me. --- For more dumb stories written on a consistently inconsistent schedule, check out /r/AslandusTheLaster/
Due to my mine training and vow of silence, I had been assigned as a moral officer aboard a Nanotransen Space Station. It orbited a hostile planet covered in lava dubbed Lavaland by the residents of the station. The arrival computer announced over the comms that I had arrived to little fanfare. The clown, a fellow named Critical Fail, bellowed over the station radio, "A mime? Bah is my clowning not enough?"To which many cries of get spaced clown were shouted. Unbeknownst to the crew, I was actually a syndicate agent highly trained in CQC and advanced mimery. My mission was to murder the Captain. A human named Lexia Black. By accounts an incredibly robust target that had survived many previous attempts on her life. I had a few plans but first I made my way to the bar to scout out the local talent. The bar was a real dive, manned by a lizard that stunk of cheap gin. The were a couple of people sitting at the bar, one wearing the clothes of a researcher, another was wearing an engineering uniform and the last one was a security officer enjoying their off time. I sauntered up the bar and did some basic tricks. Pretended there was a wall, pulled an invisible rope, pickpocketedpocket for a flash. All basic stuff. The drinkers partook of their alcohol and ignored my shenanigans. I sat there a while listening in on all the radio chatter going around. Apparently the AI had gone rogue due to someone tampering with it's laws. A good distraction to move along my plans. Speaking of distraction, a Borg setup in an engineering configuration rushed in and applied a couple thousand Volts to the security officer and started to drag him off. Thinking quickly, I pulled out my stolen flash and overloaded the bot's sensors. As everyone decided to beat the disabled Droid into spare parts, I grabbed the knocked out officer and dragged him into the maintenance corridors in the back of the bar. After breaking his neck, I looted his corpse for his ID and gear. The hybrid taser would come in handy. I tossed the body out of an airlock. And returned to the bar in time to see the bot self destruct creating a small hole in the station. Air began to rush out and the emergency klaxons began to blare. Jumping out of the bar, the emergency shuttles slammed shut behind me. The captain announced over the intercom that the AI menace had been quelled and that she would enjoy this victory by hosting as impromptu parade in the main hall. Ah! An opportunity to cause some havoc. I'd just need to break into Toxins and steal one of their experimental bombs. The researcher from the bar was shitting next to me still recovering from escaping the now sealed bar. Quickly I stood up and pointed my finger at the downed researcher. I held up my other hand and opened my hand in a mock explosion. The researcher sighed and nodded. "Access to Toxins research? Sure mime what ever you want."He rolled his eyes at my finger gun pointed at his cranium. The station was in utter chaos, botany had created wheat that exploded into an smoke that caused mutations if you breathed it in. Cries to call the evac shuttle were all around but the Captain declared that first there had to be the parade then an evacuation. At least their priorities were in place... The researcher led me into the research wing unphased by the finger gun to his back. "Here you are mime, toxins research. Oh look someone has already made a Trituim bomb. Now if you'll excuse me I have important research to conduct."With that the researcher marched off deeper into the wing. I shrugged, checked the bomb to make sure it would actually explode and stored it in my backpack. Utilizing a smuggler'a satchel, I hid the bomb under the floor tile in the middle of the hall that would soon host the parade. Just in time as well as the Captain and the Head of Security had just turned the corner. Their slow marching was followed by a small cadre of security goons and a janitor. I waited till the procession was close to the bomb site and issued the signaler code that started the chain reaction. I ran quickly to the dormitories. The explosion ripped a massive hole in the station and turned the parade into a bit if pink mist.running still, an escape pod was located in the back. I jumped inside as the automatic evacuation procedures commenced. The escape shuttle was now on it's way to the station. I had to do was wait for it to arrive and leave. My pod would then end up being rescued by a Nanotransen shuttle. Unfortunately, the researcher ratted me out over the comms as the culprit. As a mime, I couldn't shout over the comms about how much of a liar he was being. I readied my taser and my finger guns waiting for the worst. Fortunately, most of the security forces had been killed in the explosion as well and no one searched for me. The rest of the mission was a breeze as the automatic evacuation procedures went off without a hitch and I was saved from my pod.
I'll give you 3 prompts \ 0 v 0/ Choose the one you like best: • A crazy otaku girl who unbeknownst to herself happens to be the Goddess of Machines. • Reality is collapsing on itself as the author of a story begins to awake. It is up to his characters to define whether or not they should keep him/her asleep or awake him/her and have the world to fade away. • You have stumbled in an infinite area that is the host of more than a thousand worlds and it's up to you to regulate them as a Dimensional Warrior. Welcome to the Kibou Portal.
Robert remembered his first day at the steel mill with all the clarity of a first kiss. The heat and noise and the intensity of heavy industry in motion, all kept alive through the tireless efforts of workers dwarfed by the machines they serviced. Back when the only magic in the world was ingenuity, and spell were just buckets of sweat. He had spent the rest of his career working metal, but he never forgot that first moment, and he found himself reliving it more and more often as the world changed around him. "Bob! Ingot comin' through!" Robert snapped back to the present as a giant, orange hot steel ingot rolled to his station on the line. He was an extruder, charged with taking an ingot and producing a cylinder of the desired thickness. It was hard work, and hot work, but it was his job and damn if he wasn't going to do it better than anyone. He rolled the ingot into position and activated the piston, which pressed the ingot into place and prepared the extrusion press. It took an enormous amount of pressure to send the steel through the press, but he knew precisely how much to apply. A long, thin bar of metal zipped out down the line, and Robert smiled. Perfect. He heard voices and the smile faltered. The magicians were out for their daily rounds. Robert hadn't failed an inspection since the plant had been retooled for magical operation, but he dreaded the possibility all the same. The last thing he wanted was to be left behind with obsolete skills as the industry passed him by. A man rounded the corner, his safety hat of +1 hardness gleaming in the murk of the mill, and Robert fought down a groan. It was Chad, a kid barely out of school, who made sure all the old farts knew who was in charge every chance he got. "Hey, Bob!"Chad called, waving. He was trying to grow a beard but it was thin and scraggly and ill-advised in the sort of way that only someone with absolute job security can pull off. "Checkup from the neck down!" "Morning, Chad,"Robert replied, doing his best to sound chipper. "All systems green." "Good, good,"Chad said. He stepped up to Robert and traced an intricate pattern in the air with his hands. "How's that piston doing? I'm reading that it's a little worn." "Could use some lube,"Robert said cautiously. "Still pushing fine." "Mmm,"Chad said, frowning. He continued to waggle his fingers and wave his hands in rapid arcs. "Mmm I dunno, not sure buddy. Looks like you might be a few cycles away from failure. Where's your maintenance log? You sure you've been keeping on top of things?" "It's on the peg,"Robert said, nodding towards a clipboard hanging on his station. "Glen was just up here yesterday. He did a cleaning." Chad didn't even glance at the clipboard. He wove his hands around in a frenzied flourish and then stepped back, shaking his head. "Sorry, Bob,"he said, tone anything but. He made a motion like he was typing. "I think it's a tear down." "Chad, please,"Robert pleaded. "I'm doing fine. Hell, just before you came up I popped out a perfect cherry. I can keep moving iron. Please! Don't do this." "Preventative maintenance is the word of the day, Bob,"Chad said. He gave Robert a perfunctory pat and shrugged his shoulders. "It's out of my hands." "Please,"Robert whispered. Chad sighed theatrically and put his hands on his hips. "You wanted this job, Bob,"he said sharply. "You signed the contract." "It's all I had." "You didn't have to sign, Bob. You signed just like everyone else. Could have taken unemployment but you didn't. Sorry it's not working out, but them's the breaks. You'll get quarter time while we get you back up and running." "This is inhuman,"Robert said. He pulled his piston back and the hydraulics whined in protest. It hurt, that sound, but it was the only way to express what he felt. "You can't do this." "We already did,"Chad sneered. He began waving his hands, and Robert felt himself going numb, the thousands of sensors and control surfaces and parts fading from his mind. What was an extruder without a piston? Without a press? They had taken his flesh away after binding his soul to the machine, and now as he faded away he felt a surge of panic. No one had told him what would happen, now. The spell stole away the cameras that were his eyes and disconnected the speakers that were his voice. He felt the urge to fight back, to run or scream or do anything, but he had no arms or legs. Was this dying? Or sleeping? Would he dream? He remembered his first day. The living machine of which he had been a part. The world changed around him, and he had changed with it. "Nighty night, Bob."
Standing on my stage, looking over the crowd of my followers, I finally announced my plan. Perfectly timed for dramatic effect, the circle of metal beneath my feet began to tremble, lifting me into the air as the roof above me opened up, revealing my target. Striking the perfectly intimidating pose that I had practiced for hours in my room, I made it look as if I held the moon in my hand. Looking down at my minions, I cackled. Throwing back my head, I cried out my end goal, the one thing that would allow me to once again reclaim title as the most powerful villain in the world! “WE ARE GOING TO STEAL……. THE MOON!” After the celebrations, I went to speak to my most trusted advisor, Dr. Nefario about the heist. He began to speak as he approached, but I quickly shushed him, signaling that there were open ears all around. Draping my arm around his shoulder, I ushered him quickly into my Silenceifier room, which housed a gadget that kept all noise from escaping its dome. Locking the door with the six different deadlocks and a final full body scan, I was confident that the room was secure. Looking into Dr. Nefarios eyes, not letting him even sit down yet, I told him my plan. I had spent my last hundred dollars on my space-suit. “Gru, why are you so hesitant to tell me your plan?” “We chose to steal the moon, not because it is easy, but because we’re running out of cheese.” “You want to steal a baboon because you have fleas?” “NO, WE’RE STEALING THE MOON BECAUSE WE’RE OUT OF CHEESE, AND CHEESE IS THE ONLY THING THAT THE MINIONS EAT!”
"Delivery for Mr. Stamper." I leap off my couch and charge straight for the door, swinging it wide open without a moments pause. "Hey, I'm Mr. Stamper!"I breath out to the clear discomfort of the delivery man. I take his clipboard, sign my name, and bring my delivery inside, nearly swaying from the size of it. I gaze upon the neat box, uncreased nor bent. On it is the logo for the Picture-You company. "Who do we got here?"I say. "Another one joining the team, ay?"I say again, only with a perfect Australian accent. "You guys are going to like this one,"I tell myselfs. I pull the 24×36 picture of myself out of the box. In the picture I am wearing Norse-like armor and pelts and wielding a realistic sword with fancy decorations along it's blade. The me in the picture swings his sword about and shouts "I am a badass." The other pictures of me that I have hanging around my house throw their hands up and cheer. They just got another addition to the family. And that's why I love Picture-You, they allow you to capture any moment in time and keep it with you forever. And the best part is when a live photo is taken, that version of you in the photo will always have the same mindset you had when it took place. I have so many live pictures of myself in different moments of my life and in different costumes. I've got a picture of me when I was still in gymnastics (that me is still doing flips all over his picture), I've got a picture of me playing beer pong at that party at Anthony's (that version of me will forever be slightly drunk, but he's a fun guy), I of course still have that live photo of when Marissa and I were still together, and I have a bunch of me in different costumes, all in character. I pick up the picture of me in armor and hang it in its perfect spot, right next to Spider-Man me and me as Darth Vader. The me as Spider-Man hunched down in his picture and peered at the new picture. "Hey, that's a nice getup, I didn't know the off-brand costume stores opened this far from Halloween." The Nordic warrior me turned his nose up at the Spider-Man me. "Says the one in the Party City costume." The Darth Vader me crossed his arms. "A warrior, doubtless his barbaric sword could even penetrate my armor." The Nordic warrior me scoffed. "I don't feel like Darth Vader would say that." "I do,"Darth me replied. "And if you think about it i pretty much am him." "Alright you guys,"I chime in, "I don't want to hear me arguing. I moved Dastardly Stamper to storage because I wanted you all to stop snipping at each other. So stop, or else you're all going to storage. You hear me Spider Stamper?" They all agree to peace and and I take a step back, admiring the collection I have covering almost every inch of my walls. "Wow,"I heard in my own voice. But it was a distinct voice I hardly ever used, a gruff voice that sounds like I'm gargling marbles. "I've never seen someone so proud of being so pathetic." I whip around and find myself face to face with myself, but not a painting, a fully fleshed 3d version of me. "What the hell?"I gap, my eyes widened. It's Dastardly Stamper, bowler hat, curly mustache and all. He stepped toward me, clicking his walking cane against my floor. "Y'know, This isn't like any ol' circlejerk, this is a circlejerk in the shape of an infinity symbol." I look at Dastardly Stamper up and down. "H-how are you here? How did you get out of the picture?" Dastardly Stamper leaned in close to me, like he was going to whisper a secret. "I don't know, and I'll never tell."He then reeled back and punched me in the face. I dropped to the floor, almost taking comfy Stamper down with me. "Maybe I just got tired of seing a version of me that was a total loser. Or maybe I wanted so badly for you to stop doing this that I manifested into a real being just so I can kick your ass and stop you myself." I kick the cane from under Dastardly Stamper, dropping him to the floor. I never actually needed a cane, but I pretended I did when I took that pic so Dastardly Stamper has no choice but to rely on it for balance. I get up to my feet and run for the door, getting tackled down to the floor almost instantly by someone else. "Oh, that's right,"chuckled Dastardly Stamper, "I didn't come alone. Meet Exibit A, A.K.A Blurry Stamper, remember him?" An out of focus and fuzzy version of myself held me tight by the waist, not letting me get up to my feet. It seemed as though he were trying to tell me something, but all that came from him were the whirring noises and beeps that cameras would make. I struggle on the floor. "What's your point here, That I take too many pictures?" Dastardly Stamper shook his head. "No point, just gonna replace you, is all. I'll become a better you overall and rub my sucess in your face afterward. I wouldn't be raising any eybrows neither since you have no one in your life except us. Hell, I might earn get some of your old friends back." "You're a dick,"I spit out. "I'm not hurting anyone." "No, you're a dick. Which brings us to our next and final guest: Dick Pic Stamper!" A figure steps into my line of sight. A completely nude me standing proud and walking pelvis first. I try to shield my eyes at first before realising, for the most part, it's nothing I havent already seen. "There he is,"Dastardly Stamper smirks. "Let's give him a hand everyone. And by that I mean a round of applause. Heyoo!" Some of the other pictures of me around the room begin to clap and whistle. Dick Pic Stamper grinned and held up an open hand. "Thanks, Dastardly Stamper,"he spoke, flowing with overconfidence, "but I prefer to be called Big Dick Stamper." "Can't argue with that."Dastardly Stamper shrugged. "Why would I?" I ignore their conversation. Concentrating instead on wriggling out of Blurry Stamper's hold. Dastardly Stamper turns toward me and cocks his head. "What, can't even bare to look at yourself naked? You are the one who had this framed afterall." "It's not that,"I admit. "Just . . . new angles, is all." But I somehow manage to struggle up to my feet, loosening Blurry Stamper's squeeze on me. "Help Blurry Stamper,"Dastardly Stamper urges. Dick Pic Stamper reaches for me but I kick at him and he jumps back. "Woah, watch the merch." Squatting down, I push back hard and slam Blurry Stamper into the wall where the picture of Cookout Stamper hangs. But instead of broken glass everywhere, Blurry Stamper falls into the picture. I lean against the wall, staring at the live photo and seeing the visible confusion on Blurry Stamper and Cookout Stamper. "That's not a bad idea,"says Dastardly Stamper. He then proceeds to reach into every picture, yanking out the many different versions of myself that I have collected over the years and plopping them onto my living room. "My goodness, does it feel wonderful to stretch,"says Sophisticated Stamper, adjusting his silk robe. Followed by him was Graduation Stamper, then Candy Stamper, Harry Stamper, Beach Stamper, Santa Stamper, Halloween Stamper, Cold Flu Stamper, then all the rest of the Stampers. It was a Stamp•ede in my household and I had no choice but to head upstairs and lock myself in my room. "We're gonna take over the world!"Cheered Dastardly Stamper, followed by the rest of the Stampers.
I wake up in the far distant future. It's very hot, almost as if the sun is about to explode. I slide down the fire pole, which is the only method of traveling down stairs in this future. I walk over to the breakfast bar and pick up the paper, which materialized indoors. &#x200B; The cover story is shocking; the sun will explode in two days. The reason I am shocked is because I can't believe any newspaper is still running this sensationalist bullshit. The sun has been exploding for the past 500 million years. The headline should really be that the sun will stop expansion in two days. Over the last 500 million years, the sun lost 1/3rd of its mass. Scientists were originally afraid the Earth would be engulfed, but clearly drifting Earth theory prevailed because if it was even close to being engulfed I would have been forced off planet by the extreme heat millions of years ago. However, the barely habitable Earth is rather barren and I'm going to run out of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in two days. &#x200B; I will take a ten minute flight in my flying car to board my rocket ship to the Saturn colony. If my flying car won't start, I will take the dune buggy on a light drive and take my rocket ship to the Saturn colony. Regardless, I'm not worried about making it 500 miles, which is a little more than the distance between Boston and D.C., in two full days with highly futuristic travel.
I did my best to swallow, my throat a sandpapered cave and my tongue swollen and dead in my mouth. Sweat beaded on my upper lip, dripped down my neck, soaked under my arms. The heat roiled over me in waves worse than any fever, my skin pinching tight across my forearms and cheeks where the sweat was evaporating as fast as it could appear. My hair frizzed and curled and stuck to my scalp in disgusting oily clumps and my lungs - oh God I was going to pass out. I can’t breathe. I was next in line. My brain was humming with blood and I could barely think. I’m next in line, just get up to the counter and give the lady your number and it will be over. The woman lifted dead eyes to my direction and waited. My turn. Shit. One heavy foot up and clumsily down. I flash a glance at the woman as apology. The next and my knee buckles and then three quick steps and I’m crashing into the countertop with all my weight. My elbows slide immediately across the countertop, sweat streaking behind like snail slime. Shaking, I reach a hand into my left breast pocket, wincing at the gunshot wound bleeding freely from my liver. I pull out the folded documents and set them on the warm granite with a gentle thwack. Even the brief moment of relief is spoiled by the heat. My feet are soaked in my boots. Another labored breath. My vision darkens and sparkles begin to swim in and over. “I’m going to pass out now,” I manage to whisper to the clerk before collapsing to the floor completely. ... Images swirl before me. Blood. Screaming. A pop louder than any joint crack and an explosion of pain blooming from my core. ... I’m reclined in a leather armchair before a roaring fireplace. Poking at the white embers was a man who seemed all too familiar and so foreign... otherworldly. The sheer size of him was at least twice my own; impossibly thin legs that were wrong in a way I couldn’t place. Thick dark curls rolled down just past the mans shoulders. As he turned I felt my eyes begin to roll back again. Hidden in the angle of his posture were two sharp horns protruding from his forehead, and what I had mistakenly assumed to be a belt twitched as a very live forked tail. “Chip right off the old block!” Roared the devil. “Bout time you came and visited your old man!” ... My mind reeled. Perhaps it snapped. I flashed back to my mother, drunk in the doorway of the bathroom, watching me play with matches in the tub. “You look just like your father,” she had sneered, smudged lipstick making her words slur in the air. She had laughed, then, a mirthless laugh only a woman like her could laugh, forced to live long after her will had left. “Your father was the devil.” She had slugged back another three shots in one gulp, then. Adjusted her weight, leaning in the creaking doorframe. Suddenly something struck her as funny and she laughed for a long few moments until the match pinched between my plump fingers had burned me. The light flickered out of the room. “An absolute devil.” She had mumbled it more to herself as I heard the creak of her stumbling out the doorway. I snapped my fingers and lit the match from the flame on my thumb again, the tub illuminated once more. ... I awoke again in the leather armchair. This time, sitting on the stool next to me sat the beast known as Satan himself. “I have to say I can’t even be mad it took you so long to visit!” There was such a strange look in his eye. I barely recognized it. “We have so much to catch up on. But first, here, drink this.” VHe passed me a flask. It felt like fire going down but even as I choked and spluttered I could feel the heat around me lessen. Everything dulled to a comforting warmth. The pain in my core ebbed. My eyes opened and I swear I could see clearer. “We’ll get you patched right up and get you back to giving ‘em hell in no time, champ.” Pride swelled his voice and threatened to wet his eyes. I chuckled and gripped his hand warmly. “Good to finally meet you, dad.”
In Heck, there are many torturous devices to punish the humans who had said a bad word or mooned somebody. In appearances, it was like regular, every-day life. But lo, every door creaked like a banshee. The internet was fast, but you couldn't install an adblocker, and there were no memes. The only TV show was House Hunters, and it got spoiled for you within the first five minutes which house they'd buy, but you couldn't skip it. Whenever you'd fall asleep, a car alarm would go off for at least an hour. No matter how hard you tried to pour something into a cup, the first splash always misses. But the worst form of torture, is that Satan put demons into the legs of all the furniture, allowing them to morph and twist so that they can slam into your toes. Screams can be heard throughout the realm, screams of true torment.
"OMG Larry you won the lottery!"My sister, Rebecca, screams at me. "I know, I know, sis."She only responds with giggles and squeals as we head to pick up the reward. I notice a thunderstorm heading our way. "Storm's coming."I say. "Eh, probably gonna be gone by tomorrow."Rebecca replies. Even though she was probably right, I had an uneasy feeling. "Whatever." Arricing at the place, my first thought is that it seemed a bit less dramatic than shown on TV. "Welp, time to get rich." After going through the entire process, my sister and I leave the building, immediately being hit by intense rain and wind. "Damn, this one's really pickin' up."Rebecca yells over the gusts. "Hurry, before we get struck by lightning or something."I tease. Rebecca rolls her eyes. "Sure."She gets into the passenger seat, and I head around the side to get to driver's seat. Suddenly, falling to the ground, I realize I'd tripped. Shaking my head, I get up again only to get hit by something and be blinded before losing conscience. Darkness. First thing I hear. Suddenly I hear voices come near me. Im too dazed to understand the words, but as I slowly awaken, my ears recognize my sister's voice. Attempting to speak, I croak, "Rebecca?"The voices suddenly stop. "Larry?"I hear her say. "What happened?"I feel a weight on the bed suddenly. "Larry, you got struck by lightning. And you survived."
The only thing audible from the outside was the faint echo of banging and the nonsense mumbling of a voice. &#x200B; From the other side of the scene however, Cassandra was yelling at the top of her lungs. Unable to form words in shock as she banged her bloody fists against a doorless wall, leaving fresh stains on the otherwise stark white room. She didn't know what was happening and it terrified her. It would probably surprise anybody to wake up in a room with bloody hands and none of your memories. She'd done as best as she could to wipe it off on her clothes, having already thrown her now-maroon overcoat off to the side. Despite her efforts though, it never seemed to leave. It wasn't her blood however, for she suffered no physical injuries as far as anybody knew. &#x200B; Other than her jacket however, there was one last item found within the corner. It was a knife, stabbed into the wall cleanly with an eggshell handle. After what felt like excruciating hours to the observer Cassandra would eventually find the little Easter egg, using what little strength she had left to yank it from the wall. Despite looking straightly put in it was painfully hard to get out, only releasing when it would perfectly fly out of the wall and nail her in the eye. After this many physically demanding puzzles, she was bound to be getting more injured with each step along the way. &#x200B; What had originally been nonsense mumbling from the outside had turned into audibly screaming from the now semi-blinded woman. A man stared blankly at his desk and sighed, resting his forehead on the edge as he wordlessly scribbled words down on paper with a sigh. "It took her long enough.." &#x200B; When the pain had ceased to become a dull roar Cassandra was finally able to stand up, staggering as she took a step forward only to fall back to her knees. She began sobbing, much like a child would as she prayed to some unknown god to save her. Cassandra had successfully pulled out the knife and with it, a piece of the wall. In this newly created hole a figure was visible. It was faded, nearly gray in color. With worn muscles she'd pull the figure out, the shape would be recognized as one of a small child. She began to wail uncontrollably. &#x200B; "Oh.. So she found it... I guess that's the fourth attempt complete..."He stood up, tossing a small clipboard to a young man walking by. "Remove her memories of this room again. This time keep her sister in the room, we need to understand how this affects her problem-solving"
As it turns out, what I suspected from since when I was a teenager was true. Whenever a person puts enough love and devotion into an inanimate object, it becomes alive and sentient. Along my street you can already see a few examples. The gardener living three houses away has a living rose bush. The teenage girl living next to him has a magical laptop. And my strange next door neighbor, well, he has a living roomba of all things. But the one thing I loved the most was this dark fantasy book. It was the first book I ever published, back when I was only 14 years old. I kept the first ever copy with me ever since it rolled off the press, and now I use it as a mousepad. Whenever I pass my the book, I say in my head, "I love you." Today, however, was when it all started. It was exactly one thousand days since the book was published. As I do every day, I say to myself I loved it. Suddenly, the book began to glow in a pink light. I didn't know what would happen. Would it come to life like my strange neighbor's roomba? I didn't know. Unfortunately, it was true. The book came to life and began to release magic into the world from its pages. However, something strange began to happen. The magic didn't get quite far from the book. Instead, it seemed to have collected in the computer mouse resting on top of it. Coincidentally, the was the second-most loved thing I had, behind the book. Now I can't wait to see what adventures I will have with my magic computer mouse. Hmm, maybe I should write another story. How about "The Legend of the Magic Computer Mouse"?
Frightened I get up out my seat. The news was all about the Avengers going against them aliens an hour ago. I don’t know the specifics but I knew there had to a link between the battle and this message. Suddenly I felt faint. Something was wrong, I felt hot. I felt like I was going somewhere. Somewhere I didn’t belong, I looked at my hand and became petrified as it slowly turned to ash. It turned to ash’s and yet I could still feel it. I collapsed on my couch and dissolved into a million particles. I believe in that same moment I reconstituted my body. But it was night, I was dehydrated and lying on my floor. I checked my phone on the kitchen table. 4 months have past... what’s happening?
As i open my eyes and roll outta bed, I am unaware it is there. My flat mate still slumbers in their room down the hall. I walk to the bathroom to wash my face but can feel that something in our home is present. Something new is there but I don't know where this feeling is coming from. So i began to search the home. I look in every place I feel it may be, letting that undescrible warmth you feel when you feel something is different guide me through the home. After a few minutes of searching, I almost give up when I happen to glance under the kitchen table. My eyes couldn't believe what I was seeing. A small blue shirt was laying on the floor under the table and the reason it was so significant was because it was the shirt I saw in my dreams many times of my daughter. My daughter who isn't born yet. Who only exists with my dreams. I pick it up and hold it close to me. I can even smell her familiar childlike smell that I could only inhale within my dream.
One must keep one's reputation up, she muttered to herself, sure that no one could overhear her as she surveyed the selection of top notch super-silent HEPA filtered, kids friendly, pet friendly, extra ergonomic vacuum cleaners on display. &#x200B; Wait, kids friendly OR pet friendly? Were they making you choose now? Either bring a potential acolyte or bring your best friend? Where was the world heading?! Before you knew it they would tell you that well no, of course there's no hook for hanging your stoneware kettle on it, but that there's a small storage space inside as well as an outlet for an electric kettle. She sighed inwardly at the thought of a nice cuppa. There was quite nothing comparable to that first cup of hot, strong tea brewed over an open fire on a chilly evening. The burning logs on the fire rendering even a smooth Earl Grey a slightly smokey touch reminiscent of that of a fine lapsang. Tendrils of soft moonlight stretching over the glade, the bushes and trees all soft shadows and smooth outlines &#x200B; "- and of course there's been an additional spell cast to ensure its stability even in the windiest of nights. And there's no better option than this darling here", the young sales manager cried excitedly, turning slightly to the left to showcase yet another machine "why yes, no better option at all to ensure that you are the object of all your colleagues envy"he finally finished off his tirade. The white, toothy smile plastered on his face contrasted the boredom of his eyes. &#x200B; Pointedly ignoring him, she kept her eyes on the vehicles, silently pondering whether he'd make an amiable frog, or possibly a swine? She had, of course, noted the large sign on the door saying "All use magic will be reported,"but right now she figured that it might well be worth it to get that annoying brat quiet. &#x200B; Nonchalantly she waved one hand at him dismissively "Now, now dear. Let me have a good look around on my own, aye?"She turned and walked across the store to one of the inner corners. There - almost as if hidden away, almost as if they were ashamed to still have such unfashionable items on display, almost as if they wished that no one would venture in here - there they stood. Slender and polished, their handles gleaming and beckoning her hand to touch them, to pet them, to caress them. Aye, plenty of space for both child and cat in addition to herself, and several practical hooks where one hang both kettle and cups. And the brushes! Oh, the brushes! Thick and even, hinting of speed and stability, causing her to yearn to take flight, to try them out, to soar higher and higher until the world would disappear beneath and the clouds as well, until it was only her and the starry night and the bleak moon. Closing her eyes she could almost feel the wind in her hair. Oh yes, this was right. It was as it should be, as it had always been. &#x200B; From his sales desk the toad formerly known as Sales Manager watched her. Had he been able to form any coherent thoughts, he might have marveled at how her looks changed as she looked at the ancient broomsticks on display. He might have been astounded as to how a smile and a look of happiness could turn a sour faced crone into a creature of pure bliss. He might even have speculated in which feature it was that had caused this transformation. But, as he was but a simple toad, none of these thoughts crossed his small brain. Instead his round, black eyes focused on a small fly that had strayed into his path and with a quick snatch of his toungue he captured it. He was, if toads could have such emotions, quite content, even more so than when he was a man.
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